fic: lay me down to sleep
Title: lay me down to sleep
Author: irrelephance
Characters/Pairings: Mark/Eduardo
Summary: Mark wants to go to sleep, but Eduardo's on his bed.
Word count: ~1100 words.
Notes: Fluff! All the fluff! Written for the tsn-a-thon. Team Winklevoss ♥
It’s almost 2 AM and the dorm room is deathly quiet, save for the rapid-fire tapping of Mark’s fingers on the keyboard. Chris and Dustin had turned in hours earlier after a heated Mario Kart battle, but Eduardo’s only just falling asleep, head nodding into his Econ book.
Not that Mark is paying attention, or trying to catch Eduardo’s reflection on his laptop screen. Of course not.
It’s just-well, he’s kind of tired already, and he hasn’t slept in over 24 hours. And Eduardo is sort of sprawled very nicely on his bed, shirt rucked up so that a slice of his stomach is visible. Not that Mark is looking.
He could just stand up and tell Eduardo to move over, except Eduardo would get all flustered and apologetic and move to the couch instead and-why doesn’t Mark want that to happen, anyway?
He doesn’t understand. Eduardo is complicated ground, like a gray area that makes Mark’s brain fuzzy and susceptible to wrong decisions.
Really bad decisions, like crawling into the bed next to Eduardo when he decides that Eduardo has fallen asleep for real-whatever, right, it’s his bed.
Except that Eduardo’s tricky, like those animals that you think are totally harmless but actually aren’t, because he moves suddenly, even though his eyes are still closed.
Mark freezes, unsure of what to do as Eduardo starts to wrap his body around Mark's: his chest against Mark's back, arm slung across his hips, fingers brushing Mark's stomach. He pulses warmth into Mark's skin, and slowly, very slowly, Mark lets himself melt into the contours of Eduardo's bones, until they fit just so. Eduardo's breath flutters against Mark's hair, his ear, in-out-in-out, like a blinking cursor, like a thought waiting to be written out. Something unsure.
"Mark," Eduardo mumbles, "Go to sleep."
And he presses himself in impossibly closer and his arms bracket Mark and the tag closes itself: finished and complete. Eduardo closes where Mark opens.
Mark lets himself relax. He falls asleep.
They wake up the next morning, too warm. The sunlight pulls at Eduardo, golden and lazy, and pools into the dip of his collarbones and the patches of skin where his neck meets his shoulders. Mark doesn't stop to think: he untangles his sweat-sticky fingers from Eduardo's (sometime in the middle of that night, their hands and feet had tangled together), leans forward and presses his mouth to the smears of sun on Eduardo's skin.
He pulls away and breathes, relieved when Eduardo doesn’t stir. Mark slips out of the bed as quietly as he can and escapes into the bathroom.
It’s all right. Everything is fine.
Except it’s not, because the whole day, every time Mark snatches a glance at Eduardo-he can see his lips there, on Eduardo’s shoulder blade, along the edge of his jaw, on his cheek. Thinks about putting his mouth on other places and-whoa, okay, he is definitely going there. (But he wants to, so, so badly.)
So he drinks more Mountain Dew and resolves to just not sleep anymore. It’s either that or telling Eduardo not to come over or sleep on his bed anymore, which-no. Mark doesn’t know how to phrase things properly. He might end up driving Eduardo away forever, which he’s surprised he hasn’t already.
So, anyway-no sleeping. Mark can totally do this. Eduardo settles down on his bed again that night, and Mark starts coding.
--
“Maaaark.”
“Maaaaaaaark.”
Everything feels sloggy and thick. Mark is fine, though. He can keep doing-whatever it is he’s doing. Sleep is for the weak, and for people who can handle their feelings and aren’t terrified of being tempted to kiss their best friends.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaark.”
“Shut up, Dustin.”
Warm hands on his shoulders and then he’s being pulled up and dragged to the bed, and, mmm, it’s so soft and he really is tired and-wait, what, no-but.
“Hey,” Eduardo says, sounding really close.
“Just go to sleep okay?” He sounds fond and amused. It’s a nice tone for his voice. Everything’s a nice tone for Eduardo’s voice. Eduardo has such a nice voice. Eduardo has a nice everything.
Mark falls asleep.
