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It was too goddamn early.
He watched Mark’s muscles move under his shirt as he fiddled with a red spatula, following a twitch of tension where he knew Mark held his stress. He could usually tell when Mark was hyper-focused on a task and he most certainly wasn’t now, wrist moving in lazy circles to swirl what appeared to be a great deal of underseasoned eggs in an overheated pan. His own fingers clenched at the sturdy edge of Mark’s countertop, shoulders sagging, entirely bereft of words. If there was truly such a thing as comfortable silence, Ethan had yet to experience it. It seemed to come naturally to Mark, but he couldn’t quite shake the nervous tug in his stomach that told him really, you ought to just go. Why on earth would anyone want to be stared at when they’re scrambling eggs. Why haven’t you gone home, exactly?
All the same his knuckles paled as he remained still. Not going anywhere. Watching. His eyes fluttered down to the nape of Mark’s neck, his long hair pulled up in some approximation of a bun. A few baby hairs curled weakly downward where they’d escaped the confines of a sloppily placed elastic. Ethan’s eyes snapped back up as Mark turned to face him quite suddenly, pan in hand.
”Grab me a plate, would ya?” he jerked his head vaguely to the cabinet where he kept them as if Ethan didn’t know. He grinned back and shuffled towards it, nearly toppling a stack of plates as he fumbled for one at the top. Typical. Mark didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixated on the disappointing pile of rubbery yellow. So much silence in between. Did people just do this? Really? Words were bubbling up into Ethan’s mouth but he trapped them between his teeth. Not that Mark would mind if he rambled a little, he never did seem to mind when the cameras were off. Still, it most certainly never went unnoticed, every stupid little bit between them had some basis in reality. Mark’s eyebrows raised in question--right, then. He’d been staring blankly at him. Again.
The awkward moment passed and Mark was leaning against the counter, poking at his eggs disinterestedly with a fork and chewing quietly. Ethan opened his mouth and shut it again, moving his hands forward and giving them a gentle shake.
”So….video tomorrow?” he asked. Mark gave a drawn out nod with furrowed brows, palm reaching up to scrub over his eyes.
”Yeah. What did we decide on?” He took another bite and then laughed around it. “Horses, right? Becoming one with the horse?” Ethan nodded and tilted forward, no longer able to keep still. He bounced up on his heels and rubbed his hands, unsure of where to put his body but no longer focusing intently on whatever the hell it was doing. Mark was finally talking, eyes off his plate and firmly on Ethan. Occasionally it was intimidating, but at the moment it was a relief.
“Ride ‘em, cowboy!” Ethan said in a put on drawl, hooking his thumbs into the loops of his belt as if to hitch up his pants. “Oh, wait…jesus. You’re going to smush me. You’re huge.” Ethan groaned in mock horror, opening his eyes as wide as they could go.
”Ah, you’ll be fine,” Mark said, pointing his fork at Ethan. “You’ve got strong knees.”
Ethan wrinkled his nose and shook his head, scooting closer until he was leaning on the counter next to Mark. He could feel the heat of his arm millimeters from his own, their elbows parallel. The urge to tip his head to rest on Mark’s shoulder was nearly intolerable--slot his forehead into the crook of his neck, lips on his throat. A weak sound died in Ethan’s throat, but given that he was nearly always filling the room with some kind of noise Mark didn’t seem to even register it.
Mark bumped Ethan’s arm with his own, eyes too sharp, body too close.
”You hungry?” he asked, bumping Ethan’s arm again for good measure. How much time had passed between his question and the broken distance between them? It must have been a beat too long, Mark didn’t touch him without cause.
“Yeah.” Ethan responded, uncharacteristically quiet. He was ravenous.
✦
“For fuck’s sake! You cannot possibly be this stupid” Mark moaned, rubbing the sides of his face for dramatic effect. Ethan fought the urge to glance at the camera and settled instead on his own shoes before tipping his head back and letting his on-camera persona take the wheel.
”Maaaaaaaaaaark!” he whined, throttling his arms forward and giving the other man a well-practiced, pitiful look. There was a tinge of warmth in Mark eyes--well, maybe--behind the blank stare he gave whenever they played up the Ethan is such a goddamn numbskull bit while filming. It didn’t bother him, exactly, although there was something discomforting about his own (lack of?) intelligence being the punchline. That idea didn’t exactly come out of the ether, did it? Ethan simply didn’t allow himself to meditate on that too long. Existing eternally in Mark’s shadow was bad enough, but being his pet idiot was…well. It was fine.
