Chapter Twenty-One

Without a full party in it, Mark's apartment is almost as clean as my apartment. Almost. There is a death trap of shoes just inside the front door. Mark stoops down, muttering under his breath as he brings the mess to order.

"Going off what you said, I expected this place to be spotless," I tease.

"It would be. If I lived alone. You don't know how happy I was when I stepped into your place and it was clean. And the fridge—all the dinners prepped and arranged so orderly? I almost proposed on the spot," Mark says with a grin.

While I'm going red, he toes off his shoes and enters the flat. "I'll get the takeaway menus—Eddie has stacks of them."

I won't tell Mark that the reason my place is so clean is pure necessity. I tripped on a hoodie I carelessly tossed on the ground during the early days of recovery and vowed it wouldn't happen again.

I watch Mark's disappearing back, then slowly drop my gaze to my feet. I place my hand on the wall for balance and step on the heels of my slip-on sneakers to take them both off. I slide them next to Mark's and follow him down the hall.

He's halfway across the kitchen with a stack of papers under his elbow. His dark eyes land on my feet and he misses a step. "You didn't have to—" he pauses, gaze darting up to my face. "You're comfortable without the shoes?"

I nod.

"This way." Mark snags my hand and leads me down the hall to his bedroom.

I pause in the doorway, taking my time to look around. There's a large king-sized bed pushed into the corner of the room, a flat-screen TV on the wall past the end of it. A simple bedside table, a standard dresser, and then three desks dominate the rest of the floor space. One of them is angled, with sketches of house plans propped up, one has a computer desktop, and the other is empty. There aren't any pictures on the walls, but I'd expected that from Mark—I imagine the clean space appeals to him more than a framed photo would.

"When I can finally persuade Eddie to stop throwing parties, I'll get those desks into the living room." Mark retakes my hand and guides me to the bed. We sit together, going through the options and agree on pizza.

As Mark makes the call, I lean against him, ruminating on the day's activities. He wraps the arm I nudge around my back and pulls me close to him.

As he hangs up, I nudge him again. "Will you go out with me? In a dating way?" I felt too ambiguous, earlier, promising to try to do better without even knowing what was going on between us. I know how I feel, but there isn't anything said definitely between us. Mark has been clear that this isn't a hookup for him, and for me, it is neither a hookup or something I'm willing to let slip through my fingers. I feel like after two years of watching Mark, only now was I getting to know what I've been seeing all this time. Mark is a lot more than a handsome face with a cocky attitude.

The hand around my shoulder slips up and Mark cups my cheek as he leans in to press a kiss to the opposite side. "Yes," he says, no fuss or drama, a thrilled note in the word. He kisses my temple, too. "Even if I have to fight Christopher to do it."

"You don't need to fight him," I object. "I talked to him. He promised to be…actually, now that I think about it he didn't promise anything."

Mark chuckles. "I bet he didn't."

"Don't do what you did with Tommy. Chris will win."

"Not with you taking my side," Mark replies, that same confident note that I've been familiar with for years in his voice. "Want to watch something? Play something?"

I let myself be distracted from Mark's statement and glance at his TV and game station. It's been a while since I've hung out with anyone and played games. We boot up a battle royale game. Out of practice, I die as Mark endures to carry our team. We're lying against heaped pillows, and I roll over so that my head rests on Mark's abs.

Mark frees a hand from the controller to caress my hair, then returns his focus to the TV. I zone out, watching the screen, flicking my fingers idly over Mark's tummy. He shivers as I touch his navel. I zone back in, tugging at his shirt until I expose his lower abdomen. Mark releases a hard exhale as I trace my finger along the defined v-cut of his muscles, and he fidgets under me. A lump is forming in his trousers.

Transfixed, I reach down, unbuttoning and unzipping slowly before I reach inside his boxers to caress his velvety cock. An aroused note hums in my throat. Mark's hand runs along my side in a warm caress, and I notice defeated appear across the screen.

"You died," I murmur.

"Someone put their hand down my trousers," Mark explains, his voice low. Within the confines of his clothes, I don't have much room to manoeuvre, so I stroke Mark's cock in a slow drag. The hand on my side stops its caress and tightens, fingers digging into me. He hums and now there's no room for anything inside his pants.

"It's amazing you can fit into clothes with this," I say, relishing how big he is against my palm.

Mark releases a choked groan. His hips sway up, seeking contact. I can hear his heart beating quicker with my ear to his chest.

"Are you sure nobody is coming home?" I ask.

