Mork would be lying if he said it started out innocently—but it wasn’t as if his intentions were entirely impure. His boyfriend’s (Pi’s!) reactions were just so amusing, so overwhelmingly cute, that Mork couldn’t help but indulge himself—and, no, please don’t get him started on the fact he’s able to call Pi his boyfriend, now (again). It’s all he can think about; in his head, before and now, that’s really the only way he refers to Pi—my boyfriend looks adorable when he’s concentrating, and my boyfriend crinkles his nose when he’s stumped on something, how cute, and my boyfriend really is the cutest.
He never really knew he could be this mushy—but when it came to Pi, it wasn’t really too surprising. There are a lot of things, since he had started actively and straightforwardly pursuing Pi, that Mork’s come to learn about himself; and after, too, when all was said and done. His findings have never been too surprising, not really, because on some level, ever since he made a different Facebook account and befriended Pi under a disguise, Mork knew that it would be all too easy for Pi to coax every bit of cliché, romance drama-esque type of stuff out of him, and he’d been right. With Pi, it was easy to be disgustingly mushy. It was easy to forgo his filter and say every little thing that fluttered across his brain, flirty and mushy or otherwise.
Mork is aware of what he’s been doing, but he plays innocent fairly well.
He’s never hid the fact that he loves teasing Pi, with his words or a smile or even a lingering touch. How could he keep to himself when his boyfriend was always so responsive? It’s as addicting as the narcotics he’s learned about in class, and Mork finds out quickly that he’s very similar to an addict. He chases after every reaction Pi gives him—a pointed, shy look, a sigh, an involuntary shiver, a quiet moan. It gives him a particular high, one mixed with a hum of arousal and a rush of affection. He wants more every time, and it’s always over too soon.
They’re supposed to be studying. Mork has reminded himself of this several times, thousands of times, millions of times—but the words on the pages of his textbook are long gone to him, by now. The words swarm in front of his eyes, an intangible mess of different colored prefixes and roots, numbers and photographs that should definitely be steering his mind away from his boyfriend and all his different reactions.
Mork is only human, and his boyfriend is in his room, lying on his bed beside him. How long has it been since he got a reaction out of him? He remembers the first instance: they’d been walking up the stairs together, and Mork had put his hand on the small of Pi’s back. At first, he hadn’t been sure whether or not Pi’s body shivered under his touch, but then Pi had hopped up three steps in front of him, nervous laughter escaping his lips as he muttered something about having to use the restroom.
How was Mork supposed to function enough to study, after that, let alone have a solid train of thought?
A sigh rushes out of him before he can stop it. He slams his textbook shut and drops it off the bed, letting it fall to the floor with a quiet thud, followed by his notebooks and a variety of pens and pencils and highlighters.
“You’re done already, Mork?” comes Pi’s voice from the head of the bed.
“For now,” he says, and moves to his hands and knees on the bed. Mork turns carefully, joining Pi at the head of the bed. He smiles as Pi makes room for him, shoving unneeded pens and highlighters into a pencil case and stuffing notebooks and packets underneath his opened textbook. “Right now,” Mork starts as he shifts to get comfortable, “I just want to be close to you.”
Pi laughs with a snort and a shake of his head. By now, Mork knows that it means he’s embarrassed, but he’s happy. He can see the tips of Pi’s ears go pink, and all Mork wants to do is lean in and kiss the curve of it.
“We haven’t gotten up from this bed, Mork,” Pi tells him, but Mork is unfazed. “You’ve been close to me since we started.”
Mork shrugs. It’s hard to do with the way he’s laying on his side, head propped up with a hand, but he manages the nonchalance of it well. “You were up here, I was down there,” he points out. “It doesn’t count.”
“Of course. Even now, you know…” He trails off and extends his free hand. This, too, is incredibly easy. It falls straight into the disgustingly mushy category of it all, and although Mork wants more than anything to get some sort of reaction out of his boyfriend, just the simple act of touching him like this is also enough. He’s careful as he fixes Pi’s hair, making the parts that were sticking up in frustration lay flat again. That carefulness is still there, accompanied by an aching fondness as he smoothes down the hair around his ear. There isn’t much to smooth down, but Mork doesn’t care. He keeps his face passive, but his heart pounds so quick in his chest that he’s sure his boyfriend hears it, but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is the shiver that runs down Pi’s spine and the quiet moan that parts his lips when Mork lets his thumb graze the top portion of his ear. “I just want to be close to you,” Mork says, more quiet than he intends.
