fic: programmed to derail (mark/eduardo, prompt 110) 1 of 2
Title: Programmed to Derail
Recipient: underscoress
Prompt Number: 110
Characters/Pairings: Eduardo/Mark
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, D/s themes between two people who don't know what they are doing
Word Count: 13600
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts.
Summary: It's like a second sort of release for Mark. Giving himself over to the press of Eduardo's warm body spread over his own.
Notes: Thanks to A. for doing a wonderful job betaing this and generally being there for me to soundboard off of and test ideas out on and putting up with me in general. ♥
Mark wakes up slowly; he wasn't deeply asleep to begin with so his senses come back to him quicker than usual. The warm weight slung over his chest, the one that was making him feel safe while he dozed, is Eduardo's arm. Mark turns his head to look at Eduardo who is still asleep with his lips parted slightly. Mark stays still, staying on his back so he doesn't disturb Eduardo while his gaze roams over Eduardo's soft features: the lines across his brow and the ones in the corners of his eyes that have appeared in the last few years to reveal Eduardo's age while the rest of his features remain tauntingly youthful.
Eduardo is so still in sleep that Mark could count each dark eyelash that Eduardo has; and Mark considers it, taking in the shadow those lashes are making against the skin beneath Eduardo's eyes, as he runs his hand up Eduardo's arm. Mark runs his hand down to rest over Eduardo's hand, running his thumb over Eduardo's knobby wrist bone and Mark almost doesn't breathe.
When he does, his chest aches, and his limbs rebel. They move and make the sheets rustle. The glow of sunrise is coming in through the sheer curtains and it's time for Mark to go. Mark slides out from under Eduardo's arm. The sheet slips down Eduardo's back to settle so Mark can see the stretch of Eduardo's lower back. Mark hesitates, turns toward the wrinkled pile that is his discarded clothing from the night before. When he is half-dressed, his sweatpants on and his bare feet shoved into his sneakers, Mark glances over his shoulder. He swallows and pads back to the bed and pulls the sheet up to rest at Eduardo's shoulders. The fabric still feels starched between his fingers; they are nice sheets, considering, but they are thin and Mark contemplates the duvet recklessly before pulling his discarded t-shirt and old hoodie over his head. Mark's underwear and socks get stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. He grabs his backpack from the chair in the corner, slides the strap up his shoulder and stares around the room.
He stares at Eduardo with his hair mussed and standing on end, his hand outstretched to where Mark had just been, and his legs are spread beneath the sheet. The hotel insignia is emblazoned on the pillow case beside Eduardo's head and the room service menu on the table beside Mark's side of the mattress - the left side of the bed, Mark reminds himself. Sentimentality isn't useful and he has no reason to stay; he tells himself this when his feet still don't begin to move.
Eduardo makes a snuffling sound, rolling over to settle on his stomach, but the whole time Eduardo is moving and shuffling Mark doesn't breathe. And as soon as Eduardo has seemed to drop off again, Mark leaves. He pulls the door open just enough to slip through and is halfway to the elevator at the end of the hall when it finishes sliding shut with a click. His backpack sways against his back and Mark is glad, in the quiet of early morning in a hotel where he had a one night stand with Eduardo, that he hadn't worn flip-flops. Just the thought of the plastic smacking as he made his getaway makes him frown.
Mark hunches his shoulders while he waits for the elevator, shuffling his feet and tucking his hands into his pockets. He stares straight ahead at the faulty reflection of himself that the elevator doors project like a fun house mirror. He looks like he had just had sex, with his wrinkled clothes and with his curls combed straight by fingers running through his hair. One strand hangs low on his brow and Mark stares at it with confusion because he doesn't remember Eduardo's fingers in his hair. He remembers hands on his hips and on the backs of his thighs, but not in his hair.
The doors open with an electronic bell sound on his level and Mark takes the elevator down to the lobby, planning to wave down a taxi if he can.
The lobby is empty when he exits the doors of the elevator. The employee on the night shift looks up and calls out, “Checking out, sir?”
Mark hadn't planned to stop at the desk, but there's something to the employee's smile, a recognition that makes a weight settle in Mark's stomach. He changes course halfway across the linoleum and his shoes squeak as he pivots to approach the desk, hiking his backpack up as he goes. Unconsciously he straightens his posture and gives the young man a once over, and hopes that his disinterest is clear.
“No. I'm paying for an extra day actually.”
“What's the name?” the man says as he turns to look at the computer on the desk.
Mark taps his fingers on the counter top and says, “Olson. Mr. Billy Olson.”
