[fic] they were cheering you on
Title: they were cheering you on
Author: daisysusan
Fandom: The Social Network
Genre: Smut
Pairing: Chris/Dustin, background Mark/Eduardo, OT4 implications
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,123
Summary: Sometimes, the things that go bump in the night are less bumping and more banging.
Notes: For alexthegreat , who provided the inspiration.
Disclaimer: This story is about the fictional representations of these characters from the movie The Social Network, and is in no way a reflection on these actual people. I am making no money from this and am in no way affiliated with the movie itself. Also, seriously, if you found this by googling yourself, abort now, this is not a drill.
they were cheering you on
Dustin wakes up most nights, has for as long as he can remember. It never bothered him much-he always just goes to the bathroom and then back to sleep-until last week.
Last week, when he woke up, it wasn’t to the whisper of Chris’s breathing and the sort nighttime noises from the quad beyond the window.
No, it was to something else entirely.
The breathing from the other bed was heavy, edging steadily towards quiet gasps. The sheets were rustling audibly, a steady brush of fabric against fabric. And, almost too quiet to hear, under the gasping and the rustling, Dustin heard the soft, dry slide of skin on skin.
He froze, legs tense with almost-motion.
No way in hell was he letting Chris know that he was awake.
He lay there, eyes closed, forcing himself to be still and regulating his breathing, until Chris sighed heavily, rustled more loudly-Dustin pretended he didn’t know what was happening-and eventually his breathing slowed into the rhythm Dustin was familiar with.
Then Dustin let himself crawl out of bed gingerly, and tiptoe to the bathroom.
It happened four times between the first night (nine nights ago, not that he’s counting) and tonight.
Tonight, though.
He’s really not sure what to make of tonight.
The first thing Dustin heard when he woke up was a gasp, too loud and too shrill to be Chris (and how much does it scare him that he can now recognize Chris’s masturbatory noises?), from the other room in the suite. Now he’s hearing a steady but muted thumping, cut in with a medley of gasps and moans that could not possibly be anything but two people having sex in-
-two people having sex in Mark’s room?
Well, that’s new.
To be completely honest, Dustin didn’t think that Mark was particularly interested in sex, but the noises he’s making-he can hear every oh shit yes and don’t stop clearly in the stillness-are proving him wrong.
The next thing he hears, lying tense and still, doesn’t come from Mark’s room at all.
It’s the now-familiar noise of Chris shifting, sliding against his hand with the covers rustling gently around him.
(Dustin should probably be a lot more disturbed by how easily he can recognize the sound of Chris jerking off than he is.)
He really does try not to listen to Chris or to Mark and whoever (oh god, Wardo, he hears, which explains a lot), but the suite is deadly silent save for the rub of Chris’s skin, the rustle of sheets, the moans and soft thuds from Mark’s rooms, and he can’t help but notice that Chris’s breathing is falling into sync with the thud’s of Mark’s bed against the wall.
Shit,, he thinks, the word as clear in his mind as if he’d said it aloud.
Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hits him: he’s lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, listening to his best friend jerk off to the noise of their other friends have what sounds like highly enjoyable sex. He bites his lip to keep from laughing until the wave of amusement subsides.
When it does, he’s left uncomfortably aroused.
It’s like hearing Mark and Eduardo in the other room completely obliterated his detachment from the sound of Chris stroking himself in time with-whatever they’re doing-and from the heavy breathing that isn’t quite panting but, with just a little exertion (like if Dustin pushed Chris into the mattress and kissed him breathless, his mind supplies helpfully) it could be. It’s like a switch has flipped in his mind, and now all he can think about when he hears the sounds is Chris being pressed up against him as he makes them, gasping against Dustin’s throat or curling his fingers around Dustin or-
Dustin squeezes his eyes shut until all he sees are bursts of color, blocking out the subscription his brain just got to Skinemax.
For all of thirty seconds, it works.
Then Chris actually groans, muffled by the pillow, and Dustin’s completely gone.
He opens his eyes, squinting into the darkness until he can just barely make out the shape lying in the other bed, curled toward the window, his back to Dustin.
Achingly slowly, Dustin rolls until his back is toward Chris’s, but just considering reaching into his boxers makes him feel like the worst kind of voyeur. He lies perfectly still, focusing on the distant hum of desktop computers left running and the occasional creaking of floorboards in the hall, until the noises-both Mark and Eduardo’s and Chris’s-stop and he can drift off back to sleep.
