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Yuta peers over the top of his phone as his bathroom door cracks open and Mark edges out, cheeks pink. His fingers unconsciously twist the hem of his boxer briefs.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the bathroom. “Uh, bathroom.”

Yuta raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

As Mark side-steps closer to the bed, Yuta can see that his hairline and eyelashes are damp. “Yeah, yeah, um, totally cool. Just needed, to, uh…” He scratches the back of his head, eyes moving rapidly as he wracks his brain for words. They flick down to Yuta’s waist and back up lightning-fast, pinging back and forth between his navel piercing and his crotch like a perpetual motion machine gone haywire. Yuta leans forward and Mark’s gaze snaps to his face, eyes widening in suppressed panic as Yuta reaches for him.

Yuta frowns. “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you’re not cool.” Slowly, he hooks two fingers around Mark’s wrist. “I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything.”

“No pressure.” Mark’s voice cracks on the word. He clears his throat to try again. “I’m cool, I’m cool.”

“Are you sure? Because you seem kind of—”

“I’m cool,” Mark repeats, cutting him off with a firm shake of his head. His fingers release his twisted-up shorts and twine with Yuta’s. “If you keep asking me, I’ll chicken out,” he admits. “And you’re really, really, uhm… You’re, like, I’m pretty sure I invented you with the power of my mind or something ‘cause you’re—” He looks, quick as can be, down at Yuta’s body. “You’re, like, really pretty.”

A smile, slow and smug, draws itself across Yuta’s lips. “Oh, Markie,” he coos, pulling on the other’s wrist to bring him closer to the mattress. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You already know,” Mark accuses. One knee presses to the duvet, dipping into the bed next to Yuta. A shy hand skims up Yuta’s side to rest over his ribcage. The thumb, calloused from set life, brushes so lightly over his skin that it raises goosebumps on Yuta’s arms. Mark’s lips bump against his in the shadow of a kiss. “I’m pretty sure you can read minds or something. Clairvoyant shit.”

Yuta giggles, biting the tip of his tongue. He fists the loose front of Mark’s t-shirt. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you,” he whispers, making sure the movements of his lips touch Mark’s on every syllable. “But you’re an open book, Mark Lee.”

Mark’s next breath strains at the back of his throat. When he presses back against Yuta’s shoulders, Yuta goes easily. He makes an easier test subject for a boy still figuring out how to touch other boys when he sprawls out over his covers, limbs spread for Mark to place himself over. They kiss until Yuta’s bones liquidise. He’s in real danger of turning molten and soaking into his own pillows.

He’s hard, too. Really, really hard. And Mark stubbornly keeps his pelvis tilted in such a way that keeps him out of dry-humping distance. Yuta squirms against his sheets, hips rocking minutely in an attempt to find some kind of relief. It doesn’t even take the edge off. He tries touching Mark’s hip over the waistband of his boxer briefs. The latter’s body jerks, instinctively twitching towards Yuta’s touch.

Their lips part with a wet noise. Mark pants heavily between them. Yuta tips his chin to his chest, just to see—and yeah, Mark is hard, too, at least partially. Yuta licks his lips.

One of Mark’s hands lifts off the bed to grab his dick at the base through his shorts. “Sorry,” he says, voice thick. His lips are red and clumsy. If he’s feeling anything like Yuta, they’re probably tingling pleasantly, halfway numb.

Yuta toys with the waistband of Mark’s underwear. He studies the face of the man above him for a moment. An idea cooks in the back of his sex-hazed brain. He arches his back to give Mark another deep, searing-hot kiss before implementing his new plan.

Holding Mark’s eyes, Yuta drops his hands to his own hips. He hooks his fingertips in the elastic of his own boxers. He doesn’t strip yet, just lets the weight of his hands pull the band down enough to expose the length of his hip bones. Mark’s breath stops and then quickens audibly. Courage bolstered, Yuta bites his lip and lifts his hips to pull the fabric over the swell of his ass and then, carefully, down his thighs until his dick springs free. It bobs over his stomach. The tip leaves behind a tiny smear of precum as it sweeps across his abs.

