Sugar Rush
Title: Sugar Rush
Author: missninjastar
Pairing: Tom/Mark
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: It's Halloween, things are bound to get a little weird.
Content/Warning: Swearing but that's it
Disclaimer: Don't know them, don't own anything but the plotline and the writing oooo
Author's Notes: I wrote an awkwardly cute Halloween fic, because who doesn't like awkwardly cute things? No one, is the answer to that question. It's not the best, but I didn't spend a long time on this so yeah. Also the title sucks. I hope you enjoy it, and please tell me what you think<3
The lights are off, the volume on the TV is low and the house is freezing cold. Tom is sitting at one end of the couch and I’m at the other. Someone knocks at the door. We glance at each other and Tom quickly mutes the TV. We stay quiet. We listen. The sound of laughter echoes through the silent house, and me and Tom stay still, cautious of any sound we may make. Gradually, the voices fade and Tom deems it safe to unmute the TV once again.
It’s nowhere near as scary as Halloween should be.
Before she left, Tom’s mom told us not to be complete assholes and made us promise to open the door for the trick or treaters. We agreed. There was no problem with that. To be honest, and no one can know that I think this, but it was actually kind of cute watching Tom open the door to all the little kids. The way he pretended to be scared of the boy dressed up as a zombie, told the little girl dressed up as a ballerina how pretty she is. The way he would kneel down so he would be at their eye level when he offered the bowl to them. The way every single mom would smile at Tom and pull the ‘aw, isn’t this young man lovely?’ face to their mom friends. It was all just cute. Tom acts like this hardcore punk, but he’s a total soft touch at heart, especially when it comes to kids.
But no one can know I think that.
So, the problem isn’t with opening the door and giving the kids the sweets. The problem is that the bowl that once held the sweets is sitting on the coffee table, empty, and me and Tom are surrounded by candy wrappers.
Tom looks around guiltily and says “We gotta get rid of all these wrappers.”
I grab a handful of them and say “Can’t we just put them in the trash?”
“No, my mom would see them and lose her shit.” Tom sighs, picking up wrappers from the floor.
“What should we do with them then?” I ask.
“I don’t know, uh…” he trails off, looking around for a place to hide the evidence.
“Why don’t we just throw them all out on your driveway and the wind will blow them away. Either that or we can blame the kids. Goddamn litter bugs.” I suggest. Tom chuckles and shakes his head.
“You’re evil, what do you have against children?” He asks, still looking for a place to hide all the wrappers.
“I don’t have anything against children, it’s just… why do they have to be so sticky all the time? And why are they so loud? It’s so annoying.”
“You’re a special kind of fucked up, man.” Tom laughs, then stops in place. “Hey, you know what would be fun?” He asks, smirk slowly emerging. I raise my eyebrows to show him I’m listening. “Make-up.”
I stop pretending to look for somewhere to hide the wrappers and just stare at him, frowning slightly. “Tom, you’ve said a lot of weird shit to me in the time we’ve known each other, but I’m pretty sure what just come out of your mouth tops it all.” I tell him, and Tom looks exasperated.
“Not like girl’s make-up, like Halloween make-up. It’s not like we have anything better to do; we’re not allowed to go out, there’s no alcohol and you’re boring the shit out of me.” Tom says, dropping the wrappers into his lap.
“Please tell me- oh my god you’re serious.” I laugh, and Tom is quick to respond.
“Mark, c’mon. We can use Kari’s left over face paint and stuff. You don’t even have to do me; just let me paint your face. It might help you get a woman for once.” I shoot him and look, but he ignores it. “I’m so bored, Mark, please.” Tom begs, giving me the puppy eyes. I look away, but I know he’s still looking at me, all sad and pleading.
I sigh.
“If-” Tom smiles. “I said if I agree to this no one hears about it. And I get to wash it off straight away.” I bargain.
“Ok, ok fine. Does that mean you’ll let me do it?” He asks, smiling because he knows he’s won me over.