“H-Hey, that’s…“ Pi stutters, cheeks gone pink. He’s quick to protect his ear, shifting away the slightest bit just because he can’t help it. It’s bad enough Mork’s been teasing him ever since he stepped foot into the room, and it’s bad enough he can’t stop himself from responding. His body shivers, raising the fine hairs all over his body, and his eyes flutter shut of their own accord, and he can’t ever decipher whether a sigh or a moan is going to come out of his mouth when it parts in response to anything Mork does to him. Pi doesn’t necessarily mind it, no, but he’s still not used to this. It’s uncommon ground—he wasn’t lying when he said he’s never dated anyone, when he said he’s never been in love, but then you came along.
More than anything, Pi doesn’t want to mess up, nor does he want to look like an idiot. What if he does something Mork doesn’t like? What if he—what if he just does something weird, or wrong? Then what would happen? The mental image of Mork laughing at him skims through his mind, but it feels wrong to think that his boyfriend would do that to him, of all people, and the guilt of that instantly settles in.
Pi shoves the thoughts away before they can get to him. He really has been trying not to do that.
When he looks over at Mork again, his boyfriend just smiles at him. It’s got a teasing tilt to it, but it’s also soft and fond and so freaking adorable that Pi can’t help but sport a small smile of his own. He feels how shy it is, but he doesn’t mind. Pi rubs at his ear again, but the feel of Mork’s thumb grazing it doesn’t go away.
“Sutthaya,” he mutters, but it lacks heat. “Stop teasing me.”
“You caught me,” Mork sighs, but he doesn’t sound angry about it at all. When Pi gives him a pointed look, Mork just laughs and scoots a bit closer, warm with affection. “It’s your own fault, Pi. I had to get your attention somehow.” At his boyfriend’s curious look, Mork’s smile grows wider. “What I’m saying is, I think I need a recharge.”
Pi’s eyebrows knit together. “A recharge? Did your charger break or something? I didn’t bring mine.”
Mork shakes his head gently and shifts closer, but there’s still space between them. He doesn’t want to startle Pi, and it’s always so much sweeter when his boyfriend meets him halfway. “Not that kind of recharge, Pi,” Mork tells him, and when Pi’s confusion doesn’t fade away into realization, Mork does what he does best. He tears his eyes away from Pi’s, and lets his gaze settle on Pi’s lips.
It takes Pi a moment, but it finally clicks.
“Oh, you—“ He pauses simply because the force of his own smile halts his words. Pi feels the corners of his lips twitch upward, and suddenly he’s hyperaware of Mork’s eyes on them. “You mean a kiss? You want a kiss?”
Mork hums his agreement. “I want a kiss.”
“Ah, but… N’Meen…?”
“Isn’t he with your brother today? I think Meen said something about how they were going to a café,” Mork recalls. “He had his books with him and everything.”
Pi hums, brows furrowing as he tries thinking back to that same morning. Honestly, he’d been too preoccupied with his own humming excitement (studying with Mork still meant hanging out with Mork, after all) to really pay attention to what his brother was telling him. Pi thinks he remembers Duean saying something along the lines of Ai’Meen, and café, and study—but he really couldn’t say for certain. Duean could have asked to loan him a week’s worth of boxers and Pi probably wouldn’t have noticed; he’ll have to make sure to check his drawers just in case.
It was kind of a halfhearted excuse, he’ll admit. N’Meen has never bothered them when they hung out at Mork’s home, opting to text his brother anything he might have to say, ranging from letting his brother know he’s leaving, or asking them if they need any snacks because he’s heading downstairs to get some for himself. Pi knows what it means, this half heartedness; how far would a kiss go, and if it went farther, would Mork get angry at him if he stumbled?
He knows it’s just his own insecurities, because in turn, he knows that his boyfriend isn’t cruel. Pi remembers accidentally biting his lip a bit too hard once before, and all Mork did was ask him if he could kiss it better, again and then again, until they got their rhythm back and that little mishap was the last thing on Pi’s mind. It’s hard to make his insecurities be quiet. It’s been a bit easier lately, but Pi is only human.
And Pi would be lying if he said he didn’t want to kiss his boyfriend silly. Does it count as a study break even if all they do is kiss? Would they get any more studying done if kisses lead to something else? He can’t really find it in himself to dislike the thought.