-
Mark gives the taxi driver a ridiculous tip when he pulls into Mark's driveway. It's not a ploy, though Chris would probably have a few choice words to say to Mark on the topic of non-disclosure agreements and not fucking with his ex-best friend, but Mark is too tired to count how many bills he has thrown into the front seat as he shuffles out of the taxi. The driver does call after him, but Mark slams the door to the backseat and walks the rest of the way up the driveway as if he can't hear the man.
He feels tired, the lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours catching up to him finally and he just wants to collapse on his couch and sleep until it's time to go into work. His clothes are relatively clean, he could probably wear them into work without anyone knowing the difference. There's at least a layer of spit and sweat on his skin, probably some semen too, and he could use the shower; the hot water and the jets would help loosen the knots in his back.
There are three text messages from Dustin when Mark turns on his phone, ranging from silly to concerned. Mark types out, Back home. See you at work, and turns his phone back off after it sends. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch down over himself and falls asleep curled in toward the back of the couch.
-
It all starts at Billy's wedding reception.
Mark was invited to the wedding which had been a surprise, staring at the white card stock with its black trim and the lettering in black and silver cordially inviting him to Billy's wedding to the girl he had been dating since senior year at Harvard. But it was nice, and Mark had smiled as he sent Billy a message through Facebook to ask about wedding gifts, which had turned into a phone call with Billy on speaker so Dustin could yell nonsense from where he was working on Mark's couch.
In preparation for the wedding Mark goes with Dustin and Chris to see Chris' tailor. They've seen Dustin before, so they don't even seem surprised by Mark appearing in jeans and a ratty t-shirt. They just bring him and Chris to the back. Chris helps him pick out a gray suit with a dark blue shirt, while Dustin tries to convince the tailor to let him try on the powder blue suit that is hanging on a clearance rack, despite the man's protests that it's left over from prom season. Mark lets Chris go over and try and talk Dustin out of it.
After the ceremony, which is beautiful with Billy's bride smiling and crying as Billy says his vows, Mark ignores Dustin elbowing him in the side and smiles at how sweet they are. Dustin whimpers and wipes at his eyes with the handkerchief he convinced Chris to buy him even though he could afford it easily; Mark smiles up at Billy and his now-wife Julie.
Mark hadn't seen Eduardo at the wedding, and he until he saw the distinctive silhouette of Eduardo entering the hall just in time to catch the best man's speech Mark had thought that he had just forgotten about Eduardo and the possibility that Eduardo might be there. Really, he'd just convinced himself to stop checking for Eduardo after the first five minutes of the ceremony and had assumed that Eduardo wasn't invited. Except now that he's seen Eduardo, Mark can't look away. He tracks Eduardo's movements around the ballroom.
Mark doesn't know what compels him to set his drink aside and leave the safety of his table to walk toward Eduardo. Maybe it's the way Eduardo's dressed, the lines of his suit fitting him perfectly and the way that Eduardo looks mature. And happy. There is a half-smile on his lips as he shakes hands with another of Billy's guests, and Mark just wants.
He aches in a way that is best left undisturbed.
Eduardo doesn't see him approaching and Mark is right beside Eduardo's elbow when he makes his presence known. He could reach out and run his fingers down the line of Eduardo's spine if he just reached out, could lay his hand flat and maybe feel the heat of Eduardo's body through the layers of his suit.
“Eduardo.”
The small smile on Eduardo's face melts away in a moment. Even Mark can see the way that Eduardo tenses up, and that elbow that is so close to Mark's body move away so Eduardo can cradle it to his side. Everything about the way Eduardo holds himself as he turns his head to look at Mark screams how much he'd rather have Mark on the opposite side of the room.
If not on the opposite side of the globe.
“Mark,” Eduardo says, nodding to him like they are in a business meeting and not half an hour from being in a roomful of happy drunks. And Mark's body tenses up in retaliation. Mark tips his chin up and narrows his eyes on Eduardo, searching his face for a tick, a break in the mask Eduardo is showing with Billy's aunt watching them.
“How are you?”
Mark starts to answer, his lips lifting in a smile because he can't help himself. Even with everything about Eduardo telling him to back off, the proximity of Eduardo, the way Mark could reach out like it was easy, like they were back at Harvard. He says, “I'm good, Facebook is - “
But he stops, his teeth nearly clacking with the force it takes to shut his mouth. Because Eduardo has turned fully away to look at Billy's aunt to say, “That's a lovely necklace.”
Mark doesn't mean it, doesn't even plan it, when he says, “Facebook has been doing great since you're not around to do something stupid like crash the site.”
Eduardo bristles. His spine straightens and Mark can see Eduardo's fingers clench around his glass.
