Work Text:
"Hey, Jack."
It's said quietly, over the slop the school calls lunch. With Sarah out sick for the day, there hasn’t been much conversation at the table; what little has been said is peaceful and slow, with comfortable silence never far. Mark breaks it with that, and then a little head-jerk that says follow me as he stands.
Jack figures they’re headed out to the yard to smoke. He almost needs it, with the day he’s had — between waking up late and the pop quiz he’d just taken, he’s about to come apart at the seams. So Mark’s request, if he can call it that, is a welcome one. Jack follows him through the cafeteria and down the halls until they come to a bathroom on the other side of the school, which is… odd. But whatever. Call it an adventure, he thinks. A little bit of the thrill of getting caught.
Mark opens the door with his back pressed against it so that he can grin at Jack. It’s a little mischievous, and he can’t help but smile back. Everything about Mark is contagious. His hands are twitchy, Jack notices, and he wonders what’s got him so nervous.
The blue-white fluorescents are humming and flickering. The tile is dingy, and the whole room feels like a gas station late at night. It’s empty, as far as Jack can tell, and Mark walks ahead to make sure, bending lower and checking under stall doors for feet. Once he’s satisfied, he enters the furthest one and holds the door open for Jack.
As soon as he’s locked the door behind him, Mark has him shoved flush against it. Before he can really think about it, Jack is kissing him, grabbing handfuls of his sweatshirt and trying to pull him close enough that there isn’t a single pocket of space between them. Mark is receptive; God, is he. He kisses with an almost bruising force, one hand in Jack’s hair and the other on his cheek, and when their teeth clink together, he sucks in a breath and bites down.
Jack can feel something stirring. He shifts his hands so they’re on Mark’s sides instead, fingers splayed for maximum contact with his waist and ribs. Mark grabs hold of the collar of his sweatshirt and pulls, as if Jack could get any closer without being inside his skin. It’s just as intoxicating as getting high in the yard would have been.
And then the bathroom door opens.
Mark is off him in less than a second, flying to the opposite wall. Jack holds his breath and stares at him as they listen to the stranger pissing. Mark’s lips are pink and wet and his eyes are wild, darting between Jack and the gap between the stall and the floor. The stranger zips his pants and leaves without washing his hands, and when the door is closed they heave a sigh.
Mark sinks to the nasty tile floor. Elbows on his knees and head in his hands, Jack can hear him breathing, unsteady and loud. He’s not sure what else to do, so he walks over and joins him on the ground, and they sit in silence while Mark catches his breath.
“Goddamnit,” he eventually whispers. And that’s it. He leaves it there, for Jack to interpret. They go back to silence, because Jack isn’t really sure what to make of any of it. Mark’s face is still sort of red and he won’t make eye contact no matter how hard Jack tries.
“Sorry,” Jack ends up saying, though he isn’t really sure what he’s apologizing for. Kissing him. Not kissing him again. Having hands. Being alive. Mark exhales like a dry laugh.
“Why?”
He still won’t look up. Jack shrugs. Mark stands then, still staring blankly at the wall, and Jack reaches for his hand. He shakes it off and leaves without another word or glance, and Jack keeps sitting there long enough that he’s late to his next class.