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Haechan decided to open the door after the third knock.
By the first knock, any wayward visitors that had lost their way would notice the slightly tilted and largely faded Apartment No. 13 sign. By the second knock, any robbers that were taking the courtesy of knocking would be affirmed that there was no one in the house and that they could break in at their own pace.
By the third knock, Haechan knew who was standing on the other side of the door.
He opened the door gently lest the figure on the other side tumble forward and take them both down.
“Hey, Mark.”
On the other side, leaning heavily against the doorsill, Mark raised his lolling head. His eyes were glossed over, his carefully crafted hairstyle falling apart at the seams. Even with the respectable distance between them, the overwhelming stench of cheap alcohol invaded the air.
“Hey, Channie,” Mark replied, breaking out in giggles. “That sounds like your name. Haechannie. Haechan-ah. Chan-ah.”
He has that look he gets when he's drunk too much; too much but not enough to black out, so he's standing there after careful deliberation. His t-shirt sticks to his chest and Haechan can almost see the rhythmic beating of his heart. It matches his own, beat for beat.
He hates knowing where the night is going.
“Mark, what did I tell you not to do?”
“Come over when I'm drunk.”
“And what have you done?”
“Came over when I'm drunk.”
Haechan huffs. There's something innocent about his face, like he isn't devising nefarious plans behind the veil of drunkenness. Mark’s lower lip juts out, almost like he's sorry, but not enough to go away.
“Can I come in?” Mark asks, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Haechan shouldn't fall for it. It's always the same routine, more predictable than clockwork. Haechan thinks he's a little pathetic, falling for the farce again and again (and again). He thinks about all the people in his contacts list, how many would be willing to let him stay over if he exiles himself, relinquishing his apartment to the menace that's haunting his doorway. He comes up with the astonishing number of 3.
Renjun would berate him for his weakness, Jaemin would make him sleep on the bare floor for disturbing him at 2 am, and Chenle would insist they sleep on the same bed solely so that he could kick him to the floor in his sleep.
So the number is actually closer to 0.
“Chan-ah. Please, can I come in?” He'll give it to Mark, his eyes are dangerously hypnotising.
Haechan swings the door open, turning his back and making his way to the left hallway, the end of which holds his comfortable bed. Where he doesn't have to think about the stumbling noise coming from behind him. He pauses for a moment, considering his next move.
“The couch is yours, just don't throw up on it, I can't even begin to think about cleaning it,” Haechan groans, an attempt to keep things as they should be. He's barely fourteen feet away from his bedroom, the memory foam pillow he bought with his first salary is placed on the right side of the bed, calling his name out loud. He should move.
He's almost made his decision, proud of himself for holding his own, when two arms wrap around his hip from behind, pulling him flush against the sweat stained body molding itself to his back.
“Mm, Chan-ah, where are you going?”
Mark’s breath feels hot and heavy on his nape. Haechan feels the other’s eyelashes flutter against his skin as he closes his eyes, humming against the younger’s ear.
“To my room,” Haechan replies curtly. It takes every last shred of will power in him to not melt into the touch.
“Haechan, don't go,” Mark pleads. There's a soft kiss placed on his left shoulder, right where his bare skin starts. “You know I need you.”
And know he does. He knows that Mark’s limit is 5 shots, and that after the 6th one he starts looking for someone to warm his bed. He knows that he hates flirting with strangers, hates having to deal with awkward mornings after. He knows that more often than not, he finds himself at Haechan’s doorstep asking for what should be entirely out of bounds for people that call each other friends.
“You're so nice to me, Chan-ah.” Another kiss. “You're so nice for hyung,” the grip on his hips tightens, “so pretty. So good.” Another kiss.
Haechan knows where the night is going, hates where the night is going. He melts into the hold anyway.
He brings his hand up, waving it in front of his own face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Mark pulls his mouth away from where it seemed to be busy treating Haechan’s nape like a chew toy, “Three. Is this a trick question?”