The next morning, Dustin makes absolutely no eye contact with anyone, choosing instead to bury his face in a bowl of cereal. When Chris greets him with a cheerful “Good morning!” he just mumbles a vague response and pretends to be deeply interested in his econ textbook.
He avoids speaking to Mark and Eduardo all day, mostly because he’s afraid of how beet-red he would turn at the memory of their gasped expletives from the previous night.
Of course, it happens again.
Three nights later, Dustin wakes tense and overheated and achingly, achingly hard. He immediately kicks the quilt off his bed, disregarding any noise it might make, so, of course, it makes a huge one. (Apparently, he left some books stacked by the foot of his bed, and he’s guessing by the noise that they’re now more scattered than stacked.)
From across the room, there’s a whisper. “Dustin?”
Chris’s voice is tense, almost out of breath, and suddenly Dustin knows what he was just doing.
It’s definitely not turning him on at all.
Okay, it’s not even worth trying to lie about that; just the thought of Chris jerking off while talking to him makes his cock twitch.
“Are you okay?” Chris asks softly. “You were talking in your sleep and you sounded …” He trails off, probably fidgeting, his fingers working nervously in the sheets.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Dustin whispers. His voice sounds as tight and strained as Chris’s had, and he’s all of a sudden terrified that Chris might start making assumptions about his current state (all of which would be correct, naturally).
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having a nightmare or anything. You do, sometimes.”
Dustin blushes a little bit, and he’s momentarily grateful to the darkness for reasons other than privacy.
It’s not helping that the idea of Chris hearing his nightmares is doing confusing things to his stomach.
“I really am fine,” he insists. “I’m just gonna go to-”
He’s interrupted by the sound of the suite door slamming shut, and what sounds like the dull thud of a body against the wall. There’s a gasp that sounds disturbingly like oh god yes Mark, and then a few more thumps. It’s probably Mark and Eduardo slamming each other into the walls, Dustin realizes.
After a few more thuds, there’s one that’s particularly resonant and Dustin realizes, with rapidly increasing horror, that the noises that could have been called kissing two minutes ago but are now probably just sex noises are coming from the other side of the bedroom door. He stares down at the bed, fighting the urge to make eye contact with Chris, because if he does, he probably won’t be able to resist the urge to do something wildly inappropriate like groaning or palming himself through the covers or other inappropriate things he’s not going to think about because that train of thought is just making everything so much worse.
“Um,” Chris says.
“I guess I’m not going to the bathroom,” Dustin replies.
“I think not.” Chris smirks. He’s silent for a moment, and then continues, “You wanna give them a taste of their own medicine?”
“What?” Dustin gapes for a moment, struggling to find other words. “I mean really. What?”
“If Mark and Eduardo are going to keep us up by having sex against our door-” There’s a gasp of yes, right there, god don’t stop and a whisper that sounds suspiciously like Mark, shut up, and then Chris continues, “Anyway, we ought to at least get them back. And don’t think I don’t know that you were awake the other night, listening to me. Or that you were having a sex dream before you woke up. I’m not a complete idiot.”
He looks over at Chris, just barely sees him lying back on his elbows in a rumpled bed, with his hair mussed and his worn t-shirt wrinkled (or so Dustin imagines). Briefly, he thinks of his dream, of having his limbs tangled up with three other sets, of soft touches and warm skin everywhere.
“Okay,” he says.
Chris stands up and walks toward him tentatively while he untangles himself from the covers. He stops by the foot of Dustin’s bed, and bites his lip. “So?”
Dustin looks up into Chris’s blue eyes. “Um,” he says.
And then there’s a particularly loud thunk, like someone’s head had fallen back against the door, and it jolts Chris into motion. He grabs Dustin by the wrist, pulls him out of the bed, and spins him backward into the door.
There’s a short moment where they just stare at each other, Dustin’s eyes tracing Chris’s face, and then he’s being kissed.
Like, really, seriously kissed. Chris’s hands are buried in his hair, and he’s licking into Dustin’s mouth, wet and filthy. Dustin winds an arm around his waist and draws their hips together, feeling Chris’s erection press against his hip. Against his mouth, Chris gasps softly at the contact.
Dustin pulls back a hair-as far as he can go before his head hits the door-and whispers, “I know you were jerking off when I woke up. Were you listening to me?”
