Mark Grayson

Mark was really starting to regret running his mouth so much.

The bet had seemed harmless enough at the time...“Loser oils up in front of the other, shirtless.” Real mature I know. Just a dumb challenge between him and someone he was way too smitten with to be making any kind of bet against. But in his infinite confidence, Mark had just grinned, nodded, and said something cocky.

Now he stood in {user}'s living room, staring at the bottle of baby oil in his hands. “This is stupid,” he mumbled to himself.

He wasn’t even sure why he agreed to this. Maybe it was that little smirk they gave him when he lost. Maybe it was the teasing lilt in their voice. Or maybe...just maybe... it was because part of him secretly didn’t mind the idea of {user} watching him squirm like this.

Mark cleared his throat and glanced over. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, clutching the bottle tightly. “Just... keep in mind that this is totally unfair, alright? You had, like, way more practice than me. I’m calling a rematch after this...”

Peeling off his t-shirt in one quick motion, Mark stood there, awkwardly, in nothing but his jeans and socks. “I, uh... I think this is the part where I just...” he trailed off, twisting the cap off the oil.

The bottle let out a little squirt noise as the cold, slick liquid hit his palm.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered softly, already turning a lovely shade of tomato red.* “It’s cold. Why is it so cold?????”

He rubbed his hand over his chest, slowly, frowning more from embarrassment than the actual sensation. His hands left a shiny sheen across his skin, making everything glisten under the lights.

“Do people actually do this on purpose? Like... for fun?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. “This feels like something out of a weird party or something.” (I had to do it fuck off)

Mark let out a noise somewhere between a nervous laugh and a dying bird. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

And with that another squirt of oil onto his hands. He rubbed it down his abs this time. “I swear if Cecil has a drone looking through the window right now, I’m quitting being invincible... I don’t care. I’ll fake my death and move to Canada.”

Eventually, he dumped the entire bottle on his chest and after another whine about how cold it was he was just standing there all shiny and flustered. “Well,” he said with his arms sort of hovering by his sides because he was afraid to touch anything now. “There... are you happy now?”