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English
Series:
Part 1 of impact division
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Published:
2024-08-19
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2,511
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1/1
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24
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crash sites

Summary:

Renjun's crazy. Chenle doesn't like men. If he did, though, he'd probably like Mark.

Notes:

title from science vs. romance by rilo kiley

special dedication to mark and chenle themselves who decided to do a cute little weverse live after I started writing this :)

leave kudos/comment/bookmark if you enjoyed !

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Mark's apartment is cozy. Lived in. He's got a bomb couch and one of those nice record players (with a massive collection) and a queen-sized bed. It's one of Chenle's favorite places sober, but it's his absolute favorite place high. 

Why else would he let Mark bum weed off him? Chenle gives him the best strains, the ones that make him all hazy and floaty, in exchange for his apartment. It's certainly not because Mark's handsome. It's not because Mark's got killer cheekbones, or dick-sucking lips, or a contagious laugh, or whatever Renjun's started implying whenever Chenle tells him he's headed to Mark's. 

Renjun's crazy. Chenle doesn't like men. If he did, though, he'd probably like Mark.

Mark's pretty, in a boyish way. He's especially pretty after a few hits, when his eyes glaze over and the tension finally melts from his body and he lets himself relax. He always goes boneless into the couch and tucks himself into Chenle's side and laughs too hard at his jokes. He wraps his ankle around Chenle's and rests his chin on Chenle's shoulder and sneaks a hand around Chenle's middle. It's hard to unstick him when it comes time to leave, especially when Mark breaks out the puppy dog eyes, so most nights Chenle ends up heading out before Mark gets all goopy and touchy.

Tonight, though, Chenle'd lost track of time. Before he knew it, Mark had glued himself to Chenle's side and effectively cut off his escape route. Every time Chenle moves, Mark whines in the back of his throat and holds on a little tighter. It really shouldn't be endearing. If it was anyone else, it wouldn't be, but it's Mark, so it is. If Donghyuck tried this shit he'd be six feet under.

“Mark,” he says, forgoing the hyung. “I need to go home. It's late.”

“Babyyy,” Mark whines, dragging it out a little. “You've been smoking. It's not safe. Just stay the night.”

“I'll call an Uber or something, seriously. Let me up.”

“Just stay, Chenle,” Mark pleads. Chenle resolutely avoids eye contact because he knows he'll fold the second Mark looks at him for a little too long. “C'mon. I miss you. It won't kill you, right?”

Fuck, it might. But who is Chenle to say no to Mark Lee? 

He sighs, put-upon, but the decision's already made. It was made the second Mark asked, if he's honest. “I guess I'll stay. Because you miss me.”

Mark cheers and squeezes him tighter, tight enough that Chenle loses his breath. “You should stay forever then,” he says, earnest in the way weed always makes him. “‘Cause I always miss you.”

Chenle huffs out a laugh. Mark doesn't mean it, not really. It's a nice thought, but one he can't entertain for too long without treading into dangerous waters. He reaches up to pat the top of Mark's head, strokes his hair. “You sound sleepy, Mark. Let's go to bed.”

“I can stay on the couch, baby,” Mark offers, his nose still in Chenle's neck. Chenle shivers every time he exhales. “Since you're the guest. It's comfy. I don't mind.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Mark. You have a queen. We can share.”

“Are you sure? It won't make you uncomfortable?”

“Mark,” Chenle says with a laugh. “If I was uncomfortable with skinship, do you think I'd let you lay all over me like this?”

He looks down just in time to catch the flush at the nape of Mark's neck, pink and splotchy. Mark coughs. “I guess that's true. But you're really okay with it?”

“Yes, Mark,” Chenle replies, ruffling the hair atop his head. “I'm okay with it.”

Mark yawns and extricates himself from Chenle's side as slowly as possible. His legs go first, then his arms, then his head. Chenle watches in amusement as Mark wobbles when he stands. Mark reaches his hands out to help Chenle up and Chenle takes them, laces their fingers together to make Mark giggle. It works. 

Mark leads them to the bathroom hand in hand and they brush their teeth side by side after Mark pulls out a spare from the cabinet. From there, it’s easy to let Mark drag him to his bed. Mark tucks him in with another giggle and settles in next to him. It only takes a few minutes for Mark’s breathing to even out beside him. Chenle's quick to wiggle out from under the covers and lay on top of them.

