[oneshot] doesn't take much for me to come unglued
Title: doesn't take much for me to come unglued
Pairing: mark zuckerberg/eduardo saverin
Rating: hard r
Genre: romance, introspective, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: quick and dirty fill for them0rgue, from this prompt. not-so-angsty make-up fic. 2,294 words. now with chinese translations by the lovely sandy9ice.
One of the things about Mark that everyone knows but no one ever really stops to think about is how good he is at compartmentalization. They see the genius in his coding, yes, and the remarkable innovation of his work, but what's really brilliant (at least for Eduardo) is the way he pigeonholes-the little slots in his mind for everything: schoolwork, putting up with classmates, hacking, personal coding, trying in his distinct, awkward way to talk to girls. He'd always loved watching Mark do things, loved the immense concentration and attention to detail and that tiny click in his eyes each time he switched focus. Perhaps that's what had made his conversations so hard to follow half the time, how he'd make those seamless leaps from topic to topic and leave everyone who couldn't keep up in the dust behind him.
It's nothing personal, Mark would always say if he inadvertently offended someone in college, like when he'd ruin Dustin's chances with the current girl he'd set his sights on (she's not good for you and it'd reflect badly on our dorm's image) or purposely wreck the grade curve in his Computation Theory class (I need to keep my GPA up, that's all). So maybe Eduardo's too close to the situation to realize it until much later, months and months after he's gotten his name back on the masthead and his father finally starts talking to him again. He's too busy being angry and feeling betrayed to realize that this is just the same thing, that Mark had never meant to hurt him, had just been compartmentalizing so well that it'd never occurred to him that Eduardo would be hurt-and he can't really begrudge Mark his only way of dealing with the world without going completely postal.
When Eduardo checks Facebook's stock in January and sees it soaring, he has to reluctantly admit that Sean must be doing something right. It was never about him-it was always about something bigger than him, and Eduardo thinks now that maybe it's a good thing he'd left when he did, because he knows now that he wouldn't have been happy there. He would never have been happy trapped in between Mark's hero-worship and Sean's condescending pretension, and now-even if he's lost his best friend and the first company he ever started, he can safely say that he's a lot happier than he'd been in those last weeks before Peter Thiel's angel investment. If there's one thing Eduardo hates, it's feeling useless, and business plans like Facebook's didn't go well with traditionalists like him.
He hasn’t seen Mark since he signed the nondisclosure agreements (hasn't even thought about him in weeks) when he decides on a whim to attend the charity gala. His secretary does a double take when he tells her to cancel all his afternoon appointments.
"You fell asleep at the last one you went to," Molly says, tapping the edge of her clipboard with a pen.
"I know," he replies drily. "I was there. In my defense, I'd just gotten back from a business trip in Singapore. Jetlag, you know?"
"If this is just because you need to keep up appearances, we can always do something else-you can donate to any number of non-profit organizations."
Eduardo grins and shakes his head. "Maybe the food will be better this year-a guy can always hope." He brushes the rest of her concerns away with a sweep of his hand and drives home to change into evening wear that isn't so different from what he wears to work everyday anyway. An unfamiliar folder's sticking out of his laptop case when he sets it on the coffee table and he pulls it out, Molly's neat, familiar handwriting gracing the top margins. The guest list, her tentative note says, just so you're prepared. Mark and Sean's names are near the top of the list; Dustin's is further down. He's vaguely surprised to find that there's no sudden pang of anger or hurt when he thinks about them, just a sort of tired resignation, a faint, hollow feeling in his chest.
Still, though, he's never been one to shirk responsibility, and it's almost physically painful for him to be late to anything, so seven o'clock finds him in a pristine suit, hair impeccably coiffed. There're glasses of unidentifiable wine on all the refreshment tables and he's about to take a new one and sit down when a hand catches his elbow. He's pretty sure he knows who it's going to be even before he turns around.
Mark's dress shirt is actually pressed, tonight, and Eduardo wonders about it for a fleeting second before shaking the errant thought away. His face is pale and he looks tired, shadows forming underneath long lashes that even the make-up can't disguise.
"Not been sleeping well, have you?"
"Hello to you too," Mark says, nibbling on a tiny hors d'oeuvre before making a face. "Scallops."
He watches Mark fiddle with his napkin for a moment, then leans back against the table and sips at the buttery wine. "Did you need something?"
Mark pauses. "No. I just wanted to-I just wanted to talk, like we used to."
"Everything's different now, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be."
Eduardo laughs into the rim of his cup. "It doesn't have to be, but it is. You made it different when you kicked me out of the company. I'm supposed to be angry with you. I should've punched you the second I saw you."