“Holy fuck,” says Mark, ever eloquent.

Yuta smiles, breathing a little laugh to himself. He deviates from his original plan by touching himself—just a few quick, loose-fisted strokes, he’s only human—but instead of balking, Mark sits back on Yuta’s thighs to give himself a better view.

After a beat, he speaks again. “It really is pierced.”

“Yeah.” Yuta lets his fingers trail across his stomach, teasing himself. The weight of Mark’s gaze—instinctually hungry, borderline feral—makes his skin tingle. He wants to be touched by more than Mark’s eyes but the younger man seems in no hurry to get his hands on Yuta. For now, his own hands will have to do. “It really is.”

“Jaehyun has his nipples pierced,” Mark says. His tongue darts out, licking over a patch on his bottom lip that Yuta had been worrying with his teeth earlier. “Did it hurt?”

Yuta shrugs, bare shoulders moving against the sheets. “Not really.”

He’s so turned on that he full-body twitches when Mark touches his hips. An odd gleam creeps into Mark’s eyes as they drop unabashedly to stare at the silver barbell pierced through the tip of Yuta’s dick. His voice drops an octave and a half when he asks, “Does it feel good?”

Arousal zings from the crown of Yuta’s skull all the way to his toenails. “Yeah,” he breathes.

One of Mark’s hands wraps around Yuta’s cock, holding it upright. His thumb presses into that good spot just below the flare of the head. In a hoarse whisper: “Yeah? When you fuck girls, do they like it?”

Fire leaps in Yuta’s gut. “Mark.” He says it like a curse.

In lieu of a reply, Mark pushes up gently against the bottom of the curved barbell. He scoots backwards on Yuta’s thighs and leans forward onto his elbows. His eyes nearly cross as they try to focus on the piercing at close proximity. “Can I…?” Without elaborating, he sucks the tip of Yuta’s cock in between his lips—a quick in-and-out like polishing the spit-slick flavor off a lollipop.

“God,” Yuta gasps. He shoves his hands under his head to erase the temptation to grab Mark’s hair. He doesn’t want to risk doing anything that’ll freak Mark out and send him running to hide in the bathroom again. “Yeah, go ahead,” he assents belatedly, voice cracking.

Mark sucks cock like everything else he does: that is, with a single-minded doggedness that renders him unaware of anything else. It takes him a minute to get the hang of it. He’s obviously tentative at first, mostly just licking without daring to take more than the head into his mouth. It feels okay; mostly just wet and warm, which isn’t bad, necessarily. Could be better, though.

Yuta hums, throaty so it sounds like a moan, and lowers one hand to brush the hair out of Mark’s eyes. “Flatten your tongue,” he suggests. “Let me into that pretty mouth of yours, baby.”

Obediently, Mark’s tongue lowers and immediately he sinks down, much, much farther than Yuta expected on the first try. Mark makes a noise and his eyes roll upwards when the ball of the barbell rubs across his soft palate on its way to the back of his throat.

Groaning, Yuta exercises all of his remaining willpower to pull him off. “Oh,” he sighs at the sight of Mark’s spit clinging to his piercing. “Be careful, you’ll choke.”

Mark swallows, tongue swiping across his lips. The string of saliva connecting his lips to Yuta’s barbell breaks. “Oh,” he says, sounding mildly surprised. “Dude, I was born without a uvula.”

Yuta blinks. “What?”

“I don’t have a gag reflex. I was born without the, uhm, the little throat punching bag thing.”

“I—” Yuta shakes his head. “Yeah, I know what a uvula is.”

“I guess I can actually use that now that I’m gay.” Mark lowers his head, lips already parting for Yuta’s cock again. “I don’t know how to deep throat, though, but, uhm—” He shrugs. “Go big or go home, haha.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Yuta’s going to sustain brain damage from this. No pun intended.