--
When Mark wakes up, he’s alone on his bed. For a moment, all he can feel is relief because waking up alone means he didn’t sleep with (next to? On?) Eduardo.
But there’s a sticky note on his forehead. Mark tears it off and reads it and it says, “You look so peaceful when you sleep :)” in Eduardo’s chicken-scratch handwriting.
“What the fuck does this even mean?” Mark mutters to himself.
--
Eduardo keeps coming over. He never mentions the note and Mark never brings it up. (He kept it though. It’s taped underneath his desk. Sometimes when’s he’s in the middle of typing, he’ll brush his fingers against the paper, feel the edges of Eduardo’s smiley against his skin.)
Mark keeps trying not to fall asleep.
Eduardo keeps dragging him off to bed (but not in the way Mark thinks about when he’s in the shower, because, what the fuck, Eduardo is his best friend.)
Mark keeps falling asleep and finding post-its.
The second one says, ““Ewww, drool :|”
And the third, “You know you snore a bit :P”
“Your hands get grabby sometimes.”
“You mumble a lot.”
And once, “I wish I could look into your head and untangle all your thoughts, so I’d know what to do with myself around you.”
He really doesn’t know what to do about that last one.
They cluster underneath his desk, like all the words he wants to tell Eduardo, but can’t.
--
It’s a Saturday. They’re staying in and Mark doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t but when Eduardo comes over and asks Mark, “Hey, what’s up?” it just comes tumbling out.
“Do you watch me when I sleep?”
Oh God. Mark turns red immediately, and so does Eduardo.
“I-” Mark stammers, when the silence has gone on for quite some time and Eduardo is pointedly just looking at his feet.
“It’ just that. I wouldn’t. I don’t mind. I mean. It’s fine.”
Eduardo’s head shoots up and his mouth opens, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come.
So Mark does what he has to-does what he’s been dreaming of at night, what he mumbles about, the reason why his hands are grabby-he walks right up to Eduardo and pulls him down by the necktie and kisses him.
Eduardo gasps, and then he moans and it reverberates right down to Mark’s flip-flopped toes.
They only pull away enough for Eduardo to say, “Bed, Jesus, Mark, Please.”
Mark’s definitely not getting any sleep tonight.
--
Author: irrelephance
Characters/Pairings: Mark/Eduardo
Summary: Mark wants to go to sleep, but Eduardo's on his bed.
Word count: ~1100 words.
Notes: Fluff! All the fluff! Written for the tsn-a-thon. Team Winklevoss ♥
It’s almost 2 AM and the dorm room is deathly quiet, save for the rapid-fire tapping of Mark’s fingers on the keyboard. Chris and Dustin had turned in hours earlier after a heated Mario Kart battle, but Eduardo’s only just falling asleep, head nodding into his Econ book.
Not that Mark is paying attention, or trying to catch Eduardo’s reflection on his laptop screen. Of course not.
It’s just-well, he’s kind of tired already, and he hasn’t slept in over 24 hours. And Eduardo is sort of sprawled very nicely on his bed, shirt rucked up so that a slice of his stomach is visible. Not that Mark is looking.
He could just stand up and tell Eduardo to move over, except Eduardo would get all flustered and apologetic and move to the couch instead and-why doesn’t Mark want that to happen, anyway?
He doesn’t understand. Eduardo is complicated ground, like a gray area that makes Mark’s brain fuzzy and susceptible to wrong decisions.
Really bad decisions, like crawling into the bed next to Eduardo when he decides that Eduardo has fallen asleep for real-whatever, right, it’s his bed.
Except that Eduardo’s tricky, like those animals that you think are totally harmless but actually aren’t, because he moves suddenly, even though his eyes are still closed.
Mark freezes, unsure of what to do as Eduardo starts to wrap his body around Mark's: his chest against Mark's back, arm slung across his hips, fingers brushing Mark's stomach. He pulses warmth into Mark's skin, and slowly, very slowly, Mark lets himself melt into the contours of Eduardo's bones, until they fit just so. Eduardo's breath flutters against Mark's hair, his ear, in-out-in-out, like a blinking cursor, like a thought waiting to be written out. Something unsure.
"Mark," Eduardo mumbles, "Go to sleep."
And he presses himself in impossibly closer and his arms bracket Mark and the tag closes itself: finished and complete. Eduardo closes where Mark opens.
