September Looks Good on You

Ch. 5: Hot Blooded

In the dream, Mark closed the door and locked it. The heat in his eyes thrilled Jack to the bone.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, hope and yearning making his voice quake.

"Ending the wait," Mark answered, striding towards him, pulling him close, crushing his mouth in a kiss.

His hands cradled Jack's face as they rocked backwards into the furniture. Dizzy with it. Without ceremony, Mark pulled off Jack's shirt, leaning him back over the desk with a mouth so hungry it ached. Before long, he slid down, lips and teeth at Jack's neck, then his chest, then hot and wet and low at his belly while Jack watched--

Jack awoke violently, sitting up before he knew what was happening. It was as if the dream dumped him into reality and spun him upright in his bed, panting. It took him a minute to get his bearings.

And when he did, he was so glad it was still dark, and that Mark, snoring, was still asleep.

He took a deep breath and dropped his forehead in his hands. What are you doing, brain? What are you trying to do to me? Another exhale. It's just a little flutter of a crush. No big deal.

He had been so good, too. He was going to be patient, he was going to be satisfied with staying friends, especially when he knew the person he liked was interested in someone else....and everything was going to be fine.

There's nothing wrong with being friends. I can handle this.

But a flash of that hot tongue below his navel shook him to the core.

He pressed his hands to his eyes. Damn it...

~

Jack headed to class the next morning, ready to brave this test. He could use the distraction, and had studied his best in the days prior. Dream be damned, he was going to focus.

Of course, it didn't quite work out that way. His mind blanked several times and he had to keep yanking it away from the thoughts of the night before. His pen also wouldn't work at first, so after scribbling angry invisible circles on his paper, he was halfway through two big inky loops before he realized it was writing again. He turned it in and almost tripped walking back up to the door, and someone shoulder-checked him walking through the building, and the ice cream machine in the student union was out of order, so there goes the one thing he wanted to lift his mood. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if video games and puppies were cancelled forever with the way he was feeling as he barged back into the dorm commons.

And the air conditioning was broken again. Great.

He walked into the furnace of a hallway and saw Mark and Arin talking outside their door. Mark was shirtless and Arin was again in boxers and a t-shirt.

"Hey, look, Jack," Mark said. "Between the two of us we've got a whole outfit!"

Jack smiled wryly. "We do what we can to get by, right, fellas?" he said while thinking Don't stare at his pecs, don't stare at his arms, and for god's sake don't follow his happy trail. Knowing that would be impossible, he brushed past them and entered the room, dropping himself heavily into his desk chair and letting his bag fall to the floor.

His eyes closed to take in the silence. Since the desks were at the end of each bed, his back was to the door. Facing the empty room, gentle lighting through the window, he was finally able to relax. He leaned back slowly, opening his gaze to the ceiling.

Those shorts sat pretty low. Drawstring, too. It would only take a quick tug to--

He sat up with a loud, single curse and tore into his backpack. He pulled a pen, a notebook, and his Composition textbook onto his desk and calmly got to work. Nouns and adjectives, that's what he needed. Nothing alluring about those. He soundlessly mouthed the first prompt and answered that one, then the next, then the next.