Work Text:
The first time they tried it, it was against the mats. Mark had his sweats pulled down to his knees, cheek and chest smushed to the mat, breathing in his own sweat and tracked-in sand grits. Spit and Nivea handcream globs ran down his legs. Johnny’s wrist was clamped tight between his thighs. They were on lunch break and the gym was mostly empty, just a couple managers packing up in the far corner and chatting, Johnny’s massive frame looming over him, pressing him hard against the mats, mostly blocking their heated stint from view.
“Here, bite on this,” Johnny pushed up the edge of Mark’s own hoodie and shoved it into his mouth. Mark bit down on the thick, sweaty cotton and moaned through his nose as he squeezed down against Johnny’s fingers, rutting his hips desperately in time to their tight, rhythmic jerks, the plastic cover of the mat sticking and snapping against his bare thighs. His breath was hot against Mark’s cheek. “-wouldn’t want them to hear you and come over, would you?”
Mark shook his head, moaning harder into the damp material, teeth going numb. It was so unfair. After teasing him for what felt like nearly twenty minutes and getting him so wet and open that three of Johnny’s fingers slid smoothly to the knuckle, Johnny now kept his fingers just at the edge of it, pushing gently against his twitching rim, smearing the spit-cream globs idly around Mark’s ass. Mark’s raw, aching cock was dribbling steadily down the mat, smushed hot and tight against his own stomach while Johnny’s hard-on pressed into the back of his thigh, huge and mocking. It would be so easy, so easy for him to just tug himself out and fuck Mark through right then and there, but of course, he’d never do that. Nothing with Johnny was ever easy.
“Hyung, fucking please,” Mark groaned into the hoodie, knowing it was hopeless, his words all glued together like a mouthful of stuck taffy. He hated begging, but knew how much Johnny loved it and even if Johnny wouldn’t get his cock inside him, at least he’d get more of his fingers back, or maybe even an extra one. So fucking pathetic. He pushed his ass back against Johnny’s teasing, languid hand and Johnny slid it even further away from him, fingers skating loosely up his crack until they finally pressed into the small of his back, jabbing hard him into the mat with the heel of his palm. Mark gasped, another spurt leaving his cock from the sudden slam. Watery precum smeared into his chest and Mark licked at what got onto the mat, swallowing painfully. The salty sourness clung to his tongue, tears in his eyes. “-please, please, please, please, hyung, I’m gonna fucking cry…”
“What was that, honey? Did you say you like it?” Johnny murmured into the back of his neck. Kissed into the ends of his hair at his nape, tugging slightly with his teeth. Mark whimpered. He mouthed harshly, frustratingly into the damp, sticky mat as he felt Johnny start to grind against his ass, right between the cheeks, his rigid cock outlined against his own joggers, teasing Mark with the fact that he wasn’t wearing underwear beneath them, nothing but that fucking layer of ratty cotton between them. Mark could only whine and grind back, his wrists locked above his head with just one of Johnny’s hands. “Wish you could see what you look like back here. Wet, gooey mess. Your ass is so red right now, I wish I could just—
The door swung open from the far end of the gym and Mark jerked around, ducking himself down to hide even further in Johnny’s shadow. Peeking through the space under his arm, he could see some of the others coming back in, recognizing Jaehyun’s blue camos, Jungwoo’s grey beanie. Yuta’s plaid sleeves.
His hoodie was now unraveled back down past his stomach, Mark grit into his cheek as he gingerly slid an arm back and tried to wipe off the smears from the mat as Johnny nonchalantly dabbed at his thighs with a crumpled tissue from the floor, then dabbed evilly at the wet patch on Mark’s hoodie revealing the tip of his still very much frustrated cock. Then Johnny pulled out a thick dry-erase marker from his back pocket and pushed it deep inside him cap-first. Mark came right as it jabbed into his prostate, wet and sticky all over the inside of his hoodie. Fuck. He glared at Johnny, dragging his sweats back up, fiddling around with the inner material, trying to smear it around his bare stomach just as Jungwoo walked over.
