When Sparks Fly ~ A smuty story

House Party

T.W. smoking and drinking

Mark walked into Dane's house, music blaring, lights flashed, and people sang and danced along. With not knowing how the night would go. He got a beer and chugged it, drinking his feelings. He spotted Dane and headed toward him. He put his hand to Danes and pulled him into a hug, and both patted each others back.
"Thanks for coming, man!" Dan shouted over the music.
"Of course!" They greeted the rest of their buddies and grabbed another beer, which he chugged with Dane.

After saying hi to everyone, Mark took off outside and took his cigarette pack, then went to grab his lighter and felt his empty pocket.
"Shit," He said under his breath.
"You forget something important?" Spyder, who was sitting on the porch leaning back his arms on the next step up, teasingly asked, then took a hit from his half-smoked blunt.
"Oh. Yeah. Must have left it at my place."

Spyder smirked. He had a lighter for him and was waiting for Mark to ask for one but knew he’d never ask him. Connor “Spyder” Johnson. His little brother’s dorky, lame friend.

"What?" Mark wondered.
"I'm just waiting for you to ask for my lighter."
Mark sits next to him closer than Spyder expected, making his cheeks burn red.

"Can I borrow your lighter, please?"
"Oh. Popular boy has manners. Sure." He says, takes his lighter out, and slaps it in Mark's hand. Mark turns the spark wheel, letting flames go up. He puts the cig under it and inhales.

"Being," he says, then inhales the cig again. "Being popular isn't as fun as I make it seem."
"Of course not," Spyder says sarcastically. "Having everyone like you, all the girls you want, and being super athletic—it's totally not fun." He finishes, then takes a drag, letting the smoke slowly leave his nose.
"It's not. It's exhausting. This. Cool guy macho, man. It. It's all an act." Mark explains, then spreds his legs, and leans his arms on them and takes a puff, and blows the smoke down.
"If it's all an act. Who's the real Mark Walker?"

Who's the real Mark Walker? Yes, he likes sports and having all these friends. But are they real friends like how Ryan and his friends or fake ones that only like him because he's popular and good-looking?

"I don't know," Mark answers, then takes a pull. "I've never taken the time to find myself."
"Wow. What a way to bring the rood down."
"You asked. Don't be upset that I don't have the answer."
"Mh. Sorry." He takes a hit and looks at Mark. "I like this, Mark. The guy who doesn't call me an asshat every five seconds."

Mark laughs and looks at Spyder, their eyes linking together. Mark never realized his eyes were a light golden hazel that was red from smoking. His skin was light, and spotty freckles covered his face and neck. He wondered how long it would take to count them. Spyder softened his gaze and memorized all the small dents in his face, his chocolate-brown skin, and soft-looking lips.

Spyder forces a hard, deep swallow and takes one last hit before flicking the blunt away. He moves closer to him, looks up at him, and smiles. Mark blushes and looks away. He's never flirted with a guy, let alone had a guy make him this scared. Then, to add to the already weird situation, this was one of his brothers' best friends, and he was falling for him. Mark couldn't be next to him much longer, so he gets up, gives Spyder his lighter back, and leaves to party.

"Classic Mark." Spyder sadly says.