#Mark needs a wetnap

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 3

The boys are back with two more Prompts down! Delight and Linger ! I love writing these boys so much- just the goofiest vibes.

How long before I make it angsty?

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Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 2332

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking)

Man, the food was great. Never in my life had I tasted anything like the weird paste Mark had made- and to put it on meat?? Some crazy part of my was compelled to howl with joy. While the glass bucket Mark had given me to use as a cup proved progressively harder to grip with more and more of the sauce covering my hands, I was plenty fine with the extra effort just for another sip of the cool golden drink- Beer went incredible with hawk wings. 

Leaning back, I groaned as I stretched out, stomach aching.

I’d more than eaten my fill, but it's not like it was everyday that I had such a mouthwatering feast to myself. My eyes flickered to Mark. Both in my own eager hunger and out of a slight unease, I’d been avoiding watching him eat. There was something both ridiculously impressive and deeply unsettling about watching another being consume many times more than my weight in food. Inarguably cool- but the spectacle left me feeling… less. 

My eyes met his own. Though, as soon as my gaze met his, he looked away- quickly focusing on taking another drink. I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. Looks like I caught him staring. I wait until he puts the can to his lips before I speak, 

“See something you like, big man?” 

Mark chokes on his drink- a strangled sound escaping him as his hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he sputters. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of him desperately trying to hold in his drink - his sputtering turning to coughing. The mix of the panicked look on his face and the pitiful sounds are just too much, and I find myself wincing at a sharp pain biting at my sides from the laughter. 

Catching his breath, Mark chuckles. He waves a dismissive hand,

“Man, I’m just shocked at how much you ate.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you’re what? Ten times my size?” I gesture to the pile of bones on his plate, “How do you think I feel?”

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“Relatively.” He points to the section of meat I’d claimed for myself, “Like, holy shit dude. It looks like you ate one of your legs worth of meat.” 

I shrug. 

“You could have eaten more if you hadn’t filled up by drinking so much.”

He chuckles- but his laugh is cut short as he jerks. The flinch is all the warning I get before a massive hand is sent rocketing toward his opposite arm. A thunderous clap breaks through the evening air. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I can’t tell if it's the sound echoing in my ears or if it's my heart thrumming in my chest. I hadn’t even flinched- a thought that I wanted to be able to revel in- to tell myself it was because I wasn’t so easily cowed… but there was no lying to myself. 

I didn’t even have time to flinch. 

The thought sent a chill through me. 

Mark, unaware of my racing heart, sighed.

“Ugh, the mosquitoes are coming out.” He shot me a nervous smile, “You, uh, wanna head inside and have a few more drinks?” Pausing, he adds “And maybe put a shirt on?”

I chuckle, though it feels more forced than moments ago,

“And why would I do that?” As I say the words, sing songy and teasing, I feel the tension inside me ease. I stand, my body feeling sluggish- heavy with the weight of a good meal. Stretching, I meander over to his waiting hand, making sure he knows I’m turning down the suggestion to get dressed rather than the invitation for more beers. 

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“I mean, you’re wearing enough of the sauce that it might as well count as a shirt.”

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment before looking down. 

Eesh. He… Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

Stomach to chest, I was covered in splatterings and smears of the dark red sauce. My pants were decorated with various stains, some smaller, like where I’d wiped off my hands, and one particularly large spot of sauce where I’d rested the massive hunk of meat against my legs. 

Using my forearm, I haphazardly wiped across my chest, clearing off a decent volume of sauce. 

“DUDE!” I jump at his exclamation, frozen in place with my tongue still dragging along the sauce smeared skin of my arm. I furrow my brow. What was his problem now? 

“Wash off properly before you get in my hand” He scolds. I mimic his exasperated expression and roll my eyes. He tears off another piece of napkin and hands it to me in response. Taking it, I double back towards my drink-bucket. 

“What are you- SAL!” I tip the bucket over my head and feel a wash of cool liquid pour over me- a momentary respite from the overbearing heat of the day. The chill combined with the strange bubbles in the drink are a bit jarring, but in a way that’s invigorating- refreshing even. 

Above me, I can hear Mark sputtering- a mix of “Dudes” and “whys” and other half finished questions. I throw up my hands, confused and frustrated. This guy’s impossible! I cleaned off?? What did he want from me?? 

“Dude! Come on…” The exclamation is chastising in its tone. “Why would you-” Before he can continue I interject, 

“But you said-” An exasperated sigh interrupts my very valid point. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks.

“You know what? It's fine.” His tone suggests it's anything but, yet the smile he gives me feels genuine- as if he’s the one being patient and I’m the one being unreasonable. In a slow and careful movement, Mark once again offers me his hand. 

There's a slight, but not unnoticed, chill that grips me- a little shot of adrenaline at the sight of his incoming hand. A faint tremor in my legs, and a pounding in my heart accompanying a stray thought at the back of my mind that wants me to hesitate- to back out. The thought reminds me almost of getting into cold water; that anticipation of shock making you move slower, as if your brain is trying to persuade you away from that unwanted discomfort.

I set my jaw.

Well, fuck that. 

If I didn’t feel comfortable, I would make myself comfortable. My thoughts are mine to control- not there to control me. 

As if his hand were a body of water, I dove in. His hands were soft as I landed, much more so than my own. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind how comfortable it felt- how warm. 