“Hey, we got you guys some stuff,” He set the bags of takeout boxes onto the floor, handing each of them a can of beer. Mark tore his hand out from under the hoodie and just let the cold aluminum sting into his palm for a moment, heartbeat threatening to rip out of his throat, watching Johnny wipe his own hand against the front of his pants, taking the other can.
He cracked the tab open with that hand, licking off the foamy bubbles that got onto his thumb and fingers, eyeing Mark with subdued humor. Mark drank from his own can, spilling most of it down his neck. Johnny reached over and wiped at it with his bare hand, thumb grazing Mark’s lip. He gagged. Handcream and a darker musk still vaguely clung to it.
Jungwoo sat on the floor crosslegged, seemingly oblivious. “They ran out of yam tempura, so we got you zucchini instead? Watch out for that one,” He tapped the edge of a bag with his foot, something brownish squishing at the bottom. “-the miso soup kinda spilled on our way back.”
“Noted. Thanks, Woo,” Johnny grinned, taking another swig of beer. He sat down next to him and reached over to untie one of the bags, opening the box in his lap. Fried pork cutlets, still gleaming golden with oil. He took out a fork from the bag and stabbed down, eating a piece. Chewed with gusto, looking up. “This is great, yo, you should try some. Whoop! Still hot.”
Mark rolled his eyes and sat down. Johnny stabbed into another piece and held it towards him, yanking it back a little each time Mark leaned forward until Mark finally grabbed his wrist and shoved the fried cutlet into his mouth, wincing. Should’ve fucking blown on it, fuck. Firecrackers. Johnny laughed and wiped at the crumbs on Mark’s lip, pretending to eat it off his thumb before flicking them onto the floor. Then Jungwoo nudged Johnny’s shoulder, mouth hanging open and Johnny fed him another piece from the box. He didn’t take it off his lap until they were all eaten.
“I should start being more like you guys,” Jungwoo mused, chewing on a piece of fried banana. He sat with his back against the mat, eyes shut. Made a loose, twirling gesture with his hand. “-staying back, practicing more. It’s always harder to get it right initially, but once you’ve found the rhythm, you don’t have to do as much later on.”
“I wouldn’t say that entirely,” Johnny scrunched the side of his lip, staring up at the ceiling. He’d changed into shorts after complaining that his sweats were sticking all over his legs. Mark wanted to change too and then balked after Johnny called him a copycat —in jest, sure, but sadly that’s all it took to kill his drive. Also, he was worried getting up might make him walk funny. He barely felt the marker now, but each time he shifted his ass, he was painfully reminded it was there. Fuck. “And Mark tends to go harder closer to D-Day and it’s always worked for him, as far as I can tell. Different folks, different strokes, right? Anyways, don’t beat yourself up,” Johnny waved it off. “We didn’t get that much done, anyways.”
“No?”
“Never,” He grinned, shaking his head. “Right, Mark?”
“Yeah,” Mark muttered, chest briefly squeezing, thinking Jungwoo would say something, finally say something now. How could he not smell it? The front of his boxers clung to him like a thick wet glove, nearly chafing. He had to be able to smell it. “We were barely getting started.”
They’re halfway into Highway to Heaven when Mark feels it and bolts, washroom door swinging wildly behind him. He dashed into the first open stall and slammed his back against it, shoving his pants down to his ankles. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he could feel it, it was no longer in one piece, each time he involuntarily squeezed, he could feel the cap’s edges scraping and digging into his insides, the ridges of the open marker biting into him. He spat messily into his palm and reached his longest finger into himself, trying to find the end of it. It’s too far up. Fuck. He exhales, eyes squeezed shut and squats down, one arm propped against the stall wall for balance.
He tries to hold still, wincing when he instinctively squeezes again. No. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it , goddammit. Listen. Listen to me, damn impatient body. He knew he’d have to push, at least a little, knew it would hurt more before it stopped hurting, and that he couldn’t push too much or else he’d…
“Mark?”