"So why didn't you?"
"I'm not angry at you," he says, looking at Mark again, taking in the unbuttoned cuffs and the way his collar hangs askew. He instinctively reaches out to adjust it and gasps when Mark flinches. "I'm not going to hit you, Mark." He looks unconvinced and Eduardo sighs. "Give me some credit. Our peers, the technological elite, are all around us. Starting a fistfight would ruin my image."
No one seems to have noticed that they're talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sean chatting a couple of girls up, Dustin standing by and looking around, uncomfortable. Mark has probably come to same conclusion he has-that Dustin's looking for him-and he grabs the sleeve of Eduardo's suit, tugs them out a side door and into the bathroom.
Eduardo stands by the paper towel dispenser and waits as Mark checks for other people in the stalls. "Okay, there's no one here," he says, turning around and spreading his arms out, napkin dangling from a hand. "Punch me."
His eyebrows go up. "Will it make you feel better?"
"Much."
"Is this just a guilt thing?" Eduardo asks, exasperated. "Punching you isn't going to change anything. It's not going to make what you did okay. What are you trying to say?"
A pause, and then-"I'm sorry," he offers, twisting at the napkin.
"No, you're not," Eduardo sighs, and he shakes his head when Mark opens his mouth to interrupt him. "You're not, and it's okay. I know why you did it-"
"Wardo," he cuts in, meeting Eduardo's gaze. His blue eyes are shot through with seriousness. "I'm sorry. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I'm sorry I wasn't truthful about it to you, and I'm sorry you couldn't stay. I'm sorry I had to let Facebook take precedence over everything else in my life, even if that meant pulling the rug from underneath your feet. I'm sorry about your dad. It was nothing personal-" ah, there it is, Eduardo thinks "-and it doesn't mean I would change what I did if I had to go back and do it all over again, but for what it's worth-I really am sorry."
It's refreshingly honest, something he hasn't been allowing himself to miss about Mark. He'd never been one to mince words. Eduardo breathes in, long and hard, and then exhales slowly through his nose. Mark's looking at him with that cautious, unsure expression on his face. "I. Okay. Okay, you're sorry."
He cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. "You're surprised."
"I don't know how the fuck you still manage to do it," Eduardo says, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "I thought I'd be shocked if you weren't sorry after all the shit you put me through, and now I'm shocked that you are. I think I know you, and then you do something that completely shatters my expectations."
There's a moment of silence. "So, are you going to punch me, or-" Eduardo's taking the swing before Mark can even finish his question, the pulled punch connecting with the underside of Mark's chin. He staggers backward from the impact and rubs at his jaw.
"Satisfying?"
"Not really," Eduardo says, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he steps forward to cradle the side of Mark's face. "That's going to bruise tomorrow, sorry."
"You apologize too much," Mark mumbles, flexing his jaw.
"And this is news to you?" he asks quietly, prodding Mark's chin with his fingers. He grimaces and shakes him off. Eduardo's about to step back and suggest that they leave before someone starts looking for them, but then Mark is rising up on his toes and sliding his tongue inside Eduardo's mouth, all earnestness and hands carding through Eduardo's hair. He tastes like the shitty reception wine and blood, probably from the punch, and it must be the alcohol still in his system because he doesn't pull back until well after Mark's given him more than enough opportunity to break the kiss.
The stupid little smirk that always used to appear whenever Mark won an argument or when he'd metaphorically flipped the bird at everyone on campus is flitting at his lips now, but his gaze is cool and analytical-Mark's trying to gauge his reaction. "Is this really the time and place?" he asks carefully.
His smirk widens, and Mark curls his arms around Eduardo's shoulders. "Does it matter?" he says, and this is not-a-care-in-the-world Mark, I-know-what-I-want-and-I'm-going-to-get-it Mark, and it gives Eduardo a kind of heady rush to see all of Mark's raw intensity, usually so focused on his work, directed at him.
A noise comes from outside the door, a low murmur of voices and slow creaking, and Eduardo manages to drag them into one of the bathroom stalls before other people make it inside. "This is strangely circular," he whispers, grinning, and then Mark shoves him against the wall and starts kissing him again. The rowdy group that comes in is loud from the complimentary bourbon chocolates and too much punch, and their noisy chatter masks Eduardo's harsh breathing when Mark starts pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck and unbuckling his belt. A hand slips inside his boxer briefs and the back of his head hits smooth tile.
