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Mark Lee does not do “halfway.”
It’s not exactly that Mark will object to fucking in random places or at random times—no, he’s a perfectly predictable twenty-three-year-old boy and an annoying orgasm is still always better than no orgasm. But he sighs, sometimes, with his non-smoker’s smoker exhale, when Donghyuck is fumbling for a travel-size bottle of K-Y lube in the dark of his dorm bedroom while his roommate, Renjun, snores across the room from them.
He clenches his fists on the steering wheel of his Jeep when they have to roll the driver’s seat all the way back and still barely fit as they grind into each other’s laps. Mark almost cries, honest-to-God tears pricking his eyes, when he’s just—just—about to come from the most amazing-sloppy-boyfriend head ever and then Jaemin bangs on the door of the apartment bathroom begging to pee.
Donghyuck catches Mark’s sighs with his lips, kisses the fists from his knuckles and tears from his eyes. Donghyuck says, “Hey, it’s okay.”
And mostly, it is. Or at the very least, it’s familiar, quickies in college shower stalls, masturbating together over FaceTime even though Mark hates everything to do with sex and his phone and Donghyuck’s own camera is a little cracked, making everything that should be hot just, blurry. Donghyuck is in his last year at Julliard now, and fuck, yeah, they’ve been doing this—loving each other—for four years. But also ugh, yeah, they’ve been doing this—long distance—for four years. If Donghyuck could rewind and do it again, he’d tell his younger self: go to the same fucking college as your hot older boyfriend. Foresight is everything.
It’s unprecedented, because ever since he met Mark, before he even liked Mark, the one thing everybody knew about Mark Lee is that he is all, or nothing. Pulling all-nighters to study for his perfect grades but sleeping like a brick in French class. Being friendly with everyone at school but belonging to the most cliquey tight-knit friend group ever. Mark is just like that.
Donghyuck had even been overwhelmed, at first, by the impossibly wide scope of Mark’s love, the near-embarrassing intensity of it. All directed at him. All for him. But he likes Mark the way he is, and he’s thankful to have landed a boyfriend who is willing—mostly willing—to put up with the annoyance that is trying to fit sex into a long distance relationship.
No, Mark Lee does not like “halfway” one bit—this is something Donghyuck knows like his own birthday.
But Donghyuck sometimes thinks it’s worth it, Mark’s little hang-up with everything being done to its fullest potential. He’ll never admit it to Mark, but perhaps it’s true that absence makes the heart fonder. It most certainly makes his dick harder.
It feels worth it on mornings like this. Early Sundays at Mark’s parent’s house on the last day of the year, tangled together in the sheets of Mark’s childhood bed. Warm yellow light is just beginning to filter through the open window, turning the exposed parts of their bare chests gold. Mark’s parents are gone for an end-of-year cruise, and the house is peaceful and still. In the distance, Donghyuck can hear the steady rushing of the near-frozen stream. In the immediate—Mark’s unwavering heart beat, strong against Donghyuck’s left ear.
It’s almost perfect—the kind of morning that makes Donghyuck want to pad over to the window so he can record the sunrise for his mom. The kind of morning that makes him want to stay in bed forever, just like this, cheek to Mark’s sternum, long arms wrapped loosely around Donghyuck’s torso.
Almost perfect, because Donghyuck's dick is twitching curiously in his plaid boxers because of its proximity to Mark’s warm, soft thigh. He fidgets a little, sliding off of Mark so that he can press his face, and semi-boner, into the wrinkled sheets and forget about it enough to go back to sleep.
Except the sheets are kind of warm, too, from laying in them all night, and the friction of the cotton against his boxers doesn’t not feel nice.
Heat pools low in Donghyuck’s belly. “Ahh,” he murmurs into the pillow. “For fuck’s sake.”
He can feel more than hear when Mark wakes up, suspiciously fast so that Donghyuck knows he’s been awake longer than he’ll let on.
Sunday mornings are this, the brown of Mark’s eyes barely visible as he stretches and yawns, Donghyuck’s morning wood problem forgotten in light of the uneven thump-stop-thump of his heart.
“Bear?” What Mark sounds like first thing in the morning is the mystery of Donghyuck’s existence. Not husky and low like Donghyuck’s, colored with the round vowels of his persisting Korean accent. But soft, warm, mellow—a tender version of Mark Lee that was only around at 7am, that was only for him. Only for Donghyuck.
It’s this: Mark gaining enough consciousness to look at him through long, inky lashes with bedroom eyes. Mark’s hand trailing across the small of Donghyuck’s back. Four years of dating, all the familiar sexual tension that comes with so rarely waking up in the same bed. And still, still, Mark calling him decidedly by that stupid nickname.
It should annoy Donghyuck, it should, but instead the long syllable, the way Mark pushes it through his teeth like a hiss and caress at once, sends a welcome shiver down his spine.