Mark sucks him down again, heavy on the tongue and still a little awkward with his teeth. He tries bobbing his head a few times, looking for a rhythm. His tongue does a few twirls around Yuta’s head and Yuta feels the moment precum leaks onto Mark’s taste buds.

Instead of the recoil Yuta expects, Mark’s eyelashes flutter and he sucks harder. A moan buzzes his vocal chords and the vibration makes Yuta moan, too, lifting his hips without thinking. Mark’s jaw goes slack, letting Yuta fuck deeper into his mouth. The back of his throat works around the head of Yuta’s cock as Mark tries to figure out how to relax the muscles to let him in.

Just when Yuta’s starting to get hot, chest heaving irregularly as he pants for breath, Mark pulls off, licking his lips and frowning. He sits up on his knees. His dick strains the front of his boxers.

Yuta sits up with him, pressing their chests together as he pulls Mark down into a kiss by the nape of the neck. Mark radiates heat through his thin t-shirt. He only lets Yuta kiss him for a moment before he pulls away.

“Hurts my back like this,” he explains. His fingers curl around Yuta’s dick—not moving, just holding. “Lemme, like, uhm… Lemme get on my knees or something.”

“‘Course.” Yuta palms Mark’s thighs, high up near where his hard-on is trapped in his shorts. “Do you want me to—”

“Um, in a sec, maybe?” Mark’s already moving off his thighs, slipping off the side of the bed. “Lemme finish you.”

Yuta is not religious by any means but he sends a prayer of thanks out into the cosmos for whoever might be listening, just in case. Just so They know that Yuta sees what They did when They made Mark Lee and that he’s grateful.

Mark waits for Yuta to swing his legs over the side of the bed before he gets himself settled. His hands touch Yuta’s knees, spreading them to make space between them for his shoulders. He licks his lips, eyes fixed fuzzily on Yuta’s P.A.. Without further prelude, he laps over the top of the barbell and leaves a messy, open-mouthed kiss just below it. Yuta shivers.

“You can touch my head, if you want,” Mark mumbles, lips pressed to Yuta’s tip. “Grab my hair, or whatever. I know girls don’t like it sometimes but, like, I’m cool with it.” His tongue traces lazily along the underside of Yuta’s length. He mouths at Yuta’s balls, too, which is kind of shocking in the best way. Yuta knows he didn’t venture down to the balls on his first blowjob. Fuck, he barely ventured past the halfway point on the other dude’s shaft. Mark has severely outperformed him on his first foray into sucking dick.

After he finishes thoroughly acquainting himself with this new angle on Yuta’s dick, Mark returns to sucking him off in earnest. Yuta fists one hand in his hair and presses the other one against Mark’s cheek to feel it stretch, to feel the shape of his cock as it fucks in and out of Mark’s mouth.

Mark’s cocksucking learning curve is insane. The longer he spends on Yuta’s dick, the more he seems to enjoy himself. When his eyes aren’t closed in bliss, they’re fuzzy, unable to focus on anything beyond Yuta’s cock in front of his face. Drool gathers at the corners of his lips. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away. Between Yuta’s feet, Mark’s hips twitch in tiny, aborted jerks.

God, it feels good.

“Just need a little more, baby,” Yuta mumbles. The hand in Mark’s hair moves to grip the hair at the back of his skull. “Open up for me, Markie. Can you do that? You’re so close.”

Mark hums as Yuta pulls on his hair to tip his head back and pushes to the very back of Mark’s mouth. The hand wrapped around Yuta’s base squeezes him lightly. His eyes find Yuta’s as his throat flexes around him.

“Swallow, baby,” Yuta groans. His thighs shake with the effort of staying still. “You kinda have to—”

He never manages to get out the next word because Mark obeys him without hesitation, swallowing and pressing forward until his nose is buried in the close-trimmed hair at the base of Yuta’s cock, and Jesus fuck. Mark’s throat is warm and tight like a vice and soft, giving way and wrapping him up all at once.