“God, I fucking hate you.” I sigh again, standing up, both hands full of candy wrappers. Tom grabs all the wrappers in his hands and runs upstairs, while I reluctantly drag behind.
When I reach the top of the stairs I head for Tom’s bedroom, but he’s not in there. I lie down on his bed, putting all the wrappers into his trash can, not really caring if he gets in trouble for it. The guy’s about to essentially put make-up on me. Just because it’s Halloween make-up, it doesn’t make it any less stupid. I mean I know Robert Smith wears make-up, but he’s Robert Smith, so it’s ok. I am not Robert Smith.
When he comes back in, he’s got an armful of make-up, which he then drops all over his bedroom floor.
“I raided Kari’s room for whatever I could find.” He tells me, looking at the various items at his feet.
“Please don’t turn me into something super gross and ugly, like a troll or something.” I plead, not moving from where I’m sprawled out across his bed.
“I won’t. We don’t have a lot to work with, really, just some white face paint, black face paint and a few of these weird stick things.” He says. I sit up to see what he’s talking about.
“Oh, that’s just face paint but in a stick form. So you can draw lines and stuff.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “What? It’s not like me and Anne never dressed up when we were kids.” Tom chuckles and looks down at the ‘face paint’ (make-up) on the floor in front of him.
“I’d have loved to see you all dressed up. I bet you were really cute.” And as soon as Tom says that, it’s like everything slows down for a few seconds. My heart palpitates; Tom stops sifting through the face paints and slowly looks up at me, blush covering his cheeks, looking guilty.
This could go two ways; I could wait for him to say something, brush it off, drag the awkwardness out. Or I could make a joke out of it, laugh it off.
“What’re you talking about, I’m still really cute.” I joke, deciding this would be the best option to go for.
“I know.” Tom laughs, then stops and looks mortified. And well. I wasn’t expecting that. And I don’t really know how to respond to it, either.
“Are you doing my face, or what?” I ask, sliding down on the floor with my back against the bed.
“Uh, yeah. Sure, what do you want me to do?” he’s fumbling over his words and he’s fumbling with the face paint and it’s making me anxious.
“I don’t know man, this was your idea.” I joke, and Tom laughs at the ground, picking up the white face paint and a weird sponge thing.
“How about… uh… a skeleton?”
“Make me look like Jack Skellington or I’m out.” I bargain.
Tom rolls his eyes and says “Fine, straighten your legs.” I do as he tells me, and he cocks one leg over both of mine and practically sits on my lap.
“Whoa, dude, ever heard of personal space?” I ask, half joking, half generally concerned about how close his junk is to my junk.
“I need to get to your face somehow, now shut the fuck up at let me give you a fabulous makeover.” He teases, fluttering his eyelashes and being overly flamboyant, but I do as I’m told anyway.
He places the sponge on my left cheek, and gradually moves to paint my whole face, alternating between dabbing the sponge in the white face paint and swiping it across my skin. At one point he tells me to shut my eyes, and he gently drags the sponge over my eyelids. When I open them again he laughs and tells me I have white eyelashes.
He moves on to the black, and I feel like he’s gradually getting closer and closer. Either that or I’m just starting to get more and more claustrophobic, what with Tom sitting on my lap and all. He draws an outline around my eye sockets with the black face paint stick, and then starts to fill it in. I close my eyes when he tells me to, open them when he tells me to, look up when he tells me to.
He then moves onto my nose. He gently tips my face up with his hands, and uses the same black face paint stick to exaggerate my nostrils.
Then I feel it at the corner of my mouth as he drags it outward, across my cheeks to make my mouth seem bigger than it is. Same with the other cheek. He goes over the lines a few times, probably to make them even. I then watch his face as he tips mine up again slightly and begin with the downward lines on my smile. His face crumples up with concentration, and I notice the way Tom’s eyebrows are sloping downwards, the way his tongue is poking out slightly from the corner of his mouth. He gets to the corner of my mouth and starts on the other side, working from the outside in.