Shit. Johnny’s voice rang down the tiles right outside and it didn’t take long for Mark to recognize his grey-green Nikes from the gap under his stall.
“You okay in there?” Then he added in a softer voice, seemingly pressed right against the door. “-what’s the matter, baby? Hiding from me?”
“Nn…not hiding from you,” Mark grit, now two fingers forced up his ass as if that would get him any closer to the damn fucking marker. He hissed when he tapped the edge, only pushing it in deeper. Fuuuuck. Sighing sharply, banging the back of his head against the door. He wanted to die. “-hyung, it’s not coming out. It’s not coming out, it broke, it broke inside me, hyung, I can’t get it… hyung …”
Johnny didn’t answer him.
“Hyung?” Mark asked.
He felt a slight push against the stall door, Johnny’s feet now closer to the gap.
“Let me in. Let me in, I’ll try to help you.”
“O-okay…”
Mark rose slowly, shaking out his sore thighs and Johnny squeezed in. He did a onceover over Mark’s sweaty, disheveled state, blushy cock now half-hard from frustration, Mark nearly tripping over his bunched up sweats as he backed into the wall. Johnny’s eyes went dark. Chuckled softly to himself. “-oh, baby. You’re so cute. So, so cute like this, I love you.”
“Hyung, it won’t come out, you gotta get it out of me,” He pleaded, feeling the cap cut into him again. Mark grit and begrudgingly placed his own hands against either side of his ass, holding himself taut and open, trying to keep himself from squeezing again. He knew how it looked, but knew such a display might actually prompt Johnny to help him faster. “-please, hyung, it hurts, it hurts every time I…”
“Every time you what?” He winced when Johnny knelt down, staring up at him as casually as you’d stare up a tunnel slide. Poked a finger at Mark’s rim, making him involuntarily squeeze again. Mark whimpered. “-every time you do this?”
Mark nodded, feeling Johnny’s breath against his inner thigh. He stared down at him in a daze as Johnny spat into his palm and pushed a single finger inside of him, moving it around, then shoving his thumb inside with it. Spit dribbled down his thigh and Johnny licked at it, making Mark’s eyes sting with tears when his hot tongue lapped at his rim. This was not helping. Mark was so fucking aroused, but this was not helping. What did Johnny think would happen? That the marker would get sucked up backwards through his esophagus and shoot out of Mark’s mouth the same time he came?
“Honey, you need to loosen up a bit more,” Johnny mouthed against his ass, slightly growling. Continued licking at him. His tongue felt so good, fuck. Mark was leaking down his leg. “-I’m trying to relax you so you don’t get it any further up in there. Come on. Ease up, sweetheart. Just push a little. Push a little against me. You’re so good at it normally, you’ll be fine, baby, work a little.”
“Hyung, I wanna kill you…”
“After you shoot this thing down my throat, maybe,” He snorted, still muffled by asscheeks. Hummed low against him, patting Mark lightly on the thigh. “I’m serious. I want you to do it. Can you be a little gross for hyung, just for right now? Just a little. Close your eyes. Close your eyes, this is my face you’re sitting on, hm? So lucky. And you like this, you like this so much, Markie baby, pressing down on my face like that, and my mouth, yeah, feel that , my mouth is open, yeah and I want you and I’m trying to get deeper in you and you want me in like that and you know all you have to do is just push a little …That’s it, that’s it, baby, so good, push, you’re doing so good …”
Mark sucked in air through his teeth, thighs tensing as he pushed little by little against Johnny’s face, feeling his mouth squeezing down on him, a hand rubbing slow, firm circles against his hip, trying to soothe him. Slowly, Johnny slid his finger back inside and Mark worked to nudge the damn fucking marker down, bracing his arm against the stall, sweat sliding down his back, as he pushed, feeling his hips nudging against Johnny’s hand as he moaned against his skin. A light squeeze to his hip told Mark to stop and he turned his cheek to the wall as Johnny pushed his thumb back in too and slowly, smoothly tugged the marker out of him, whoa that felt so fucking weird — making it feel like damn defecating , Mark peering down through his lashes as the beveled white tip poked out between his legs and Johnny latched onto it with his teeth, yanking the rest of it out. Dropped it on the floor by their feet. Stared up at him, snickering. “-oh, fuck, babe. Looks like you’ve got a little, um…”
He swiped a finger across Mark’s rim and held it up. Inky green. Mark swore and pushed past him, nearly ramming his groin into the sink as he flipped the tap on and began rapidly splashing water between his ass, digging it into himself, getting it all over his pants and the damn floor. Johnny got out of the stall and leaned against the door, sighing.