Mark whimpers, jaw going completely loose. Both of his hands fall away from his hips to brace him somewhere around Yuta’s shins. He meets Yuta’s eyes and makes that same thin, strung-out, pleading sound.

Yuta chokes. “Jesus fuck.” Mark lets him tug him back by the hair but as soon as Yuta relaxes his grip, he slides back down to Yuta’s base.

A few repeats of this brings Yuta to the limits of his ability to keep his hips still on his own willpower. Mark swallows around him and they stutter forward of their own accord, fucking deeper into Mark’s throat; deep enough that Mark chokes wetly. He looks up at Yuta through his lashes, eyes watering, and when he blinks two twin tears escape his waterline and roll down his cheeks to the corners of his messy lips.

“Fuck,” Yuta grunts. He yanks Mark off his dick, holding him at bay with one hand, strokes himself once, twice, and busts all over Mark’s pretty, tear-stained face.

His cum streaks across Mark’s eyebrows, eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, the tear tracks on Mark’s cheeks. Mark winces at the first hot splash on his chin but quickly recovers, resisting the hand in his hair, his mouth open in hopes of catching some of Yuta’s spill on his tongue.

Finally, Yuta finishes. He relaxes his hold on Mark’s hair, groaning and letting his head roll back. It feels like he just got gut-punched. “Can’t remember the last time I got my dick sucked like that,” he laughs.

(He can barely remember the last time he got his dick sucked, period. He’s been too busy with fucking film school. But Mark doesn’t need to know that.)

Half a beat of silence follows that statement before a small voice between his legs says, “You, like, came on my face.”

“Sorry,” Yuta pants, sitting up again. He leans down to rub his cum out of Mark’s eyelashes with the pad of his thumb. “I don’t usually do that without asking but you just looked so cute.”

Mark blinks. His wet lashes clump together prettily. He looks up, eyes big and round just above where he still holds Yuta’s dick. Yuta has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan. “It’s okay,” Mark says, quiet. He uses the back of his hand to catch a drip of white making a break for it past the tuck of his chin. “I liked it.”

Yuta smiles. He pets his hand through Mark’s hair, watching the thick black strands part between his fingers. Mark sighs, eyes drooping shut. “I’m glad.”

Without warning, a flash of pink sneaks past Mark’s lips and sends electric shocks sparking up Yuta’s nervous system as he licks over one of the metal balls of his piercing. He sucks a harsh breath in through his teeth at the sudden over-stimulation. His hand tightens into a fist in Mark’s hair of its own accord. “Fuck.”

It doesn’t stop Mark, who seems utterly fixated on cleaning the spend off Yuta’s ring with maddening little kitten licks of his tongue. He even pulls against Yuta’s grip on his hair, eyelashes fluttering. Once it’s clean, he noses at the barbell, running his lips over the balls and down to shape the metal curve. Each touch sends a zing down Yuta’s spine.

“Ah, ah, fuck.” He slips his hand down to squeeze the back of Mark’s neck. “Markie, baby.” The point of Mark’s tongue peeks out again, curling in a circle around the top ball and swiping across his slit. A punched-out whine wheezes out of his lungs. His dick keeps twitching, hyper-sensitive. “‘S too much. Too soon.”

Mark rocks back on his heels, licking his lips. His eyes cross cutely as he stays focused on the glint of Yuta’s jewelry. “Sorry,” he says belatedly. In direct opposition, his thumb sweeps upwards to play gently with the lower ball, moving the piercing so it catches the light.

Yuta huffs out a laugh and reaches down to stop him. “Seriously, it feels like you’re dipping my nerve endings in McDonald’s Sprite.”

A deep flush blooms across the bridge of Mark’s nose. He pulls his hand away, wrenching it free of Yuta’s grasp, and tucks them between his ass and his ankles. “Sorry,” he repeats, averting his gaze.

