Flicker // johnmark

two

Mark wakes up with a back ache, as usual. He should really consider getting a new mattress, one that's easier on his frail body and doesn't feel like he's sleeping on a rock. But he needs that money to buy cigarettes, so he deals with it.

Tiny bits of sunlight seep through the shitty windows, and Mark checks his phone (which is almost dead) for the time - almost 2pm.

His roommates are probably at the university by now, he thinks.

He gets up, lazily brushes his teeth and doesn't eat breakfast. He tugs his hood over his head and gets out of the apartment, sliding his hand into his pocket.

His fingers grab onto the wrinkled pack of cigarettes, weathered from the rain. He doesn't care about what condition they're in though, and still places one between his lips and lights it.

The nicotine flavor isn't as sharp, but Mark's standards are low so it'll do.

He doesn't know where he's going as he walks down the wet sidewalk. The air is crisp and fresh from the rain, a big contrast to the clouds of smoke Mark's polluting it with right now.

He passes by multiple small businesses that are right on the brink of the city, one of them being a record store. Ah, the nostalgia hits him, he used to be obsessed with those things back in high school. Those happy, carefree times, where he aced all his classes, was deemed to be successful.

Mark's a university drop out.

And he knows exactly where it went wrong - when he met Johnny in the summer between his freshman and sophomore year of college.

He knows Johnny is bad for him. He's the one who got Mark into smoking, into cigarette dealing, into all these morally wrong things.

Yet Mark sticks around.

He has to, he's addicted to that boy.

Mark finds himself in front of Johnny's apartment door. Second floor, last one on the left, number 24.

He hears some yelling going on inside, but then the door flys open and an angry old woman storms out. Mark blinks in confusion.

"That's the landlord." Johnny fills him in, and Mark has to blink again, but a million times faster.

Johnny's fucking shirtless, shamelessly leaning against the door frame as he lets Mark in.

Mark unconsciously runs his tongue over his dry lips at the sight, but mentally slaps himself in the face to stop whatever thoughts that are coming to mind right now.

He'd be lying if he says he hasn't thought about sinful things that involve Johnny.

"Where's the table?" Mark asks, noticing the circular piece of furniture they smoked at last night is gone. Other pieces of furniture are missing as well, such as the worn out couch in the small living room, and the tv stand (the tv's still there, it's just on the floor now).

"Sold it. I need money to pay rent." Johnny answers. "Why are you here this early?"

Mark shrugs. "Just wanted to see you."

He swears Johnny's lips curl up into a faint smile. "Wanna watch some tv?"

"Sure."

Both of them sit on the carpet, and Johnny puts on some random cartoon, Mark doesn't really know. They're smoking, passing the cigarette between them.

They go through one cigarette, now two, now three, it goes on and on. Until Mark tosses the cigarette butt onto the floor and intends to reach for another one when he finds the box empty.

"There's no more." he tells Johnny, who turns away from the tv. He furrows his eyebrows and takes the box gently out of Mark's hands, flipping it upside down to see if anything will fall out of it.

Nothing hits the floor.

"Fuck." he lowly curses, tone sending shivers up Mark's spine. He tosses the empty box on the carpet with the rest of the used cigarette butts. "Let's go get more."

Mark gulps, but nods nonetheless. He doesn't have money on him.

They leave the apartment after Johnny puts on his hoodie, and walk along the sidewalk, hand in hand. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds, and there's cars on the street, honking and passing by.

They probably look super shady, Mark thinks, but that's what gets the adrenaline running in his veins. Doing all these wrong things with Johnny makes him feel somewhat better about himself; it's kinda bizarre.

After a twenty minute journey, they finally get to the 'dealer house' (what Johnny calls it. They apparently sell cigarettes for cheaper than smoke shops) and he knocks on the door, and they quietly wait for a response.

"Do you have money?" Johnny asks.

Mark shakes his head no, staying silent. Johnny presses his lips into a firm line, letting go of Mark's hand after giving it a tight squeeze as the door opens.

A girl greets them, with messy hair and only a shirt and underwear on.

"Johnny," she clicks her tongue, eyes raking over his frame. She lets the two in, and Mark settles on the old lazy chair, where he usually does.

"How much you got today?" she asks, strolling over to the sofa to sit down next to Johnny.

"We don't have any today. Can I fuck for five packs?" Johnny's so blunt about it, and hearing those words is like a small stab in Mark's chest.

"Sure." the dealer agrees, licking her lips as they both get off the couch. As they're on the way to the bedroom, Johnny catches Mark's gaze, and mouthes a silent "fifteen minutes."

Mark nods. He takes out his phone and looks at the time, and ignores all the missed calls and messages from his roommates that are blowing up his lock screen.

Five minutes pass.

He can already hear the sounds, the whorish moans coming from the dealer, but also some low groans.

Mark shivers, he's always wondered what sex with Johnny was like. It's probably so great, well in his fantasies it is at least.

Ten minutes.

Mark's uncomfortable. The area between his legs is now incredibly tight, god fucking damn it he's so hard. Biting his lip, his hand slides under the band of his sweatpants.

Twelve minutes.

It's loud now. Mark can distinctly hear skin slapping, whines, curses. The pace of his hand picks up, and he bites his lip hard to suppress his moans.

There's a cry, and suddenly all the sounds stop. Mark's still going, eyes falling closed.

"Johnny," the name leaves his lips as he comes. His breaths are uneven as he looks down to check his pants, there's a little spot but most of it ended up on his hand.

He hopes Johnny doesn't notice.

He checks his phone, fourteen minutes. Right when it hits fifteen, Johnny walks into the the living room, five packs in his hand (Yup, just in one hand).

"Let's go." his voice is breathy and raspy, and damn it's sexy.

Mark gets off the lazy chair and they leave the dealer's house.

His phone dies.