Absolutely fine.
Mark’s eyebrows raised a hair and Ethan realized that once again he’d zoned out a little too long. Mark saved the moment by moving forward with the scene, leaning down to pick up the thesaurus laying on the floor where it had been thrown in frustration. Ethan wiggled his shoulders and leaned forward with his fingers grasping the couch cushion beneath him, peering down at the page Mark had flicked to. His index finger was tapping on besotted, and Ethan let his eyes cross slightly.
”Sotten. Sauter---sotting. It’s…” he dissolved into giggles, hiding his face in his hands. Mark let out a puff of air in disbelief. He could feel it against his cheek, they were that close, if he just…
Ethan pulled himself backwards again dramatically, unwilling to get lost in the moment yet again. “I know this one! It’s the…you know. The--” He broke out into giggles again, and Mark followed suit. His was a bellow, undulating, goofy. That laugh never quite suited him and yet that was exactly why it suited him so well.
The rest of the video was a blur, and he hoped to god a decent one, because he wasn’t thinking about synonyms anymore. All he could see was Mark’s finger tapping on the page, breath warm on Ethan’s cheek, hand clamped to his chest as it did whenever he was well and truly laughing.
Besotted. He knew what it meant. Infatuated, smitten, love-drunk. He knew exactly what it meant.
✦
Don’t touch me, he’d said. Don’t fucking touch me.
On multiple occasions Ethan had touched him despite his protests--rubbed those creepy little plastic hands against his shoulders, reached for his arm, suggested idiotic challenges just to climb Mark like a tree. Mark never seemed actually bothered by it when all was said and done, but that didn’t shake the truth. Mark hated to be touched, especially by Ethan. Those were the bits…Ethan’s tongue would twist, he’d run around like a beheaded chicken; Mark would show off for the camera and recoil at any form of physical affection.
But then…there was also Mark’s hand heavy on his back as he retched into a bucket as his eyes were flushed, gobs of pepper spray clinging to his cheeks. Those same hands hovered over him and landed on his shoulders when Ethan fell; fleeting. Haunting.
Ethan allowed himself the luxury of want. Why shouldn’t he? Nothing was to come of it and it was useless to try and suppress it. Lord knows he’d tried.
Perhaps it was folly to think that Mark closed that gap between them a little more easily these days, but he wasn’t going to admit to being that delusional. Mark was touching him unprompted, only sometimes, rare enough to feed doubt but often enough to spark hope. A quick and masculine pat on the back when Ethan succeeded at something mundane, grabbing at his hands to inspect them when he’d grabbed an oven-hot baking tray (idiot). And once, only once, a hug willingly given for seemingly no reason at all. Ethan had melted into it before he could hit the safety breaks, knees buckling, held up by Mark’s strong arms.
Neither man acknowledged that.
It hit him all at once in the fashion that most things did, as if his brain finally forced an update he’d clicked remind me later on a dozen times. Mark had put on a schlocky movie in the hopes that it would be bad enough to make them laugh. Ethan was surprised at the choice…sure, Mark enjoyed a goof as much as the next guy, but in his spare time he typically chose something more cerebral. Ethan had been subject to that often enough. Not his thing, but as always he was happy to follow Mark’s lead. They both flopped down on the couch, inexplicably side by side.
Only a maniac sat in the middle space of a couch, especially when the other side was entirely free. Apparently Mark was that sort of maniac. Why he’d decided to sit there was a complete mystery. It couldn’t be right--he looked stiff in place, yellow blanket draped over his lap, feet planted on the floor. Ethan leaned against the armrest with one elbow, legs tucked up beneath him, taking up a great deal more space than Mark despite his best efforts. Ethan tried desperately to focus on the TV but Mark was….there, and he was close. Sitting like an absolute fucking maniac in the middle of the couch. Ethan couldn’t help but test a little, adjusting himself, jutting one foot out a few inches until it grazed Mark’s thigh. Mark didn’t move, laughing at the idiocy onscreen. Perhaps he hadn't noticed. Ethan tried to relax, wiggling his toes a little under Mark’s thigh. His feet were always cold, and if Mark wasn’t going to make a fuss it seemed a waste not to steal a little body heat. That’s what he tried to tell himself, anyhow. Mark didn’t like to be touched. There’s no way he’d take kindly to Ethan’s toes squeezed under his leg. Still, Mark didn’t move, simply crossed his arms and adjusted his head to rest comfortably against the curve of the back of the couch.