Chris’s eyes darken and he leans forward to kiss him again, this time even harder. Dragging Dustin’s lower lip between his teeth, he pulls away and answers, voice hoarse, “God, yes.”
In the brief moment during which Dustin is too turned on to actually think, much less move, he feels the door behind him move steadily and there’s a shaky moan that dissolves into words he doesn’t know. His mind fills with pictures of Eduardo pressed against the door, eyes wide and lips red, with Mark pressed against him, a hand down his pants-or Mark on his knees in front of Eduardo, sucking him in deep-or-
He jolts back to his side of the door when Chris runs a light hand across the front of his boxers and Dustin feels his hips snap forward.
Dustin wants to make a snappy comment about thrashing enough to get revenge on Mark and Eduardo, but Chris’s hand is trailing gently across his hip, making the words come out as a strangled whine. He does, however, manage to unwind his arms from Chris’s waist and use them to remove his t-shirt.
Chris presses him hard against the door and rolls his hips. From the other side of the door, Dustin hears rapid breathing, high and shallow, and then there’s a loud crack of skull on wood and a drawn-out Mark that trails into a shuddery exhale, and he knows that Eduardo just came and really, knowing that shouldn’t make him grind harder against Chris but it kind of does.
He runs a hand down Chris’s now-bare back and slips it under his boxers to grab at his ass-and, of course, pull him closer-and then they’re grinding mindlessly against the door, thunking against it loudly and Dustin probably wouldn’t even remember his name if someone asked him, but he’s definitely still able to groan out Chris’s, and bite at his shoulder. He can feel the wood of the door pressing against his back but it’s lost in the haze of arousal until he finally comes with a noise that was definitely not a growl, no matter what Chris (or Mark) will try to tell him later.
His head buried in the crook of Chris’s neck, he feels him shudder and then slump forward towards the door.
“Mmmm,” Dustin says as he sinks toward the floor, too lazy to keep standing, but he’s startled by a sudden-and loud-crack against the wood.
“The fuck was that?” Mark asks, his words almost slurred.
Chris’s head is resting against the door and his eyes are drooping a little. “Sex,” he mumbles helpfully.
“No shit,” says Eduardo.
Dustin raises his off Chris’s shoulder for just long enough to add “Fun sex,” before curling back down and falling asleep.
amazing sequel by alexthegreat here
Author: daisysusan
Fandom: The Social Network
Genre: Smut
Pairing: Chris/Dustin, background Mark/Eduardo, OT4 implications
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,123
Summary: Sometimes, the things that go bump in the night are less bumping and more banging.
Notes: For alexthegreat , who provided the inspiration.
Disclaimer: This story is about the fictional representations of these characters from the movie The Social Network, and is in no way a reflection on these actual people. I am making no money from this and am in no way affiliated with the movie itself. Also, seriously, if you found this by googling yourself, abort now, this is not a drill.
they were cheering you on
Dustin wakes up most nights, has for as long as he can remember. It never bothered him much-he always just goes to the bathroom and then back to sleep-until last week.
Last week, when he woke up, it wasn’t to the whisper of Chris’s breathing and the sort nighttime noises from the quad beyond the window.
No, it was to something else entirely.
The breathing from the other bed was heavy, edging steadily towards quiet gasps. The sheets were rustling audibly, a steady brush of fabric against fabric. And, almost too quiet to hear, under the gasping and the rustling, Dustin heard the soft, dry slide of skin on skin.
He froze, legs tense with almost-motion.
No way in hell was he letting Chris know that he was awake.
He lay there, eyes closed, forcing himself to be still and regulating his breathing, until Chris sighed heavily, rustled more loudly-Dustin pretended he didn’t know what was happening-and eventually his breathing slowed into the rhythm Dustin was familiar with.
Then Dustin let himself crawl out of bed gingerly, and tiptoe to the bathroom.
It happened four times between the first night (nine nights ago, not that he’s counting) and tonight.
Tonight, though.
He’s really not sure what to make of tonight.
The first thing Dustin heard when he woke up was a gasp, too loud and too shrill to be Chris (and how much does it scare him that he can now recognize Chris’s masturbatory noises?), from the other room in the suite. Now he’s hearing a steady but muted thumping, cut in with a medley of gasps and moans that could not possibly be anything but two people having sex in-
-two people having sex in Mark’s room?
Well, that’s new.
To be completely honest, Dustin didn’t think that Mark was particularly interested in sex, but the noises he’s making-he can hear every oh shit yes and don’t stop clearly in the stillness-are proving him wrong.