“Mm. Yeah?”
“Turn over.”
Donghyuck does, making no effort to be coy about the bulge in his boxers. Mark wastes no time in tugging them off his hips by the waistband. Donghyuck huffs, once, when the light breeze from the window grazes over his half-hard dick. But other than that they’re quiet, as if in silent agreement that the serene noises of a winter morning should not be interrupted.
Quiet as Mark shimmies down the bed until his face is level with Donghyuck’s thighs.
Quiet as he wraps a hand around Donghyuck’s base and squeezes, lightly.
Quiet when Mark props himself up on his elbows, and they both watch as Donghyuck fills out to full hardness in his hand.
“That was fast,” Mark comments, finally. “Dreaming about me?”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You wish.” But he was. He always is.
Mark slots his thumb over Donghyuck’s tip, grinning as Donghyuck’s hips buck. “Sure.”
He expects Mark to pump him slowly, maybe stroke over his balls or trace at his thighs— Sunday mornings are for take-your-time sex. But Mark is merciless, fisting his dick until beady pearls of precum appear at the tip, rotating his wrist just so. And Donghyuck’s already close, too close, and just a bit too sleepy to fight off the orgasm that’s creeping up his body.
“Ungh, no, hyung—”
Because Sundays are for sex, yeah, but this is also their last Sunday of the short winter break before Donghyuck has to go back and participate in “theatre-kid shit,” as Mark says fondly. He doesn’t want to bust in five minutes like a teenager. It’s embarrassing, for one. But also it’s not at all the memory he wants to go back to New York with.
Mark interrupts, still tugging at Donghyuck’s dick in his hand like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I want you to, though.”
“Mark,” Donghyuck tries again, but the pleading is weak even to his own ears. He doesn’t want Mark to stop, not really.
“Come on, Bear,” Mark says. And it’s that, the stupid nickname and Mark’s melodic, sexy morning voice that does it.
A swoop in his lower belly, and then Donghyuck’s coming, gasping in harsh breaths as streams of white paint across his own chest and over Mark’s fist.
Mark smiles, lazy, using one of the sheets to wipe the mess off of Donghyuck’s abs before he can protest. Then he wipes his dirty hand against the bed, too.
“Really?” Donghyuck pants.
Mark shrugs, not paying much attention to him. Or, Donghyuck should say, not paying much attention to his face. Because Mark’s leaning down again, this time slotting himself between Donghyuck’s weak legs and shoving Donghyuck’s underwear the rest of the way off.
And then, suddenly, he gets it. Mark makes him come quickly, so he can take his time .
Mark mouths at Donghyuck’s dick, back to half-hard again and bright red from his orgasm. Donghyuck’s whole body jerks away from the feeling, tingling with the over sensitivity. “Fuck. You can’t give me a minute, at least?”
“It’s been more than a minute,” Mark says sweetly, ducking his head again.
He’s kinder, this time, trailing open-mouthed kisses all over Donghyuck’s thighs, nipping at the soft skin below his belly button.
Donghyuck scoots up on the bed a little so he can look at him, and the sight that greets him has his stomach already tightening, like he could come again just from looking at Mark. And maybe he could. His boyfriend is a dream thing, straight out of Donghyuck’s every humiliating 3am fantasy and mid-class daydreams that leave him with uncomfortable semis during lectures.
And Mark’s looking at Donghyuck’s dick like it’s some perfect thing, straight out of a porno—it’s not; Donghyuck’s comfortable with his slightly smaller-than-average dick. It’s not long, but it’s thick and curved and Donghyuck knows what to do with it. He’s okay with his body, too. Constellation freckles and sepia-tan, with long, wiry muscle from grueling hours of dance class that he can’t seem to give up even with the multitude of serious acting roles he’s been offered. He’s not perfect, as much as he pretends to be, but Donghyuck’s never lingered much on his looks when there were so many other things to worry about. He’s decent looking, at least.
But even that can’t explain the raw admiration in Mark’s eyes as they drag over Donghyuck’s face, across his shoulders and back down to his crotch. There’s nothing teasing about it. Like Donghyuck’s already some movie star or something. It makes Donghyuck flush everywhere possible, and then grows redder when he realizes that Mark watches it happen with that same amazed expression, too.
It’s hot, sure. But also Donghyuck’s chest constricts a little and he feels like crying.
He clears his throat, and he was going to say something sweet, he was, but what comes out is, “Hey, suck my dick.”
“Hey,” Mark tuts. “Ask nicely.”
And the two of them argue about everything, all the time, so much that they drive each other up the wall from miles away and Renjun has learned the telltale signs for when to excuse himself to avoid a shouting match. It’s an unshakable habit from high school, Donghyuck figures, back when they were fighting over homework answers and fighting for the Most Talented slot in the yearbook and fighting because they liked each other and were too stupid to know it. Even in bed, neither of them was likely to concede without at least a bit of banter.