Ten minutes later Mark moved his hand over the blanket to rest over Ethan’s ankle, his touch as light as a feather. Then he squeezed.
Ethan let out a held breath.
✦
He was laying on the floor again, listening to Mark’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard. Ethan listened carefully for pauses, curious what caused them. Sometimes he could swear he was merging with the carpet, ceiling sucking him into a vortex, grounded only by the occasional frustrated grumble above him. He closed his eyes and listened--for what, he didn’t know. Something. These days he was waiting. Waiting for coffee to brew, waiting for a text. Waiting for Spencer to whine for a walk, waiting for his computer to boot up. Waiting for the washing machine to be done. Waiting for a video to upload.
Waiting for Mark to speak. Waiting for Mark to laugh. Waiting for Mark to fumble with his keys under the jaundiced light from the roof of his car.
Just waiting.
Ethan could feel some disturbance in the air, that uncanny feeling like he was being watched. He peered one eye open to find Mark hovering over him, his hair hanging downwards. It was getting long.
“Hi?” Ethan said, feeling quite suddenly like he was being pinned to the floor by an invisible force.
”Hi,” Mark replied softly, not moving an inch except to smile. This was….different. Ethan wavered, stomach heavy. Then Mark was offering his hands, palms open. Ethan met them with his own and allowed himself to be pulled upwards, too bewildered to savor the warmth between their joined hands. He was supposed to let go, now. He tried to let go. Mark was supposed to let go.
He didn’t.
Ethan found he couldn’t meet Mark’s eyes, stomach turning at the prospect of what he might find there. Mark swept the top of Ethan’s hands with his thumbs, a whisper of a gesture, then slid them to his wrists. That…that was too much. Ethan’s legs turned to jelly. Mark didn’t laugh, only tightened his hold to steady him, grip firmly around his wrists now. Ethan finally found it within himself to meet Mark’s eyes.
Oh, he thought. Oh.
✦
Ethan squeezed the steering wheel tightly, flexing his fingers one by one. He wasn’t nervous, exactly, but quite suddenly it felt that if he didn’t hold on to something solid he’d crumble like old plaster. Beside him Mark was fiddling with the bluetooth on his phone, puzzled that it wouldn’t connect to Ethan’s stereo. It was strange going on a drive without a camera on them. Mark wasn’t one to go on leisurely outings, especially not in the company of others. Ethan couldn’t imagine what it was like to be perfectly content with one’s own company; more than a day or two alone would send him into a desperate tizzy. And yet here Mark was, grunting a pleased sound as he finally managed to get his phone to connect. Right there next to Ethan like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ethan jumped when Mark began to blast Mariah Carey without warning, practically shouting along with the lyrics. He had a beautiful singing voice when he wanted to, but he clearly didn’t want to now. Ethan joined in despite still feeling rather startled, hands relaxing on the wheel. He was unable to stifle a fit of giggles as Mark began gesticulating wildly to an invisible audience. He flicked on the brights as they turned onto a dark road, paying a little more attention to the darkness stretching on before them. There was something oddly intimate about slipping off the highway, night swallowing up his car. Stripped of the highway it was just he and Mark together, the music a little too loud for a dirt road. Mark turned the volume down a touch and Ethan slowed their pace, swallowing a strange feeling he couldn’t quite place. Mark was still singing when Ethan stole a glance, only to find that Mark was looking at him as well. What could he say? He sang a little louder, a little worse, pleased that Mark was falling apart into laughter. When he looked again Mark was scrolling to choose the next song, and Ethan gulped again, stomach lurching. Going nowhere, driving just to drive, Mark so close it made his skin itch. There they were, together, simply going nowhere at all.
✦
It was just a video. They’d already done three takes, so Ethan knew what to expect. He just couldn’t get it right. Mark’s annoyance no longer seemed canned, he was well and truly put out, tapping his thumbs on the table. Ethan croaked out what was meant to be a lighthearted joke, but it fell flat once again, and Mark’s hands lifted to rub at his temples.
"Come on, man. Seriously?” Mark said, exasperated.