If weed makes Mark touchy and giggly, it makes Chenle horny. That’s the main reason he rarely stays the night when Mark asks; every time he smokes he ends up fucking his fist until he spills all over it. Images of Mark always dance behind his eyes as his orgasm hits him, but it’s easy to blame it on the weed. It’s just because he always smokes with Mark, so he’s at the forefront of Chenle’s mind, is all.

Normally Chenle would excuse himself to the bathroom so he can jack off. He’s not an animal. But the weed’s lowered his defenses, made him care a little less. Mark sleeps like the dead anyways — he has one of those industrial bed-shaking alarms so he doesn’t sleep through his classes — and usually passes out the second his head hits the pillow.

Chenle curls himself away from Mark, as close to the edge of the bed as possible, and lets drool drip from his mouth to his hand so the slide’s not entirely dry. He’s been half hard all night, and he’s just grateful that Mark’s obliviousness worsens when he’s high. Mark had been glued to his side all night and been none the wiser to Chenle's predicament.

He slips his fingers beneath his waistband and wraps them around his length. He uses his other hand to shove his underwear down past his balls. The first jerk of his fist has him hissing between his teeth, painful in a good way. His fingers are dry and calloused, and when he thumbs his slit he tosses his head back into the pillow.

God, it feels good. There's nothing like jerking off when high. He closes his eyes and fucks up into the circle of his fingers again, takes his bottom lip between his teeth. It's easy to imagine someone else's hand on his dick. Some random girl, someone he met at a party. She corners him on the dance floor and grinds all up on him and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. Drags him to the bathroom and smiles up at him all coy before spitting in her hand and sneaking it past his waistband.

Except. Her hands aren't as big as his. The fantasy doesn't quite fit; the edges aren't right. Someone else, then, maybe. 

Mark, maybe. Mark's hands are a similar size to his. Mark takes better care of his, though. Moisturizes and trims his nails. He's got calluses from playing guitar, but the drag would probably feel good on Chenle's dick. 

It's easier now to imagine Mark cornering him at a party. Mark grinding on him, smile wide and bright on his face. Mark licking into his mouth, fumbling with Chenle's hands to press him up against the wall. Mark fluttering his eyelashes as he undoes the button on Chenle's jeans and drops to his knees and takes Chenle into his pretty pink mouth. Chenle's seen Mark's conquests walk out the other end looking like their lives have changed. He's got no doubt he'd be the same. 

God. Mark's weight on top of him, pinning him down. Mark exhaling hot and loud into his neck as he rubs their dicks together. Mark mewling as Chenle opens him up with his fingers. Mark on his back, on his hands and knees, with his legs by his ears. Mark in every position Chenle can imagine and every position he can't. He would do Mark on every surface in his apartment: the couch, the kitchen, the shower, the bed. Mark would never want for orgasms again. Chenle would ruin him for anyone else. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, fisting his dick faster. He's not quite there, but he's well on his way. Every thrust into his fingers sends a tingle of pleasure up his spine. “Mark.”

There's movement on the other side of the bed. Chenle freezes as Mark rolls over with a sleepy “yeah?”

Time comes to a stop as Mark's eyes open and take in the scene in front of him. It would be comical if it weren't so embarrassing: his eyes go wide as saucers, his jaw drops. Mark is quick to sit up. His gaze keeps flickering between Chenle's face and his dick, and there's something unreadable behind his eyes. “Yo… Dude…” Mark trails off.

Chenle coughs and does his best to shield his dick from view with his hand. He's bright red, his face hot, and he needs the Earth to open up beneath him and swallow him whole to release him from this misery. “Let me… I'm gonna go to the bathroom to take care of this.” 

He starts to roll off the bed, averting his gaze, but Mark's fingers catch on his wrist before he can escape and tug him closer. Chenle's heart skips in his chest at the contact, but he doesn't dare look back up, too afraid of whatever look Mark's surely giving him.

“You don't have to,” Mark says, low and soft. His fingers trail up Chenle's arm to the inside of his elbow and splay around it. Chenle can't quite catch his breath. 

“It's not…” Chenle starts. “It's not going to go away by itself, Mark.”

“I know,” Mark replies, still so quiet, like he's telling Chenle a secret. Chenle chances a glance up at him to find Mark already staring at him. “Let me help.”

“Help?” Chenle asks. He swallows around a lump in his throat. His mouth is dry as a desert. His tongue darts out to wet his lips nervously and Mark tracks the movement with his eyes.