That won’t do. Yuta takes Mark’s chin between his thumb and finger and lifts it to show Mark his indulgent smile. “You don’t need to apologise. Fucking cutie.” He drops a quick little kiss on Mark’s nose. “Looked like you were having fun.”

The blush deepens from pink to scarlet. Mark nods, lips pressed into an embarrassed line.

Yuta smiles wider. “You like sucking cock, huh?”

Mark’s eyes cut hard to the side. Yuta thinks he may have gone too far, but after a beat Mark nods again: a miniscule jerk of his head that Yuta might’ve missed if he wasn’t holding his chin.

God, this is fucking fun. Yuta can’t hold back a grin even though he knows it’s wide enough to show his canines. “You can suck me off anytime you want, baby.” He thumbs Mark’s bottom lip, pushing on it to see how it plumps up on either side of his digit. Mark’s tongue darts in and out, maybe meaning to wet his lips, and flicks over the tip of Yuta’s thumb. “That’s a promise.”

Mark clears his throat and shifts on his knees. The movement draws Yuta’s attention down to the—fuck, sizeable—tent straining against the front of Mark’s little shorts. Yuta slides off the edge of the bed, joining Mark on the carpet, eyes glued to the prize. Now he’s fucking dick-dumb.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, forgetting his resolution to go slow in his haste to get his hands on the fucking weapon in Mark’s pants.

Mark just nods, teeth clinging to his bottom lip, and shuffles his knees apart in invitation. It draws the front of his fucking slate-blue Nordstrom boxer briefs ever tighter across his crotch. The sight of the Mark Print in all its glory makes Yuta fucking dizzy. He stops himself from making grabby hands but it’s a close thing.

First things first. He walks closer on his knees and pulls Mark into a kiss with both hands. The airy sound Mark makes when Yuta soothes his swollen lips with his tongue is worth all the fucking movie budgets in the world. He trails both hands down as they kiss, skating his fingertips across each side of Mark’s neck, over his thin t-shirt (stopping to tweak his nipples on the way), and down to shape his hard-on through his shorts. Mark drops his head to the crook of Yuta’s shoulder to muffle his whine.

“Cute,” Yuta purrs. He traces a lazy figure-eight around the outline of Mark’s crown and is rewarded with another bitten-off sound and the dampening of the fabric under his fingers. “D’you wanna get naked for me?”

The only response is a hot, shaky exhale against his collarbone. Yuta turns and nips at the shell of Mark’s ear, the only part of his face within reach.

“No?” He hums, feigning deep thought. “Or do you want me to get you off like this? Rub you off through your shorts and get you all messy?” Yuta clucks his tongue softly. “Knew you’d be into that kind of thing, could tell just by looking at you.”

Mark tears himself away from Yuta’s neck with a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll— I’ll get—” He scuffles backwards, unfolding his knees and sitting on his ass to wiggle the shorts off his hips. His complexion is beet red all the way down to the collar of his t-shirt. Yuta turns around to climb back onto the bed and when he faces Mark again, his jaw drops.

Yuta has known for years now that all government-sponsored scientists do is lie but he never had firsthand eyewitness to it until Mark takes off his underwear and reveals that there are not one but two human-erected wonders big enough to be seen from space: the Pyramids of Giza and Mark Lee’s cock.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Come here, you pretty thing.” Now he really does make grabby hands.

The moment Mark draws within reach, Yuta wraps his hands around the backs of those thighs and pulls him into his lap. Mark teeters, balancing himself on Yuta’s shoulders. It’s clearly a new position for the former. The mortified blush spreads to his ears.

“Hyung,” he starts to mumble. “I—”

“What’s up?” Yuta smoothes his hands down the insides of Mark’s thighs. They’re littered with the same bruising as his arms. So far, Yuta’s bachelor’s in Sports and Health Science has paid off the most in allowing him to exploit his (standardized-test-able) knowledge of the body’s erogenous zones. He’s hit most of the big ones already: ears, throat, nipples, thighs, scalp. He’s gonna skip the feet. One thing at a time. “You still feel good?”

