Work Text:
Mark swallows hard around the lump that formed in his throat when Falcon walks out of their room. He’s wearing Mark’s favorite shirt, the one where it looks like it’s painted on. With the fabric pulled taut around his muscles and toned stomach, it left very little to Mark’s overactive imagination.
Falcon catches his eye and he can’t control the smirk that appears on his face. His steps are calculated and before Mark knows it, he’s caught up in Falcon’s arms in a surprisingly soft embrace. “Like what you see?” Falcon’s voice rings in his ears.
And Mark smiles, “Maybe.”