Prompt for this was:
Anonymous: Mark teaching jr billards and what happen afterwards ;) or fluff either is fine!
Jinyoung stares, a heat creeping into his skin that had nothing at all to do with the jacked up AC and everything to do with the way Mark was running his fingers up and down the pool cue. He cleared his throat and Mark looks up, raises an eyebrow. “Care for a game?”
Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t play much.”
“I’ll spot you,” Mark countered.
Jinyoung shook his head, “You could beat me blindfolded with one arm tied behind your back.”
Mark frowned and nodded. “True enough.” He rolled a pool cue along the table, checking it for warps and then threw it towards Jinyoung, who caught it easily. Mark quickly collected the balls and racked them up. “Come here,” he waved at Jinyoung. “Show me what you’ve got.” He placed the white cue ball in the center.
Jinyoung leaned over the table and took aim.
“Here,” Mark spoke low, crowding in close behind him that Jinyoung could smell the cologne clear on his skin. “Get your stance right.” Mark gently kicked at Jinyoung’s shoe, nudging his feet apart. “Distribute your weight, think of it like you’re about to go into a fight. It’s all about balance.”
Jinyoung shifted a little, earning a satisfied hum. “Good,” Mark said. “Now lean forward.”
Marrk gave a nudge to the small of Jinyoung’s back, bending him further over. Jinyoung tried to suppress the shiver that ran up and down his spine at the touch and Mark’s low chuckle told him that he wasn’t too successful.
“Now put your left hand on the table.”
Jinyoung followed the order, and Mark covered Jinyoung’s hand with his own, his fingers forcing Jinyoung’s wider, his touch straying there for a moment longer than necessary before laying the wooden cue over Jinyoung’s outstretched hand.
“This is an open bridge. Easy for beginners.” Mark’s eyes caught Jinyoung’s. A slow blink, and then Mark broke the eye contact to wrap Jinyoung’s index finger around the cue. “This is a closed one. Better control this way. A straighter shot.”
Mark crossed behind him, fingers skimming along Jinyoung’s shoulders before coming to rest on Jinyoung’s right hand. “Let’s work on your grip.” Jinyoung had the pool cue in a white-knuckled grasp, and Mark pried his fingers loose. “Not too tight, not too loose. You don’t need your little finger at all. Just hook your thumb around the stick.”
Jinyoung relaxed his hand, inching it backward. His palm is sweaty, sliding easily along the polished wood.
“That’s it.” Mark snugged in behind Jinyoung again, close, thigh to thigh, his hand working up and down Jinyoung’s bare forearm. “Keep your arm at a right angle to the table, your wrist straight and loose.” Mark’s hand landed on Jinyoung’s hip and squeezed. “Now let’s talk about the stroke,” Mark whispered, his lips just barely touching Jinyoung’s ear.
Jinyoung’s knees locked, his hips stuttered forward and he pressed himself to the hard rail of the pool table, groaning at the small amount of friction it allowed. “Not yet, Jinyoungie,” Mark chuckled, pulling Jinyoung back by the hips. Jinyoung could feel the hard line of Mark’s along his as he fitted the two of them together, and his mouth went instantly dry. Mark ran a thumb along Jinyoung’s jaw for a moment before pointing at the rack of brightly colored balls at the far end of the table. “Fix your eyes on where you want the cue ball to go, then start with a couple of practice strokes. Take it slow. You don’t want to rush it. Just loosen yourself up.“
Jinyoung took a deep breath, his concentration bent on relaxing his shoulders, and tried to ignore the feeling of Mark’s body draped partially across his back. He made a couple of short strokes.
“Good.” Mark rewarded him with a small bite to the back of his neck, sharp teeth digging in, not too light and not too hard. Jinyoung gasped and pushed back against Mark, undeniable want setting a fire in his bloodstream.
Mark laughed again, throaty and low. “Remember your balance. Nothing should move except your arm. Not your head,” he tangled his fingers in Jinyoung’s hair for a second and moved lower. “Not your shoulders,” another small nip there, “and definitely not your hips.” Mark gripped Jinyoung’s hips and squeezed, fingers digging in. “Don’t stop short when you hit the cue ball,” Mark went on. “The stroke is all about the follow through. Don’t hold back.”
Jinyoung hit the cue ball, a satisfying crack ringing through the empty room, and the pool balls fanned out across the table. The yellow striped fourteen-ball landed in the side pocket, but Jinyoung didn’t notice. He was already spinning towards Mark. One hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of Mark’s neck and the other splayed across the small of Mark’s back as he pulled him in close.
Jinyoung pressed their mouths together, the taste of Mark making his head spin as he past Mark’s lips, tongue skimming along his teeth, the roof of his mouth, a tangle of tongues as he urged Mark’s jaw wider to deepen the kiss.