"Positive," he says, breathless. "And we'd hear them coming in if they did."

Satisfied with that answer, I guide Mark's cock out of his trousers. I have room to stroke him smoothly now, though I still take my time. I squeeze the beading juices from his tip and Mark groans. My eyes are half-lidded as I stare at the glisten of beaded pre-come on his swollen head. I lick my lips. I shuffle down and grasp Mark's cock to hold it in place as I wrap my lips around his tip, and glide my mouth down his head, carefully guiding back his foreskin, and then suck gently on the way back.

Mark stops breathing.

His skin is surprisingly soft. My lips glide over him easily, the surface slick with pre-come and saliva. Mark's fingers slip into my hair, kneading and massaging as I concentrate. I can't get all of him into my mouth—not a hope—but I do my best with what I can reach. Mark moans so I can't be doing too bad a job.

I squirm, my trousers uncomfortably tight, and I slide my hand down to cup Mark's balls. They're weighty, soft, and warm as I toy with them, squeezing gently and fondling him.

"Kyle," Mark groans.

I think he's doing his best not to thrust his hips. They keep rolling up toward me, only to stop mid-movement. He does that several times, then tugs at my hair.

"I'm gonna come," Mark warns me.

His cock twitches. I glide my hand over his shaft, pumping his length as I detach and slide my lips off his cock with a hard suck. Mark shudders. His back arches off the mattress as he releases a loud groan, and his cock twitches erratically in my hand.

I close my eyes, a note of surprise leaving my throat as hot release lands on my cheek. I'm a mess as I squeeze the final drop out of Mark.

"Stay still," Mark says, his voice thick. He reaches into one of the drawers on the bedside table and then sits up to clean me with tissue.

"How was that?" I ask, my mind cooling. I try not to sound too pleased, but I am. Proud that even though I lack experience, I was able to make him come. I've watched videos of blowjobs in the past, and I understand now why the one giving seems to be enjoying himself so much, even though he's not the one being touched.

Mark grumbles, moving me so that he can press kisses against my now-cleaned temple. "Really good," he says gruffly. "I got some in your hair, though."

I hum. "It's okay."

The sound of the doorbell ringing echoes through the apartment.

Mark sighs. "Pizza."

I sit up, freeing Mark to stand. "Two seconds," he says. He fixes his clothes as he strides to the door. I gather up all the tissues and deposit them into a dustbin under one of the desks and get more tissue to try to dry my hair. I'm doing that when Mark returns. He has a damp washcloth, and he carefully pats down my hair with it. It's wet, but hopefully, it will dry clean.

Mark's cheeks have colour in them as he cleans me. "We should eat while the pizza is hot."

I follow him into the kitchen, half-dazed, and sit with him at the dining table. Apparently, the blowjob worked up our appetites because we make short work of the extra-large pizza.

We're eating the final slices when the front door opens. I glance up, catching Mark's surprised expression. I'm uneasy as footsteps track down the hall, shoulders creeping up in tension until I see Sebastian's slight form as he steps out of the hall. Sebastian's eyes jump to us, not a hint of surprise as he spots me at the table, and then lowers to the pizza.

"Did you save me some?" Sebastian asks, approaching. His expression shows displeasure when he sees the empty box and the last two slices in my and Mark's hands. I would offer him mine, but it's half-eaten. Sebastian doesn't strike me as the type to happily consume a half-eaten slice of pizza.

"You're back early?" Mark says, the upraised note at the end making the statement into a question.

"A group sat opposite me and wouldn't shut up," Sebastian says. He shrugs his bag off, depositing it onto one of the kitchen seats and then sits with us. He levels an unimpressed look on Mark.

Mark raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I'm hungry."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Eat something."

"I want pizza."

"So order yourself a pizza."

Sebastian glares at Mark. Just as I think he's about to throw something, he springs up instead and stalks out of the room. I gaze anxiously between the two of them, and Mark notices my expression. He grins. "Don't worry. He's only sulking because he wanted to eat with us."

"You two are close."

"We've known each other since we were small," Mark says. "I told you about him before. The neighbour with all the cats. Our dads are brothers, and they moved next to us when Sebastian was born."

Once we're done eating, Mark drives me home. I insist on catching the bus; Mark's insistence on driving me is much more persistent. He wins because he won't take no for an answer. Outside my front door, he catches my sides and turns me to face him. He presses a quick kiss to my mouth but retreats when I lean in for more.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks.

"Tomorrow."