But Donghyuck wants it too bad, this morning. So he pouts a little, and goes, “Pretty please suck my dick?”
And Sunday morning is this: Mark is weirdly, unfairly comfortable with a dick tucked into his mouth.
Donghyuck whines as Mark takes his whole length into his mouth, sliding down it like it’s nothing at all. It’s too much, for the first couple of minutes, the sensitivity from his first orgasm making his thighs quiver.
Then Donghyuck relaxes, and Mark does, too, bobbing his head lazily. The silky warmth of Mark’s mouth feels amazing around him. He wants to fuck up into it so badly, but he doesn’t, just lets Mark have his way with him.
“So good,” Donghyuck says. He slides one of his hands down Mark’s messy hair to cup at the back of his neck. “You’re so good at this, hyung.”
Mark moans around him at the praise.
“Just like that, fuck.”
Mark slides off him with an obscene smacking noise, a clear string of spit still connecting his slightly swollen lips to the tip of Donghyuck’s dick. Mark’s face, jaw slack and tears in the corners of his eyes, which are a little bit hazy—yeah, that’s a better mental picture for Donghyuck to take with him back to school. Weeks of jerk-off material in Mark’s expression, like he was the one who’d just had an orgasm and was well on his way to a second one. And Donghyuck hadn’t even touched him yet.
Donghyuck’s not the religious one. But on mornings like this, he feels as close to believing in angels as he’ll get.
“Beautiful,” Donghyuck whispers.
And Mark smirks.
Donghyuck has to close his eyes as Mark brings his mouth to his length, again, using the tip of his pink tongue to lap at Donghyuck’s slit. Donghyuck is leaking, absolutely leaking precum steadily down his dick like he hasn’t had sex in months. It’s mortifying, but he doesn’t care, he doesn't, just tilts his head back and lets himself feel.
Everything. The firm bob, suck, lick pattern that Mark is falling into, the perfect amount of wetness and heat. The grip that Mark has on his hip, letting him know that his boyfriend is affected by this, too. The gentle morning draft that’s making his nipples hard and goosebumps rise on his arms.
The scratch of stubble that is making Donghyuck’s smooth, sensitive inner thighs raw. It’s always like this: Mark’s jaw usually shadows before he can even put down his razor. But Donghyuck likes it, all of it. The slight sting, the way it’ll feel tomorrow morning in the pair of worn jeans he wears to class—so frustrating and maudlin that Mark will be on his mind all through Advanced Shakespeare. That he’ll be forced to quietly jerk off to the memory of it in the dorm showers.
Donghyuck’s so caught up in it all, that he barely notices when Mark removes his hand from his hip to reach for something on the bedside table. Barely hears the top of the cap go pop as Mark unscrews it with one hand.
But suddenly there are fingers coated with the tell-tale, sticky slide of lube prodding at his hole, rubbing at his sensitive perineum.
Donghyuck whimpers. “Fuck. Please.”
Mark takes his mouth off momentarily to focus on sliding his index finger in. And it’s too easy, no resistance at all when they’ve been fucking all weekend; he barely needs the lube. So he adds another, thrusting them into Donghyuck until he’s pliable and shaking underneath him.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Donghyuck says. “Fuck.”
“Esteemed student at The Julliard School,” Mark notes with an absolutely delighted giggle. “Eloquent.”
Whatever Donghyuck was going to reply gets strangled in his throat as Mark adds one more finger, this time pushing all the way to press ruthlessly on his prostate.
“Hyung, shit.”
Mark attaches his lips back to the head of Donghyuck’s dick, keeping pace with the fingers moving in and out of him. His other hand presses hard against Donghyuck’s lower stomach, cautioning not to thrust into Mark’s mouth. Let Mark do all the work.
“Ahh,” Donghyuck moans. “So close.”
He doesn't really need to announce it, though, because Mark knows all his tells already. And Mark doesn’t really need a warning, regardless, because Donghyuck knows he’s going to swallow every drop.
The second orgasm, Mark wrings from him. Donghyuck’s hips careen off the bed of their own accord, and the sound that leaves his mouth is pathetic, so embarrassing, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible, his entire chest heaving with the feeling as he pulses into Mark’s mouth. There’s so much cum—as if he didn’t already blow his load before—but Mark takes it all. Every last trickle of it gets downed, and when he’s done he laps at what’s left on Donghyuck’s dick, too.
And Donghyuck is groaning, “Fuck, Mark, fuck,” because it’s really too much now. He bats Mark’s face from his crotch, dick finally laying soft and spent against his thighs. Mark frowns, because it probably looks like he’s being pushed away, but Donghyuck just tugs him up, up, so their faces are level.
