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I've Got Time (While He's Got Freedom)

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There's a rattle followed by the sound of Marshall's bedroom window siding open, sending a burst of chilly air through out the toasty room, and Marshall doesn't even bother to turn around and look because there's only one person stupid enough to risk bodily injury at two stories just to avoid using the front door. He just gives a small wave over his shoulder and turns his attention back to the book in front of him.

The response is a faint thump of combat boots hitting his floor, snowy no doubt, ready to leave wet and possibly muddy tracks across his carpet, and the window clicks shut.

A leather jacket lands on the chair beside his desk and he can feel Dash move up behind him. He leans back and Dash's response is predictable as he leans over Marshall's shoulder, pressing himself against the back of the chair, and scoffs. "Still? I thought that was over with already."

Marshall shakes his head. "My last exam isn't until tomorrow. Which, if you can seem to remember, I told you when you said this yesterday. And the day before," he reminds him, turning his head up to greet him, and a set of lips are pressed against his, warm and dry, pulling back only to give the bottom lip a sharp nip and then returning to demand entrance, which Marshall refuses to give without a fight.

Dash yanks the rolling chair back and then he's straddling Marshall's lap, which gains him a low whine in response. He takes that as permission to slip his hand underneath Marshall's shirt, causing him to shiver, probably due to how cold his hands still are but Dash likes to think that's not the only reason. All Marshall does is wrap his arms around his back and pull him closer and he's so warm and willing and there and things are just starting to get good as he buries a hand in Marshall's soft hair, grabbing a handful which he uses to tilt Marshall's head back so he can deepen the kiss… and then Marshall pushes him back.

And continues to push him until Dash is forced to slide off of his lap, looking somewhat stunned. "That's enough. I really do need to study."

Dash's blinks a couple times before he grins filthily and leers. "I have something you can study."

"I'm sure you do," Marshall says with a snort, spinning back around to his desk and ignoring how flushed he knew he was. "And I'm sure its very impressive but this is chemistry, not anatomy."

Arms slide around his shoulders and Dash practically plasters himself against his back. "You could always get a head start." He growls and punctuates this by dragging his tongue the side of his throat, starting where the red flush disappears underneath the collar of his shirt and ending as he drags it up the shell of his ear.

"That's very studious of you," Marshall can't help but laugh, but it turns a little breathless at the end as one of Dash's hands slip beneath the collar of his shirt. He has to carefully extract the hand, his breath very clearly not hitching when Dash's nails brush a nipple on the way out no matter how much the smirk he gets says otherwise.

Dash's eyes narrow as he pulls his hand back and realizes that yes, Marshall is about to blow off some serious make-out time, and possibly groping, for a chemistry book. Frowning, he wonders for a moment tossing the offending book out into the snow is a viable option,

Marshall just swats at Dash's ass as if he can tell what he's thinking, causing him to jump and blink and damn, maybe he's having a positive influence on Teller after all. "You're such a fucking tease," he mutters.

"Well, I would have had this all done yesterday if someone," he looks at Dash very pointedly, "hadn't pissed off a mother chupacabra and nearly gotten himself eaten." There's gauze peaking out from under Dash's shirtsleeve, a very real reminder of the danger that they had faced.

"How was I supposed to know that it was a baby? It just looked squirrel! And ugly squirrel!"

"And the man you were trying to sell it to?"

"He runs a wildlife centre," Dash lies easily, knowing Marshall doesn't buy it for a second but the other boy doesn't call him on it, which makes him grin.

"Uh huh. And I'm sure there was no monetary reward in for you at all?" He taps his pencil on an open page.

Dash shrugs. "Just a little." Marshall shoots him a suspicious look but he tries to keep his expression as innocent as possible; he just shakes his head, seeming to be wavering somewhere between disapproving and amused.

"Sometimes I don't know what I'm going to do with you," Marshall says.

"I have a few ideas," he responds and leans down until he's mere inches away from the other boy. "Wanna hear a few?" A wicked grin lights up his face and he licks his lips, not missing the way Marshall follows the action. "First of all, you can tie me to your bed and--."

Marshall cuts of him off with, "Okay, that's enough!" as his face goes red.

"You're too easy," Dash laughs, to which Marshall mumbles, "yeah, that's the problem in the first place," under his breath. "Don't worry," he says, pleased, "I like that."

Then he stretches, his shirt rising up enough just to show a sliver of skin that catches Marshall's eye, and heads for the door. "Well then, if you're going to sit up here and be all boring, I'm going to go raid your fridge."

Marshall waves his hand in acknowledgement. "Wait!" he calls and Dash stops in the doorway, glancing back. There's a pause and then Marshall grins. "Bring me a sandwich?" Dash just rolls his eyes and leaves.

When Marshall calls, "please?!" after him, he laughs when he hears "fuck off, Teller!" in response.