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“Fold.”
“Damn, already? I'm getting good at this game.”
Mark chuckled as he took Jack's cards, mixing them together before adding them to the rest of the deck. He shuffled them together before he dealt them out again.
PAX Seattle was here, and Mark was both weary and excited for the venture. Recording had taken so much time to prepare for this little trip, and he imagined that it must've been for Jack, as well. The poor boy looked a small bit jet-lagged, if Mark said so himself. Yet, here they were, playing poker in Jack's hotel room at, Mark looked at his watch, ten o' clock at night.
They really should sleep, he thought. But as he looked at his next hand, he grinned, knowing that he had this one in the bag.
“What's that smile 'bout?” Jack grinned back at him. “Got somethin' you wanna show me?”
“You gonna fold?” Mark inquired, and Jack shook his head.
“I think I've got something worth showing,” he replied, winking at him.
Mark laughed, and they showed their hands. The American silently cheered for himself as he beat his friend, just by a bit.
“Dammit,” Jack laughed, handing the cards back. “I totally thought I had this one.”
Mark took the cards back and reshuffled them. These rounds were so quick, it was practically unreal. He couldn't count how many rounds they'd played since coming up to the hotel. This time, it hadn't been an accident that they were staying at the same place. They'd met up with Wade and Bob earlier, and had dinner, before they'd all parted ways to what was supposed to get some sleep. Mark himself hadn't quite been ready for sleep yet, and Jack hadn't been either. Which, to be fair, is how they ended up on Jack's bed, feet folded lazily, playing poker, of all things.
As he dealt out another hand, Jack didn't look at his cards and said, “Y'know what would make this really interesting?”
The grin on his face gave Mark a sneaking suspicion that he really didn't want to know. But he asked anyway, “What?”
“Strip poker,” Jack said, in all seriousness. “These rounds are so fast. Let's make it interesting.”
Mark thought it was a great idea for ten at night. Doors were locked, and sure, him and Jack were close enough to do something that fun. So he shrugged. “Sounds good.”
“Starting now?” he asked, and Mark nodded.
As if on cue, Jack pulled off his jacket, and when Mark looked at him quizzically, he said, “You're not wearing one. I wanted to make it even.”
That was fair enough. He picked up his hand, and looked through it. As he rearranged his cards by color and number, he glanced up at Jack who was meticulously doing the same thing.
“Hit me,” Jack said, and Mark dealt him a card.
After another moment, they both showed their hands. The Irishman grinned. “Nice. Take it off, Fischbach.”
Mark laughed, and then, just to spite him, he took one sock off and tossed it across the room. Jack seemed to expect nothing less, as he laughed quietly. “Guess I'm gonna have to work harder to see anything good, huh?”
For some reason, the comment stuck with him as he took the cards back, shuffled, and dealt them out again.
Jack won the second round, so he took off his other sock and threw it in the general direction of the first. Then, he won the third, to which Jack followed and threw his sock too. Eventually, the other sock came off, as well.
When Mark won his third round, Jack groaned loudly (albeit in good humor) and pulled his shirt off. He tossed it down on the floor beside them, and Mark just stared as Jack said, “Yours is coming off next.”
Truer words hadn't been spoken all night. Jack, as if pulling crazy, Irish magic out of his ass, won the next round with a straight flush. Impressed, Mark whistled as he begrudgingly took off his own shirt, almost unbelieving that he was stripping in front of one of his best friends.
Jack stared, and their eyes locked for a moment. The younger of the two swallowed and cleared his throat, before he murmured, “Shall we continue?”
Mark nodded and dealt again.
Another two rounds flew by. It was almost as if they were trading off, as if they wanted to see the other take their clothes off. Jack's jeans came off first, shortly followed by Mark's.
It was a hilarious image, Mark thought. Two grown men sitting on a bed, both in their boxers with their clothes strewn about the floor, as if they'd been taking off haphazardly in the moment. It felt like the beginning of a bad porno. But as Jack laid down the next hand, he won.
“Boxers off,” Jack commanded, the teasing lilt surprisingly gone from his voice. He was looking intently at Mark, almost eager.
The American laughed, trying to lighten the tension that he felt like was descending upon them. “Someone sounds a little eager. Didn't know my dick was so appealing to you.”
Jack smirked a little bit, leaning forward. “You made the deal, Fischbach. Panties off.”
“Why don't you come over and take them off for me?” Mark joked.
The Irishman tossed his cards off the bed, flinging them to one side. Without warning, he practically tackled Mark, who grabbed him by the elbows, yet still Jack's thumbs snuck their way into the waistband of his boxers.
His face was inches from Mark's, warm breath ghosting over his cheeks, the feel of his skin pressing into him. His thumbs were surprisingly cold against his hips, as he whispered, “Take 'em off.”
Mark swallowed. “No.”
Jack kissed him. He leaned down and pressed his lips roughly to his, the angle a little awkward and the pressure a little aggressive. But Mark didn't mind at all as he let go of Jack's elbows to cup his cheeks, pulling him down closer and closer, their bare chests touching. Mark opened his mouth and Jack took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, and the American could feel himself growing hard as Jack moved from kissing his mouth to down his neck, brushing his fingers over his chest.
He paused, then. Jack's blue eyes snapped up to meet his brown ones, and he stared as if asking for permission to continue. Mark could feel his heart racing in his chest, almost in a haze as he remembered this was Jack, the crazy, energetic buzzing bee of Ireland and what would be the cost of this tomorrow morning?
Yet, Mark found himself nodding, never breaking eye contact as Jack slowly pulled his boxers from his waist.