"I don’t know!” Ethan nearly shouted, then cringed, startled by the sound of his own voice. Mark tipped back in his chair and sighed, waving at Evan to cut the camera.
“Let’s just take five. Alright?” Mark said as he stood up, walking straight out of the room and into the kitchen. Ethan’s eyes darted to the side and then to the tabletop, tears pricking at his eyes. Oh god, not this he thought, swiftly reaching up to rub at them. Why was he like this? It made Mark laugh, sure, but only to a point. He couldn’t escape the pressure to dole out his personality in bite sized pieces, and for good reason--it wasn’t just insecurity. People loathed it, loathed him, practically begged him to shut up.
But it was just a video. Just a joke. Just a bit--
Ethan broke out into tears, hiding his face against the table with his arms curled firmly around his head. He could hear a cough followed by soft footsteps out of the room, and for a moment Ethan was blessedly alone in the safety of his tented arms. If he could find the gumption he’d have scuttled off to the restroom to cry in peace, but he was too far gone. Too late. His chest swelled uncomfortably against the edge of the table as he breathed in slow, followed by a stuttered release of pressure as he let out a string of sobs. You fucking idiot. Again? What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you always do this?
Ethan rocked his head against the lacquered wood, fighting the urge to lift it up and smack it back down until his brain rattled. He couldn’t take it anymore. Mark was sick of him and soon he’d leave, unus annus would be deserted, he’d lose--everything, he’d lose--
Abruptly a hand was pressed to the middle of his back followed by the rumble of a familiarly deep voice. Ethan found he couldn't quite comprehend Mark’s words, though he sincerely tried to listen through the static sizzling against his eardrums. A pitiful snake of hope slithered up his stomach and into his throat, then lodged there, grief squeezing around it. A moment later Mark’s arms were around him, chest pressed to Ethan’s back, lifting him up. Ethan kept his eyes clenched tight as light assaulted his closed lids, ears buzzing. He couldn’t even hear Mark anymore. He gasped, unwilling to stand, choking out sounds that he could feel but not recognize. Mark hoisted his body around until they were facing one another and there was blessed darkness again, his nose crushed up against the other man’s sternum.
At some point Mark had moved him, because when he finally batted his sore eyes open he was sitting on the floor with Mark situated behind him. Ethan was plopped down between his legs, arms pinned by Mark’s, the weight of his head pressing down on his own. It took him a moment to realize that Mark was resting his chin atop Ethan’s head, swaying both their bodies side to side. Ethan didn’t dare speak but Mark seemed to notice the change right away anyhow, the sharp angle of his chin sliding off to find Ethan’s shoulder instead. He was too exhausted to feel embarrassed by his meltdown (yet), focusing instead on the impossible sensation of Mark so close, so warm, clutching at him. Somehow he still hadn’t let go.
"Hey,” Mark murmured, staying just as he was. Ethan shuddered, voice breaking as he tried to speak. Couldn’t shut up earlier, couldn’t talk now…he let out a pained sound, going limp in Mark’s arms.
"I’m sorry, man. I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I was being a total dick.”
Ethan sniffled and then nodded, pulling one arm out of Mark’s grasp to wipe his nose on his sleeve. “Yeah.” Ethan agreed halfheartedly, not wanting to admit to defeat. “A massive dick.”
Mark chuckled and let go of him, putting Ethan in the awkward position of crawling out from between his legs, both of which he imagined had fallen asleep. Ethan turned slowly, face sticky and red, the wrists of his sleeves now serving as tissues. Mark probably found that disgusting, but if so he didn’t show it. Ethan wiped at his face and nodded again, eyes burning.
"I’m serious,” Mark said, his expression twisting into something imploring, a look Ethan had never seen before. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry,” Mark said, gesturing emphatically.
Ethan knew better than to believe that, but he offered a small smile all the same. He was drunk on feeling, too worn out to disagree. Somehow, unbelievably, miraculously Mark leaned in for another hug. Ethan followed and simply let himself be held, ear resting against the thump of Mark’s heart.
✦
Assembling Ikea furniture wasn’t simply frustrating, it seemed designed specifically to torture Ethan. He lifted up an errant screw and blinked at the mess of wood in front of him. It didn’t go anywhere, it had to be an extra, but he’d counted them up twice and it was definitely missing somewhere. He gave Mark a comically pleading look, partially for the camera but earnest nonethess. Mark squatted down and immediately pointed to where it was meant to go…four steps back, already covered up by a crooked beam.