“I wish. Just checking to see you still have your wits about you with how cheesy you were sounding there.”
“Three, definitely. Is that how many you would like inside you?”
Haechan stops his hand and takes the three fingers to lightly slap the other’s face behind him.
“That's what you get for being crude,” Haechan explains, turning around in the ironclad hold Mark still had on him.
God, it's definitely worse being face-to-face. Mark’s lips are slick with spit, twinning with Haechan’s neck. Haechan’s hands rise up to rest on Mark’s shoulders, his fingers tangling themselves into Mark’s hair.
“Promise not to leave before I wake up?” Haechan whispers.
It's not that he's afraid of waking up alone, he's not. He does it literally every day. It's just that when he wakes up alone after a night with Mark, it seems like he's being haunted - ghostly echoes of moans, sweaty bedsheets, purpling bruises - it's like he'd been possessed. He supposes in some ways, that's what it is.
“Anything you want,” Mark replies, eyes trying not to slip down to Haechan’s lips. Almost discreetly, Haechan feels Mark’s hands slip under his waistband, still locked around his hip, coming to rest on top of his ass.
“Well, currently I kind of want to throw you out. How does that sound?”
Haechan’s fingers twirl themselves around Mark’s soft curls as he puts on his most devious smile.
Mark groans, pulling the other closer by gently squeezing the soft flesh under his hands.
“Terrible. I can feel the tears forming in my eyes.”
“Oh no, whatever will poor Mark do witho-” and he's cut off by those spit-slick lips coming down on his own. Mark presses forward pushing against his lips with his tongue. Haechan gives in to the pressure and Mark swallows up the sigh that leaves his mouth.
Mark’s hands are warm against Haechan’s hip, pressing right above where he needs him most. Haechan’s hands tug at the other’s hair, pulling them apart so that they can catch their breaths.
“Bedroom?” Haechan asks, lidded eyes zeroing in on the smirk that Mark now wears.
“Eager, are we?”
“Your dick led you here at 2 am, you tell me,” Haechan mocks, trying to pull up the face that had leaned down to leave kisses on his neck. Haechan let out a moan.
“Take me away, cowboy,” Mark replies. His lips stay stuck to Haechan’s neck, his hands resting on Haechan’s ass. Haechan swats Mark’s arm once and resigning himself to the fact that there's no way to make him focus, walks both of them towards the bedroom, switching the living room lights off behind him.
Haechan’s room is bare bones. A desk for his books, a 3 foot by 4 foot closet, and his mattress which lies a foot above the floor on a frame that has definitely seen better days. He remembers the way the frame squeaks under the pressure of just one body and silently apologizes to his neighbors for any and all disturbances that night.
By the time Haechan has himself and Mark laid out on the bed, the latter caging him within his arms, his neck looks like a field of roses, blushing and angry.
“What is it with you and necks? Mark, be honest, are you a vampire?”
“If I was, I don't think I could've controlled myself around your pretty neck for this long,” Mark replies, planting a chaste kiss on the other’s lips. “You look so pretty like this.”
Mark presses down on one of the bruises forming right under Haechan’s collarbone and the younger lets out a hiss.
“Right here,” Mark taps the bruise, “I'd bite you right here.”
“I eat a lot of garlic. It would burn you from the inside out,” Haechan retorts, pushing his thumb into Mark’s mouth, letting his teeth scrape over the smooth skin.
“Pretty sweet way to go if it involves sinking into you,” Mark mumbles around the thumb.
Haechan huffs out a laugh.
“You're so terrible. How do you even write all those lyrics your professors are always fawning over?”
“Can you not talk about my professors when I'm trying to fuck you?”
Mark lets go of his thumb and focuses his attention back on Haechan’s lips. Biting, pulling, lapping. When they first started whatever this was, Haechan used to give as good as he got, if Mark bit his lips, he bit back harder. It was hard to overpower him while being under him, and somewhere along the line, he realised he didn't mind letting Mark do the work for the most part.