Jinyoung worked a hand between them, palming Mark’s roughly, and swallowed the gasp that ripped from Mark as he snapped his hips forward.
The sound of breaking glass from the main room of the bar made them jump apart, chests heaving as they both grinned sheepishly at each other. Mark wiped at his bottom lip, a flush running high on his cheekbones and a dark, wicked glint in his eyes.
“There might be hope for you yet,” Mark said.
“Does that mean the lesson’s over?” Jinyoung asked, a little breathless.
Mark walked towards the double doors partitioning the billiards room from the bar, closing them with an audible click. The cacophony of music from the jukebox and bar noise drowns to a muffle. “Far from it.”
He steps up to Jinyoung and kisses him. Grips Jinyoung’s arms like he’s holding him still and presses in close.
Their hard-ons through their jeans are no joke. The whimper that gargles in Jinyoung’s throat is no joke. That’s his noise, the strain of his against Mark’s. His tongue in Mark’s mouth. And he’s the lucky guy who’s about to get ed on a pool table, apparently. He’s looking forward to that part.
He wraps his arms around Mark to pull him closer and Mark runs his hands up Jinyoung’s arms to curl them around his shoulders; combs his fingers through Jinyoung’s hair. Jinyoung can’t get close enough.
"Too many clothes," he breathes whisper-soft into Mark’s mouth.
Mark pulls back, trailing his open mouth over Jinyoung’s jaw, his neck, around to tug his earlobe between pouty pink lips, and whispers in his ear, “I think we can fix that.”
Mark tugs at the hem of Jinyoung’s t-shirt then brings it up to pull it over his head before hefting Jinyoung to sit on the table. Jinyoung runs his hand along the edge, pressing down to test its strength. It’s sturdy enough, perfect height. The green felt covering is scratchy but it’ll be worth the burn, he thinks. His palms are down flat on the surface when Mark presses a kiss between Jinyoung’s collar bone before he backs away. A rustle of fabric and then Mark’s against him again, bare chest to his own. He moans into Jinyoung’s skin, threads his fingers through his hair and kisses him on the ear, on his cheek, finally pressing their lips together, open and sloppy.
Jinyoung throws one arm around to grip the back of Mark’s head to pull him closer. Mark reaches down to undo Jinyoung’s fly and slides his hand, warm and slightly calloused, past Jinyoung’s waistband and underneath the fabric of his briefs to cup his hard , it’s all Jinyoung can do not to come on the spot. “Holy .”
"Mmm. You like that?"
"What do you think?"
"You look so good like this," Mark says, voice low in Jinyoung’s ear. "I’m going to lay you down on the table, Jinyoungie. Going to watch you while I work you open."
Mark pushes Jinyoung’s jeans down past his hips and Jinyoung takes the hint, slipping out of them and his underwear in an ungainly squirm as he watches Mark doing the same, fishing out a bottle of lube and condoms out of his jeans pocket before setting them down on the table.
They both slip out of the last of their clothes and get a nice, long look at each other. Mark’s is high and hard, ready like Jinyoung is.
"God, want you so bad," Jinyoung says when he pulls Mark to him. He dips his knees, just a little, so their strain against each other. Only the barest amount of pre-come keeps it from being rough and dry. Mark doesn’t say anything but starts rocking him back. Jinyoung finds it pretty easy to set his on the edge of the table, his long legs dangling over it. He catches himself on his elbows while Mark practically crawls up to press his lips to Jinyoung’s chest.
The sudden pressure on the table caused the eight ball to roll towards him, heading to the curve of his lower back, but Mark palms it and slides it away. Jinyoung watches as it makes its way to the side pocket.
"You didn’t call your play," he murmurs. Mark laughs into his skin. His lips are traveling south to Jinyoung’s stomach now. His abs tense and relax as Mark drags his tongue over them.
Jinyoung falls back onto the table slowly, pushing one arm behind him to roll balls out of the way as he goes. He thinks he might never be able to play pool again without thinking of Mark’s mouth on him, circling his belly button, sucking in the skin around it, one hand pressed to Jinyoung’s hip, one reaching for his . Mark runs his thumb along the slit, picking up the moisture there and lightly pressing Jinyoung flat on his back, looking up.
"You’re so beautiful," Mark says reverently as he presses his lips to Jinyoung’s .
The green felt of the table is scratchy on Jinyoung’s skin. It’s not bad, but he feels it, feels the wood of the ledge underneath the bend of his knees, but mostly he feels Mark’s mouth on him, playing him, his tongue running down the shaft to his balls.