“Relax, babe,” He said as Mark kept splashing and scrubbing like a maniac. “It’ll come out eventually. You go enough times and it’ll be all gone.”
“It’s not fucking funny ,” Mark grit even though no one was laughing. “-you’ve coloured my insides, Johnny, you’ve fucking Crayola-ed my asshole and you’re just watching me try to scrape it all off…? Fucking fuck this hell, this isn’t even actual Crayola, I don’t even know if it will come off… ”
“It’ll come off.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Okay, then. I guess it won’t.”
Mark kept scrubbing, until the inside of his rim no longer came out spinach fucking veridian, and then his face fell as he shoved a finger in deeper and came out with a grubby, stained fingertip. Fucking. How deep had it gotten inside of him? Was he gonna start peeing green too…? Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid . Still, even in his fury, he could hear Johnny laughing.
Mark glared up at him. “-what?”
“Did you forget?”
“Forget what?”
“Where do you think the cap is right now? In your lungs?”
F—
He shoved a second finger inside and strained to reach something, anything, feeling his heart rate buckle when he squeezed and felt it way higher than it was supposed to be. Mark stared up at the ceiling through bleary eyes and dragged his fingers out, not knowing what to do. This was gonna end up a hospital visit. What if it got so far up it started dissolving? Would he die if his intestines absorbed melted plastic? Would it get combined into his bones? Was he Plasticman now? How the fuck was he gonna get that Marvel deal? Plasticman was horrible Asian representation, no one would watch it. Eventually, Johnny walked over and patted his hip, nudging him backwards.
“Come on, baby. Onto the counter,” He helps Mark up, lifting him by the waist and Mark feels the mirror press against his back, Johnny holding him up before he can sit down. “-no, no, you need to squat, you can’t sit, that’s not gonna do anything. Now you just need to do the same thing as before, baby. Just push. This time, a little harder. Yeah? Okay.” He wet his fingers with some spit and pushed two harshly back in. Mark choked. “Push against my fingers. There, that’s it. Just like that, baby, just like that. Yeah. That’s right, that’s it. Yeah. I can feel you moving in there, pushing down on me. So hot. That’s it. Come on. You’ve got it. There we go, baby. There we go.”
Mark squeezed his eyes closed, feeling the cap edges scrape into him with each thrust, feeling like his chest would burst from how hard he was pushing down. Soon his shirt was sticking to his stomach, thighs aching from squatting this long and just when he thought he couldn’t hold it any longer, Johnny’s fingers strained in deeper and caught the cap, the burn returning ferociously on the down-drag.
It clattered in the sink, slightly discoloured. Mark tasted bile.
He sat on the toilet with his pants on, watching Johnny soap up the marker parts through the gap and dry them off with paper towels. Tossed them into the trash sleeve right under the towel dispenser. Glanced back at Mark.
“Ready to go?”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Mark muttered, getting up. Ugh. His ass felt so wrecked right now, like some skinny phantom dick was still inside it, oozing around, and he didn’t know if the slight stinging was from actual cuts or if he was just imagining it after being this traumatized. Hole-traumatized. Hole-matized. Whatever. He’d figure it out later. “-I’m heading straight to bed, don’t call me.”