“Just… a kiss?” Pi asks anyways, closing his textbook and zipping his pencil case all the while not looking at Mork. He shoves it toward the upper corner of the mattress, hoping it doesn’t slide back down.
“Maybe.” Mork shrugs, and gives Pi his most innocent smile. My boyfriend is so cute, is the only thought in his head. “Would it be okay if I wanted more than one?”
Pi scoots closer, meeting him halfway with a bundle of butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He only has a brief, passing thought to wonder if the angle would be awkward, but soon it’s replaced by the awe he sees in Mork’s eyes. It isn’t the first time he’s seen that look on Mork’s face before, and each time it’s been aimed at him. How’d he get so lucky? His heart aches at the thought.
“It would be more than okay,” Pi says in a shaky murmur, and lets his eyes flutter closed just as Mork does the same.
It feels the same each time, like acceptance and adoration, like he’s finally found a place where he belongs. Mork kisses Pi like it’s his favorite thing to do, slow and soft and lingering, never straying for long. It makes Pi’s hands curl into the blanket under them, the butterflies in his stomach getting caught in his throat with no way out, even as he sighs into Mork’s mouth. It’s unhurried and it’s tender despite the awkward angle, even when their lips don’t quite slide against each others like they should. Pi feels like he can’t breathe, like it’s almost too much, but he doesn’t part, not when it’s this good. He kisses Mork with his own shade of adoration, shy and quiet but so bright it hurts his eyes just to imagine it.
Pi likes him, so, so much. It’s as Mork is finally easing away from him, as his hands loosen their grip on the blanket beneath them, that Pi wonders once more how he got so lucky. He feels so stupid for not accepting it sooner, and the thought only urges him onward. Pi doesn’t let Mork lean away completely, surging forward to kiss his boyfriend a little bit more. He shifts as much of his weight on his left elbow as he can, bringing up his right hand so he’s able to curl it against Mork’s bicep, coaxing him to stay close. Pi kisses him, again and again and again, his heart pounding against his sternum as though it’s trying to forge a path straight to Mork.
His lips feel swollen, even with the ease at which they kiss, but he doesn’t mind. Pi lets his hand travel up, and up a bit more until his hand is at the back of Mork’s neck, and there’s something there, an unspoken question asked with an uncertain touch and a small shift in body weight, that he ultimately understands. Pi leans back and away in answer, hoping he understood correctly as he shifts onto his back, and then he feels elated once Mork follows him, climbing halfway on top of him. A tremor shakes his body before he can try to suppress it.
It’s much easier, like this. Mork doesn’t have to crane his neck to the side at a weird angle, and Pi doesn’t have to keep himself balanced on an elbow. He’s able to kiss his boyfriend deeper, now, taking in every shiver and sigh and little noise that sounds at the back of Pi’s throat. Mork feels like he’s floating, so far out from cloud nine that he wonders if he’ll ever be able to return, but then Pi’s tongue slides across his upper lip, catching at his teeth, and he comes crashing down to earth.
He’s been good at keeping himself in check the past five (ten, fifteen?) minutes, but Mork is only human, and Pi has him weak. It’s not anything new, nor is it surprising, but it still manages to catch him off guard. Mork can’t stop the groan that escapes the back of his throat, and he knows that if Pi doesn’t hear it, he at least feels it.
Pi’s hands stiffen in Mork’s hair, his mouth halting mid-kiss. He hates the rush of fear that cascades over him, but he reins it in and stamps it down, because he really has been trying not to let every instant horrible thought control him. Just care about him, he thinks, just care about him. Pi is careful as he leans away, loosening his hold on Mork’s hair—and he isn’t sure what to expect when he opens his eyes and focuses on his boyfriend, but he doesn’t expect what he sees.
Mork looks about the same as Pi feels, as Pi thinks that he too must look like. His lips are swollen and red, shiny with their spit; his hair is mused, and his eyes are foggy with something that goes straight to Pi’s dick, embarrassingly quick. Mork looks like he’s in a daze, and all Pi can do is stare, openly and unashamed, even as his body begins burning at every point of contact between them—Mork’s hand on his cheek, his own hands in Mork’s hair; the inside of his thigh where he can feel the weight of Mork’s knee, his other knee where it’s settled against the inside of Mork’s thigh. It feels like it’s too much, but it really isn’t enough. A tiny part of his brain wants to tug Mork down, wants to connect their bodies from chest to hips to ankles, but the other part of his brain has whirred to a halt.