"Jesus-" he breathes, fisting a hand in dark curls as Mark pulls his pants all the way down and presses his lips against the tip of Eduardo's cock, then slowly inches forward, takes him in inch by inch. The hand braced against the door of the stall wobbles when Mark reaches the base of his erection and sucks, eyes crinkling at the corners and fluttering up to meet his. They're darker blue, now, and light from the ceiling dances across them as he bobs his head back and forth. He presses a soothing hand into Eduardo's thigh when his knees threaten to give away.
He gives blowjobs in the same, meticulous way that he codes: relentlessly, with tremendous abandon and no thought for anything but the task at hand-and that turns Eduardo on more than anything, which probably says something about the kind of people they are, but he doesn't really care enough to think about it anymore once Mark starts tonguing the underside of his dick. It's too much too fast-minutes after the bathroom empties again, Mark reaches up to twist at the base of his cock, one prolonged moan escaping his mouth as he comes. Eduardo dimly registers the obscene little pop as Mark pulls back, but everything else is drowned out by the roar of blood rushing through his ears.
When he opens his eyes again, Mark's gotten tissue and is dabbing at the come splattered against his cheek. "Sorr-" he starts, bending down to help him up, but Mark gives him an amused look and Eduardo snaps his mouth shut, smiles sheepishly. They stumble out of the stall after he finishes refastening his pants, and the mirror reveals a trail of faint hickeys along the line of his collarbone that he tries in vain to hide by pulling on the collar of his shirt.
Sean makes a beeline for them the minute they step out of the bathroom, tripping over his words and eyeing Eduardo with a dubiousness that makes him want to laugh. "Hello, Sean," he says, kind of irrationally pleased to see that the man still looks a little scared of him. Dustin catches his eye incredulously a moment later and starts wading through people to get to where they are.
He takes it as his cue to leave. Mark has this tiny smile on his face and Eduardo grins in kind, reaches out to pat him on the shoulder. Sean makes a sort of aborted attempt to brush his hand off but freezes when Mark doesn't do anything. "Call me," Eduardo says, and he only stays long enough to see Mark nod once before he's making his way toward the door, clasping hands with a bemused Dustin for a brief moment as he leaves.
The ride home is the happiest he's had in a while.
fin
A/N: title is from something to do with my hands, by her space holiday. ugh, sorry morgan, this totally doesn't do the prompt justice but ;__; i hope you like it anyway!
Pairing: mark zuckerberg/eduardo saverin
Rating: hard r
Genre: romance, introspective, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: quick and dirty fill for them0rgue, from this prompt. not-so-angsty make-up fic. 2,294 words. now with chinese translations by the lovely sandy9ice.
One of the things about Mark that everyone knows but no one ever really stops to think about is how good he is at compartmentalization. They see the genius in his coding, yes, and the remarkable innovation of his work, but what's really brilliant (at least for Eduardo) is the way he pigeonholes-the little slots in his mind for everything: schoolwork, putting up with classmates, hacking, personal coding, trying in his distinct, awkward way to talk to girls. He'd always loved watching Mark do things, loved the immense concentration and attention to detail and that tiny click in his eyes each time he switched focus. Perhaps that's what had made his conversations so hard to follow half the time, how he'd make those seamless leaps from topic to topic and leave everyone who couldn't keep up in the dust behind him.
It's nothing personal, Mark would always say if he inadvertently offended someone in college, like when he'd ruin Dustin's chances with the current girl he'd set his sights on (she's not good for you and it'd reflect badly on our dorm's image) or purposely wreck the grade curve in his Computation Theory class (I need to keep my GPA up, that's all). So maybe Eduardo's too close to the situation to realize it until much later, months and months after he's gotten his name back on the masthead and his father finally starts talking to him again. He's too busy being angry and feeling betrayed to realize that this is just the same thing, that Mark had never meant to hurt him, had just been compartmentalizing so well that it'd never occurred to him that Eduardo would be hurt-and he can't really begrudge Mark his only way of dealing with the world without going completely postal.
When Eduardo checks Facebook's stock in January and sees it soaring, he has to reluctantly admit that Sean must be doing something right. It was never about him-it was always about something bigger than him, and Eduardo thinks now that maybe it's a good thing he'd left when he did, because he knows now that he wouldn't have been happy there. He would never have been happy trapped in between Mark's hero-worship and Sean's condescending pretension, and now-even if he's lost his best friend and the first company he ever started, he can safely say that he's a lot happier than he'd been in those last weeks before Peter Thiel's angel investment. If there's one thing Eduardo hates, it's feeling useless, and business plans like Facebook's didn't go well with traditionalists like him.