Johnny chuckled, pinching his ass. “Sure thing, little dude. Sure thing.”
…
And then there he was, ass straight to bed, true, but now Mark’s breathing hard underneath the sheets, on his face and knees, pooling more spit into his palm and slathering it down between himself until it’s smooth and slicked enough to get his middle finger in, eyes squeezing shut. He sees Johnny kneeling again, staring up at him with that marker clamped between his teeth, mouth forming almost a perfect O and instead of him spitting it onto the floor, Mark grabs the end of the marker and flicks it around and shoves the damp nib into Johnny’s mouth, feeling him gag, then groaning as Mark fucked it angrily in and out between his lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin stained a deep blackish green. Johnny wheezes as Mark wrenches the marker out, coughing inky spit onto the floor and Mark smacks him hard across the face before he’s thinking anything and Johnny’s coughing into his knee.
Mark falls onto his stomach, eyes finally falling open. He’s still coming as he rolls onto his back, trying to catch most of it in his hand. Hastily reaching for his phone, still riding the waves of his orgasm as he’s sending the most desperate 8-second voice message of his life. He’s holding Johnny by the jaw as his eyes close again, staring down at his tongue out, smeared murky green in the center. Mark tastes him there, so intensely on the bed, sucking on the edge of his pillowcase, and then he’s clutching at empty space, at warm wrinkles in the mattress as soon as his head resurfaces from the covers.
Johnny arrives some fifteen or so minutes later, which is just as well because by then Mark’s gotten himself hard again and just about crawls on his knees to drag Johnny onto the bed. He sticks out a leg and hooks a foot under Johnny’s ass and jerks him forwards into the mattress, both legs hooking onto his back the second he has all fours down, viciously kissing the laughter out of him.
“I fucking hate you,” Mark mutters against his mouth, sounding way too desperate to really mean it at all. He’s practically pawing at Johnny’s crotch, somehow anxious he’ll get his hands smacked off at any moment, nearly moaning in pain when Johnny just grabs his wrists to press them in harder, leaning harder into him, pushing up against his palms. He’s fucking bricked. Mark wants him inside right fucking now. “-so fucking hard to get you to fuck me, hyung, hell I gotta do to get s —
“-All you had to do was ask,” And then he flipped Mark back onto his stomach, facedown, letting out a loud chuckle when he saw it.
…
It turns out Mark likes it, likes it a little too much. He presses his head back against the grainy slant, eyes falling shut as Johnny teases his wet, tightened rim with the hard, curved edge of the jumbo marker end, tilting it down so Mark can feel the tiny little spokes inside it press into him.
Something wet slides past his crack and Mark peers through his lashes as another foamy glob of spit leaves Johnny’s mouth and gets pressed inside his hole with a rough thumb. Johnny leans his face in and Mark moans in a near soundless rasp as his hot, wet tongue is pressed flat against him and just laps at him until Mark loosens enough for Johnny to stick some of his tongue in. Mark squeezes even now, he can’t help it. His thighs jolt, banging back against the unfinished stage as Johnny folds a finger in, teasing him with his knuckle first until Mark feels himself relax, soften up for Johnny’s finger to push in and pry at him.
He knows how good it looks, has seen it before —Johnny taking his time playing around with Mark’s hole, tugging it down with just the tip of his finger inside, rotating it around as he presses it against him inside, seeing just how much he can stretch from just one finger alone. Smearing spit where he twitches, watching him tighten against his thumb, just rough enough to feel the slightest bit of nail. Mark likes it when it hurts a little. He feels it that much more and he lets out a needy, muffled noise through his nose when he feels the marker end push in then knock into his prostate right as another spurt of precum leaves his cock, slides down his leg.
“You’re so fucked in the head, aren’t you, baby?” Johnny murmurs, licking up the milky spurt on his thigh and pressing it right against his hole with his tongue. Mark whines. Teeth pressing harder into his balled up shirt. The other kisses him there against his taut rim, so wet it squishes, it’s obscene. “You don’t even need me to do this anymore —you do this to yourself —I can smell it.”