"We don’t actually need it, do we?” Ethan groaned.
Mark’s eyes bugged out as they did whenever Ethan said something ridiculous in regards to woodworking, which came up more frequently than he could have ever imagined pre unus annus. He noddled wildly and knelt down where Ethan was currently lamenting on the ground.
"C’mon bud, you can do it!” Mark said as if he were encouraging a toddler. Ethan simply moaned in despair, as dramatic as he could muster, and tilted his chin up to look at Mark.
They were both situated on the ground, now, Ethan prostrating himself with his arms forward and hands pressed into the concrete and Mark on one knee. He wasn’t exactly looming over Ethan but he may as well have been for the knot that squeezed in Ethan’s chest. Mark’s eyebrows lifted as they always did when Ethan began zoning out, but he wasn’t…it wasn’t…
He couldn’t seem to break eye contact and he knew it was getting weird. Mark didn’t either, his brown eyes soft. Seconds ticked by and Ethan parted his lips, hesitating, praying for a word to materialize. Mark’s raised eyebrows relaxed.
"Yeah?” he asked, dropping down to his other knee. Ethan gawked, sliding back to sit on his haunches.
"Yeah...” he replied, voice shaking, not entirely sure what he was assenting to.
And then Mark’s lips met his own, so feather-light it was barely a kiss. A squeak escaped Ethan and he followed where Mark pulled away, astounded to find that Mark’s cheeks were as flushed as his own must be. It wasn’t possible. Mark wasn’t…and he couldn’t….
Mark didn’t look nearly as confident as he had a moment before, but he hadn’t recoiled. He was still staring at Ethan as if he were waiting for something more, but Ethan couldn’t imagine what. Around them lay a graveyard of wooden pegs and crooked shelves, the slightly chemical smell of wood varnish wafting upwards. Ethan’s knees were aching badly now, scuffed by the concrete.
“Yeah.” Ethan said again, nodding his head slowly in disbelief.
Mark smiled wide, tipping forward to press their foreheads together. Thank god there was no one behind the tripod today.
Besotted, Ethan thought. Infatuated.
✦
“You good?” Mark asked, sliding his touch down the sides of Ethan’s throat as he sunk to his knees.
"Never better,” Ethan said, voice shaking enough to exasperate him. Mark appeared suspicious of his reply but didn’t stop him, only slid his fingers through Ethan’s hair until they landed at the back of his head. They rested there, pressureless. Mark’s boxer briefs left little to the imagination, the swell of his erection creating a somewhat daunting bulge. It wasn’t a formidable size, quite average, but that didn’t make it any less intimidating. Here he was, knees already aching mildly, staring up at Mark from an angle he’d never once imagined. Even his fantasies never led him here, but this was….good. Better than good. Better than--
Mark gave his hair a gentle tug, a barely-there movement. He’d been zoning out again.
"You sure?” Mark asked, voice a barely audible rumble. Ethan hummed in affirmative, aiming for confidence.
With shaking hands he slowly peeled the hem of his underwear down until Mark’s cock was free, twitching with interest. It was too surreal to take in, so he let his mind fall comfortably to pieces. It was all too much…far too much, but there was no place he’d rather be. It didn’t occur to him to use his hands to work him, the buzzing of his own brain urging him forward.. He wet his lips and parted them, taking in only the head of Mark’s cock at first, nervously testing at it with his tongue. Above him Mark gasped, hand stroking against the back of Ethan’s head to thwart grabbing at his hair.
He’d pulled that sound out of Mark. He’d done it.
Ethan puffed a breath out of his nose and took another inch, guessing at what would probably feel good. He most certainly wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never done this. Being on the receiving end had done diddly-squat to inform his technique. All he could think to do was slide his tongue forward slightly and suck, mindful of his teeth. Mark’s hips bucked forward with a mumbled “Oh, sorry. Fuck, sorry”. Ethan pulled away for a moment to cough but returned with fervor before Mark could fret. He wanted to do this. He’d never wanted anything more in his life.
There was no way in hell he was taking more than half of Mark’s cock in his mouth, at least not yet, but Mark didn’t seem to mind. To say the least.