He hasn’t seen Mark since he signed the nondisclosure agreements (hasn't even thought about him in weeks) when he decides on a whim to attend the charity gala. His secretary does a double take when he tells her to cancel all his afternoon appointments.
"You fell asleep at the last one you went to," Molly says, tapping the edge of her clipboard with a pen.
"I know," he replies drily. "I was there. In my defense, I'd just gotten back from a business trip in Singapore. Jetlag, you know?"
"If this is just because you need to keep up appearances, we can always do something else-you can donate to any number of non-profit organizations."
Eduardo grins and shakes his head. "Maybe the food will be better this year-a guy can always hope." He brushes the rest of her concerns away with a sweep of his hand and drives home to change into evening wear that isn't so different from what he wears to work everyday anyway. An unfamiliar folder's sticking out of his laptop case when he sets it on the coffee table and he pulls it out, Molly's neat, familiar handwriting gracing the top margins. The guest list, her tentative note says, just so you're prepared. Mark and Sean's names are near the top of the list; Dustin's is further down. He's vaguely surprised to find that there's no sudden pang of anger or hurt when he thinks about them, just a sort of tired resignation, a faint, hollow feeling in his chest.
Still, though, he's never been one to shirk responsibility, and it's almost physically painful for him to be late to anything, so seven o'clock finds him in a pristine suit, hair impeccably coiffed. There're glasses of unidentifiable wine on all the refreshment tables and he's about to take a new one and sit down when a hand catches his elbow. He's pretty sure he knows who it's going to be even before he turns around.
Mark's dress shirt is actually pressed, tonight, and Eduardo wonders about it for a fleeting second before shaking the errant thought away. His face is pale and he looks tired, shadows forming underneath long lashes that even the make-up can't disguise.
"Not been sleeping well, have you?"
"Hello to you too," Mark says, nibbling on a tiny hors d'oeuvre before making a face. "Scallops."
He watches Mark fiddle with his napkin for a moment, then leans back against the table and sips at the buttery wine. "Did you need something?"
Mark pauses. "No. I just wanted to-I just wanted to talk, like we used to."
"Everything's different now, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be."
Eduardo laughs into the rim of his cup. "It doesn't have to be, but it is. You made it different when you kicked me out of the company. I'm supposed to be angry with you. I should've punched you the second I saw you."
"So why didn't you?"
"I'm not angry at you," he says, looking at Mark again, taking in the unbuttoned cuffs and the way his collar hangs askew. He instinctively reaches out to adjust it and gasps when Mark flinches. "I'm not going to hit you, Mark." He looks unconvinced and Eduardo sighs. "Give me some credit. Our peers, the technological elite, are all around us. Starting a fistfight would ruin my image."
No one seems to have noticed that they're talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sean chatting a couple of girls up, Dustin standing by and looking around, uncomfortable. Mark has probably come to same conclusion he has-that Dustin's looking for him-and he grabs the sleeve of Eduardo's suit, tugs them out a side door and into the bathroom.
Eduardo stands by the paper towel dispenser and waits as Mark checks for other people in the stalls. "Okay, there's no one here," he says, turning around and spreading his arms out, napkin dangling from a hand. "Punch me."
His eyebrows go up. "Will it make you feel better?"
"Much."
"Is this just a guilt thing?" Eduardo asks, exasperated. "Punching you isn't going to change anything. It's not going to make what you did okay. What are you trying to say?"
A pause, and then-"I'm sorry," he offers, twisting at the napkin.
"No, you're not," Eduardo sighs, and he shakes his head when Mark opens his mouth to interrupt him. "You're not, and it's okay. I know why you did it-"
"Wardo," he cuts in, meeting Eduardo's gaze. His blue eyes are shot through with seriousness. "I'm sorry. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I'm sorry I wasn't truthful about it to you, and I'm sorry you couldn't stay. I'm sorry I had to let Facebook take precedence over everything else in my life, even if that meant pulling the rug from underneath your feet. I'm sorry about your dad. It was nothing personal-" ah, there it is, Eduardo thinks "-and it doesn't mean I would change what I did if I had to go back and do it all over again, but for what it's worth-I really am sorry."
It's refreshingly honest, something he hasn't been allowing himself to miss about Mark. He'd never been one to mince words. Eduardo breathes in, long and hard, and then exhales slowly through his nose. Mark's looking at him with that cautious, unsure expression on his face. "I. Okay. Okay, you're sorry."
He cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. "You're surprised."