“Excuse me,” Eduardo hisses through his teeth, as he turns slowly to look at Mark. At the last minute he remembers that Billy's aunt is watching and he fakes a fearsome smile. But Mark isn't fooled, Eduardo's eyes are screaming that he's about to murder Mark.
“We're really financially stable,” Mark adds. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, which probably isn't his best idea. Not if Eduardo loses the shred of control he's holding onto and hauls off and punches Mark.
Instead he wraps his fingers around Mark's elbow and pulls him away from the group. Mark's mouth stops running off without him the moment he and Eduardo are out alone in the hall. It actually snaps shut when he notices the look on Eduardo's face. He is visibly angry, jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he keeps dragging Mark along with him toward the bank of elevators.
“Where are we -”
“What floor are you on?” Eduardo asks, already stabbing the up button beside the elevator.
“The third, why?”
“Because I'm not going to have a screaming match with you out in the open.” Eduardo lets go of Mark's elbow after he pulls him toward the open elevator door. Then his hand slips down, pressing against the small of his back and ushering Mark into the elevator. Mark goes easily, with the warm pressure of Eduardo's fingers so close to his skin, and he should put up more of a fight. He thinks as much once Eduardo's hand is away from his body and he's turned around to stare at Eduardo's stormy face.
Eduardo stands in front of the closed doors and stares at Mark, eyes tight and moving rapidly across Mark's face. When Eduardo's lips peal back so he can speak an ill-fitting sneer mares his face, Mark flinches and sinks back against the far wall. He toes the floor of the elevator, ignoring the tightness in his throat.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Mark shrugs.
“No. Don't you dare.” Eduardo snaps. Mark jerks his head up and finds Eduardo moving in towards him. Eduardo's cheeks are flushed and his back is so straight.
And his eyes keep glancing down at Mark's lips even as he lectures Mark about being an asshole. It's enough of an invitation for Mark to surge forward the few feet between them and drag Eduardo down by the back of his neck into a kiss. Eduardo groans low in his throat and moves forward, pressing Mark into the wall of the elevator as his fingers twist and pull at Mark's hair.
They trip and stumble from the elevator to Mark's room. To Mark it's a blur of fingers pulling at his skin and his clothes while he fumbles with the keycard because Eduardo won't let him go and won't let him up for air until they are inside the hotel room.
He only lets Mark go so he can shove him up against the closed door.
Mark hisses as Eduardo's fingers dig under his shirt and scrape at the skin of his hip bones, but Eduardo doesn't hear him; pressing all of his weight against Mark's back, Eduardo keeps Mark pinned to the hotel door and his lips are sliding along the collar of Mark's shirt. His tongue and teeth tentatively lick and nip at the nape of Mark's neck and Mark rocks back against Eduardo. Eduardo's fingers stop searching across his navel and scrape back down to rest on Mark's hips, fingers bruising in their grip as Eduardo holds Mark's hips still.
“You're so infuriating,” Eduardo groans out, rolling his hips so Mark can feel Eduardo's erection through their pants and there is too much clothing on both of them. The more Eduardo presses Mark into the door the more the room feels too hot, like his lungs aren't taking in enough air. Mark is so hard already and he is panting as his hands scramble on the door and Eduardo isn't even really touching him yet.
Eduardo bites down on the skin of Mark's neck and a moan shakes its way out of Mark's throat as he drops his head forward to let Eduardo do what he wants. Eduardo is thrusting against him lazily as he sucks the bite into a deeper bruise, and Mark feels young and stupid with his knees ready to give out beneath him.
Then one of Eduardo's hands slides across the skin of Mark's stomach and he thrusts forward against the door with a whimper. Eduardo nips at him again and Mark presses his chin into his chest just to give Eduardo enough reach. The hand on his stomach is moving steadily south and Mark is whimpering and whining without wanting to. Between nips and licks Eduardo starts to say something against Mark's skin, something condescending if Mark can guess from the tone. He think Eduardo calls him names as he takes Mark in hand and jerks him off lazily. There isn't enough space for Mark to thrust into Eduardo's hand and Eduardo seems to have no compulsion of helping Mark to his release quickly.
And Mark's hands keep scrambling for a hold as he feels crushed by the scent and the heat of Eduardo all over him. It's as if he has been living in sense deprivation ever since Eduardo left and now he is being allowed to experience him all at once and it is too much for Mark. His chest aches with it and each whimper feels torn from him, and Mark doesn't understand why.
When Mark does come he shakes through it, hand gripping Eduardo's forearm as tight as he can manage, his knuckles white and with his teeth clenched so he won't scream.
