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Mark shows up late.
It’s Dylan’s pointed “Jesus Christ” that coaxes Helly out of the kitchenette. “What the fuck happened to you?”
She almost feels guilty, standing there in her nice silk blouse, drenched in a lavender-scented perfume that even she herself doesn’t quite care for. Mark looks half dead. His eyes burn a faded deep crimson around the lids, his suit half-hazardly thrown on like his outie couldn’t give two shits about his appearance. The layer of scruff on his face makes his lips look fuller.
She stares. She shouldn’t stare.
“Elevator allergy?” Mark offers. No lopsided smile, just a swipe of his sleeve under his nose.
Irv and Dylan have barely left for O&D by the time Mark’s backing her up against the bathroom wall. His hands are all over her, clinging to her like a man drowning who’s just been thrown a red-headed life raft. Fingers twist in her hair, grip her waist, reach down to rub tantalizing circles between her legs as he kisses her, tongue slipping past her lips and sliding against her teeth.
“Baby-“ she moans as he breaks from her mouth, planting scalding hot pecks down her neck to the sliver of chest that peeks out from underneath her blouse before sinking to his knees in front of her. He hikes her pencil skirt up to her waist and immediately dives in to kiss her pelvic bone, the waistband of her underwear, the dips of her hips. “Fuck,” Helly whines, kicking off her heels and letting her legs spread farther apart.
She doesn’t even notice when he slides her underwear down to her ankles, helping her step out of them, too caught up in his face, the storm of want brewing behind his eyes. The way he looks at her like he wants to devour her whole—if she lets him, of course. The way he looks up at her, like a deer in headlights, waiting for her to nod. To beg.
She nods. “Please.”
His mouth is on her. His tongue licks flaming swipes against her clit, dipping lower and lower until he’s flicking inside of her and she’s shaking, tugging a lip between her teeth as she watches the display.
She laces her fingers through his hair, thick and rough and notably lacking of its usual double layer of Pomade. She scrapes her manicured nails against his scalp the way that she knows he likes and he leans closer with a low groan. The vibrations ricochet throughout her entire body from where his lips are now wrapped back around her clit.
“You are-“ she pants, letting her head fall back with a thump against the wall. “You’re beautiful. You’re so good, Mark.” He whines. “Just like that, babe.”
There’s a certain timidness that comes with Mark. Even when he’s taking her apart, even with his rough hands gripping her thighs, strong enough to pin her down and do whatever the fuck he wants to her, he quivers like prey. Like one wrong move and Helly’s ripping his throat out, like she’d spit insults and leave him crumpled on the tile. She wonders where his anxiety comes from. She wonders what, with their tiny little lives confined to cubicles and blank asylum-white hallways, could have hurt him so badly. Maybe whatever sickness lies a few elevator floors above them does, in fact, transcend severance.
Currently, her mind draws a blank for almost anything and everything.
One of Mark’s hands reaches up between her legs, two thick fingers brushing exactly where she wants them. They’re deep inside of her in an instant and she feels like she could, with one more of his calculated strokes, melt into the floor.
All at once, it’s too fucking much. She tumbles over the edge, clapping a hand over her mouth to cry out into her palm, gripping the fistful of Mark’s hair in her hand with all of her might. He laps at her clit until she’s shaking and gasping and begging him to stop, body urging him to keep going because it feels so. Fucking. Good.
Eventually she rejoins her body and realizes that she’s on the ground, and Mark’s on the ground next to her. He’s sobbing into the arm of his stupid blue blazer. She reaches for him.
“Oh my god, hey. Hey, hey…” She gets ahold of his tear-streaked face and swipes away one that’s freshly fallen down his cheek with her thumb. “Did I-“
He shakes his head before dipping down towards her lips. “Not you. You’re perfect.”
He kisses her, gentle presses of lips as an arm slides around her waist to pull her closer and, for a moment, the two of them are all that matter.