“W-Was that…” Pi starts, his voice hoarse. His face flushes, and he tries to ignore it as best he can as he clears his throat. His voice is still quiet as he speaks, but it comes out clearly, if not a little unsure. Just care about him, Pi finds himself thinking again, just care about him. “Was that… okay?”
Mork nods quickly, not trusting himself to speak just yet, not until his brain has a chance to catch up. He feels like he’ll explode, like he’ll catch on fire and set them both ablaze. There is so much warmth and affection crowding around his heart because Pi is Pi, and he’s come such a long way in the time they’ve been together. He knows it isn’t easy, he saw it firsthand, he’d been told point blank. Mork can see the uncertainty in his boyfriend’s eyes, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to feel the way Pi’s body stilled under his own, but here his boyfriend is, asking him if what he did was okay. His boyfriend isn’t tearing himself away, nor is he apologizing, nor does he look a shade of guilty. He looks like he wants as much as Mork does.
He can’t help but smile, and if a small laugh leaves him, Pi doesn’t look anxious about it. “It was more than okay, Pi. What a silly question,” he teases, his smile widening when Pi rolls his eyes. “But, hey… let me ask you, too. Is this okay?” Mork asks, rubbing his thumb against the rise of Pi’s cheek. His leg and his arm kind of hurts from holding himself up for so long, but he doesn’t dare move, not when he’s this wound up. He’s already come to the conclusion that if it wasn’t okay, he’d excuse himself to the bathroom, and then they’d keep studying, or maybe watch that drama Pi told him about earlier that week. And if it is, that just means he can kiss his boyfriend a little bit more. “If it’s not, it’s alright, you know?”
“I—I know,” Pi agrees, because he does. He knows. There’s never been an instance where Mork pushed too far, or where he did something Pi didn’t like, or where Mork made him so uncomfortable he wanted to shy away from him. Instead, all Mork’s ever made him feel is genuinely loved, and cared for, like he has someone hug when he misses them, like he has someone to kiss when he’s tired, like he has someone’s hand to hold without a care about the world and all other people in it besides the two of them. For Mork, that person is Pi, and for Pi, that person is Mork. “I know,” he says again, unsuccessfully fighting back a smile. “It… l want to. A lot. R-Right now, uhm, I’m… you know.” Pi laughs awkwardly, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to see the realization morph Mork’s face. He isn’t sure he can handle that combined with what he already sees there. “It’s just… it’s silly.”
“It’s not silly,” Mork insists, and leans down to kiss his boyfriend’s forehead. He presses his lips there, counting to three before he finally eases away. Mork doesn’t go far, though; he never does. He stays in Pi’s space, where he’s allowed, now, where he feels welcomed, where he feels loved and cared for and sometimes even fawned over. “You can tell me. It really isn’t silly.”
Pi hesitates, but the assurance he hears there in Mork’s voice is enough to have him gathering up all his courage. Mork is still pretty close, so he cranes his head up and bumps their foreheads together gently, just to hear his boyfriend’s tiny chuckle. “I don’t… want to do anything wrong,” Pi tells him. “I don’t want… to do something you won’t like.”
“I like everything you do,” Mork says sincerely. He leans away, but not before pressing another kiss right between Pi’s eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what we do, you always make me feel good.”
“But, what if I…” Pi starts weakly, trailing off so he doesn’t end up repeating himself. He shakes his head and shrugs, sliding his hands from Mork’s hair and to the back of his neck. “You know I’ve never done things like this before. I don’t want to do anything you don’t like. I want to make you feel good.”
“You know what feels good to you, don’t you?” Mork asks, void of any teasing tilt as he lightly pinches Pi’s cheek. When Pi flushes and huffs out his laughter, stumbling out well, uh, I mean, yeah, Mork lets his own tiny laughter escape him. “Then, I think it’ll be fine. It’s like I said, Pi,” he says, and here, Mork makes sure to move slowly. His eyes remain on Pi’s the entire time he tilts his hips downward, giving Pi the chance to say no or push him away, until his movement is halted by Pi’s hip. Mork sees the exact moment Pi realizes he’s hard, pressed right up against the junction of his hip and thigh. It’s difficult to stay still, like this, but Mork manages. “See? Just kissing you like that has me like this, too.”
