in creeps the morning.
TSN. Mark/Eduardo. 2126 words. Explicit.
Not true, etc.
I wrote this like a year ago for a kink meme prompt about Eduardo crying during sex. idk. It's one of the few TSN fics I started that I actually finished.
Mark’s nursing one beer on a full stomach and can’t manage to stop watching Eduardo out of the corner of his eye. They’re watching a movie, some b-flick Dustin borrowed from a guy down the hall, and Eduardo is progressively shedding his clothes. Ten minutes ago, he came in with a suit on, buttoned up to his throat. His shoes were the first to go, socks next, and he shrugged the jacket off when he grabbed a beer and tugged his collar loose when he sank down on the couch. When he got up to piss, he came back with his shirt untucked, and Mark’s eyes catch the movement of Eduardo’s wrists every time he lifts the bottle to his mouth.
It doesn’t take Eduardo long to notice. Mark’s not trying to be subtle, and Eduardo’s always aware of Mark, even if Mark is not necessarily aware of him. Eduardo holds his gaze for a long moment before he blinks and turns his head down.
Mark drinks the rest of his beer and sets it down on the coffee table before he stands up. His knees are stiff and protest under his weight, and Dustin laughs at his stumbling steps, says, “Mark, Mark, you’re going to miss the best part. Stay! I’ll make us some popcorn.”
“I have a problem set due by nine,” Mark says. It’s not a lie, but he hadn’t planned on doing for a couple of hours still. “Some other time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Dustin says, pointing in Mark’s general direction. He’s halfway to drunk so he gets bored a second later, drops his hand down to his lap and remembers the movie’s passing him by.
Mark shuts his bedroom door behind him and wishes he were drunk. He’s lucid enough to rethink his steps, wonders if Eduardo is going to follow him. His computer is still on, and he compulsively sits down at his desk, brings up his email because his bed feels like an open invitation and Eduardo would read too much into that.
There’s a soft knock on his door a moment later.
“Yeah?” Mark says, because otherwise Eduardo won’t come in; he’ll just stand on the other side until he figures that Mark’s gone to sleep or something.
Eduardo cracks the door open until he can see Mark, and then he opens it all the way, slips in between the frame and closes it quietly. “I figured I’d join you,” he tells Mark, pitches his voice low. “That alright?”
“Sure,” Mark says.
Eduardo nods, and Mark gives an aborted nod in return, catches himself at the last moment and turns back to his computer. There are a few emails he could reply to. His mom sends him inquiries to make sure he’s still alive because he never picks up his phone, and some of his classmates have questions but Mark can’t place their names with their faces. Chris emailed him earlier because he went home for the weekend, and Mark starts to write back: See you tomorrow--
“Mark,” Eduardo says, and Mark stops typing. “I can go, if you’re busy.”
“I’m not busy,” Mark replies, too quickly. He winces and saves the email as a draft, and then he turns around before he can change his mind. Eduardo’s sitting on the edge of his bed, slumped forward, but he straightens when he sees Mark looking at him, slants his mouth into a smile. “I was just -- it wasn’t important.”
“You said you had a problem set due in the morning.”
“I can do it later,” Mark says.
Eduardo nods and palms the back of his neck, and he gets up to set his beer down on Mark’s desk. Mark swallows, shifting back in his chair. Proximity is an uncertain thing, but Eduardo hesitates for a moment before he starts to turn back. Mark grabs his arm, probably too hard.
But Eduardo doesn’t say anything, just twists his wrist until his pulse is pounding against Mark’s fingers. They’ve only does this a couple times, and they don’t talk about it, the fact that they’ve had a few fumbling orgasms in the dark. Eduardo’s nerves make it so that Mark doesn’t have to second guess himself when he curls his hand in the loose collar of Eduardo’s shirt and pulls him down. Eduardo opens his mouth easily, grabs the arms of Mark’s chair and sighs when Mark kisses him harder. He likes when Mark bites his bottom lip, when he fists his fingers in Eduardo’s hair. He whimpers a little when Mark pulls back, even though he says, “The angle is--”
“Yeah,” Mark says, because he can only tilt his head back so much. He can feel Eduardo smile, and he fits his fingers against Eduardo’s hip when he stands up, uses his weight to push Eduardo back. Eduardo’s dick is hard against his stomach.
The bed catches Eduardo by the back of his knee. He falls back like he wasn’t expecting it, taking Mark down with him. The mattress creaks, and Eduardo's saying, “Shh, shh,” but he’s kind of laughing, too, his chest shaking under Mark’s. Mark kisses him again to shut him up, slides his fingers underneath Eduardo’s shirt to find skin. Eduardo shivers a little, like Mark’s hands are cold, but he also presses forward into it, his stomach firm and taut. Mark’s always surprised by the muscle he finds under Eduardo’s skin, wonders where it comes from but not enough to ask him.
Eduardo kisses him twice, quickly, before he tugs on Mark’s shirt and says, “Can I?”
Mark nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice to be even, but he pulls off his shirt before Eduardo gets a chance to sit up. He tosses it toward the rest of his laundry, and Eduardo walks his fingers along Mark’s spine, ticklishly soft. Mark involuntary twitches, but Eduardo lets his hand fall. He looks up at Mark with his mouth half-curved, and Mark says, “Take yours off, too,” before he gets up to turn off the light.
In the dark, he listens for Dustin in the living room, but he can only hear the television. He twists the lock and pads back to the bed. It’s not dark enough that he can’t see Eduardo’s silhouette; Eduardo’s all angles, and he’s shucking off his trousers, folding them before he drops them down onto Mark’s floor. Mark follows his example, slipping out of his jeans before he joins Eduardo on the bed again. Their legs collide as Eduardo gets too close.
