Marsenio yaoi when
Marsenio NOW!
AFTER HOURS
Content: Subtop!Arsenio x Dombottom!Marlon
Warnings: SMUT. (MDNI), rough sex, light teasing
Synopsis: after an interview, Mr. Hall and Mr. Jackson decide to go out after hours. Only… Marlon seems to be in a different mood.
—-
The booth was too small for the energy between them. Marlon slid in across from Arsenio and the vinyl creaked like it knew something was about to happen. The restaurant hummed with late-night clatter. Forks on plates, low laughter from the bar— but their corner felt sealed off, the dim overhead light pooling amber on the tablecloth between them.
"You're still on, huh?" Marlon grinned, elbows on the table. "Even off-camera?"
Arsenio's laugh was quick, practiced. "Man, I don't got an off switch. You know that."
Marlon let the words hang. Under the tablecloth, he moved with deft hands— his fingers slow and quiet. His calculated palm found Arsenio's thigh, traced upwards. The fabric of Arsenio's slacks was seemingly becoming tighter— and warm.
Arsenio's hand paused mid-reach for his water glass. He didn't look down. "So you're like this, huh?"
"Like what?" Marlon's hand kept moving, slow strokes along the muscle. The tablecloth hid everything.
"Like—" Arsenio's voice dropped, rougher now. "You know what."
Marlon leaned forward, let his hand squeeze Arsenio’s thigh. His thumb pressed the inner seam, right where the fabric pulled tightest.
Then his hand clamped over Marlon's wrist — knuckles white, grip iron. He leaned across the table, voice a hiss. "I need to take you home… right now."
Cash hit the table. Arsenio pulled Marlon out of the booth.
The car ride had been silent. Not awkward, but worse. Charged. Marlon's hand had stayed on Arsenio's thigh the whole drive, and Arsenio had let it sit there, jaw tight, eyes on the road.
Now the porch steps creaked under their weight. Arsenio's palm pressed flat against the small of Marlon's back, steadying him, or maybe steadying himself. The touch burned through Marlon's thin jacket.
They stopped at the door. Marlon turned. The porch light caught the sweat at Arsenio's temple, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. Neither spoke. The air between them was thick enough to choke on.
Arsenio's hand came up slow. His palm cupped Marlon's jaw, thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. The touch was deliberate— a question and an answer both.
Then, his mouth was on Marlon's. Deep and slow, no rush, no performance. His tongue slid past Marlon's lips, tasting, claiming. Marlon's hands fisted in Arsenio's shirt, knuckles white against the cotton, pulling him closer.
Arsenio broke the kiss. His forehead dropped against Marlon's, breath hitching, ragged and unsteady. For a long moment they stayed like that, sharing the same hot air.
Then Arsenio stepped back. His hand fell from Marlon's jaw. He turned toward the steps.
“I should get going, it’s— it’s late out.”
Arsenio's foot hit the first step down, and Marlon's hand shot out. Fingers twisted into the collar of Arsenio's shirt, knuckles digging into the starched fabric, and Marlon yanked. Hard. Arsenio stumbled backward through the doorway, a grunt escaping his throat, his body crashing into Marlon's chest. The doorframe rattled.
Then Arsenio's hands were on him— rough, desperate, nothing like the careful touch on the porch. He shoved Marlon against the entryway wall, the impact knocking a picture frame crooked. Arsenio's grip closed around Marlon's wrists and pinned them above his head, the plaster cold against Marlon's knuckles. Arsenio's breath was hot and ragged against his throat. His hips pressed forward, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against Marlon's thigh through his slacks.
Marlon's mouth found Arsenio's jaw, teeth scraping stubble. "finally," he breathed.
Arsenio released his wrists and dropped. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Marlon's pants and yanked. The fabric scraped down his thighs, pooling at his knees, his bare ass hitting the cold wall. Marlon's cock sprang free, already slick at the tip, bobbing against his stomach. His hands flew to Arsenio's belt— fumbling, tearing at the leather, the buckle clanking as he ripped it open. He shoved Arsenio's slacks and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out thick and dark, the head already glossy with pre-cum.
Arsenio spat into his palm. His hand wrapped around his shaft, slicking it with fast, rough strokes, his eyes locked on Marlon's. Then his wet fingers found Marlon's hole, pressing, spreading. Marlon's breath hitched. Arsenio lined the head of his cock up and shoved.
One hard stroke. Deep. Marlon's gasp tore through the dark hallway, his back arching off the wall, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Arsenio's shoulders. The stretch burned and filled him, his hole clenching around the thick intrusion. Arsenio didn't wait. He pulled back and slammed in again, harder, their skin slapping loud in the quiet house. Pre-cum leaked down Marlon's cleft, slicking the rhythm.
Marlon's legs locked around Arsenio's waist, ankles digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His cock ground against Arsenio's stomach, smearing wet streaks across the muscle. The friction was brutal and perfect. Arsenio's pace turned punishing.
"Come on," Marlon hissed, his voice cracking. "Fucking cum in me, Arsenio..."
Arsenio buried himself to the hilt and held. His cock pulsed, hot cum flooding deep inside Marlon's ass, and the sensation tipped Marlon over. His own cock jerked, spurting thick ropes of cum between their bellies, a raw moan ripping from his throat. His body shook, clamped tight around Arsenio, milking every last pulse of Arsenio’s member.
Arsenio's forehead dropped to Marlon's shoulder, his chest heaving, his legs trembling. Marlon's arms slid around his neck, holding him there. They shook together, spent and sticky, the front door still ajar.
Arsenio's hands slid down Marlon's slick thighs, lowering him gently until his feet met the cold floor. The only sound was their breathing, still ragged, slowing together. Arsenio lifted his thumb and brushed the damp curls off Marlon's forehead, the gesture impossibly soft after everything. Marlon's palm found Arsenio's chest and rested flat over his heartbeat— still pounding hard under the sweat. The tablecloth from the restaurant felt like a lifetime ago. Marlon laced his fingers through Arsenio's and tugged him upstairs.
A/n: hopefully this sparks new marsenio fans… i like both mjs so this was a pleasure to write.
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