“I—“ Pi chokes out, just shy of overwhelmed; but it’s the kind of overwhelmed that has his heart racing, the kind of overwhelmed that just feels oddly right. This may be uncommon ground, but it isn’t like he’s going at it alone. Pi will admit he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing—mostly, he’s just playing it by ear, and by what feels right, and by what he thinks Mork might enjoy; but he figures there’s no harm in it. Pi is careful as he slides his hand down, past Mork’s neck and over his clavicle, grazing along the light green button up that compliments the tone of his skin. He sets his hand against Mork’s hip, fingers twitching in anticipation—of what, exactly, he doesn’t know. But when Mork doesn’t jerk away and when the room doesn’t catch on fire, Pi looks up at his boyfriend. “Do… do you wanna… get closer?”
“How bold,” Mork teases, but it comes out more strangled than he’d have liked. Pi’s laughter is sweet on his ears as they shift—and Mork knew Pi was hard too, simply because Pi had told him, but when he inclines his head to watch how they’re maneuvering their bodies around each others, he can’t help but focus on the hard outline of Pi’s cock, far longer than he should. Mork tears his eyes away, heart hammering against his temples as Pi’s legs come to a still on either side of his hips.
There’s barely any space between their pelvises. It doesn’t help that Pi’s gaze is downward, focused on the sight or Mork’s erection, he isn’t sure, but either way it sends a jolt of arousal straight down to the pit of his stomach.
“Okay?” Mork asks, barely able to control his smile as Pi’s head jerks up, his face flushing like he’d been caught red handed.
“Yes,” he says softly, an equally soft question of, “you?” leaving his mouth. When Mork hums and nods his reassurance, Pi takes a deep breath, running his tongue along his bottom lip. He wants more. It’s almost painful how close Mork is, and how much they aren’t touching. God, he’s more perverted than he thought. “Can you… come closer?”
“’Course, babe,” Mork murmurs—and, really, Pi isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to survive. His body responds, an involuntary shiver, and it doesn’t help when Mork shifts closer, when his legs spread a bit farther apart to accommodate his boyfriend coming closer. A sigh leaves Pi’s mouth about the same time a sigh escapes Mork’s, their hips aligning, clothed dicks brushing together.
“M-Mork,” Pi sighs, fingertips curling into his boyfriend’s hip. Mork doesn’t seem to mind, so he doesn’t let up. He’s still got his other hand at the back of Mork’s neck, so he slides it upward, palm to the back of Mork’s skull. “Kiss me?”
Mork kisses him in answer. That same acceptance is there, as well as that same rush of affection, but there’s something else there too, underlying it all. It’s heated and exhilarating, but still unhurried and tender. Mork tilts his head and hums, his hips just barely moving against Pi’s, and Pi swears all he can see is a bright, neon red behind his eyelids. He opens his mouth for Mork, letting him in, pressing in just to curl his tongue against the roof of Mork’s mouth, and the noise Pi gets in response is one he’s sure he’ll think about for the next eight weeks. He tightens his hold on Mork’s hair, the pace of his kisses just a tad bit sloppy. Pi clings to his boyfriend, coaxing him closer, his hips rolling upward to meet each shallow thrust of Mork’s.
It’s so much. His head buzzes with pleasure and happiness and so much love Pi feels like he can’t breathe, and he figures Mork must feel the same, because he’s easing away, his breath coming out in short huffs that Pi can feel, warm against the spit on his bottom lip.
“Pi,” Mork groans, and leans in just to press kisses all along his face: his forehead, his temples, the tip of his nose, his jaw. His hips are still moving, little, careful rolls of his hips that Pi can’t get enough of. He feels emotion pour out of him, and for a moment, he’s almost afraid he’ll drown Pi until he realizes that all Pi ever does is accept it, adding his own, and offer it right back. God, he loves him. He loves him so much that it almost feels too good to be true—but Mork knows that it is. Mork ducks his head, rubbing his nose against the curve of Pi’s neck. “Still okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Pi says, a tilt of laughter in his voice. He shies away from Mork’s nuzzling, but only because it tickles, and the closer Mork gets to his ear, the more his hips stutter upward. “S-Still okay, Mork—“ he murmurs, his sigh morphing into a moan when Mork kisses his ear, hips grinding up when the sound of the kiss resonates in his eardrum, amplified by the proximity. “M-Mork,” Pi tries, sliding his hand from his boyfriend’s hip and up to his waist. Mork hums, straight in his ear, and it nearly destroys him. His moan is breathy as it tumbles from his lips, but he doesn’t let it stop him. There’s no room for embarrassment, here, only the heat in the pit of his stomach, and the heat of Mork’s body against his own. “I-I want to—M-Mork, are you listening to me?”