Clearly, Mark enjoyed it. The way his eyes darkened when Haechan let himself be pliant was proof enough. And he wasn't one to complain either - Mark knew what he was doing, or at least his body did. The way he pushed the other’s hands up above his head, using the other hand to push Haechan’s legs apart, the way his lips chased and chased; it all made sense.
Haechan tapped his shoulder, desperate for a breath he wouldn't be allowed to take otherwise.
“Easy, easy,” Haechan punctuated his command by pushing against Mark’s forehead with his index finger. Mark seemed to get the message, pulling back to hunt through the cabinet next to Haechan’s bed for the lube and condoms he'd tucked away.
“How do you want to…”
“Do what you want, I don't have classes till noon tomorrow,” Haechan replied, stretching his arms above his head, letting his t-shirt ride up. It was impossible to ignore how Mark’s eyes zoned in on the sliver of skin showing, his hands coming to grab the other’s hips.
“Can I?” Mark asked, hiking the t-shirt up just a tiny bit more. Before he could continue, Haechan’s hands came up to hold his wrists, a warning look in his eyes.
“Okay,” Mark whispers, turning his hands to catch Haechan’s wrists instead, bringing one up to his lips to leave kisses along his wrist. He makes sure to lock his eyes with Haechan’s before continuing. “You're a vision. In every way possible.”
He nicks the wrist with his teeth making Haechan hiss again.
“You're just a sweet talker, I think.”
“It's hard not to be when I've got the sweetest thing in the universe laid out in front of me,” Mark lets down Haechan’s wrist, keeping his hold on them.
Haechan averts his eyes, but it's hard to push down the swell of his heart, the birdsong that fills his head. It doesn't even matter that the room smells like cheap alcohol and that Mark will undoubtedly call him ‘bro’ when they meet outside these 4 walls, because he knows that in this moment, when there's no one in the world but them, Mark speaks of him like a lover would.
“You're so embarrassing,” Haechan replies. He nudges him forward by hooking his leg around the older’s hip.
Mark throws a wink at him, momentarily distracting him from the way he hooks his fingers into the other’s shorts and pulls them down in one go.
One thing Haechan knows for sure is that Mark is a thighs guy. Before Haechan even has the time to adjust to the cold permeating his lower body, Mark has started his ministrations on his thighs, pushing and pulling. He bends down at an awkward angle so that Haechan doesn't have to raise his legs further, and he bites and bites and bites.
Haechan grunts as the other sinks his teeth into the supple flesh, the burn giving way to a soothing feeling as he laps over it afterwards. Heat swirls in the pit of his stomach as Mark inches closer and closer to where he needs him, his cock filling out with every new bite.
“Mark, please,” Haechan whines, twisting his fingers in Mark’s hair, trying and failing to pull him up. Mark leaves one last kiss on his thighs before sitting back on his haunches.
“Who's eager now?” Mark asks, his hands coming to rest on the other’s hips, thumbs running circles on sensitive skin. So close but so far.
“Fuck you,” Haechan replies. Before he can plead again, a wetness starts spreading around his hole, insistent fingers circling the sensitive spot.
Slowly, a finger pushes into him.
“God, you're,” Mark huffs, raising his eyes to meet Haechan’s half-lidded ones. “You pull me right in.”
Haechan swats him again, but this time he lets his hand linger on the bicep, feeling the way the other’s arm pushed into him again and again. Another finger joins the ministrations and Haechan swears the other is moving slow on purpose, missing the spot that aches within him.
“Are you sure you're sober enough for this. What's with the turtle pace?” Haechan mocks, tangling his fingers in Mark’s hair.
Mark starts kissing up his jaw in reply, nipping at his ear, and then kissing him all over his face - his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his swollen lips. He's so gentle it makes something rotten grow in the back of Haechan’s mind.
“Faster, please,” Haechan adds between moans, pushing his hips down on the two fingers working their way in and out of him. Then, they stop. As if in retaliation, Mark moves his lips away from the other’s neck too.