It’s half-true. Mark can’t help it. It’s easy, it’s fast, no one knows any better. He doesn’t even need much lube for it, he just drops a sloppy length of spit along the marker end or just sticks it in his mouth and sucks, slathering it around with his tongue and then just starts teasing himself until he can push it in. It’s hard, smooth and thick, just the way he likes it. He has to be careful or the cap will pop off again and hurt him. That slight catch, slight dangerous edge hits his adrenaline like no other. Sometimes he’ll push it in all the way with the cap inside and see how long he can hold it in until he breaks. Sometimes he’ll leave the cap part poking out and then see how many more he can fit in. Three, sometimes five. He’s sent Johnny pictures a few times. A messy, wet video. All fogged up. Hot, pained breaths beneath the covers, mostly dark, the clack of the markers knocking into his fingers as he pushes, thighs twitching. It makes his cock so hard just knowing they shouldn’t go inside, he leaks like crazy.
Johnny tugs at the cap end slowly until the marker is nearly all the way out, Mark watching with his breath held tight. Several layers of clear tape keep the cap from clicking off and the sharp wrinkles in the tape scratch at him in the best possible way. Mark reaches a hand down and pulls his cheeks apart further, face hot, mumbling for another. Johnny kisses his damp open thigh.
“Oh my god, oh my god, mmhmgh,” Mark squeezes on instinct as another marker pushes in, squeezing next to the other one and shifting it more to the side. It scrapes his walls tight and the painfully amazing sting sends that tightened warm feeling down his groin, keeps him hard and leaking. Johnny’s already teasing him with the edge of a third. Mark nearly goes cross-eyed.
“Now you’ve got red and green,” Johnny drawls, absently tugging down at the marker caps sticking out of his ass with a mild finger, making the markers tip up and poke a new part of him inside. Mark whimpers, loving it. He squeezes again and then plays with it himself, rotating the two markers around to stretch himself until his hips are protesting, balls tight, aching for release. “-how about blue…and then black and maybe purple?”
Mark nods mindlessly, not even looking at him.
Soon he’s got all five of them in. It’s a tight squeeze, of course it is, but the way they feel inside of him is just crazy —especially because they’re not all pushed the same way in, some sticking out more than others and then Mark’s hand is hot and squished against Johnny’s as they tug and fuck them around, Mark blindly pushing and pulling at anything feeling plastic, squeezing hard against the huge, iron-hard stretch until they’ve pushed them as far as they’ll go and Mark’s squeezing until his legs go numb, coming in a burst that makes him think of white water rapids.
All the markers clatter out, rolling to the floor. Mark spills over them, gasping as Johnny pulls himself out and comes all over his bare, trembling leg.
It’s late afternoon. Sunlight filters down from the eaves and Mark’s pressed up against the tilted stage, stripped down to just his black socks, shirt balled and stuffed in his mouth. Drool slides down the side of his chin, thighs spread and sticking to the dust-scuffed floor panel. He stares down at himself, shakily re-angling the selfie-stick to get more of his ass. Four of Johnny’s fingers are already shoved inside, spread flat horizontally, smoothing him back and forth like he’s trying to scoop him out. His mouth pressed to Mark’s thigh. Look at you, angel. Fuck, look at you. What the fuck is this? What the fuck are you…?
He can’t believe how loose he feels. Mark feels around himself just past his rim, biting his lip against the sudden pinpricks of rawness as soon as he touched it. He wishes he could see it. So red it hurts his eyes, some of the ridgey inside pulled out. He can feel it.
“I hate you so much,” Mark breathes, sinking to his knees, sun in his eyes. The hardwood is almost warm and he barely registers the distant, scraping roll of the markers sliding farther away. His legs are tangled in his piled jeans and crushed runners and when he kisses Johnny’s face, his mouth feels numb. “-I feel it, I feel everything.”