Mark shifts closer to him on the bed, his hand still on Chenle's arm. He's so close now that his breath ghosts Chenle's neck. Chenle can see every individual pore, every mole where someone loved Mark in a past life. Privately, secretly, he hopes Mark will be even more loved in his next one. Selfishly, he hopes he'll be the one to do it. 

“Chenle, baby,” Mark says, and something in his voice is devastating. “Let me help.”

Chenle swallows again. Who is he to deny Mark Lee? “Okay, hyung,” he whispers, and Mark rolls over on top of him and hovers his face over his own.

Chenle was right. Mark's weight on top of him feels good. It feels better than anything he's ever done with a girl, and Mark hasn't even done anything yet. Chenle goes nearly cross-eyed looking at Mark's face above him. His heart is beating so fast he feels like he might die.

An eternity passes before Chenle bridges the gap between them to press a kiss to Mark's mouth. Mark doesn't hesitate for a second; he opens his mouth easily, lets Chenle lick inside with a fervor and ferocity he's never felt before. Mark's mouth is hot and wet, and when Chenle sucks on his tongue Mark moans. It doesn't sound anything like a girl's. It sounds like a man's, like Mark's, and it has an electric current buzzing beneath Chenle's skin.

Mark wraps his fingers around Chenle's dick, encircling the tip. The calluses provide extra friction, have Chenle's toes clenching and cramping in pleasure at the sensation. The first flick of Mark's wrist, as hard as he can while their bodies are pressed together, has Chenle's jaw dropping in an open-mouthed moan. Mark presses a kiss to Chenle's skin and continues down his throat in a line until he gets to Chenle's sternum. 

“Feels good, hyung,” he manages, grunting when Mark twists his fingers in a particularly skilled way. He can feel himself leaking precome all over Mark's hand, panting hot and heavy into Mark's hair. 

“Yeah, baby?” Mark asks, muffled by his chest. Mark's other hand snakes its way under Chenle's shirt to grasp at his waist. 

“Yeah,” Chenle echoes. He doesn't want it to end, but he's not sure how much longer he'll last; Mark's hands, Mark's mouth, Mark's weight, they're all so overwhelming. It's better than anything Chenle’s ever imagined. But he doesn't just want to chase his own high. He wants to see Mark chase his too. Wants to see Mark in the throes of orgasm, wants to watch his face draw up and his fingers tremble. “Hyung, pull yours out too. Jack us off together. Please.”

Mark's eyes flick up to meet his, dark and searching. His pupils are blown wide, from the lingering high and from arousal, and his mouth is spit-slick and red. “Yeah?”

“Please,” Chenle repeats, reaching for Mark's waistband and tugging his shorts down. “Wanna see you come too.”

Mark groans and presses his face into Chenle's neck, where he can probably feel each pound, each thump of Chenle's drumbeat heart. Chenle's fingers find purchase on Mark's dick and yank it out. Mark wraps his hand around both and moans at first contact. Mark's fist is so tight and the feel of Mark's dick against his own is unreal. Chenle bucks his hips at the sensation, his eyes fluttering, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Mark's back.

“Fuck,” he moans as Mark moves his hand again. Pleasure liquefies in his veins and he's helpless to do anything but sit there and moan and squeeze Mark in closer. It feels so good, and Mark's so handsome, and his mouth is so wet. “I don't… hyung, kiss me again. Please,” he begs, and Mark tilts his chin up so their mouths can meet again.

This is how he comes: Mark's tongue in his mouth, Mark's hand on his waist, Mark's cock against his own. He shoots all over their joined dicks, all over Mark's hand and shirt and bedspread, and can't find it in himself to regret it, not when he rides out the aftershocks for thirty seconds afterwards. Mark's hips stutter as he fucks into his fist and then he's coming too, spilling onto Chenle's dick. He says Chenle's name as he comes. It's the sweetest sound Chenle's ever heard.

They don't talk about it. Mark rolls off of him and they go to the bathroom separately to clean up. They don't talk about it when they wake up in the morning or when Chenle leaves to go back to his place or when Mark texts him later to ask if he got home okay.

They don't talk about it. 

But the next time Chenle comes over, weed in hand, Mark asks him to stay over. “You've been smoking,” he says. “It's not safe. Stay the night again, baby.” 

“Okay, hyung,” Chenle says, and it's both the easiest and hardest thing in the world. “How could I ever say no to you?”

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