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The taste of drool in the corner of his mouth is about the third realization Mark has when he wakes up. The second is that he has woken up at all. From sleep. Actual, real sleep. Not just from the nightmares after dozing off at work. In fact, he didn't have any nightmares at all. He doesn't think he even dreamt. Huh.
Of course he has no time to ponder on either of these things because his first thought is: Helly is not here.
His heartbeat increases instantly, the slow realization of where and who he is settling in but not being enough to calm him when she is not here. For a moment, he wonders if last night was a fever dream: the warmth of her body against his, her voice low and hot in his ear—fuck, the feeling of being right there inside of her, Helly—
But then a soft creak announces the tent's zipper and his head snaps to see Helly slipping back inside, flicking over a stray pine needle from her hair. Her cheeks have that faint rosy tint from the crisp air outside, face seemingly stuck in a frown until she offers him a slow, teasing grin when their eyes meet. Mark can't remember the last time he was so relieved to see someone in his entire life.
Actually, he can; it had been her again.
"Hey, what were you doing?" he asks, voice slightly hushed. Who knows if Milchick or Ms. Huang are already out there by now?
Helly settles beside him, kneeling on the tent with a graceful ease. “Just watching the waterfall,” she replied, shaking off her fur coat. "It's kind of lame."
Mark scoffs. "Oh, okay. So the tallest waterfall on the planet is too lame for you?"
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "You don't really believe that shit, do you?"
"What?"
"The tallest—," she bites her lip like she just remembered something but continues. "This Kier bullshit."
His brows furrow. "No, I... I don't know. No."
Helly smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. He wants to ask her if she's okay, so he does. She nods, brushing the hair from his face. Her touch feels electric. It comes out before he's even aware of what he's said.
"I missed you."
She presses her lips together, suppressing a grin. Mark smiles. Her voice is quiet when she asks:
"You did?"
He wishes he could map and trace every single one of her features and paint her a picture of what she looks like to him in this moment. But he's always been shit at drawing, so he settles on brushing his thumb against her cheek reverently.
"I did."
She tilts her head again, like she's still deciding if he's worth her smile. "You were sleeping. And I wasn't gone that long."
His finger traces the lines around her mouth, and he wonders, briefly, about her outie. He won't prod, not again, at least not today, but he can't help but wonder:
What is she like? How did she get here? Why did she come back? Could she really be so bad if she had given him Helly? If she is Helly?
I am a person. You are not.
Helly hanging, lifeless, by an extension chord.
What I want is for her to wake up while the life drains out of her.
Mark blinks the memories away. Some things are not for him to understand.
"Still. You're here now."
She doesn't stop the corners of her mouth from tilting upwards this time. He can't look away.
"I'm here now."
She reaches out, her small hand cupping the curve of his jaw, the softness of his chin. The curve of it seemed to fascinate her the night before, Mark remembers. He'd never felt that before, the sensations he did when she looked at him. Desired. Seen. Adored.
Human.
Helly caresses the skin there, and he feels warmer beneath her touch as her thumb traces the tiny curvature of his bottom lip. Mark opens his mouth absentmindedly struck by the softness of her gaze as she feels his gentle puffs of breath against her finger. Time seems to slow down under her thumb, and Mark wonders if this is what love feels like.
Huh.
But then their eyes meet, and something seems to break, desperation flashing behind her eyes. Mark's first instinct is, as always, to soothe and ask her what is wrong, but Helly has already leaned in, softer lips capturing his own. He smiles into the kiss, as her finger remains captured between their lips, and she chuckles, breathlessly, when she realizes the same.
"Sorry," she huffs, but Mark shakes his head, moving her hand to settle on his neck, her cold fingers sending chills down his spine. His voice is soft when he asks her if she's cold.
She scoffs. "We're outside, Mark."
"Right. Dumb. Sorry," he says, rather sheepishly.
He feels her eyes darken at his response, and Mark has the strange sensation of being prey. Helly's prey.
Well. He can't say he doesn't like it. Just a little.
She doesn't seem to think twice before moving his lips into his, where they belong, letting out little breaths and soft sounds that make him feel lightheaded. He gently bites on her lower lip, pulling at it, trying it on, and is rewarded with a guttural moan that drives from her chest to his.
"'m Hel," he groans, barely, for he has more important things to do with his mouth than getting words out, but what he really means is 'My Helly'.
Mine.
Mark realizes then that he can't possibly live without this. Without her. How could he? How did he? This, Helly pressed flush against him, moaning into his mouth, the certainty that he would be with her in the next minute, next hour, and next day. This is what's worth living for. This is what he wants. It's their life.
It's the most real feeling he has ever felt.
Helly turns into something wild, climbing into his lap and removing her sweater in one go, her breath growing ragged into his. She seems intent on stealing away his air supply, and Mark can't say he minds it all that much, opening his mouth wider in compliance, tongue searching for her own with a desperation he hasn't felt since... well, ever, maybe.
She rocks against him in earnest, and a groan escapes his mouth when he feels his growing erection rub against her covered center. Doesn't compare with being naked, feeling her skin on skin, but — Jesus.
He's been amazed at it, her unwavering confidence at this, something so new to him that seems, to her, almost like second nature. He doesn't question it, though: Helly has always been this fearless. He has always loved everything about Helly.
