hey, i was just seeing if your requests were open? and if they are, i have a request. i’ll tell you now tho so it’s not a huge long thing- pretty much just a fluffy moment with mark where he’s laying his body between his s/o’s thighs with his head pressed to their chest. maybe sweet talk happens, i’m not sure. i just want more mark worship of thighs 😭 thanks lovely!!
"𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨"
Unwinding from a long day, dinner ate and leftovers stored in the fridge. Tired, minds slowing, limbs aching. TV humming, lights soft, house warm.
Beyond thankful you urged Mark to buy a couch with larger cushions, because it allowed for moments like this. Thighs spread, knees hiked up, Mark on his own between them. Your ankles locked behind his legs, keeping him from leaving; as if he even dared to move. While your lovely boyfriend was focused on some bogus TV show thrown on, his hands roamed your bare thighs, slow and idle on their own accord. There was high chance he didn't even notice the movement his own body was doing, just for the fact alone it was a normal occurrence.
More often than not, your evenings were spent downstairs, on the couch finding shows or movies of interest for the night. Mark liked to swap off dinner duty every other night, though in the end the other always butts in to help just minutes in. Cleaning was also done as a duo because it was easily over within maybe twenty minutes.
Entranced by the show yourself, you barely register the movement of Mark's hands until they both stop mid-thigh to squeeze, gentle but reminding of his touch. That makes you turn, eyes flit from hands to face as you notice how alike he was to a child zoned into an iPad; you mocked him as a child for being on his every time without fail. His hands don't relent, his attention doesn't waver, not until you twitch a leg and he looks down to where his palms sit. "Why are you so warm?" Mark huffs, not at all upset but feigning jealousy. Your body tended to run hot, leaving you to deal with a very clingy boyfriend under the blankets, leeching your body heat and stealing kisses.
"What if I'm not warm and you're just cold?" You purr, quiet, almost drowned out by the TV. Mark squints at you as his hands continue their path, dragging softly up and around your thighs in random tracks. The moment he trails across inner upper thighs, he hesitates before squeezing. He's no longer watching your face, instead staring down at the way his fingers sink into the doughiness, the way it looks squished under his broad palms. The moment you turn to look away, face flushed a little warm, Mark is nudging your thighs apart a little further to make space as he ungracefully drops his body between them. Head to your chest, turning the same way your attention is, one hand making its way behind your back just in case you think of getting up. After a moment of contemplation, His other hand reaches to hook under your thigh and grasp at your calf. Thumb strokes soft skin, not a word spoken. "I love you," Mark croons, drawing little hearts into your back. "I love you more!" You laugh, turning to press a quick kiss to his hairline.
The now empty Truly can slams against the counter, tinny and empty. "Better get drinkin, Eef!" You yell, triumphant and two seltzers ahead of your opponent. Mark looks a tad disappointed, back against the counter and arms crossed. You and Ethan sat at the island on barstools, having a competition to see who could drink more before getting shitfaced.
Ethan was lagging behind. You were feeling tipsy yourself but he was getting a little woozy. The way his body would tip to one side until he noticed and righted himself told you a lot. Mark cleared his throat, and both you and Ethan turned to look at him. Your smile dropped the moment the empty Truly box left the olders' hand and tumbled to the floor. "Automatic win." He says, nodding towards you.
The smile returns as you slide from your seat, a little stumble to your step as you saunter up to the fridge. Out comes an unopened twelve pack of Coors, your least favorite alcohol. "You hate beer." Mark comments, pushing himself off the counter to stand at the island. You slide it to Ethan and stand next to Mark as the drinks are opened. Ethan passes you a Coors and next thing you know, you've had five.
"Uh. Fuck." You giggle, swaying in the middle of the kitchen. Ethan was... laying on the floor next to you. Hands over his eyes, face flushed, stupid drunk smile. Mark now sat at the island, chin in the palm of his hand. He found you and Ethan amusing to watch.
Until now. Your stomach churned, your heart sinking. You were absolutely terrified to puke. It was a childhood fear for no real reason. "Mark," you whispered, hands out to steady your rocking, "Mark I think I'm gonna throw up."