Jinyoung
Prompt for this was:
Anonymous: Mark teaching jr billards and what happen afterwards ;) or fluff either is fine!
Jinyoung stares, a heat creeping into his skin that had nothing at all to do with the jacked up AC and everything to do with the way Mark was running his fingers up and down the pool cue. He cleared his throat and Mark looks up, raises an eyebrow. “Care for a game?”
Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t play much.”
“I’ll spot you,” Mark countered.
Jinyoung shook his head, “You could beat me blindfolded with one arm tied behind your back.”
Mark frowned and nodded. “True enough.” He rolled a pool cue along the table, checking it for warps and then threw it towards Jinyoung, who caught it easily. Mark quickly collected the balls and racked them up. “Come here,” he waved at Jinyoung. “Show me what you’ve got.” He placed the white cue ball in the center.
Jinyoung leaned over the table and took aim.
“Here,” Mark spoke low, crowding in close behind him that Jinyoung could smell the cologne clear on his skin. “Get your stance right.” Mark gently kicked at Jinyoung’s shoe, nudging his feet apart. “Distribute your weight, think of it like you’re about to go into a fight. It’s all about balance.”
Jinyoung shifted a little, earning a satisfied hum. “Good,” Mark said. “Now lean forward.”
Marrk gave a nudge to the small of Jinyoung’s back, bending him further over. Jinyoung tried to suppress the shiver that ran up and down his spine at the touch and Mark’s low chuckle told him that he wasn’t too successful.
“Now put your left hand on the table.”
Jinyoung followed the order, and Mark covered Jinyoung’s hand with his own, his fingers forcing Jinyoung’s wider, his touch straying there for a moment longer than necessary before laying the wooden cue over Jinyoung’s outstretched hand.
“This is an open bridge. Easy for beginners.” Mark’s eyes caught Jinyoung’s. A slow blink, and then Mark broke the eye contact to wrap Jinyoung’s index finger around the cue. “This is a closed one. Better control this way. A straighter shot.”
Mark crossed behind him, fingers skimming along Jinyoung’s shoulders before coming to rest on Jinyoung’s right hand. “Let’s work on your grip.” Jinyoung had the pool cue in a white-knuckled grasp, and Mark pried his fingers loose. “Not too tight, not too loose. You don’t need your little finger at all. Just hook your thumb around the stick.”
Jinyoung relaxed his hand, inching it backward. His palm is sweaty, sliding easily along the polished wood.
“That’s it.” Mark snugged in behind Jinyoung again, close, thigh to thigh, his hand working up and down Jinyoung’s bare forearm. “Keep your arm at a right angle to the table, your wrist straight and loose.” Mark’s hand landed on Jinyoung’s hip and squeezed. “Now let’s talk about the stroke,” Mark whispered, his lips just barely touching Jinyoung’s ear.
Jinyoung’s knees locked, his hips stuttered forward and he pressed himself to the hard rail of the pool table, groaning at the small amount of friction it allowed. “Not yet, Jinyoungie,” Mark chuckled, pulling Jinyoung back by the hips. Jinyoung could feel the hard line of Mark’s along his as he fitted the two of them together, and his mouth went instantly dry. Mark ran a thumb along Jinyoung’s jaw for a moment before pointing at the rack of brightly colored balls at the far end of the table. “Fix your eyes on where you want the cue ball to go, then start with a couple of practice strokes. Take it slow. You don’t want to rush it. Just loosen yourself up.“
Jinyoung took a deep breath, his concentration bent on relaxing his shoulders, and tried to ignore the feeling of Mark’s body draped partially across his back. He made a couple of short strokes.
“Good.” Mark rewarded him with a small bite to the back of his neck, sharp teeth digging in, not too light and not too hard. Jinyoung gasped and pushed back against Mark, undeniable want setting a fire in his bloodstream.
Mark laughed again, throaty and low. “Remember your balance. Nothing should move except your arm. Not your head,” he tangled his fingers in Jinyoung’s hair for a second and moved lower. “Not your shoulders,” another small nip there, “and definitely not your hips.” Mark gripped Jinyoung’s hips and squeezed, fingers digging in. “Don’t stop short when you hit the cue ball,” Mark went on. “The stroke is all about the follow through. Don’t hold back.”
Jinyoung hit the cue ball, a satisfying crack ringing through the empty room, and the pool balls fanned out across the table. The yellow striped fourteen-ball landed in the side pocket, but Jinyoung didn’t notice. He was already spinning towards Mark. One hand tangled in the short hair at the nape of Mark’s neck and the other splayed across the small of Mark’s back as he pulled him in close.
Jinyoung pressed their mouths together, the taste of Mark making his head spin as he past Mark’s lips, tongue skimming along his teeth, the roof of his mouth, a tangle of tongues as he urged Mark’s jaw wider to deepen the kiss.