Something brews beneath Mark’s eyes and Haechan can tell he hit a nerve. He lets himself feel excited.
Even with all the praises and honeyed words, there's two Marks Haechan knows. One is sweet, gentle, eager to please. This Mark brings him cheesecake before they have sex and intertwines their fingers; he smiles when he's inside Haechan and fluffs the pillow before placing it beneath him.
The other Mark is rarer. He pulls Haechan’s hair in a way that toes the line between pain and pleasure and he pins his hands above his head; when he whispers sweet nothings, they're not that sweet at all, they're meaner, the kind of names and promises that send a shiver down Haechan’s spine.
Haechan is glad he has the other Mark today.
Mark tilts his head, nearly pulling his fingers out completely, before Haechan’s whine stops him.
“Faster? You sure, pretty boy?”
Haechan nods, a challenge visible in his own eyes, alight with desire. “Do your worst.”
A second passes. No one moves. Just when Haechan thinks he's won the round, a third finger enters him. In the blink of an eye, the boy on top of him has adopted a brutal pace, hammering into his puffy hole with reckless abandon.
Haechan screams as they find the bundle of nerves inside him that punches the breath out of him. His leg kicks out at the sudden stimulation and the hand that lay under his head twists into the bedsheets, his eyes rolling to the back of the head.
So that bastard was missing the spot on purpose before.
Mark is back to kissing his neck as far as he can tell, but it's hard to focus when all he can think of is the way the other is abusing his insides just with his fingers.
There's words on the tip of his tongue, he's sure of that, but they're all lost in breathy whines and pleasepleasepleases and markmarkmarks. When he gathers the clarity to open his eyes, he finds Mark already looking up at him, a cruel smile on his face.
“Is this good? Is this what you wanted?” Mark asks, though his sweet words don't match with his actions at all, fingers pushing deeper and faster.
Haechan whines again and he can feel himself leaking more and more, droplets of precum falling on his stomach.
It's too much, it's too much.
He folds in on himself, pulling his knees up and turning to face Mark, trying to close his legs. There's tears falling from his eyes now, fat drops running down his face.
Mark continues. He keeps the other’s leg propped up, driving into the heat nonstop.
“Pleas- I'm- I-”
There's no words left in Haechan’s mind anymore. There's just the way that Mark is smiling down at him, almost mocking. There's the way the fingers are hitting his sweet spot every time they enter. There's the way that his dick seems to be leaking endlessly, begging to be touched.
“I thought you wanted me to do my worst,” Mark whispers. “Thought you could take it, baby.”
That's all it takes. One more push and Haechan is spilling on to the bedsheets, strings of cum dripping in the small space between the two bodies. Shivers run through Haechan’s body, and his leg loses strength, effectively trapping Mark’s forearms between his thighs, though that does nothing to stop the other as he rubs against Haechan’s prostate, making sure he pulls every single sound out of him that he can.
The younger takes in a shaky breath, on the verge of overstimulation. Fresh tears make their way down his face and a single please falls from his lips.
Mark slows down, moving the fingers from the most sensitive spot, and gradually coming to a stop. Haechan supposes he should let go of his forearm but there's no energy left in him to move. Plus, Mark doesn't seem to be complaining.
He looks up at the other again, and though there's still a storm brewing behind his eyes, they've taken on a temporary clarity.
“How do you feel?” he asks, propping his arm up once again and leaning against it.
“You're a monster,” Haechan replies. Mark lets out a laugh and bends down to plant a kiss on the younger’s lips. It would be sweet were it not for the fingers lodged inside Haechan tugging at him.
Haechan hissed, and with great effort raised his leg, letting the other remove his hand, still slick with lube, away from him. A few leftover tears make their way down Haechan’s face at the loss.
“I should bottle these up,” Mark whispers, pushing one of the tears up with his thumb. Quietly, he brings the thumb up to his own mouth and licks.