Ethan hollowed out his cheeks experimentally and Mark rumbled out a moan from deep in his chest. Ethan let out a whine of his own, one hand reaching down to touch himself. There was no way. No way this was happening. It was--he was--
Time stuttered, his hands grasping desperately at Mark’s thighs. He couldn’t manage to focus on his own hardon and Mark at the same time for more than a few moments. Time jolted again. And again. Ethan squeaked as Mark bucked his hips again, more forcefully this time. Ethan choked but held his resolve, watery eyes fixated on Mark’s face. His eyes had closed, an aborted “sorry” on his lips as he tried to pull back. Ethan followed the movement so Mark’s cock stayed exactly where it was, determined to take as much of him as he could. Admittedly it wasn’t much, but he tried all the same, blinking away the blurr of reflexive tears. Bobbing his head felt almost too obscene so he instead focused on rolling his tongue, relishing in the broken noises coming from Mark every time he flicked it around the tip. He was pretty sure he was doing a shit job of this, but then…who wouldn’t take mediocre head over none at all? His jaw relaxed and he slipped into the rhythm of Mark’s thrusts, gentle as they were.
Mark’s mouth opened as if to speak but only a broken noise escaped, his come warm in Ethan’s mouth. It was salty and bitter, unpleasant, only…It was Mark’s. Ethan swallowed it down before releasing Mark’s cock from his mouth, a wave of embarrassment rushing down his spine. Mark’s hands were on him, then, hoisting him upwards against his chest. Ethan followed limply, burrowing his face in the crook of Mark’s neck. Arms were around him tightly in an instant, so hard he couldn’t take in a full breath. God, he didn’t want to. Breathing seemed arbitrary.
Somehow he was now laying on his side in Mark’s bed, cheek smushed against a pillow. It smelled like him, it…
Ethan’s eyes pricked up with tears again when he felt Mark’s hand reach cautiously around his cock, bringing his aching erection back to life. It was too much and not nearly enough. Ethan closed his eyes tight and gripped on to Mark’s shoulders for dear life, but after a moment Mark’s hand stilled.
"Ethan,” he said, not in question. Ethan reluctantly opened his eyes to lock with Mark’s sheepishly. Mark brought his other hand to rest on Ethan’s hip, slowly stroking him off again.
"Ethan,” he said again, as if just to say it--no command, no question, no request.
“Please…” Ethan squealed, thrusting against Mark’s hand. His hand was unpracticed, the angle of stroking off someone else foreign to him. Ethan’s vision was tunneling out even so because it was Mark--it was Mark.
"That’s it…come on. It’s alright,” Mark whispered, lips grazing Ethan’s ear.
He clung to Mark’s shoulders as he came, shuddering with his forehead pressed to his chest.
✦
Sitting on Mark’s countertop wasn’t exactly as comfortable as he’d imagined it to be, but it was preferable to adjusting himself awkwardly whenever he stood and waited. Normal people--people like Mark--could just…stand, but he could not. His hands would twitch for purchase, shifting weight from one foot to the other, arms fighting not to wiggle. Right now he could move as he liked, feet swinging over the edge and his hands sandwiched comfortably between his thighs. Mark was fighting with the stove again, but at least this time the eggs didn’t look like they’d lost the battle. Ethan cocked his head to the side to admire Mark’s form, his hair shorter now, waistline obscured by the fuzzy hoodie he was currently wearing.
”Grab me a couple plates?” he asked, back still turned. Ethan scoffed lightly and angled his body to open the cabinet, a feat that was absolutely not worth the struggle. Giving in and hopping off the counter felt too great an effort, so he reached further, letting out a squawk as he slapped a couple of plates without any hope of actually grabbing any. Mark chuckled and walked over to grab them himself, stopping momentarily to grasp Ethan’s wrist loosely and move it away from the cupboard. That’s all it ever took for his face to burn red.
Mark’s eyes wandered from Ethan’s throat to his lips, tightening his grip ever so slightly. Ethan leaned forward until his forehead found Mark’s shoulder, and Mark returned the gesture by pressing closer between Ethan’s knees. Ethan sighed, relaxing into him, cheek rubbing against the fuzzy hoodie against it. It wasn’t as soft as it looked, somewhat pilled from too many stints in the dryer, but it smelled of Mark and that was good enough for him.
”Hungry?” Mark asked, fingers stroking up the nape of Ethan’s neck. Ethan nodded, reaching out to wrap around as much of Mark as he could manage.
Ravenous.