The next thing he hears, lying tense and still, doesn’t come from Mark’s room at all.
It’s the now-familiar noise of Chris shifting, sliding against his hand with the covers rustling gently around him.
(Dustin should probably be a lot more disturbed by how easily he can recognize the sound of Chris jerking off than he is.)
He really does try not to listen to Chris or to Mark and whoever (oh god, Wardo, he hears, which explains a lot), but the suite is deadly silent save for the rub of Chris’s skin, the rustle of sheets, the moans and soft thuds from Mark’s rooms, and he can’t help but notice that Chris’s breathing is falling into sync with the thud’s of Mark’s bed against the wall.
Shit,, he thinks, the word as clear in his mind as if he’d said it aloud.
Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hits him: he’s lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, listening to his best friend jerk off to the noise of their other friends have what sounds like highly enjoyable sex. He bites his lip to keep from laughing until the wave of amusement subsides.
When it does, he’s left uncomfortably aroused.
It’s like hearing Mark and Eduardo in the other room completely obliterated his detachment from the sound of Chris stroking himself in time with-whatever they’re doing-and from the heavy breathing that isn’t quite panting but, with just a little exertion (like if Dustin pushed Chris into the mattress and kissed him breathless, his mind supplies helpfully) it could be. It’s like a switch has flipped in his mind, and now all he can think about when he hears the sounds is Chris being pressed up against him as he makes them, gasping against Dustin’s throat or curling his fingers around Dustin or-
Dustin squeezes his eyes shut until all he sees are bursts of color, blocking out the subscription his brain just got to Skinemax.
For all of thirty seconds, it works.
Then Chris actually groans, muffled by the pillow, and Dustin’s completely gone.
He opens his eyes, squinting into the darkness until he can just barely make out the shape lying in the other bed, curled toward the window, his back to Dustin.
Achingly slowly, Dustin rolls until his back is toward Chris’s, but just considering reaching into his boxers makes him feel like the worst kind of voyeur. He lies perfectly still, focusing on the distant hum of desktop computers left running and the occasional creaking of floorboards in the hall, until the noises-both Mark and Eduardo’s and Chris’s-stop and he can drift off back to sleep.
The next morning, Dustin makes absolutely no eye contact with anyone, choosing instead to bury his face in a bowl of cereal. When Chris greets him with a cheerful “Good morning!” he just mumbles a vague response and pretends to be deeply interested in his econ textbook.
He avoids speaking to Mark and Eduardo all day, mostly because he’s afraid of how beet-red he would turn at the memory of their gasped expletives from the previous night.
Of course, it happens again.
Three nights later, Dustin wakes tense and overheated and achingly, achingly hard. He immediately kicks the quilt off his bed, disregarding any noise it might make, so, of course, it makes a huge one. (Apparently, he left some books stacked by the foot of his bed, and he’s guessing by the noise that they’re now more scattered than stacked.)
From across the room, there’s a whisper. “Dustin?”
Chris’s voice is tense, almost out of breath, and suddenly Dustin knows what he was just doing.
It’s definitely not turning him on at all.
Okay, it’s not even worth trying to lie about that; just the thought of Chris jerking off while talking to him makes his cock twitch.
“Are you okay?” Chris asks softly. “You were talking in your sleep and you sounded …” He trails off, probably fidgeting, his fingers working nervously in the sheets.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Dustin whispers. His voice sounds as tight and strained as Chris’s had, and he’s all of a sudden terrified that Chris might start making assumptions about his current state (all of which would be correct, naturally).
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having a nightmare or anything. You do, sometimes.”
Dustin blushes a little bit, and he’s momentarily grateful to the darkness for reasons other than privacy.
It’s not helping that the idea of Chris hearing his nightmares is doing confusing things to his stomach.
“I really am fine,” he insists. “I’m just gonna go to-”
He’s interrupted by the sound of the suite door slamming shut, and what sounds like the dull thud of a body against the wall. There’s a gasp that sounds disturbingly like oh god yes Mark, and then a few more thumps. It’s probably Mark and Eduardo slamming each other into the walls, Dustin realizes.
After a few more thuds, there’s one that’s particularly resonant and Dustin realizes, with rapidly increasing horror, that the noises that could have been called kissing two minutes ago but are now probably just sex noises are coming from the other side of the bedroom door. He stares down at the bed, fighting the urge to make eye contact with Chris, because if he does, he probably won’t be able to resist the urge to do something wildly inappropriate like groaning or palming himself through the covers or other inappropriate things he’s not going to think about because that train of thought is just making everything so much worse.