“Freak,” Haechan huffs out, hoping the blush high on his cheeks isn't visible.
“We're not done yet,” Mark declares instead. Haechan groans and rolls over.
“Really?”
“I'm still fully clothed, sweetheart,” Mark replies. Haechan looks back to confirm and finds that he's right. And the predicament that is evident in the front of his jeans is glaring right back at him.
“I need at least 15, scratch that, 20 minutes,” Haechan clarifies, tearing his eyes away from the problem.
“How do you know?” Mark asks, eyebrows furrowed in a blatantly annoying manner. “Have you tried this before?”
“Have I- no! We have regular normal people sex most of the time,” Haechan adds, and the ‘you’re the only one I have sex with’ implication goes unsaid. “We pass out at the same damn time.”
“Do you want to pass out right now?” Mark asks, tapping the younger’s hip with his palm. Haechan’s skin burns where the hand lays when he remembers the feeling of those fingers inside.
“I'm taking that open mouth and the lack of a response as a no, baby,” Mark punctuates his words by bending down, pressing small kisses to Haechan’s neck.
Haechan lets out a sigh, bending to let Mark access his neck more easily. Fuck, if he's here he might as well try this too.
“Will you, just in case, if it gets too much,” Haechan meeks out, voice smaller than it usually ever is. He doesn't know if he can finish the question, if it'll spook the boy next to him and leave him bare of the hands roaming his body. That, more than anything, scares him in the moment.
“Stop?” Mark asks, bringing his hand up to brush the other’s hair away from his forehead, pressing another kiss in the middle.
Haechan nods lightly.
“You won't even have to ask twice.”
The terrible thing about being completely possessed in these moments is that Haechan believes the other completely, wonders why he even asked such a silly question. Because Mark is Mark and he's mean and rough and crass at all the right times, but never cruel.
Their eyes stay locked for three more seconds before Haechan nods again. Mark presses down on his lips again, pulling and biting, and Haechan can tell he's smiling into it. Annoying.
“Give me a minute,” Mark says, pulling away to fumble around on the bed. When Haechan whines, one of his hands returns to the other’s hair, combing through it softly.
Before he can open his mouth and complain, Mark is above him again, clutching a condom between his teeth and finally freed of his clothes.
“How do you want this?” Mark mumbles around the wrapper, sliding the condom down his shaft. He lets out a groan and Haechan feels the uncertainty grab hold of him again. What if he's being greedy and this fails and then they never fuck again because now Mark thinks he's a loser? If this is their last time he figures it would be best if they could look at each other.
“This is fine,” Haechan replies, locking his arms around Mark’s neck and pulling him closer. “Wouldn't want you forgetting my face.”
He sticks his tongue out at Mark for good measure.
“Like I could ever forget a pretty face like this,” Mark takes the comment in stride, pulling Haechan’s face up with a finger under his chin.
Haechan loses himself in it for a second, the slick feeling of their lips meeting, the way that Mark invades his space with his tongue, licking against his tongue and pulling every sigh out of his mouth before it can ever reach the world.
Then, he feels the pressure on his hole, the slow slide of Mark’s cock pressing into him. He gasps again and this time Mark can't catch it in his mouth as Haechan’s head rolls back into the sheets.
“Fuck, fuck.”
It's like his soul leaves his body. There's nothing in him but Mark. Heavy, filling him up entirely, weighing him down to the ground. He feels the pressure everywhere - wrapping around his thighs, climbing up his spine, sitting in his throat. Ecstasy.
“Mark,” he gasps out, and thankfully the other understands. He pulls out and then slams back in, hard and heavy. And then he pulls out more and slams back in again. And again.
Haechan loses himself in whimpers, throat choked up with the overwhelming feeling of being pounded into with the reckless passion Mark seems to hold. He doesn't even feel it when the tears start falling.
“There's my pretty boy,” Mark whispers, kissing away the tears that fall down the side of his face. “You sound so good for me, all those moans just for me.”
