Liminal Spaces

You have a baseline to work with here - the baseline being, y’know, his mouth. On yours. A little wet, because he licked his lips before he leaned in, like maybe he’s nervous too? Which is dumb. He’s the one who’d actually kissed someone before, and you’ve only ever kissed him. Or at least been kissed by him, since he’s always the one who…asks. If you mind him experimenting some more.

You don’t exactly understand how he’s still on the fence over whether he’s bisexual, but- hey, you don’t have a choice! He could get suspicious if you weren’t, like, super friendly and…Yep. Really, nothing you can do to stop this from happening, so you might as well enjoy it.

Sure, it freaks you out at the same time, because he’s so fucking close and you’re incredibly aware of how easily he could crush you even by accident. But he kisses really…gently. Soft and slow, only pressing in more once you tilt your head back a bit.

But once he does, his tongue is- you don’t decide to open your mouth, or to grab his shoulders, or fall back against the arm of the couch when he pushes in. It just…happens.

Like the really fucking embarrassing noises escaping you, and when did he get between your legs? Weird. You guess since he’s already there, it can’t be undone, and it means your legs aren’t all cramped up so that’s. Cool. Uh huh.

How long have you been kissing? The room’s suddenly way warmer, and Mark isn’t helping there. He’s kind of- he’s on you, but not too heavy, like he’s holding back his full weight.

But he’s still- His chest is pressed to yours, and you startle when his hand slips under your shirts and settles low on your back, but the sound you make (the whimper) gets muffled by his lips. And tongue. The one in your mouth, mostly, and it’s- he feels really-

Shit, you’re hard. Shit, he definitely knows, because it’s his stomach your crotch is jammed against. Why did you wear cargo pants today?! Jeans would’ve helped at least a little!

Stop that stop that stop that, you think aggressively at your dick, but it’s about as effective as telling Mark to stop kissing you. Which you can’t, because uhhhh…

Oh, right. It’d ruin your spy mission. Sure. If he decides your friendship now involves kissing, sometimes and without warning, you can’t jeopardise Important Stuff by refusing. He might not want to hang out with you anymore and that- it makes you chest twinge, considering it. You’d miss having him as a friend.

And- and it’d be bad, for the whole, blackmailed into it side. The GDA wouldn’t be happy. Sure, Donald has only stopped by a couple times, and didn’t actually ask you to get anything specific out of Mark (he mostly just asked how you were doing, which is a dumb question. The answer is always terrible but not actively suicidal yet, thanks).

You’re in limbo. Kissing limbo. Makeout purgatory. Quickly approaching the so turned on it hurts stage and panting against Mark’s mouth between kisses and it’s really, really hard not to move, and the fabric of Mark’s shirt bunches up beneath your hands.

You’re overheating and of course it concentrates in your eyes too, since your face alone wasn’t enough. So when he pulls back and you blink up at him, he’s all blurry, and you’re shuddering with the effort to not chase after him, trying to catch your breath and failing and-

“What the fuck,” he mutters, but before you can get past the first flicker of alarm and confusion, his lips are- he’s kissing your cheek? High on your cheekbone, and you realise your face is wet only when you feel his tongue and-

Diiiiiid he just…lick your tears?

Before you can even try to process that, he groans and pushes down onto you and holy fuck he’s hard too.

Like, super obviously hard when he shifts higher so your dicks almost line up and what the hell oh god that feels good. Why does that feel so good?! You’re both fully dressed and it’s all, it’s layers and twisting fabric and it should feel bad but it doesn’t, oh boy, it really fucking doesn’t.

Especially when he starts kissing you again and you give in, you give up, rocking against him and moaning against his mouth and sometime, somehow your fingers get in his hair.

Your right leg is dangling off the couch because you wanted him to slot in closer and he does, and it feels incredible, why weren’t you doing this ages ago, why’d you wait until Mark - why did he wait until now - can you just do this forever and-

“Um,” you manage a few minutes later, staring at the ceiling. Your boxers are sticky. You guess Mark’s are in the same state, since he…finished like, a few seconds after you, and…sorta collapsed.

On you. Breathing heavily and mumbling a, “Gimme a sec,” and then not moving.

It feels disturbingly awesome. You want to die.