Mark lets himself relax. He falls asleep.
They wake up the next morning, too warm. The sunlight pulls at Eduardo, golden and lazy, and pools into the dip of his collarbones and the patches of skin where his neck meets his shoulders. Mark doesn't stop to think: he untangles his sweat-sticky fingers from Eduardo's (sometime in the middle of that night, their hands and feet had tangled together), leans forward and presses his mouth to the smears of sun on Eduardo's skin.
He pulls away and breathes, relieved when Eduardo doesn’t stir. Mark slips out of the bed as quietly as he can and escapes into the bathroom.
It’s all right. Everything is fine.
Except it’s not, because the whole day, every time Mark snatches a glance at Eduardo-he can see his lips there, on Eduardo’s shoulder blade, along the edge of his jaw, on his cheek. Thinks about putting his mouth on other places and-whoa, okay, he is definitely going there. (But he wants to, so, so badly.)
So he drinks more Mountain Dew and resolves to just not sleep anymore. It’s either that or telling Eduardo not to come over or sleep on his bed anymore, which-no. Mark doesn’t know how to phrase things properly. He might end up driving Eduardo away forever, which he’s surprised he hasn’t already.
So, anyway-no sleeping. Mark can totally do this. Eduardo settles down on his bed again that night, and Mark starts coding.
--
“Maaaark.”
“Maaaaaaaark.”
Everything feels sloggy and thick. Mark is fine, though. He can keep doing-whatever it is he’s doing. Sleep is for the weak, and for people who can handle their feelings and aren’t terrified of being tempted to kiss their best friends.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaark.”
“Shut up, Dustin.”
Warm hands on his shoulders and then he’s being pulled up and dragged to the bed, and, mmm, it’s so soft and he really is tired and-wait, what, no-but.
“Hey,” Eduardo says, sounding really close.
“Just go to sleep okay?” He sounds fond and amused. It’s a nice tone for his voice. Everything’s a nice tone for Eduardo’s voice. Eduardo has such a nice voice. Eduardo has a nice everything.
Mark falls asleep.
--
When Mark wakes up, he’s alone on his bed. For a moment, all he can feel is relief because waking up alone means he didn’t sleep with (next to? On?) Eduardo.
But there’s a sticky note on his forehead. Mark tears it off and reads it and it says, “You look so peaceful when you sleep :)” in Eduardo’s chicken-scratch handwriting.
“What the fuck does this even mean?” Mark mutters to himself.
--
Eduardo keeps coming over. He never mentions the note and Mark never brings it up. (He kept it though. It’s taped underneath his desk. Sometimes when’s he’s in the middle of typing, he’ll brush his fingers against the paper, feel the edges of Eduardo’s smiley against his skin.)
Mark keeps trying not to fall asleep.
Eduardo keeps dragging him off to bed (but not in the way Mark thinks about when he’s in the shower, because, what the fuck, Eduardo is his best friend.)
Mark keeps falling asleep and finding post-its.
The second one says, ““Ewww, drool :|”
And the third, “You know you snore a bit :P”
“Your hands get grabby sometimes.”
“You mumble a lot.”
And once, “I wish I could look into your head and untangle all your thoughts, so I’d know what to do with myself around you.”
He really doesn’t know what to do about that last one.
They cluster underneath his desk, like all the words he wants to tell Eduardo, but can’t.
--
It’s a Saturday. They’re staying in and Mark doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t but when Eduardo comes over and asks Mark, “Hey, what’s up?” it just comes tumbling out.
“Do you watch me when I sleep?”
Oh God. Mark turns red immediately, and so does Eduardo.
“I-” Mark stammers, when the silence has gone on for quite some time and Eduardo is pointedly just looking at his feet.
“It’ just that. I wouldn’t. I don’t mind. I mean. It’s fine.”
Eduardo’s head shoots up and his mouth opens, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come.
So Mark does what he has to-does what he’s been dreaming of at night, what he mumbles about, the reason why his hands are grabby-he walks right up to Eduardo and pulls him down by the necktie and kisses him.
Eduardo gasps, and then he moans and it reverberates right down to Mark’s flip-flopped toes.
They only pull away enough for Eduardo to say, “Bed, Jesus, Mark, Please.”
Mark’s definitely not getting any sleep tonight.
--