The words audibly catch in Mark’s throat. And then, on a hiccup: “Feels so good, hyung. But—”

He caresses up Mark’s legs to touch his belly. A crisp line of hair starts at his navel and grows downwards into the dark patch between his legs. Yuta figured Mark would be hairy; he’s seen how Mark looks on early morning calls before he sneaks a few minutes of downtime to shave in the sideview mirror of the genie truck. Cute, sexy, loves sucking dick, thinks I’m funny, Yuta thinks. He uses one fingernail to sketch a light pattern around Mark’s belly button just to see his abdominal muscles jump. Hung like a fucking horse. Grooming can be taught, is the thing. All the gentle tutelage in the world won’t make a dick bigger or a straight boy sweeter.

All things considered, Yuta thinks Mark might be pretty much perfect.

He rewards Mark for his perfection with a kiss. “But what?”

Mark stares at him, glassy eyes wavering somewhere around Yuta’s mouth. He squirms in Yuta’s lap. The movement makes his dick bob dumbly. “Please touch me.”

Yuta grins, sharp and just a little evil. His hands slide around to cup Mark’s ass. Mark’s ass. Yuta is holding his whole world in his hands right now. “I am touching you, baby.”

A tiny, impatient huff leaves Mark’s lips. “No, like—” He leans forward, wrapping his arms around Yuta’s shoulders so he can rut against Yuta’s bare stomach. “Touch me.”

If there’s one thing Yuta knows how to do, it’s take an order. He wraps his hand around Mark’s dick and starts to jack him off in earnest. Mark makes the loveliest noises as Yuta works him over, high and bitten-off like he wants to hold them back and just can’t. His skinny hips rock, fucking his dick in and out of Yuta’s fist in counterpoint to the flick of Yuta’s wrist. Careful not to upset the precious package straddled across his thighs, Yuta stretches over to his bedside table for his lube to add a wet slide to the mix. Mark likes it wet, if the unhinged whine he lets out when Yuta drizzles lube into the tight circle of his hand is anything to go by.

A thought has been germinating in the back of Yuta’s head for the past several minutes, having initially taken root during Mark’s enthusiastic first blowjob and now solidifying into something more concrete. If Yuta knows anything from fucking baby gays, it’s that when a baby gay asks Do girls like it? what he really means is Is it gonna feel good inside of me? From there, it’s simple arithmetic to put two and two together and come out with four.

His own cock has started to fatten up again thanks to the lurid 4D experience that is having a needy Mark Lee in one’s lap. Yuta slows and lets go of Mark’s dick on the next upstroke to take himself in hand.

“Look at that,” he hums, licking into Mark’s red, used (abused) mouth. “Got me hard for you again already.”

It’s a feat with his admittedly smallish hands and Mark’s admittedly not small cock but Yuta manages to line Mark’s erection up against his own with one hand. Mark is bigger than him, longer, which means that the top of Yuta’s Prince Albert is at the perfect height to rub up against Mark’s frenulum when Yuta rolls his hips upwards.

A broken noise rips its way out of Mark’s chest the first time the little metal ball rolls over the sensitive spot beneath his crown. He straight-up trembles on Yuta’s lap, thighs shaking where they bracket Yuta’s waist. “Jesus, fuck,” he half-sobs, crumpling into the crook of Yuta’s neck.

Yuta laughs into his ear. “You like that, baby?” He slips his other hand around Mark’s waist to steady him. His fingers count the knobs of Mark’s spine down to his tailbone and then venture further, down between Mark’s asscheeks to circle curiously around his asshole.

“Fuck. Fuck. Hyung.” Mark’s back arches to leave enough room between their bodies for Yuta’s arm to move. He clings to Yuta’s shoulders and ruts into his touch with abandon, mindlessly chasing his orgasm. Teeth clamp down on Yuta’s shoulder.