They kiss.
Finally, finally, slotting their lips together so that their noses collide. And then adjusting, quickly, the way you only can with years of practice, so that their tongues can slide noisily against each other. It’s kind of gross, because Mark tastes like cum and there’s a bit of drool dried on his chin from sleep and neither of them have brushed their teeth yet. They kiss like they’re drowning, anyway.
“Thanks,” Donghyuck says into the kiss. At least he thinks he’s saying it. Mark swallows the gratitude like he did with his cum. Donghyuck kisses all over his face. The stubble, sleep crust in the corner of his eyes, everything. He licks at Mark’s lips and Mark allows him to just sigh, warm and breathy into his mouth.
Donghyuck lets Mark, just a little bit too broad for this position, clamber into his lap as they kiss again and again. And then he reaches into Mark’s boxers and smiles so wide they knock teeth and Mark hisses.
Because he knows how Mark likes it, too. A little rough, no lube or spit, the grip of Donghyuck’s perpetually calloused hands a bit too tight. A little bit of manhandling, because Mark likes that when he’s this ruined.
Mark’s heavy in his slender hand, bigger and longer than Donghyuck. Donghyuck doesn’t even pull him out fully. Just jerks him, fast— Donghyuck slides his hand up, down, drags across the tip, just for a couple of minutes, and then Mark’s coming, in powerful bursts that turn the whole pale expanse of his chest red.
“Donghyuck,” he says, finally. Like a prayer.
Donghyuck’s own limp, tired dick twitches as that, because he’s a little in awe. That Mark could want him that much. That Mark could be so close without even getting touched just because he was sucking Donghyuck’s dick.
“Wow,” Donghyuck comments, like an idiot.
And, because Mark is never more Mark than he is after an orgasm, he says, “Dude that was epic haha.”
“Nice while it lasted, at least,” Donghyuck sighs. But he’s preening. Wow wow wow. He loves this man so fucking much. He loves how much Mark loves him, too.
Mark, still in his now-damp boxers, still sitting on Donghyuck’s lap, presses his head into Donghyuck’s neck, so that they both relax against the headboard. Fuck it, Donghyuck wipes his right hand, wet with Mark’s cum, on the sheets, too.
“Should’ve let me fuck it back inside you,” Mark murmurs casually.
“Ew,” Donghyuck says. He prays to whoever's listening that Mark doesn’t feel the way his dick twitches again, at that. But it seems Donghyuck’s stint with religion is over.
“Damn, Bear,” Mark says, exasperated, but the curve of his lips is pleased. “Again?”
Donghyuck pinches his boyfriend’s side. It’s true, though, he could probably get it up again this morning, with the right motivation. He’s about to say as much, but he’s cut off by his own stomach growling.
Mark laughs, nose blowing air into the pocket of Donghyuck’s collarbone. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe after breakfast—fresh eggs, warm tea—maybe Mark will fuck Donghyuck, strip the bed and tuck him back into fresh bedsheets, ruin them again with lube and sweat and come so Mark can make sweet Sunday love to him. Maybe Mark will get all up in his face, and Donghyuck will pretend not to like it when he grunts in his mouth, Bear, baby, my sweet baby bear, taking me so well—
Or perhaps Mark will let Donghyuck fuck him, bend him over the dining table and scissor him open until Mark’s begging for it. Press him into the wood until there are red marks lining his abdomen.
But most likely they will wander outside, and let the crisp winter morning sweep them away.
Mark will shovel the driveway like the good son he is, while Donghyuck asks questions he mostly knows the answers to, just to hear him talk. Then they’ll lie in the yard together and make clumsy snow angels. They’ll link fingers loosely and laugh about things that aren’t really funny.
Later still, Donghyuck will pretend to check the schedules for a bus back to campus until Mark rolls his eyes and fishes the Jeep keys from his jacket pocket. Tomorrow, Mark will drop him off outside his dorm building so Donghyuck can drink himself silly with Renjun for New Year’s and then drive through the night so he’s in time for Watch Night Service with his family. Back to their stupid, tedious long-distance relationship.
(One more semester, Donghyuck thinks, and then he’ll have graduated, too, with his near-useless arts degree. Maybe he and Mark will get that apartment in Brooklyn they’ve always talked about. Maybe he’ll get cast for some show on Broadway and get to live his dream. Maybe Mark will live his, too, using his equally useless creative writing degree to finish all those song lyrics he jots down into his notes app when he thinks Donghyuck is sleeping. Maybe, maybe.)
But right now Mark is in his arms.
He’s not so sad about leaving. Donghyuck’s busy thinking about when they’ll be together again.
(Also, he’s pretty sure they’re gonna blow each other in the Julliard faculty parking lot.)
(They usually do.)
(Mark Lee isn’t big on halfway, but Donghyuck’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it well.)