[ henry barely lets marcus finish speaking before he's locking the door behind them and pulling him into a kiss. it's probably embarrassing how often henry thinks about marcus and how to get his attention. how to let him know that henry thinks of him as a priority and how anxious he gets, sometimes, wondering if marcus is sick of him or if he's just too much to deal with and marcus will just stop answering one day. wondering if he understands how few people get as close to him as marcus has. he's important to him, and he doesn't want to lose that.
in fact, henry should probably slow down if he doesn't want to come across as desperate as he feels. but he doesn't wanna do that. he wants to get his hands on marcus's skin and kiss him harder. ]
Nice to meet you, [ he says smiling and between kisses, ] You've got an awful lot of clothes on.
[ layers and everything. henry is, after all, actually serious about the kind of mood he's in even if it was also a transparent excuse to spend time with him. and he was teased with pre-whipped out dick or whatever, which makes him almost impatient enough to drop to his knees right here against the door. instead he starts pulling marcus toward the arm chair. ]
[ nobody has ever really managed to convince marcus that he's worth liking platonically, let alone liked in whatever way henry might like him. romantically, he guesses would be the word. there's so much anxiety in marcus, so much cynicism, half of it genuine, half of it manufactured and exaggerated in an attempt to project this image of someone deep and intelligent and distant. letting himself get past all of that in order to believe that he's allowed something good has never been easy for him, even as a kid, and henry...
well, henry is something good. they've swapped mixtapes - marcus is at risk of wearing out the tape in henry's, if he listens to it any more than he already has - they've hung out a bit, they've been something. something good. any desperation, any neediness, any insecurity henry might have about himself or about whatever it is the two of them are doing, would be more than fucking welcome to hear on marcus's part. he wants to listen, wants to support, wants to be the best marcus for him he can be, and - more than that - he wants that selfish reassurance in knowing that he's not alone in being kind of needy and desperate. needy and desperate are his fucking middle names.
marcus is still kind of clumsy when it comes to initiating kisses, but he's more than happy to lean in when henry makes him feel welcome and kind of maybe even a little bit wanted. he's shy, at first, his kisses coming more chaste and puppy-love butterflies-in-the-stomach than strictly sexual, but henry tells him he has an awful lot of clothes on, and christ, if that doesn't go straight to his dick. marcus laughs in that quiet, uncertain way of his, breaking the last kiss to press his forehead lightly against henry's and mumble some quiet sound of agreement. ]
So are you, dude. Can't be the only one getting undressed here.
[ he lets henry guide him inside, heading towards the armchair and pulling off his overshirt, hissing christ when the neck gets stuck around his ears. he pops it off and kicks off his shoes, dropping hard into the armchair and snaking his hand out to grab henry by the wrist, tugging him forward. he's not sure if he wants henry down on his knees or just straight up fucking straddling his lap, but by the way marcus spreads his thighs, rolls his hips upward and gets comfortable, he's very fucking obviously hard enough for it not to matter. his hand drifts from henry's wrist and goes to the waist of henry's pants, slipping the tips of his fingers in and tugging to pull him closer. ]
Gotta let me take care of you, too, after. If you're cool with that.
[ henry likes the way marcus kisses him to start out. sweet. soft. it reminds him that despite everything else happening, that has ever happened, he can still be a dumb teenager with a stupid crush on a boy he likes. something that he never really thought would happen. or that he was even capable of. it makes him smile against marcus's mouth as he laughs. henry can feel the shadow of his nervousness and kisses him again. either like he can ease it away by doing so, or like he just likes the taste.
he knows he shouldn't, because it's petty and selfish and things just work different here and his competitive need to draw comparisons between everything around him is what people like least about him. but one of the things henry likes about spending time with marcus, whatever he's doing with marcus, is that he's one of the few people not also involved with at least one of his friends or several people in the city he can't fucking stand. that he knows of. not that henry would have a problem with that. truly. but in the meantime it makes him feel…
it makes him feel like he discovered marcus on his own. this beautiful, smart, passionate, guy who manages to see him like no one else has, and henry wants to keep him. he doesn't want it to be complicated, he wants to keep him so badly it drives him a little bit insane. he wants to be worth keeping. he'll be able to form the words to explain eventually, when he's not to singularly focused on his current goal.
henry does end up in his lap when marcus pulls him forward, which wasn't in his initial plan, but he can't help himself. grinding down against him as marcus rocks his hips up, henry gasps softly into his mouth. he slides his hands up marcus's sides and chest until he can pull off his other shirt off too. tosses it somewhere behind the chair.
leaning back and sitting up, henry unbuttons his own shirt. he lets marcus see him, but he's not patient enough to tease or make a show of it. ]
Whatever you want.