"I don't know how the fuck you still manage to do it," Eduardo says, laughing and running a hand through his hair. "I thought I'd be shocked if you weren't sorry after all the shit you put me through, and now I'm shocked that you are. I think I know you, and then you do something that completely shatters my expectations."
There's a moment of silence. "So, are you going to punch me, or-" Eduardo's taking the swing before Mark can even finish his question, the pulled punch connecting with the underside of Mark's chin. He staggers backward from the impact and rubs at his jaw.
"Satisfying?"
"Not really," Eduardo says, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he steps forward to cradle the side of Mark's face. "That's going to bruise tomorrow, sorry."
"You apologize too much," Mark mumbles, flexing his jaw.
"And this is news to you?" he asks quietly, prodding Mark's chin with his fingers. He grimaces and shakes him off. Eduardo's about to step back and suggest that they leave before someone starts looking for them, but then Mark is rising up on his toes and sliding his tongue inside Eduardo's mouth, all earnestness and hands carding through Eduardo's hair. He tastes like the shitty reception wine and blood, probably from the punch, and it must be the alcohol still in his system because he doesn't pull back until well after Mark's given him more than enough opportunity to break the kiss.
The stupid little smirk that always used to appear whenever Mark won an argument or when he'd metaphorically flipped the bird at everyone on campus is flitting at his lips now, but his gaze is cool and analytical-Mark's trying to gauge his reaction. "Is this really the time and place?" he asks carefully.
His smirk widens, and Mark curls his arms around Eduardo's shoulders. "Does it matter?" he says, and this is not-a-care-in-the-world Mark, I-know-what-I-want-and-I'm-going-to-get-it Mark, and it gives Eduardo a kind of heady rush to see all of Mark's raw intensity, usually so focused on his work, directed at him.
A noise comes from outside the door, a low murmur of voices and slow creaking, and Eduardo manages to drag them into one of the bathroom stalls before other people make it inside. "This is strangely circular," he whispers, grinning, and then Mark shoves him against the wall and starts kissing him again. The rowdy group that comes in is loud from the complimentary bourbon chocolates and too much punch, and their noisy chatter masks Eduardo's harsh breathing when Mark starts pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck and unbuckling his belt. A hand slips inside his boxer briefs and the back of his head hits smooth tile.
"Jesus-" he breathes, fisting a hand in dark curls as Mark pulls his pants all the way down and presses his lips against the tip of Eduardo's cock, then slowly inches forward, takes him in inch by inch. The hand braced against the door of the stall wobbles when Mark reaches the base of his erection and sucks, eyes crinkling at the corners and fluttering up to meet his. They're darker blue, now, and light from the ceiling dances across them as he bobs his head back and forth. He presses a soothing hand into Eduardo's thigh when his knees threaten to give away.
He gives blowjobs in the same, meticulous way that he codes: relentlessly, with tremendous abandon and no thought for anything but the task at hand-and that turns Eduardo on more than anything, which probably says something about the kind of people they are, but he doesn't really care enough to think about it anymore once Mark starts tonguing the underside of his dick. It's too much too fast-minutes after the bathroom empties again, Mark reaches up to twist at the base of his cock, one prolonged moan escaping his mouth as he comes. Eduardo dimly registers the obscene little pop as Mark pulls back, but everything else is drowned out by the roar of blood rushing through his ears.
When he opens his eyes again, Mark's gotten tissue and is dabbing at the come splattered against his cheek. "Sorr-" he starts, bending down to help him up, but Mark gives him an amused look and Eduardo snaps his mouth shut, smiles sheepishly. They stumble out of the stall after he finishes refastening his pants, and the mirror reveals a trail of faint hickeys along the line of his collarbone that he tries in vain to hide by pulling on the collar of his shirt.
Sean makes a beeline for them the minute they step out of the bathroom, tripping over his words and eyeing Eduardo with a dubiousness that makes him want to laugh. "Hello, Sean," he says, kind of irrationally pleased to see that the man still looks a little scared of him. Dustin catches his eye incredulously a moment later and starts wading through people to get to where they are.
He takes it as his cue to leave. Mark has this tiny smile on his face and Eduardo grins in kind, reaches out to pat him on the shoulder. Sean makes a sort of aborted attempt to brush his hand off but freezes when Mark doesn't do anything. "Call me," Eduardo says, and he only stays long enough to see Mark nod once before he's making his way toward the door, clasping hands with a bemused Dustin for a brief moment as he leaves.
The ride home is the happiest he's had in a while.
fin
A/N: title is from something to do with my hands, by her space holiday. ugh, sorry morgan, this totally doesn't do the prompt justice but ;__; i hope you like it anyway!