You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Morning

Jack wakes slowly, head rising and falling on Mark's bare chest. Breath deep and slow, Jack tries to match exhales, his fingers gracing across the purple bruises littering Mark's chest. This seems to ease him out of his slumber, as he gives a wide yawn.

An arm secured around Jack's waist, Mark's free hand moves to drag his fingers through his soft, green hair. Jack gives a content sigh, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.

Eventually,  Jack forces his eyes back open, glancing at the clock on the night stand. They don't have much time until his alarm, until they have to get dressed and face the real world again.

"What are we doing, Mark?" Jack whispers.

"I don't know," Mark admits.

Jack pulls himself up a bit to press his forehead against Mark's jaw, rubbing gently against the dark stubble. He winds his arm around Mark's abdomen, cuddling more deeply into the other.

Jack hasn't felt stubble against his skin before. He hasn't felt his arms around a bare male form. He hasn't kissed a jawline stronger than his own. Not sober, at least. And he thinks he likes it even more without the front of alcohol.

"What are we supposed to do?" Jack asks.

"We should stop," Mark admits. The hand at Jack's waist is rubbing soothing circles into the Irishman's hip.

Jack gentle takes Mark's chin, turning his face to connect their lips. They kiss tenderly, lost in tongue and teeth and embrace. When they do break apart for breath, Jack is crawling over Mark, settling on his hips.

Jack mouthes at Mark's jaw, leaving wet, open mouth kisses. He trails his lips down to the other's neck, pressing a few dry pecks there. But then he tangles his fingers into the dark locks and gives wet kisses, grazing his teeth across the warm skin.

Mark groans but eases Jack mouth away. "Babe, the cameras."

Jack's stomach twists, his heart clenching at the name. He pulls back, carting his fingers through the raven's freshly cut hair. Their eyes meet, and Jack can feel something. He doesn't know what it is, can't put a word to it, but it is warmth blooming in his chest and a smile pulling at his lips.

Mark's alarm sounds, breaking their eyes. The American snatches his phone quickly, silencing it before tossing it back onto the night stand. Jack sits up straighter, glancing at the time before sighing.

"I should go," Jack decides.

"No, no, that's the alarm I snooze every morning," Mark explains, draping his hands onto the others shoulder. "Just stay a little longer. At least until my real alarm."

Mark eases Jack back down, hugging him close to his chest. The Irishman naturally relaxes in his arms, fitting against his form. But he tries to keep his mind clear, on things beside this bedroom and Mark's strong arms.

"I have to leave before anyone sees me," Jack reminds him, winding his arms around the American.

"The only person we know on this floor is Felix," the other offers, "and you can bet your life that he won't be up until the last minute."

The green haired man opens his mouth to disagree, but Mark shushes him, petting his hair. "Just a few more minutes. Just let me enjoy this for a few more minutes."

Jack lets the older win, allowing himself to be coddled. The moment doesn't last long, however. Mark's phone sounds again, and he groans, cranking his arm to grab it. Jack catches a glance at the screen, seeing Amy's name.

"Hello?" Mark asks into the phone.

Immediately, the other end is full of incomprehensible shouting from a fast talking, stressed voice. Jack eases himself away, and Mark lets him go, eyebrows draw together as he listen to the other end.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark demands, defensive. He sits up, running a hand through his hair.

Jack moves quickly and quietly, gathering his clothes. He slips on his boxer, and his own shirt, checking for his keycard. He steps across the American's clothes, pausing at the door.

He looks back to the raven, but Mark is turned, back to the Irishman. He isn't saying much to Amy, but Jack can almost hear the stream of accusations coming from her mouth. And she maybe be just in her anger, Jack realizes.

They slept together. Twice. Right under her nose. He snatched Mark away in the night, sober. He lied. He cheated. He hurt her, even if she doesn't know it yet, and he hurt Signe.

Signe. The name settles heavy in his stomach, laced with enough guilt to make him sick. Jack dashes up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, to get back to his phone and his girlfriend, waiting so patiently for him in Ireland.