quick note; GUYS. please be aware that if you posted a prompt in part six and it is now screened, i have posted them to the post already - so that you guys don't have to. thanks for being patient and making the fill-a-thon such a success
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MARRY ME?
*fans self to try to get over the heart palpitations* \o/
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It starts with hands.
Mark had figured Eduardo was tired; kisses against the car hadn’t yielded a fucking thing, and Mark had resigned himself to crawling into bed once Eduardo was sleeping deeply with his laptop and coding all night, until he forgot about the brandy in the sauce on Eduardo’s steak, the press of his fingers against Mark’s back, the sinful things he could do purely with his tongue. He would fall asleep eventually anyway, right? It hadn’t been such an awful thought.
He should have known better.
Eduardo’s not much for public affection -- it might have something to do with how their relationship is new and for some reason there’s some kind of longevity you have to achieve before orgasms can happen in anything more than an empty manner. Mark, personally, thinks this is ludicrous, and should be forgotten for the amount of times he’s woken up to breakfast on the night-stand on his side ( ... )
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He’s panting when Eduardo pulls away, and fuck, why did he do that? Eduardo should always be kissing him when he looks like that; Mark knows this with absolute certainty.
Mark goes right for his mouth again, but Eduardo only smirks, purrs a bit,
“It’s not like I need your shirt off for what I’m doing to you tonight, anyway.”
He stops cold for just a second, digesting this (ingenious, and Mark would know -- he invented Facebook) idea, and then mauls Eduardo anew, gripping at his biceps as he falls into the luxurious sofa Mark bought for just this reason. Then it’s ( ... )
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It’s right about the moment he bypasses Mark’s cock (and balls) to play with the soft patch of skin just a little further below that Mark forgets to fucking care.
“Ah. Wardo.” It comes out almost pleading, and Mark doesn’t give a fuck, he doesn’t, not when Eduardo takes him at his tone and scrapes his teeth over Mark’s bottom lip as he touches right where he had before, poking a little at that little nub under his skin again, and harder.
“Yeah, like that,” Eduardo says, softer now, his eyes intent on Mark’s face as he teases, mercilessly, dragging one finger over the wet ridges of Mark’s dick and then returning to that nub -- his perineum, he knows, but who cares what the damn thing is called -- subtly overjoyed that Mark is coming apart before his eyes for the umpteenth time. Eduardo always does this; it’s his so-called favorite part, seeing ( ... )
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