He kisses the corner of Mark’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, before he shoves his hand beneath the band of Mark’s boxers and grabs his dick. Mark drops his chin down as Eduardo starts to jerk him off, lets out an embarrassingly breathy noise even though Eduardo’s grip is too loose.
“Yeah?” Eduardo asks, looking down.
Mark makes the noise again and reaches down, curls his fingers around Eduardo’s and pushes his hips forward. Eduardo’s a quick learner; he keeps his fingers tight when Mark lets go and jerks him off a little faster. Mark curls his toes and bites the inside of his cheek, tries to think of his history professor and the way his mustache always quivers when he speaks, but his orgasm is still barrelling forward too quickly.
“Stop,” he says, his fingers finding a solid grip on Eduardo’s forearm, “I don’t want to--”
“Shit,” Eduardo whispers, and he lets go of Mark’s dick and touches his stomach instead. Mark’s all flesh and bone, but Eduardo likes it, the way Mark imagines Eduardo likes most thing, detached from reason. He touches Mark’s stomach and his chest and his nipples, even though it doesn’t do anything for Mark, gentle in a way that makes Mark squirm.
“I can get you off,” he says, before Eduardo gets a chance to look at him any longer.
Eduardo nods, almost absently, and leans down to kiss Mark. His mouth is wet; his kiss is wet, and Mark presses against his collarbone to push him off, short of breath. Eduardo blinks at him, his giant eyes close enough that Mark can’t really look at anything else. He can feel himself mirroring Eduardo’s actions when he tilts his chin down.
“Or we can have sex,” Eduardo says, quickly.
“We are having sex, Wardo,” Mark says, tries to ward off the burgeoning annoyance he feels because he knows it’s not necessarily honest, just easy.
“You can fuck me, I mean.” Eduardo doesn’t look away, but it’s a near thing, his eye contact wavering. Mark nods before he realizes he’s doing it, reaches down to grab his dick because he’s not sure he wouldn’t come if Eduardo turned his body the wrong way. “If you want to.”
“Don’t--” Mark starts, before he realizes that insulting Eduardo, however meaningless it would be, is not the right thing to say. He just nods his head. “Yeah. Yes.”
Eduardo nods back, and he gives Mark his space as Mark reaches for his side table. He fumbles around in the dark for the lube he has, small samples he picked up with condoms at Health Services. When Mark got it, he hadn’t planned on using it, but he hadn’t really planned on using the condoms, either. He grabs one and hopes it’s mostly full, tries to keep his hands from shaking when he untwists the cap.
Eduardo slips out of his boxers and kicks them off the bed, and he shivers when Mark touches him with slick fingers, turns onto his stomach. The plane of his back is smooth except for the knobs of his spine, the dimples above his ass, and Mark kisses the back of his shoulder when he pushes a finger in. Eduardo takes a weird hiccuping breath, and Mark doesn’t move. He’s so tight.
“Okay,” Eduardo says, after a minute, his head dropping forward, hips pushing back. “Okay, just -- slow, Mark.”
Mark nods and fingers him slowly, one finger, then two. Eduardo shifts up onto his knees when Mark adds a third, his whole body trembling. It takes a moment for Mark to realize Eduardo’s taking the same strange, staccato breaths, and when he turns his face toward Mark, his eyes are wide and glossy.
“Fuck, are you crying?” Mark asks, his stomach turning. He starts to take his fingers out but Eduardo shakes his head, tries to follow the movement back with his hips.
“Don’t stop,” Eduardo says, quietly, turns his face back into the inside of his elbow. He fucks himself down on Mark’s fingers a couple of time before he chokes on his next breath, his muscles rippling.
“Wardo--” Mark says.
Eduardo shakes his head, says, “It’s just really intense, don’t--” but Mark can’t. He can’t fuck Eduardo while he’s crying. Eduardo groans when Mark’s fingers slip out. “Fuck, Mark.”
Mark shakes his head once, twice, even though Eduardo can’t see him. “I can’t,” he says, and he wipes his fingers on his fingers on his sheets, tries to will his dick to stop twitching.
“Please,” Eduardo murmurs, his face to Mark again. He looks a little worse now, red and watery, eye lashes clumpy and wet.
“Stop crying first,” Mark says.
“I’m trying,” Eduardo replies, but he doesn’t seem to be trying very hard because he isn’t stopping. “You didn’t need to stop.”
“I wanted to.”
Eduardo’s silent for a moment, then, “Fine.” He shifts, bites his lip into his mouth and his eyes fall shut, and Mark can hear the slick sound of Eduardo’s hand slipping on his own dick. He jerks off quickly, and when Mark reaches down to grab himself, Eduardo’s eyes flutter open again, gaze unfocused. “Mark--”
Mark shushes him; the room is too quiet, and everything sounds too loud in comparison. He leans forward to kiss Eduardo, and Eduardo opens his mouth immediately, even though he’s not coordinated enough to do two things at once. He mostly just pants against Mark’s mouth, tastes weird and salty, and his mouth slips when he comes, open against Mark’s neck. Noise deep in his throat, and he grabs Mark’s dick clumsily, dominant hand, and Mark comes all over him.
Shifting back, Mark tries to get his breath back. It doesn’t take more than a minute before Eduardo to stop shaking and go still next to him. They lay next to each other. Mark looks at the ceiling, and he can feel Eduardo looking at him so he doesn’t look down.
Eventually, Eduardo says, “Sorry,” and Mark feels his fingers on his forearm. Eduardo’s hands are always cold, and it makes Mark shiver. “I don’t mean to--”
“It’s fine, Wardo,” Mark says, and he feels Eduardo touch his hand, so he lets him take it.