He'd known you long enough to understand why it was a problem. He sighs, "alright. Fun over. You're both cut off." Ethan cries, but you don't catch whatever he said. You're no longer a happy drunk, you're scared to move in fear of emptying your stomach. Mark is gentle in the way he presses a hand to your back, slowly guiding you over to the couch. Some animated movie plays and you're barely aware of it as you're helped into laying down.
"Mark, I need water. I'm gonna go get water." You slur, and immediately sit up. Your head hits the couch pillow a second later, feeling like you'll upchuck if you try to do a single thing. "I'll get you water, just chill for a second." Mark murmurs, smoothing the hair stuck to your forehead. Your heavy eyes shut, and you buzz in and out of consciousness as you vaguely hear Ethan get ushered down the hall to his room.
When Mark returns, it's with water and blankets. He hands you the drink first, keeping a hand on the cup as yours cradles it just to make sure it doesn't spill all over. "Are you okay now?" He asks softly, setting your beverage down on the coffee table. You're only now aware of being in tears, very disorientated and drunk. He's leaning over you, using the back of the couch to brace himself. Unable to think right, your hands come up and do the grabby hand motion.
After some very slurred convincing, the footrest of all three couch cushions are kicked out so Mark can squeeze onto the couch behind you. You're warm, content, and very tired now watching whatever movie played on TV, Mark pressed to your back and holding you close. Still both in jeans and not in comfortable clothes, you're comfy how you are. And scared if you move, it'll break the peaceful atmosphere.
"I hope you know I'm not dealing with your hangover." Mark whispers, patting your hip. You giggle and turn in his arms, face shoved to his chest. Unashamed you take in the scent of his cologne, listening to the rumble of his chuckle. "Alright Tipsy, go to sleep." He says, and your mind shuts off almost immediately. Tomorrow was gonna be one hell of a day full of headache and nausea but Mark was gonna help you, even though he said he wouldn't. He's got a little bit of a soft spot for you.
"At least I beat Ethan. Momma ain't raise no quitter." You slur, having to have the last word.
the dark bags under mark's eyes were prominent, and your heart ached at the fact you could see them the moment he appeared in the doorway. he looked half dead, visibly dishevelled and swaying.
you set your book down and lifted the blanket, allowing him to slide into bed with a soft, mm. he settled between your legs, shoving his face into your stomach. his hands found their way to your back, soft fingers hiking up your shirt to glide up your back.
“another late night, my love?” you whispered, your own hands finding home in his hair. it was awfully knotted and tangled, so you set to work gently carding through his hair with nimble fingers to work out the mess.
he didn't verbally respond, just shaking his head and squeezing his grasp on you tighter.
“people being dicks?” bob and wade had a habit of being a tad too harsh on mark sometimes, so it was a good guess.
mark shook his head again.
“just tired?”
he nodded, nuzzling into the soft material of your shirt.
you hummed, stopping your work of untangling his hair to instead massage his head, scratching at the hairs on the back of his neck. “would you like to watch a movie?” you asked softly, not quite sure what he was in the mood for tonight.
mark shook his head. he was going to be unverbal for tonight, either not feeling up to speaking or overusing his voice.
“do you want to just lay here?” you pressed on.
he didn't respond immediately, but did follow with a hesitant shrug. so that was a maybe at least, progress.
your eyes cast back to your book, discarded on your night stand, “would you like me to read to you?”
your overworked boyfriend nodded immediately. you smiled, leaving one hand in his hair as the other reached for your book. you held it between your pinkie and index finger, picking up where you left off.
the campsite was silent, crickets filling the void. you stared up at the stars through the tent ceiling, bleary eyed and cold. sleep had not come to claim you, leaving just the thoughts and exhaustion come 2:30am.
you felt lonely, being the only body on your twin mattress. henry had abandoned you long ago, in favor of the spacious bed his father was on. mark was tucked against the side of the tent, sleeping quietly. his dogs took up the rest of the queen air mattress, sprawled out and happy.
a quick glance at him, and passing thought. crawl into bed with him.
he was sleeping. leave it that way.
but it's cold.
mark was peacefully snoring, bundled in layers of thick blankets.
he's warm. you've only got one blanket.
against your better judgement, you slide out of bed and to your feet with a quiet, "oof." you tiptoe to him, non quiet as the tarp under the tent crinkled. you shooed chica away, sending her to curl up next to henry.
