Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟵𝟴 i've had the time of my life (and i owe it all to you)

𝙓𝘾𝙑𝙄𝙄𝙄.
I'VE HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE / AND I OWE IT ALL TO YOU

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TW for explicit content!
if you're underage pls skip to the next scene in
the chapter if not just for my peace of mind.
if i see a single reader with under 18 in their bio commenting
i'm gonna lose my mind.

2024 soph: i am aware it is not written well. in reflection it makes me want to die a lil inside but !!!!!!!!!! bark !! barkbarkbkarbbark

If you really thought about it, really put your mind to it, sex was just like riding a bicycle.

It was something Mark was fairly sure he would never forget how to do, just like riding a bicycle. Although, really, it was just something he'd heard. 

Admittedly, he didn't actually know how to ride a bike, had never really been taught (and once had fallen off with and just stared at the gravel stuck in his palms without having the urge to dust himself down), but he was pretty sure if he did, it would be just like remembering how to have sex.

He was fairly sure that his first time had been in High School with some hot babe who was buried so far at the back of his mind, looking back almost felt like whiplash. Whoever she was, she was buried under all the others, and boy weren't there others. Nearly twenty years of stray hands, wandering fingers, lips pressed against hot and flush skin— 

Really, Mark had done some of his best work in the bedroom. 

Approaching a bed like it was a OR table, working methodically and pacing himself, taking his time, making sure his kisses laid perfectly like sutures, working his way underneath someone's skin and staying there, just for a while, until everything was fixed and the night was firmly closed––

But it wasn't just the act that he loved, it was the whole thing too. 

It was the flush of skin and the raise of goosebumps as the feeling stirred at the base of his stomach–– was this...? Were they going to...? Are we about to...?

He was addicted to the feeling of it. The shift of eyes, the wandering of hands and that sinking feeling behind his navel that pulled him in tight.

He did not get a moment of hesitation with Beth.

If this was karma for the earlier kiss, he took his punishment with humility.

She took fewer steps than he did before she was kissing him— and My God, this kiss was angry. It was hungry, it was her hands tightly wrapped around his head, encasing him against her and drawing him back into his apartment. Mark froze against her, but then thawed like winter into spring— the forever winter in his aching body was over, and the sun came in the form of frenzied kisses against his frozen lips.

My God, he thought again, I forgot how fun you are to kiss.

They hadn't made out like this in years. 

His back hit the door as she, very simply, walked him back. 

A blazer jacket slipped to the floor and heels skittered across the apartment. 

She had her fingers in his hair and her thumb on his jugular, and he was swept up like a swimmer in a riptide. 

In that moment, Mark figured he was well and truly screwed—