[ he's already breathless when he speaks, but he's almost never meant a sentence more than he means that one right now. as soon as he's done with his shirt, he starts sliding onto his knees. ]
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in fact, henry should probably slow down if he doesn't want to come across as desperate as he feels. but he doesn't wanna do that. he wants to get his hands on marcus's skin and kiss him harder. ]
Nice to meet you, [ he says smiling and between kisses, ] You've got an awful lot of clothes on.
[ layers and everything. henry is, after all, actually serious about the kind of mood he's in even if it was also a transparent excuse to spend time with him. and he was teased with pre-whipped out dick or whatever, which makes him almost impatient enough to drop to his knees right here against the door. instead he starts pulling marcus toward the arm chair. ]
no subject
well, henry is something good. they've swapped mixtapes - marcus is at risk of wearing out the tape in henry's, if he listens to it any more than he already has - they've hung out a bit, they've been something. something good. any desperation, any neediness, any insecurity henry might have about himself or about whatever it is the two of them are doing, would be more than fucking welcome to hear on marcus's part. he wants to listen, wants to support, wants to be the best marcus for him he can be, and - more than that - he wants that selfish reassurance in knowing that he's not alone in being kind of needy and desperate. needy and desperate are his fucking middle names.
marcus is still kind of clumsy when it comes to initiating kisses, but he's more than happy to lean in when henry makes him feel welcome and kind of maybe even a little bit wanted. he's shy, at first, his kisses coming more chaste and puppy-love butterflies-in-the-stomach than strictly sexual, but henry tells him he has an awful lot of clothes on, and christ, if that doesn't go straight to his dick. marcus laughs in that quiet, uncertain way of his, breaking the last kiss to press his forehead lightly against henry's and mumble some quiet sound of agreement. ]
So are you, dude. Can't be the only one getting undressed here.
[ he lets henry guide him inside, heading towards the armchair and pulling off his overshirt, hissing christ when the neck gets stuck around his ears. he pops it off and kicks off his shoes, dropping hard into the armchair and snaking his hand out to grab henry by the wrist, tugging him forward. he's not sure if he wants henry down on his knees or just straight up fucking straddling his lap, but by the way marcus spreads his thighs, rolls his hips upward and gets comfortable, he's very fucking obviously hard enough for it not to matter. his hand drifts from henry's wrist and goes to the waist of henry's pants, slipping the tips of his fingers in and tugging to pull him closer. ]
Gotta let me take care of you, too, after. If you're cool with that.
no subject
he knows he shouldn't, because it's petty and selfish and things just work different here and his competitive need to draw comparisons between everything around him is what people like least about him. but one of the things henry likes about spending time with marcus, whatever he's doing with marcus, is that he's one of the few people not also involved with at least one of his friends or several people in the city he can't fucking stand. that he knows of. not that henry would have a problem with that. truly. but in the meantime it makes him feel…
it makes him feel like he discovered marcus on his own. this beautiful, smart, passionate, guy who manages to see him like no one else has, and henry wants to keep him. he doesn't want it to be complicated, he wants to keep him so badly it drives him a little bit insane. he wants to be worth keeping. he'll be able to form the words to explain eventually, when he's not to singularly focused on his current goal.
henry does end up in his lap when marcus pulls him forward, which wasn't in his initial plan, but he can't help himself. grinding down against him as marcus rocks his hips up, henry gasps softly into his mouth. he slides his hands up marcus's sides and chest until he can pull off his other shirt off too. tosses it somewhere behind the chair.
leaning back and sitting up, henry unbuttons his own shirt. he lets marcus see him, but he's not patient enough to tease or make a show of it. ]
Whatever you want.
[ he's already breathless when he speaks, but he's almost never meant a sentence more than he means that one right now. as soon as he's done with his shirt, he starts sliding onto his knees. ]