I then just notice little things. The way his eyes keep flickering their focus, how brown they are, the way his nose is slightly too wide for his face, the pimples dotted all around. The way his eyebrows make his eyes look a weird shape, how cold his fingertips are on my jaw, the way he’s unintentionally (or maybe intentionally, I don’t know) moved closed to my face as he concentrated more. The way I can feel his breath on my face.
He gets to the other corner of my mouth and tells me to part my lips slightly, so I do. Then he drags the make up over my top lip, he lines it up, then my bottom lip, which moves with it when he pulls it downward. By the time he’s started the fourth line I notice the glazed look in his eye, the lag in his movements. By the fifth, I see him lick his lips. As he puts the face paint stick down, he swallows hard.
“It’s done.” Tom says, voice quiet. He makes no movement to get off me though. I just nod, suddenly being unable to speak.
Then, it’s almost as if my hands develop a mind of their own. They move from their place at my sides where they’ve been since the beginning and reach forward, grabbing onto Tom’s shirt, pulling him towards me and not letting go. Our lips crash together and it all happens so fast I’m not sure who’s more shocked out of the two of us. Tom’s reluctant at first, and so am I, but then he lets himself go a little bit, and his hands dance at my sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. All can really feel is the warm sensation of Tom’s lips on mine and the way it radiates throughout my entire body.
When we pull away, I open my eyes and burst out laughing.
“What?” Tom asks, sounding distressed.
I reach out and run my thumb along his chin. “You’ve got make up all over your mouth.” I giggle. Tom wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist and laughs too.
“Fuck,” He breathes, looking up at me. “I worked so hard on that and now you’ve fucked it up.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it.” I smirk, leaning forward again but Tom leans away.
“Not until you’ve got that shit off your face, and I’ve got it off mine.” He says, standing up and walking out of the room.
“You did this to me, you’ve gotta help me get it off!” I yell, standing up and stretching.
“Is that an offer or do I not have a choice?” he shouts back, the echo of his words telling me he’s in the bathroom.
“You don’t have a choice.” I tell him, as I make my way to him. When I walk in, he’s sitting on the corner of the bathtub with a wet tissue in his hand, scrubbing at his mouth with it, his leg bouncing like crazy. “What’s with you?” I ask, gesturing at his leg.
“I think I got sugar rush.” He says, throwing the tissue in the trash. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and realize just how well Tom managed to do the face paint.
“Hey man, this is really good. Y’know, apart from the giant smudge, but y’know.” I say, leaning over the sink to get a closer look at myself.
“Mark, don’t let things be weird between us now that you know that I like you.” Tom speaks, appearing over my shoulder in my reflection.
“You like me?” I ask but it comes out way more smug that I intended.
“Shut up, oh my god-”
“Whoa, hey, listen” I hold onto his wrist before he gets the chance to walk away. “Believe me when I say that this comes from my heart.” I say, placing one hand on my chest but keeping the other circled around his wrist. “Whenever I’m with you Tom, things are always weird.” He shakes his head and goes to walk away again so I hold his wrist tighter. “But would I have it any other way?” Tom looks at me incredulously.
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that you’re my Tom and I’m your Mark and I like hanging out with you. I like being around you, I like being in your presence because you make me laugh and seem to know what I’m thinking and feeling all the time and you make me feel better when I feel like shit. I just like being with you. That’s all I know, and I think that’s all that matters. At least for now anyway.” I tell him the truth because I know I owe him that. We’ll figure the rest out later.
Tom nods and takes a step closer. A gently squeeze his wrist and finish by saying “Now will you please help me get this fucking make up off before I turn into a woman?”
Tom sighs and reaches for something in the cabinet, but instead he pulls his hand back says “Oh man, this sugar rush has given me the shakes.”
“No, that’s just the affect I have on people; I make them go weak at the knees.” I say, sitting on the edge of the bath where Tom just was.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.”