I flopped to my back and patted the meat of his thumb, coaxing him to move. I don’t miss the way his fingers curl in, or how his other hand comes up to support the first. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Those subtle gestures leave me a bit conflicted- stuck in a middle ground between finding it endearing and finding it patronising. The care to use a delicate hand with me was… nice, yet the thought that I needed to be handled with a delicate hand was bordering on insulting. 

The warmth of his hand and the rhythmic rise and fall with his steps seemed to lull me away from my irritation. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax to the steady sway of his steps. I liked Mark. He was nice. He had good food. He was fun to rile up. I felt my cheeks burning from a goofy smile that wouldn’t seem to falter. This was real. After all these years, I had someone to talk to! Someone to spend time with! There was a giddiness in my chest that just seemed to build- a dizzying surge of wild energy that felt like the room was spinning-

Wait. Was the room spinning??

I felt my stomach lurch, a weird feeling of vertigo prompting me to open my eyes trying to ground myself. The spinning sensation eased to a stop as I sat up. Seemingly right on cue, Mark lowered his hand to the table. 

As soon as I dismount from his hand, Mark’s massive frame turns away from me, rushing toward the sink. I frown as he washes his hands. I’d washed off for him, and yet he was acting as if he’d just handled something foul. As he returns to the table he seems to catch my glare. 

He raises his hands as if surrendering, 

“Dude, you’re sticky.” 

I snort.

“I am not.” 

I patted my skin. Sure, it was a little tacky to the touch, but that was hardly anything to wash up over. I’d just doused myself off in front of him- what more did he want?

While I had no clue what he wanted from me, I knew what I wanted- and that was another drink. 

Eyeing my glass bucket, I meandered over to wear he’d set his drink down. Each step was off- just a little, almost as if it was… Delayed? I took a long blink, trying to orient myself. Was I swaying?

I stumbled, catching myself on Mark’s arm. He flinched under my touch and my scowl returned. 

“Ew, dude, don’t touch me. You’re all sticky.” 

With a glare, I let my body collapse against his arm limply laying over it. He stiffens under my touch, and I feel the strangest sensation of goosebumps forming on his skin beneath me. I keep my head buried against his arm as my scowl is pulled up into a grin. This guy was really something else. Spiders, first aid, and slightly tacky skin?? I bet his own shadow could get a rise out of him. 

I chuckled at my own thought, laughing into his arm as he squirmed beneath me. Mark titled his arm in an attempt to push me back onto my feet, but rather than let him guide me back into a stand, I pulled myself up - stradling the width of his forearm. 

“Oh- Dude, come on. Get off.” He whines, twisting his arm, carefully trying to force me to dismount. His kindness is his own downfall, as the slow and gentle movements are easy to correct against- leaning my weight this way and that to compensate. Above me, he groans. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as his free hand reaches up, prompting me to spring up into a stand- feeling oddly dizzy at the sudden movement. 

He hesitates- hand hovering at my side - either waiting to catch me or unwilling to touch me. Before he can reconsider I spring into action. In one bound I’m at the crook of his elbow. Without pausing I leap, clearing the small gap between his arm and torso as I throw myself at the fabric of his shirt. 

Mark does nothing more than flinch- making a strangled noise as he jerks bolt upright in his seat, hands stiffly to each side of me yet making no move to touch me. I can’t stop laughing, My cheeks burn, my sides ache, yet my arms feel light as I pull myself up the length of his shirt. Mark leans back, craning his neck and tilting his chin away in the most futile attempt to distance himself from me. Stitches form in my sides as I nearly wheeze at the sight. 

Gripping the collar of his shirt I heave myself onto his shoulder, letting out a sigh as I try to quell my laughter. 

“Is something wrong, Big Guy?”  I tease,stifling a giggle while leaning my apparently sticky self onto his neck. The sensation of his warm skin shuddering under my touch is bizarre, “Afraid I’ll-” I pause. His skin is more than just warm, it's hot. I crane my neck, awkwardly trying to look at his face from the odd vantage point. 

His face is red- his mouth a thin line and his eyes are anywhere but on me. 

Oh.

This was too much, wasn’t it? 

I was too much.

I clear my throat, wracking my brain for anything to fill the now very noticeably awkward silence.

“You, um, mind refilling my drink?” 

A little puff of air escapes him, and I watch as a smile pulls at the edge of his lips. Slowly, he turns his head towards me, and all at once I’m reminded of just how massive he is. On his shoulder I’m eye level with him- Mark meeting my gaze out of the corner of his eye… and eye roughly the size of my head. I stagger back a half step, careful to mind my footing. Something about seeing an eye so closely was off-putting, the depth of the brown looking too deep- like something I could fall into; the colour like good healthy dirt.  

He raises an eyebrow.

“Mind getting off?” 

With an exaggerated hop, I let myself drop down the steep slope of his arm, half sliding half falling to his forearm. Mark lets out a yelp at the motion- as if a fall from that height was anything to worry about. 

I step down from his arm, my gait still feeling not quite right- each step somewhat unsteady, as if the table swayed beneath my feet. It wasn’t only my gait- my skin felt strange. Almost numb but not really? It was… buzzing?  Yet despite all the strangeness, there was a warmth in my chest that seemed to spread over into my mind. A light fuzziness that softens the edge of my thoughts. There was an ease- a comfort- that seemed to coat my mind, like a paradoxically warm blanket of snow. 

Maybe a little too warm? 

I knit my brow. 

I could fix that. 

I looked up, craning my neck to meet Marks gaze, 

“So, how about another drink?”