Haechan bites back another whimper. Somewhere beneath them the bedframe starts creaking
“Tell me, baby,” Mark asks pushing in slower now, “tell me how it feels.”
“I just,” Haechan’s breath hitches, “I feel you. Full. Keep me like this, keep me-”
Mark thrusts again. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
And then he's back to the brutal pace he’d set before, pushing harder and harder, now aiming for the sweet spot inside that makes Haechan’s breathing difficult. And he's kissing him again, almost like he's breathing life back into him. With every drag, Haechan inches closer and closer to the edge.
“M-Mark, touch me,” he gasps out, feeling the heaviness of his cock slide in once again.
Without a word, Mark wraps one of his hands around the other’s leaking cock, tugging it in time with his thrusts.
Haechan loses the last shred of clarity he had. He can tell he's babbling but he's not even sure what's coming out of his mouth. All there is is the drag of Mark’s cock, going deeper and deeper each time, and the tightness of the fist pumping him, every pull letting a new wave of desire wash over him.
“Close, ‘m close,” Haechan meeks out a few seconds later, hands pulling at Mark’s skin, leaving scratches across his shoulders.
“Yeah? Me too, baby,” Mark smirks, picking his pace up. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”
And that's all it takes. Haechan’s orgasm strikes him slowly and then all at once. It's all pleasure as it crashes over him in waves, ropes of cum landing on his t-shirt as Mark keeps pushing inside him and pulling at his cock. He feels himself clench around Mark as his ministrations continue, pain mixing in with the pleasure.
For a second, as the last of his release hits, he blacks out, the only feeling left in his body being the presence of Mark - on his hips, on his cock, inside, inside, inside.
Finally, Mark’s hand unwraps around the younger’s shaft; breathing becomes a little easier.
“Stay with me for a minute more, baby,” Mark whispers, pushing in one last time as his own orgasm takes over him. He moves his lips to the other’s neck, placing kisses on the bruises forming there. Tears slip out of Haechan’s eyes as he feels the condom filling up, cursing it for separating him and the boy above him.
Mark slows down, eventually coming to a stop. His face stays tucked in the other’s neck, kisses few and far apart now.
“So? How are we feeling?” he mumbles.
Haechan scoffs above him, hands travelling up and down his back. He turns, placing a soft kiss on Mark’s temple. “Could've been better.”
Mark pushes in slightly, brushing against the bundle of nerves that had finally gained some relief and Haechan whimpers. Loudly.
“Really? That didn't seem like the noise of someone that could've gotten something better.”
Haechan whacked the other’s arm and pushed at his face. “We should do that again. Is that good enough a review for you?”
“Perfect,” Mark replies, dropping a kiss on Haechan’s lips. He pulls out then and catches the small gasp that Haechan lets out. He lets down Haechan’s legs and massages his thighs as they come down from their highs.
“Shower?”
“Shower.”
They take turns, Mark letting Haechan rest as he went in first. When Haechan comes out after his own shower, the sheets have been changed and Mark’s already lazing around in a set of Haechan's clothes as he swipes through his phone.
“Do you know why Renjun texted me seven knife emojis?” Mark asks, raising his head from the mattress.
“I might have told him you came over.”
“And that warrants a threat because…”
Haechan climbed into the bed, pulling the other’s body towards himself, placing his head on Mark’s chest and squinting to see the texts on screen.
“I might have told him we were going to,” he gestured between their bodies.
“Fuck? Engage in premarital sex? Copulate?” Mark smirked, his hand coming to wrap around and rest on Haechan’s hip.
“Shut up.”
Haechan let the silence take over, the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the city streets lulling him towards sleep. The arm around him tightens as the other puts his phone away and there's a resounding warning in Haechan’s heart he doesn't want to notice. He's safe when he's ignoring the warning; he's safe in these arms.
“Hey, how come you didn't get the knives?”
“Mark, go to sleep.”