"mark," you whispered, "i can't sleep."
he didn't respond, and you thought about retreating back to your own lonely bed. "...mark?"
the snoring stopped, "hm...?" he grumbled. "i... can't sleep and it's cold..." you said softly, kneeling onto his bed.
he turned, and the blankets lifted as mark offered space against him. you gently crawled in, giving him space as he dropped the blankets. his arm dropped to your waist, and a warm hand ran up and down your back in contemplation.
you were pulled in, face to mark's chest. his other arm slid under you, pulling tight. trapped in a warm bear hug, you either and nestled closer.
"g'night." mark mumbled, placing a chaste kiss to your head before he very quickly fell back to sleep.
you snuggled closer to him, further under the blankets and let the warmth of his body lull you into a long needed rest.
mark did not like the snow. a city boy who spends most of his time on his computer or in a gym, he did not like the snow. it was cold, and it was deep, and it was too light to move in.
you turned around and barked a sharp laugh. there mark was, looking all sour and upset in his layers of warm clothes. "how long do we have to be here again?" he whined, stomping to you through snow up to his knees.
"we just got up here!" you said, waiting for him to catch up. he looked miserable, to say the least. mark had at least three layers on.
he stuck his tongue out at you, trying to appear as angry as he could muster. "i'll bite that, put it back," you snickered, turning to the pile of firewood that had been tossed away from the road. "we just need to load this up and we can leave."
"is this what you couldn't pack home yesterday?" mark asked, sliding up to press his body to yours. you laughed and pushed him away, "stop leeching on my warmth bro!- but, yes, this is from yesterday."
you picked up a couple of split chunks, loading a decent bit into your arms before trudging back to the truck. you loaded them into the bed, turning around to fetch more only to almost collide with mark and his armful. "you owe me a kiss," he huffed.
scooting by, you let him dump his armful into the truck before the two of you walked back. little by little, all the split wood was moved from snowy ground to bed. mark was... ecstatic.
the first thing he said when getting into the truck cab was, "holy fuck it's freezing in here!"
"yes mark, it's almost as if the truck hasn't been running and we're up in the cold and snow." you chided, nearly shoving the keys into the ignition in hurry to get the heater on. while the truck ran and everything warmed up, you leaned over the center console to give mark just a quick peck. one turned into two, and two turned into three.
nose to nose, you pulled away from him for only a second, "i know how to get it really warm in here, really fast."
"mm... keep it in your pants." mark crooned, giving a soft goodbye kiss before pulling away. you grumbled in defiance but leaned back, putting the truck into drive before turning and heading back down the mountain.
sweater paws rubbed the sleepy blur from your eyes, stumbling through the dark hallway. your side softly brushed the wall, using it for stability as you trudged towards mark’s room, going to fetch henry.
when you couldn’t sleep, you would steal henry from mark’s room so you not only had a cuddle buddy, but you didn’t feel so lonely. tonight was one of the times you just couldn’t sleep; well, you had slept, but it had been in short intervals.
when you peaked into mark’s room, it was barely illuminated by the moon. henry perked up, and upon seeing you, slid off the bed. he knew the drill, when you came to mark’s room so late. you turned, a little more stable the longer you stood, listening to henry’s claws clicking softly behind you.
once you were settled back into bed, he jumped up after you, padding up to your back before slumping down with a huff, soft body pressed to yours. an appreciative pat to his side made him nuzzle his head to your back.
henry didn’t help you sleep any better. after waking up a grand total of three more times, you slid off the bed and went right back down the hallway. and, of course, henry followed. he had a weird love for you.
you stood in the doorway to mark’s room once more, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. mark was snoring softly, obviously sleeping well. you did not want to ruin that.
“...mark?” you whispered, heart lurching in even thuds.
from a fluff of duvet came a raspy, gruff, “hm.”
you sighed, shaky and light. tears started to well, you weren’t sure if it was from guilt, tiredness, or sleep deprivation.
“i can’t sleep.” your voice warbled, eyes fixed to the ground in avoidance.
the blankets rustled, and you jumped at the sudden loud noise in the otherwise silent room. you could barely see in the darkness of the night, but faintly you could see the blankets lift, and mark’s other hand beckoning you in. apprehensively, you tiptoed closer, pausing for a second with your knees hitting the bed. mark’s free hand reached out and pulled you under the blanket, earning a very shocked squeak from you.