“Um,” Chris says.
“I guess I’m not going to the bathroom,” Dustin replies.
“I think not.” Chris smirks. He’s silent for a moment, and then continues, “You wanna give them a taste of their own medicine?”
“What?” Dustin gapes for a moment, struggling to find other words. “I mean really. What?”
“If Mark and Eduardo are going to keep us up by having sex against our door-” There’s a gasp of yes, right there, god don’t stop and a whisper that sounds suspiciously like Mark, shut up, and then Chris continues, “Anyway, we ought to at least get them back. And don’t think I don’t know that you were awake the other night, listening to me. Or that you were having a sex dream before you woke up. I’m not a complete idiot.”
He looks over at Chris, just barely sees him lying back on his elbows in a rumpled bed, with his hair mussed and his worn t-shirt wrinkled (or so Dustin imagines). Briefly, he thinks of his dream, of having his limbs tangled up with three other sets, of soft touches and warm skin everywhere.
“Okay,” he says.
Chris stands up and walks toward him tentatively while he untangles himself from the covers. He stops by the foot of Dustin’s bed, and bites his lip. “So?”
Dustin looks up into Chris’s blue eyes. “Um,” he says.
And then there’s a particularly loud thunk, like someone’s head had fallen back against the door, and it jolts Chris into motion. He grabs Dustin by the wrist, pulls him out of the bed, and spins him backward into the door.
There’s a short moment where they just stare at each other, Dustin’s eyes tracing Chris’s face, and then he’s being kissed.
Like, really, seriously kissed. Chris’s hands are buried in his hair, and he’s licking into Dustin’s mouth, wet and filthy. Dustin winds an arm around his waist and draws their hips together, feeling Chris’s erection press against his hip. Against his mouth, Chris gasps softly at the contact.
Dustin pulls back a hair-as far as he can go before his head hits the door-and whispers, “I know you were jerking off when I woke up. Were you listening to me?”
Chris’s eyes darken and he leans forward to kiss him again, this time even harder. Dragging Dustin’s lower lip between his teeth, he pulls away and answers, voice hoarse, “God, yes.”
In the brief moment during which Dustin is too turned on to actually think, much less move, he feels the door behind him move steadily and there’s a shaky moan that dissolves into words he doesn’t know. His mind fills with pictures of Eduardo pressed against the door, eyes wide and lips red, with Mark pressed against him, a hand down his pants-or Mark on his knees in front of Eduardo, sucking him in deep-or-
He jolts back to his side of the door when Chris runs a light hand across the front of his boxers and Dustin feels his hips snap forward.
Dustin wants to make a snappy comment about thrashing enough to get revenge on Mark and Eduardo, but Chris’s hand is trailing gently across his hip, making the words come out as a strangled whine. He does, however, manage to unwind his arms from Chris’s waist and use them to remove his t-shirt.
Chris presses him hard against the door and rolls his hips. From the other side of the door, Dustin hears rapid breathing, high and shallow, and then there’s a loud crack of skull on wood and a drawn-out Mark that trails into a shuddery exhale, and he knows that Eduardo just came and really, knowing that shouldn’t make him grind harder against Chris but it kind of does.
He runs a hand down Chris’s now-bare back and slips it under his boxers to grab at his ass-and, of course, pull him closer-and then they’re grinding mindlessly against the door, thunking against it loudly and Dustin probably wouldn’t even remember his name if someone asked him, but he’s definitely still able to groan out Chris’s, and bite at his shoulder. He can feel the wood of the door pressing against his back but it’s lost in the haze of arousal until he finally comes with a noise that was definitely not a growl, no matter what Chris (or Mark) will try to tell him later.
His head buried in the crook of Chris’s neck, he feels him shudder and then slump forward towards the door.
“Mmmm,” Dustin says as he sinks toward the floor, too lazy to keep standing, but he’s startled by a sudden-and loud-crack against the wood.
“The fuck was that?” Mark asks, his words almost slurred.
Chris’s head is resting against the door and his eyes are drooping a little. “Sex,” he mumbles helpfully.
“No shit,” says Eduardo.
Dustin raises his off Chris’s shoulder for just long enough to add “Fun sex,” before curling back down and falling asleep.
amazing sequel by alexthegreat here