“’Course, babe,” Mork says, hiding his smile in the crook of Pi’s neck. It’s just like before—Pi shudders against him, his thighs tightening around his hips. “I’m listening to you, promise.” To prove his point, he leans away from the comfort of Pi’s neck, and offers his boyfriend his fondest smile; in return, he’s gifted one right back. “What is it that you want, Pi?”
“Oh, that’s—“ Pi’s mouth twitches upward. He’s sure there was just a moment, no more than a few seconds ago, where he had thought there was no room for embarrassment—but there it is, coating his tongue and painting his face. Pi reminds himself, though, that there’s also Mork, who waits for him patiently, with that same smile curling his lips, with that same look in his eye, full of awe and rivers of affection. It’s okay if he stumbles. It’s okay if he’s treading uncommon ground. Mork won’t love him any less if he messes up. The words rush out of him, seemingly all in one breath. “I—I want to touch you.”
At first, all Mork can do is stare at his boyfriend, his entire mind stilling to a violent halt, like he slammed on the brakes and went jerking forward. But then he feels heat crawling up his neck, staining his ears, and it’s such a mesmerizing thing, Mork thinks, witnessing Pi react to his own reactions. He looks happy, and surprised, his eyes skimming over his face and neck, taking in as much of Mork’s red skin as he can.
“I-Is that…” Pi starts, pausing only to lick at his bottom lip. “…okay?”
Mork nods jerkily, and then asks slowly, “Can I… touch you, too?”
“Oh, um.” He hadn’t thought of that. Pi doesn’t really hate the idea, not really, if he’s judging it by the way his dick twitches in his pants at the mental image it grants him. There’s a part of him that wants to ask Mork if he’s sure he wants to touch him, but he knows that’ll only make his boyfriend puff up and tilt his head and challenge Pi, asking the same. Pi’s sure, so why would it be surprising that Mork is, too? “Yes,” Pi says, glancing down at their hips before lifting his gaze back up to Mork’s eyes. “Yes, you… you can touch me, too.”
His mind feels like it’s spiraling. Maybe Mork’s thought about touching Pi more than he should have, and maybe it started before they even began dating. On the evenings where he studied late into the night, his eyes hurting from hours of reading tiny text, his mind looking for a distraction—was it so bad of him to think of the guy he had a crush on? He remembers the day Pi fainted from heatstroke, and he remembers the way Pi’s mouth fell open at the contact of ice against heated skin, and he remembers the way Pi’s skin had bloomed red at the places he’d pressed the makeshift icepack.
To go from that, to this, his crush turned boyfriend telling him he can touch him, too?
Mork would be lying if he said his hand wasn’t at least a little shaky. He leans forward as his hand goes to Pi’s stomach, knocking their foreheads together as Pi extends a hand too, tangling their arms together. Mork feels Pi’s fingers catch at the buttons of his shirt, and in turn, Mork slides his hand down Pi’s stomach, the palm his hand coming to a stop once he feels the button of Pi’s jeans. Pi’s still touching, his hand slow and careful in its journey downward, and Mork wonders how his face looks. Was his boyfriend as shy as Mork felt? He wants to lean back and see, but he doesn’t want to not be breathing in each of Pi’s exhales.
He goes slow once Pi’s hand reaches his waistband. Mork takes his other arm, and Pi mirrors him, further tangling their arms together. It looks a bit strange, and it should be awkward, but they’re in sync enough that they make it work. He leans back only to give himself a bit more room, and it’s so hard not to look at Pi, like this. He’s concentrated, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and it’s all Mork can do to stop himself to swooping forward and kissing him. It’s tempting, but he refrains, focusing instead on unbuttoning Pi’s jeans.
The sound of their zippers sliding down seems deafening in the stillness of the room. Both of them freeze, taking a chance to glance at each other, and it’s when their gazes meet that the silence is disrupted, filled with their mingled laughter. They’re still laughing as Pi lifts his hips, easing the way for his jeans to slide down, and they’re still giggling amongst themselves when Pi slides Mork’s jeans down to his thighs.
“Nervous?” Mork asks softly, shifting so he’s able to extend a hand to keep himself balanced.