Eduardo steps back, wiping his hand on Mark's pants, and leaving Mark to slump into the door with both arms up to keep him steady as his knees lock and then unlock beneath his frame. There is a sliding, slithering sound as Eduardo pulls his belt loose that sends more shivers running down Mark's spine. The soft sound of the clasp rattling as Eduardo handles it before setting it aside is the only sound until Eduardo speaks.
“Mark.”
Mark turns slowly from the door to see Eduardo sitting on the bed, his pants open and his legs spread wide as he jerks himself slowly. The frown is still on his face and there is nothing happy or approving that Mark can see on his features, but he doesn't need a translation guide to understand what Eduardo wants him to do. Mark moves to the space in between Eduardo's knees and stares down at him for a moment, meeting Eduardo's disinterested look with as much blankness as Mark can manage when his hands are shaking and his mind is racing as he tries to understand what just happened.
None of that stops Mark from going to his knees, or from running his hands along the inseam of Eduardo's pants as he licks over Eduardo's fingers and his erection. Peering up, Mark catches his first glimpse of surprise on Eduardo's face. Then he is replacing Eduardo's hand with his own and as much of his mouth as he can fill with Eduardo's cock.
Eduardo comes with one hand wrapped around the back of Mark's neck, fingers pressing into the bruise he put there. Then he pushes Mark off and works at his pants while Mark sits on the floor, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. It doesn't matter that there is semen on his clothes, as he watches Eduardo straighten his shirt and run his fingers uselessly through his hair.
Eduardo leaves without looking back, probably in show of how little this meant or to throw Mark off. Maybe to make Mark feel too ashamed to try this again. But, later, when he is still sitting in this room, in the same clothes and clicking away on his laptop, plans of how to make it happen again are all Mark can think about.
When he goes back to work the following week the bruise at the nape of his neck doesn't hurt anymore, but it's gone from red to a livid bruise of blacks and blues that are shaped like Eduardo's teeth. Mark runs his fingers over the impression, head turned at an awkward angle so he can look at them in the mirror. He can't manage to see them completely, but he touches them often over the course of the weekend so that by the time he sits down to a meeting with Dustin on Tuesday he is doing it absentmindedly.
“That works,” Mark says in response to Dustin's statement. He touches the back of his neck as he leans down to squint at the paperwork Dustin has pushed to his side of the table. It's something from legal that goes along with the rest of the packet. Mark drags his nails across the skin at his nape, slides his hand down the side of his throat before sliding his hand back into the pocket of his hoodie.
When he looks up Dustin is staring at him like he's trying to read between the metaphorical lines of code that Dustin says Mark is made of.
“Where did you go?” Dustin asks. “After the reception? I saw you talking to Eduardo and then you both disappeared.”
“Don't you have a job to do?” Mark asks, ignoring the question as he clenches his fist so tight that his nails bite into the flesh of his palm. “Don't make me fire you.”
-
In Germany, Mark likes to pretend that he's lost count of the number of times he and Eduardo have had spontaneous sex. Mostly it's hand jobs or blow jobs in the nearest bathroom after a board meeting or during a guest speaker's lengthy speech, but sometimes they make it back to nearest hotel room.
In fact, Mark hasn't lost count, he holds the number of encounters at the forefront of his mind, going over each comment he's made and the way Eduardo reacted. Mark has stopped verbally attacking Eduardo about chickens and his clothing because Eduardo has been getting used to it. The last time Mark had made a cutting statement about Harvard graduates, Eduardo had rolled his eyes and smiled dimly at Mark, and he had just raised his glass in a sardonic salute before leaving the room when Mark had started talking about Facebook's current CFO.
At least that one had ended with Mark shoved against the wall of a coat closet, with one leg around Eduardo's waist and Eduardo grinding up against him until they both came in their pants.
It's the first day of the conference in Germany and this time Mark doesn't have to say anything to get what he wants.
Eduardo has his arm wrapped around Mark's waist, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Mark's hoodie and his nails biting into the skin of his hip. A shiver runs its way up Mark's spine and Eduardo seems to hold him tighter, looking down at him for a split second with a look that even Mark can read volumes out of. It says to stay still and that Mark shouldn't give their game away. It won't be difficult to obey. Mark's limbs feel like lead and he tries to keep from shaking at the press of Eduardo's side against his own. He's half-hard in the khaki shorts he'd insisted on wearing and his palms are sweating.
But no one in their group seems to notice. Not the way Eduardo's smile is so obviously fake and plastered on or the way he is holding Mark too tight to be friendly. Certainly they can't see his fingers sneaking down to press at Mark's bare skin beneath the waistband of his shorts. Mark tugs his hoodie down with his hands in his pockets and no one notices.