“there.” mark rasped, pulling you into his warm body.
he was obviously very tired and the tears returned, bringing guilt with them. you sniffled before you could stop yourself and mark made a sound that was probably supposed to be a shushing noise. you turned to face him, shoving your face into his chest and nodding in understanding of his slurred comfort.
sleep came easy that night, as it always does when you sneak your way into mark’s bed.
a creak from the kitchen nearly made your heart stop. your head whipped around to stare through the doorway, hearing soft footsteps pad on false hardwood. the kitchen light flicked on, and you saw mark filling a cup at the sink.
it took him awfully long to realize the downstairs tv was playing, looking up to see why. instead he saw you.
there was a long moment of awkward, held eye contact. then he turned to check the clock on the stove. then looked back to you.
“it is literally three in the morning.” he sighed, voice gravelly and rough from sleep.
“yes, but— i—” you were fumbling over your own words, “uh— couldn't sleep— i couldn't sleep so i came to watch a show— watch tv.”
he shut the sink off and padded over, standing in the archway. mark sipped on the water, staring at whatever bogus show you had decided on.
“buzzfeed unsolved? really?” mark questioned, reaching his free hand up to scratch at his extremely horrible case of bedhead.
you gasped, feigning hurt, “the true crime one is amazing!”
he gave you a, 'yeah okay' kind of look before ungracefully dropping himself onto the couch beside you.
“you're not going back to bed?” you asked.
he shook his head, adding a soft 'not yet.'
there was a long stretch or silence, only the tv humming on.
mark set his cup down on the coffee table and looked to you, “why couldn't you sleep?”
“oh, uh, i don't know. i haven't slept more than a couple hours the past few nights.” you were flustered, but unsure why.
mark gave a slow nod, glancing at his cup then to you. he adjusted on the couch, propping his feet on the cushions and stretching himself out. he pat his stomach, then waved his hands in a 'come here' motion.
you spluttered, shaking your head and leaning back while trying —and failing— to explain you were fine. and mark was very much having none of it.
his face absolutely screamed, 'i'm not putting up with your shit'. eyes half lidded, mouth drawn into a slight drown, eyebrows pinched. he looked, tired.
you dejectedly gave in, awkwardly situating yourself to lay over him, legs tangled and your head tucked nearly under mark's chin. his arms came up to hug you close, and you both quickly became engrossed in the show again.
quickly you noticed, like a switch had been flipped, that you were going to fall asleep extremely soon. you were suddenly so, so tired. but, mark still fell asleep before you. he snored softly, arms lose around you but still keeping you close.
you allowed yourself to nod off little by little, content on sleeping where you were.
the tv hummed softly, playing whatever movie had been recommended after the last. it was late; maybe just hitting midnight. and, for two adults with busy days, twelve at night was late.
mark was almost conked out. almost.
“mm... the fuck jus' happened?” he slurred, vaguely pointing a crooked finger at the tv.
you only realized then that you had been staring down at mark, and not paying attention to the movie. he was stretched out across your lap shirtless, on his stomach so you could gently scratch blunt nails over his back. you cast a quick glance up to see the two protagonists running from a pack of comically large wolves.
“i think they crossed the river and those wolves were waiting.” you hummed softly, stroking a gentle hand through marks recently—shortened hair.
“dumb wolves. bitches.” your boyfriend snickered, half out of his mind with exhaustion.
you weren't much interested in the movie, feeling tired yourself, “love, should we go to bed?”
“yes.” mark grunted quickly, hauling himself up and tripping to the stairs.
with a small smile, you shut the tv off. henry bolted after mark, but chica stayed downstairs with you. as you tidied up, stacking cups and snack bowls, mark was undoubtedly already in bed and passed out.
you, eventually, made your way upstairs. lights were shut off as you went, candles were blown out. chica stayed loyal by your side, making you stumble once or twice when she got in your way.
mark was completely out when you got to the bedroom. snoring and all. henry perked up from his dogbed, sitting against the hopechest at the foot of your bed. chica joined him, giving a soft harrumph.
slowly, quietly, you joined your lover in bed, snuggling up to him once you were tucked under the thick comforter. mark, unbelievably, woke long enough to pull you close and mumble a short, slurred 'love you'.