“Maybe a little,” Pi admits, his fingers toying with the elastic of Mork’s boxers. He really can’t believe this is happening, if he’s being honest. Pi never thought he’d have something like this: love and affection, heat in the pit of his stomach, the need and ache to touch and be touched. He thinks that maybe it should be awkward—they’re still pretty much fully clothed, but Pi knows how eager he is, and he can see how eager his boyfriend is, too. Mork’s boxers are tented, and the wet patch staining where the head of his dick is hidden is too noticeable to ignore. “I don’t want to stop, though,” he adds, because he knows his boyfriend. “I won’t want to stop.”
“It’s the same for me,” Mork tells him, and Pi realizes too late that there’d been mischief in his eyes. He slides his hand past the elastic of Pi’s boxers, twisting his wrist and exposing Pi’s dick to the air as efficiently as he can one handed. Pi gasps and jolts against him, his hands faltering at the waistband of Mork’s boxers. Mork’s gentle as he slides his hand up, grazing the tip of Pi’s dick with his thumb to spread the precum beaded there at the slit. He can’t help but wonder if it would gross Pi out if he brought up his hand to taste it—but he stores the thought away for later, because there’s Pi’s fingertips brushing against his lower stomach, and oh, shit, Mork thinks.
His rhythm stutters as Pi’s hand wraps around him, lips parting in a quiet groan as Pi slips him from his boxers. Mork isn’t sure how many times he’s thought about this, but the actual feeling doesn’t even compare. Pi’s careful on the upward stroke, experimental in his touches and speed, and all Mork can do is sigh and bite his lip and hum to encourage Pi onward. Mork slows his strokes, matching Pi’s pace, and it must do something to his boyfriend, because Pi’s dick twitches in his hand, and his thighs squeeze against Mork’s hips before they relax.
Pi swipes his thumb at the head of Mork’s dick, and his hips jut forward, breath ragged as he exhales. Mork copies the motion, gentle as he presses the pad of his thumb against the slit just to feel Pi shudder against him, just to hear the moan and feel the flood of precum against his thumb. Their hands knock together with strokes occasionally, but neither of them really mind; it’s exhilarating for the both of them, touching and being touched in return, quiet groans and stuttering, rolling hips accompanied by moans caught in their throats.
Mork twists his wrist on the stroke upward, and he’s granted with a moan, and all he wants to do is kiss his boyfriend silly and swallow every sound. If he doesn’t drink them in, he feels like he’ll die. Mork leans in, but the leverage is awkward, and it puts more pressure on his shoulder than he likes.
“Pi,” he murmurs, strokes stuttering as Pi thrusts into his hand, as Pi’s soft moans fill the room. It makes something in Mork feel desperate, and he thinks that he really cannot go another second without licking into his boyfriend’s mouth. Mork slows his strokes to a stop, and there’s this love-hate feeling toward the whimper that escapes Pi’s throat. “S-Stop for a minute, Pi.”
“T-Too…” Pi stutters, stilling his hand once he notices Mork’s hand is still, too. He still keeps his hand wrapped around Mork’s dick, though, his thumb circling the tip. Pi doesn’t really expect a reaction, but he gets one: a long, drawn out groan that has him thrusting up into Mork’s hand, their thumbs knocking together with the momentum. “Too much?” he finally gasps out.
“No, no, it’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Mork rambles with a gentle shake of his head, trying to focus through the sensation of Pi’s barely-there touches. “I just—can you…”
“Anything,” Pi tells him, warmed by the way Mork immediately laughs, a huff of breath that he feels at this temple. Despite Pi’s obvious eagerness, Mork still goes slow—never rushing, always giving Pi the chance to say no, or push him away. He uncurls his fingers from Pi’s dick, shushing the frustrated groan and whimper that is Pi’s form of protest.
“Can you… wrap your hand around both of us?”
Fuck, Pi thinks, he really hadn’t thought to do that. Mork doesn’t even have to wonder if what he’s requesting is alright or not, because Pi’s sure his response is quick and eager enough. A shaky breath rushes out of him, a strangled noise between a groan and a moan garbling the end of it. Mork shifts on top of him, urged onward by the coaxing of Pi’s heels pressing against his back, closer, so close that it almost feels better, like this, with barely any room between them, with Mork’s arms braced on either side of Pi’s head.
Pi wraps his hand around both of their dicks, barely able to close his hand completely at the combined girth. Mork moans against his mouth, and seriously, fuck, Pi’s brain sizzles, the heat clouding his mind. It’s way better, like this, the warmth of their cocks in his hand, the warmth of their cocks lined up together.