Yuta speeds his hand and then carefully maneuvers their dicks so the cool metal balls of his piercing—quickly growing warm with their combined body heat—roll over Mark’s red, weeping tip. That’s all it takes to have Mark choking back a cry and shooting across Yuta’s hand.

It’s cute. Mark vibrates when he comes. Yuta’s shoulder goes warm and damp where Mark’s mouth is open against his skin. Little noises die strangled in the back of Mark’s throat. Yuta vows to one day make Mark forget to bite those sounds back.

After he’s done coming, Mark stays in the crook of Yuta’s neck for a few seconds, dazed, before lifting his head. Yuta kisses him. His mouth stays all slack and cum-dumb.

“Feel good?” Yuta asks.

Mark nods. Almost on autopilot, his hand drops between them to wrap around Yuta. A feral light re-enters his eyes when he catches sight of Yuta’s cock covered in his cum.

Before Yuta can tell him not to worry about it, Mark has shuffled back on the mattress on his knees and bent down to put his head in Yuta’s lap. He chases a long drip of his own spend up the length of Yuta’s shaft, collecting it in the dip of his tongue, and polishes it off at the head. Mark cleans the rest of his cum off Yuta’s dick this way, paying special attention to the piercing. His tongue laves over it until it shines with his spit and Yuta’s gritting his teeth.

He grips Mark’s hair in warning. “Getting close again.”

Mark’s eyes flick upwards, making contact with Yuta through those long, dark eyelashes of his, and without dropping his gaze he wraps his lips deliberately around Yuta’s tip and sucks.

Yuta figures that’s sufficient permission for him. He wastes no time coming in Mark’s mouth.

By the time he recovers and reaches for the box of Kleenex on his nightstand, Mark is already smacking his lips and running the back of his hand over his lips like he’s taken a refreshing sip of Coke, not swallowed a mouthful of semen. Yuta can’t disguise his stare. Embarrassment reddens the tips of Mark’s ears. He looks vulnerable and small, suddenly, kneeling naked on Yuta’s rumpled bedspread.

“Sorry, um, did I do something wrong?”

Yuta takes a few Kleenex to clean him up. “No, no. It’s just, guys usually don’t swallow on their first blowjob.”

Mark shrugs one shoulder, squirming away from Yuta’s touch and taking the jizzy Kleenex out of his hand to finish wiping himself off on his own. “Sorry, I didn’t know spitting was, like, an option.”

“What, girls never spit when they suck you off?”

The red of Mark’s ears turns almost purple. He shrugs again, avoiding Yuta’s eyes while he climbs back into his boxers. Yuta laughs.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Mark whines, trying to wrestle out of the arms Yuta has thrown around his chest.

“I can’t help it,” Yuta cackles. He uses his body weight as leverage to pull Mark back into bed with him, peppering apologetic kisses up the line of his neck and around his ear. “You’re just so fucking perfect, you know that, Mark Lee? You’re perfect.”

Mark whines and complains and pouts but he also, noticeably, curls into Yuta when the latter wraps himself around Mark’s body like a post-coital snake. When Yuta bumps their noses together to ask for a kiss, he stops bitching long enough to comply—enthusiastically.

Twined together on top of the covers, they kiss until their pheromonal afterglow fades into straight up sleepiness, and then Yuta gets up long enough to piss and turn the lights out while Mark chooses another movie from Yuta’s Kanopy queue. Once again, Mark's complaints at being poked and prodded into optimal spooning position go conspicuously silent when Yuta asks for another kiss.

The movie is long and French and therefore not much of note happens at all. Mark’s been silent for so long, cheek resting heavily on his collarbone, that Yuta assumes he’s fallen asleep until he speaks up to ask, apropos of nothing:

“Wait a minute, so like, do you piss out of, like, both holes?”