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The night was utterly quiet. Mark and Jack had gone to bed around an hour ago, and the hour before that Tom had finished up banging Jack’s mom in the other room. They'd left the window open after smoking, but Jack couldn’t hear any bugs or birds. All he had was Mark’s bunk above him, occasionally creaking as he rolled over, and his sighs that Jack had to focus on to hear.
At first, he’d been miffed when Mark had claimed the top bunk. He had spouted some bullshit about deserving it as the elder right in front of his mom, and she’d sided with him, so for Jack, that was that. He quickly came to prefer it, something about having Mark above him was comforting. He couldn’t see him, but just knowing he was there was nice.
Except on nights like this, where Jack was incredibly fucking horny.
Usually, he’d rub one out in the shower, but he hadn’t had a chance to take one since earlier that day, when Mark decided it’d be a brilliant idea to give Jack a fucking lesson on kissing.
A less horny Jack might have debated the morals of jerking off to the thought of making out with a guy who might one day be his step-brother while said guy is in the room, sleeping peacefully and innocently above him, but currently that sounded like the best idea in the world.
A sharp inhale, and he pushed his hand under the covers, fished around for his waistband, and then pushed past that too. He exhaled slowly, felt the warmth radiating from his cock, hard and needy, wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. His body jerked involuntarily at the sudden pressure, and under him the mattress squeaked.
He froze.
There was no movement above him, no sound.
Biting his lip, he began to stroke.
He closed his eyes, like Mark had told him to do during their lesson, and tried to summon the feeling of his lips, Mark’s grip on his face, the proximity of their bodies. It had been utter bliss. For those few moments, all the desire he’d shoved down, tried so hard to ignore, had been not only acknowledged but rewarded.
Deep breaths in and out, and his hand, now slick, sped up. He imagined being on that sofa, in a world where they hadn’t moved apart after the first kiss. Mark moving back in for another, his hand snaking down to Jack’s jeans. They would fuck however Mark wanted, he’d do whatever Mark asked of him. Always.
The hand that wasn’t currently gripping his cock moved up to his mouth, extra insurance that he wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises, which felt highly likely right now. His mind was frazzled at the moment, the pleasure, the image of Mark fucking him, the phantom kiss on his lips, it was overtaking every other sense he had. He needed more. He needed this to consume him. He glanced around frantically, unsure what he was even looking for, just desperate for more. An idea sprung to his mind suddenly, something in a porno they’d seen with Sarah.
He removed his hand from his mouth and hiked his shirt up, pooling it under his chin, the hand on his cock slowed as he stared down at his nipples, he slowly grazed the surrounding skin with his fingernail, and a chill went down his spine.
Yeah. That was good.
Bolder, he brushed a finger across the nipples themselves, no fingernails, just a curious pad, and pleasure sparked. It was a different kind of pleasure to the feeling of rubbing his dick, but Christ, it wasn’t worse. Again, he rubbed it softly. His body jerked in response, a small sound escaped his lips. More a noise of shock than a moan, but his mind snapped.
This was fucking amazing, thank God for pornos.
He closed his eyes again, the hand on his cock speeding back up, and the torture of his nipples remaining enthusiastic, compounded with the image of Mark above him, grinning down as he egged him on, you like this? God, you really are a fuckin’ weirdo, Jack!
For some unfathomable reason, he, in that moment, opened his mouth and let himself moan a small, whiny, “Mark.”
Mark was everywhere, his scent was in the air, his hands on Jack’s waist, his nipples, his cock, his lips ghosting over every inch of his face, settling on his mouth. He could feel his hot breath, his voice as he whispered to him.
Above him, Mark rustled his blanket as he shifted.
Cold washed over him. His eyes snapped open and he tried to listen for any more movement over the roaring sound of his own breath. One hand gripped the sheets in a futile attempt to steady himself, the other kept stroking his dick. He was so fucking scared, but he couldn’t stop.
It was a terrible mixture, he was embarrassed and scared, genuinely scared, and in the back of his mind he knew this was making him more aroused. Every stroke felt glorious, he was shaking with pleasure. With a humiliating, quiet whine, he spilled onto himself.
He calmed his breathing, finally. The room was quiet, he was going to drift off soon if he didn’t get up and clean himself off.
A loud shift above him pulled him from the edge of sleep. Mark hopped from the top bunk and without a word, exited the room. Fuck. Fuck. He halfway hoped he’d come back with Tom’s gun and kill him then and there. Anything would be better than explaining why he was moaning his name a moment ago.
The door opened again and he jumped, heart pounding, he scrambled to think of something to say. He needed to make this look better than it was.
Wordless once more, Mark pulled himself back onto the top bunk and settled in.
Jack didn’t dare get up and clean himself. He slept, fitfully, with dried cum on him.