“Kiss me, Pi?” Mork murmurs, thrusting into Pi’s hand, making their dicks slide together.
Pi is quick to comply. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes barely open as he presses his lips to Mork’s. His hand strokes in time with Mork’s thrusts, with the rolls of his hips. He teases his boyfriend with his thumb against the head of his dick, with the pad of his thumb pressing into the slit. Pi touches himself, too, combining their precum and twisting his wrist downward to help the glide of his strokes. Mork is surprisingly pretty responsive, too—hips stuttering in their grind, returning every little noise and moan that leaves Pi’s throat with a noise and moan of his own.
Mork licks into Pi’s mouth and bites at his bottom lip, teeth catching against it as he pulls away—but never too far. He kisses everywhere he can reach—Pi’s nose, his eyebrow, his jaw and his ear. He ducks his head into the crook of Pi’s neck, a shiver running down his spine as Pi does the same, the tip of his nose running up the side of his neck and to his ear. Pi kisses Mork’s jaw and his neck, smiling into his skin right before nipping at it, and god, Mork won’t survive. He won’t last if this keeps up, but each time Pi’s hand falters in a stroke upward, Mork knows he’s not the only one.
“Babe,” Mork groans, pressing open mouthed kisses to Pi’s neck as he grinds into Pi’s hand, the slide smooth and easy. He’s warm all over, his skin tingling with love and pleasure, and it only seems to burst and burn brighter when Pi moans his name in response. Mork groans again, biting at Pi’s earlobe before kissing ear, right against the slopes of cartilage that shape it.
“Mork,” Pi sighs, high and needy, his skin on fire. He won’t last long if Mork keeps kissing his neck and his ear like that. Each press of Mork’s lips against his skin makes him whine, and each time their cocks drag against each others, the hot coil in his stomach flares hotter. Just the sound of Mork’s kiss against his ear is enough to make him feel like coming on the spot. “I-I’m so—soon, fuck, Mork, please—“
“Please,” Mork repeats, and kisses Pi’s ear again.
“I-I’m—Mork—“ Pi whines, thighs squeezing against Mork’s hips, and he only has time to stroke the both of them three more times before Mork licks his ear and kisses it again, and again, saying his name after each kiss, before he comes between them. His hand falters in its strokes, mouth hanging open in a broken moan of Mork’s name. Pi barely registers Mork burying his face into his neck, but he does feel Mork twitch against him and in his hand, and even through his own orgasm and explosion of sensations, he clings to every sound that escapes his boyfriend, hanging onto every sloppy stutter of his hips in hopes of committing it to memory.
Pi strokes them through it until it’s too much, too sensitive to do anymore. He tilts his head, nosing at the pulse of Mork’s neck as he uncurls his hand from the both of them gingerly, fighting back a quiet laugh when Mork’s hips roll forward. Pi doesn’t even mind the mess on his hand, nor does he mind the mess between them. Their mess soaks through his shirt, but even then he doesn’t mind.
He feels kind of like he does when they’re kissing, and after. Pi feels loved, and wanted, and cared for. There’s butterflies in his stomach still, some of them fluttering and some of them settling. They catch in his throat, looking for a way out, even as he inclines his head and presses gentle kisses against the curve where Mork’s neck meets his shoulder. The silence is comfortable, and it’s easy, and even when Mork disrupts it, it remains the same.
“Is this alright?” he asks softly, right against Pi’s skin. They’re still in each other’s space, hips aligned, barely any room between them. Mork knows they should clean up, and he’s thrilled at the aspect of giving Pi one of his shirts to wear, just as he is of the aspect of returning the shirt Pi wears now back to him after he’s washed it and kept it under his pillow just so Mork could return it when it smells just like him. “I’ll get up in a second, and get you a shirt,” he promises, and presses closer, uncaring of the mess smearing on their shirts between them. Under him, Pi shivers when their softening dicks brush, trapped now by Mork’s weight, and Mork can’t help it. He smiles into Pi’s skin, shifting so he’s able to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. “Right now, Pi, I just want to be close to you.”
Pi’s laugh is quiet and shy, but it’s also warm and fond. He shifts under Mork, dispelling every single thought floating around in his brain that doesn’t pertain to Mork. His legs are loose around Mork’s hips, and his clean hand slides forward and up until it’s pressed right between Mork’s shoulder blades.
“This is more than okay,” Pi tells him, and holds him tighter.