She plants one hand firmly on his shoulder, steadying herself on her knees, while the other remains rooted in his hair. And she moves. Mark's breath catches with every roll of her hips, the friction dizzying. His cock is hard and aching inside his pants, yet he swears he can feel her center dragging slow and heavy over the length of him, again and again. He tries to hold in a moan but it comes out anyway, sharp and low against her mouth.
"Helly—"
"Yeah," she breathes, eyes black even when it's light outside. "I know."
She shifts, pushing him back against the mattress and leaning forward. He feels the change instantly—the angle deeper, the pressure firmer. His hips buck into hers instinctively. She gasps, head falling forward against his shoulder. Just like last night, her hair brushes his face, the strands frizzy and pointy, a little ticklish. Mark chuckles, disbelieving. God, he adores her.
"Fuck, that's good," she whispers, voice shredded. "That's it, do that again."
He does, grinding up into her, meeting her rhythm, matching her pace. His hands are gripping her hips now, guiding her, pulling her down harder. Every movement draws another gasp from her mouth—tiny, breathless sounds that make him feel slightly insane.
"God, you feel—" he starts, but the words fall apart on his throat.
"Say it."
"You feel like everything," he answers hoarsely. "Like I could die right now and it'd be fine."
She lets out a small, sharp laugh. She sounds wrecked. It fills Mark with an impossible sort of pride to be the one to make Helly feel that good. It's a purpose. And, finally, one that he will happily abide by.
"Me too, yeah," she murmurs and kisses him hard, biting his lower lip just enough to make him flinch. She just feels too fucking good.
Her thighs tremble around him as she drops her weight again, grinding against his groin in a tight circle that makes his vision spark. He groans into her mouth. "Helly, no, you're gonna make me come like this," he warns, voice cracking.
She smirks. "Oh, yeah?"
Mark lets out a sound that could pass as a laugh when she grinds just there. "You don't care, do you?"
"No," she breathes, her voice raw and low, though there is a teasing playfulness that is so unmistakably Helly. "I really want it, Mark. Give it to me."
"Yeah, I'm already—fuck, I'm—"
"Let go, baby," she says, moving faster now. "I'm here."
He groans, open and aching, as she moves harder against him, the friction so unbearable it's perfect. His cock throbs, trapped in between them, every nerve lit up. Her movements quickly turn frantic, slightly desperate, like she’s right on the edge herself and trying to take him with her.
Her mouth is at his ear, and the sensation alone is enough to make him moan. “You’re mine, Mark,” she gasps. “Say it.”
“I'm yours,” he chokes, grabbing a fistful of her hair, though not enough to hurt. “You know I am.”
“Good. Stay there.”
And then he's coming, helpless, hips jerking up into her as he remembers how it felt to have her bare on his cock just a few hours ago. She grinds down, over and over, milking every pulse of it from him even through his pants. He gasps, mouth falling open, arms wrapped around her so tight it’s almost painful. Helly doesn’t stop. She keeps going, keeps chasing it, breath shallow and broken. Mark is about to reach down inside her pants and help her through it when she gasps.
“I’m gonna—fuck—,” and he feels the sudden tremble in her legs, the catch in her rhythm. She pushes hard against his cock once, twice more, and then she cries out, head dropping to his shoulder as she comes against him, hips stuttering. He holds her through it, kissing her hair, murmuring her name.
They don't say anything for a long moment. She collapses onto him with a weight that feels way too comfortable. Like she belongs right there, in his arms. If he disregards the mess inside his pants, Mark thinks the moment would be beyond perfect.
Mark's hand slides under her shirt, gathering the sweat at the small of her back as he strokes it in slow, loose circles. He's still breathing a little too hard, chest full and heavy against her own. It's still hard to believe he's been allowed such a good thing.
"That was..." he tries, but, really, he doesn't have words for them. For what they have now. The two of them.
"Yeah," she murmurs. "I know."
She shifts her weight slightly, and he winces, oversensitive now as the fabric feels extra damp and sticky against his skin. Helly seems to notice it, smirking into his neck.
"Fucking wrecked you, huh?" she says, trying and failing to mask the pride in her voice.
"You did," he chuckles, without shame. "You really, really did."
Eventually, he shifts so they lay face to face, lazy and unprepared for another day at the ORTBO, whatever that is. Mark just can't imagine the outside to be anything compared to the inside of her tent.
“What do we do when we go back?” He asks, quiet, because he can't help it.
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“To Lumon. After the ORTBO.”
She doesn’t answer at first. Her expression is unreadable — something small flashes, caught between tenderness and guilt, maybe. Maybe he’s just imagining it. She's probably just tired.
“We go back to work,” she says.
Mark frowns. “Work?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is flat. “I don’t want to think about that yet.”
He studies her, his thumb tracing the corner of her mouth. She closes her eyes at the touch.
“I wish we could be like this every day,” he says.
She opens her eyes suddenly. She looks scared, like she did when he asked her who she was outside. His first instinct is to soothe, but then she blinks and offers him a sad smile. His chest tightens.
"Me too, Mark." She whispers, gaze fixed at a spot near his collarbone. "Me too."