First Times [yumark]

one-shot

It was the first time.

Dark eyes observed dawn through a dorm window, dreary and sore from a headache that came in tolerable bursts. The rosy hues cast through transparent curtains were a bitter case of mockery, declaring nature's peace amid his internal discord, a warm glow wrapped in aversion for man. He could've gone back to sleep; the idea was inviting--alluring, as a pair of doe eyes behind thin frames had been. The inclinations to succumb to the warmth at his back, to abandon all his worries--his fears--, to pull the small hand at his hip around him tighter and relieve the weight of his eyelids... these were true desires he wouldn't admit.

The slim freshman nestled further into his back, tightening his hold without guidance or instruction, but unconscious instinct. Yuta didn't hesitate to capture the thin wrist and discard it to soiled sheets between their torsos. His heart hammered in his skull. He'd taken the walk before, leaving women to wake alone multiple times, occasionally waking to an empty bed himself, but something about his first time with a man tethered him to a baby blue comforter without leniency.

This wasn't what the first time was supposed to do.

Yuta lifted his head from the shared pillow of a twin bed, resolute, two bare legs swinging over the edge to rest cold feet against carpet. He set his gaze on blue jeans through strands of disheveled blond, memories of the sensitivity behind Mark's patient unbuttoning flooding a lascivious mind. The moment he was dressed, he could make his escape, and from that point on, he and Mark would be intimate strangers. Yuta's experiment would be complete, and he could live blissfully knowing he was normal.

He leaned forward in reach of his pants, sheer ignorance toward the rustling of blankets behind him--indifference toward Mark entirely. Get dressed then leave. That was his mission. Yuta shoved his ankles through his jeans carefully, haste in his movement despite denim's abrasion against skin acclimated to freedom. He coped, pulling them on over his boxer briefs and remaining on the edge of the bed as if he were reluctant about leaving. Maybe it was so.

His head turned until his chin met his shoulder, eyeing his experiment, reminiscing over a time when he could enjoy the moment, when all he had to do was seek a subject for manipulation. His subject had been across the table in the library the night before, studying for an exam. Yuta had been there for parallel reason, but he'd adopted new meaning at the sound of Mark's sigh, the incitement of a game of "accidental" footsie under the table, and the motivation behind Yuta's hypothesis:

Those sighs would be screams before midnight.

Yuta conjectured a new hypothesis as he watched the boy, deciding it would never happen again, concluding that it was better off they never talked again. He wasn't scared to admit that Mark was different than the women, but he'd be damned if he accepted it.

Timorous fingers closed a zipper and fastened a button, resistant eyes prying from a heavy sleeper to survey the floor for the phone that'd escaped his pocket in the night's haste. He leaned forward to peer beneath the bed.

Nothing there either.

He straightened his back with a muted sigh. A shift behind him made his heart race.

"Yuta?" came a voice, soft and croaky and dulcet to unwilling ears. The slip of an arm around a bare waist provoked bottomless pupils finding the pout of full lips. Mark wore the expression involuntarily, conducted by the half-sleep consuming him, though the puff of sinless doe eyes seemed to dissipate when he angled his head back against the pillow to admire Yuta from their battleground. "You were... good last night."

The purity of those bright eyes dwindled above lips that spoke of sin. Yuta deadpanned, finding distraction in a favorable sight during the mental driveling of a stained conscience. He should've abandoned his phone. Phones were in high supply; Yuta's pride was not.