Jinyoung worked a hand between them, palming Mark’s roughly, and swallowed the gasp that ripped from Mark as he snapped his hips forward.
The sound of breaking glass from the main room of the bar made them jump apart, chests heaving as they both grinned sheepishly at each other. Mark wiped at his bottom lip, a flush running high on his cheekbones and a dark, wicked glint in his eyes.
“There might be hope for you yet,” Mark said.
“Does that mean the lesson’s over?” Jinyoung asked, a little breathless.
Mark walked towards the double doors partitioning the billiards room from the bar, closing them with an audible click. The cacophony of music from the jukebox and bar noise drowns to a muffle. “Far from it.”
He steps up to Jinyoung and kisses him. Grips Jinyoung’s arms like he’s holding him still and presses in close.
Their hard-ons through their jeans are no joke. The whimper that gargles in Jinyoung’s throat is no joke. That’s his noise, the strain of his against Mark’s. His tongue in Mark’s mouth. And he’s the lucky guy who’s about to get ed on a pool table, apparently. He’s looking forward to that part.
He wraps his arms around Mark to pull him closer and Mark runs his hands up Jinyoung’s arms to curl them around his shoulders; combs his fingers through Jinyoung’s hair. Jinyoung can’t get close enough.
"Too many clothes," he breathes whisper-soft into Mark’s mouth.
Mark pulls back, trailing his open mouth over Jinyoung’s jaw, his neck, around to tug his earlobe between pouty pink lips, and whispers in his ear, “I think we can fix that.”
Mark tugs at the hem of Jinyoung’s t-shirt then brings it up to pull it over his head before hefting Jinyoung to sit on the table. Jinyoung runs his hand along the edge, pressing down to test its strength. It’s sturdy enough, perfect height. The green felt covering is scratchy but it’ll be worth the burn, he thinks. His palms are down flat on the surface when Mark presses a kiss between Jinyoung’s collar bone before he backs away. A rustle of fabric and then Mark’s against him again, bare chest to his own. He moans into Jinyoung’s skin, threads his fingers through his hair and kisses him on the ear, on his cheek, finally pressing their lips together, open and sloppy.
Jinyoung throws one arm around to grip the back of Mark’s head to pull him closer. Mark reaches down to undo Jinyoung’s fly and slides his hand, warm and slightly calloused, past Jinyoung’s waistband and underneath the fabric of his briefs to cup his hard , it’s all Jinyoung can do not to come on the spot. “Holy .”
"Mmm. You like that?"
"What do you think?"
"You look so good like this," Mark says, voice low in Jinyoung’s ear. "I’m going to lay you down on the table, Jinyoungie. Going to watch you while I work you open."
Mark pushes Jinyoung’s jeans down past his hips and Jinyoung takes the hint, slipping out of them and his underwear in an ungainly squirm as he watches Mark doing the same, fishing out a bottle of lube and condoms out of his jeans pocket before setting them down on the table.
They both slip out of the last of their clothes and get a nice, long look at each other. Mark’s is high and hard, ready like Jinyoung is.
"God, want you so bad," Jinyoung says when he pulls Mark to him. He dips his knees, just a little, so their strain against each other. Only the barest amount of pre-come keeps it from being rough and dry. Mark doesn’t say anything but starts rocking him back. Jinyoung finds it pretty easy to set his on the edge of the table, his long legs dangling over it. He catches himself on his elbows while Mark practically crawls up to press his lips to Jinyoung’s chest.
The sudden pressure on the table caused the eight ball to roll towards him, heading to the curve of his lower back, but Mark palms it and slides it away. Jinyoung watches as it makes its way to the side pocket.
"You didn’t call your play," he murmurs. Mark laughs into his skin. His lips are traveling south to Jinyoung’s stomach now. His abs tense and relax as Mark drags his tongue over them.
Jinyoung falls back onto the table slowly, pushing one arm behind him to roll balls out of the way as he goes. He thinks he might never be able to play pool again without thinking of Mark’s mouth on him, circling his belly button, sucking in the skin around it, one hand pressed to Jinyoung’s hip, one reaching for his . Mark runs his thumb along the slit, picking up the moisture there and lightly pressing Jinyoung flat on his back, looking up.
"You’re so beautiful," Mark says reverently as he presses his lips to Jinyoung’s .
The green felt of the table is scratchy on Jinyoung’s skin. It’s not bad, but he feels it, feels the wood of the ledge underneath the bend of his knees, but mostly he feels Mark’s mouth on him, playing him, his tongue running down the shaft to his balls.
Jinyoung
การแปล กรุณารอสักครู่..