Eduardo waves the rest of the group off in a way that sends Mark back to sophomore year of Harvard; the moments after the Bill Gates conference when Eduardo had acted like thefacebook was theirs and had pulled Mark away from their awkward fan club with a conspiratorial smile on his face and the weight of his arm heavy on Mark's shoulders. Mark chews on his lower lip and catalogs away his feelings about the comparison and lets himself lean into Eduardo as he's pulled away. Eduardo's fingers are pressure points in the flesh of his arm and Mark stumbles into Eduardo's side as they move toward the hall.
Then they're in the bathroom and Eduardo is locking the door to the stall behind them. And Eduardo finally drops his smile, polite and insincere, completely. His fingers tangle in Mark's hair, pulling his head back as he kisses Mark hard and backs Mark up against the wall of the cubicle. Mark whimpers, and he hates it even as his hands grasp at Eduardo's hips. His back hits the wall and the stalls shake and Mark groans.
Eduardo's nails are digging into Mark's scalp and Mark's mouth falls open in a gasp; Eduardo kisses him the same way Mark expects Eduardo would fuck him. Hard and fast, with teeth and an edge of ferocity that makes Mark's knees go weak.
And also his heart; weak and stuttering, but he ignores it in favor of pulling Eduardo's shirt free from his slacks so he can run his hands over the expanse of Eduardo's back. Eduardo hums into the kiss and rocks forward so their hips grind together and Mark kisses Eduardo with as good as he can give, biting in retaliation when Eduardo's nails scrape his skin. Mark tries to pull Eduardo flush against him. The weight of Eduardo’s body, warm and solid, holding Mark against the wall makes Mark's heart ache in that stuttering off-beat way over and over again. He feels like a heart attack might kill him right here, and even though he doesn't think he would mind, at the same time there is something safe about Eduardo. He moves Mark's head to the right angle so his tongue is there and Mark's mouth is open wide and letting Eduardo in, letting him fuck into Mark's mouth and Mark doesn't know why, but he goes limp and lets Eduardo do it.
Mark digs his fingers into the skin of Eduardo's lower back to keep from falling over. He inhales harshly through his nose and then nearly chokes on air.
When Eduardo nips his way down Mark's neck, Mark is shaking and there is too much noise escaping his lips. He's sure that everyone in the main hall can hear them and that they know exactly what Eduardo is doing to Mark.
Eduardo slides his hands down to Mark's hips before he slides down to his knees. His fingers pull at the button on Mark's khakis and he bites at the bare skin of Mark's navel as soon as he has Mark's khakis and briefs down around his ankles. And Mark's hips stutter forward even as he drops his head back with a groan that is only half out of pain. Eduardo sucks his cock down like his goal is to make Mark come hard enough to hurt and when Mark's close, Eduardo slithers up Mark's body, jerking him off between them while he hisses in Mark's ear.
“I'm sick of you embarrassing me in public, Mark,” Eduardo says. He bites Mark's ear and Mark comes, shaking and biting his lower lip to keep from screaming. It was just a quickie in a bathroom, he tries to tell himself even as he leans into Eduardo and lets Eduardo lift his shirt and hoodie to wipe Mark's come off his hand and onto Mark's bare stomach.
“Do you have a room in the hotel?” Eduardo asks. His breath is hot on Mark's ear and his teeth brush Mark's skin. Mark has to hold onto Eduardo to keep from giving into his traitorously weak knees.
When he tells Eduardo that he's in a different hotel but that it's nearby, Mark tries to sound confident, detached even. He doubts he comes off that way.
They leave the party immediately with very little concern for how it looks to the rest of the guests. Eduardo ushers Mark into a taxi with his hand on the small of Mark's back. Mark feels crushed in the back seat, invisible and being drawn in and drowned by the seats as Eduardo speaks to the driver in a calm voice; even though his hand is on Mark's thigh with his thumb running patterns on the top of Mark's thigh. The driver doesn't seem to spare Mark a look, and when they get to the hotel, Eduardo pays and ushers them out. But they stop on the sidewalk.
“Go in, Mark,” Eduardo says, loitering. Mark almost expects him to have a packet of cigarettes to pull from the pocket of his coat. This situation that they're in feels dirty, but not seedy. And Mark has to take the elevator up to his room with his erection obvious to anyone that sees him because not even adjusting his pants or pulling his hoodie down does much good.
He strips to his briefs while he waits for Eduardo to show up at the door because if he's going to be presumptuous, this is the situation.
Eduardo knocks, and starts shedding clothing as soon as Mark gets the door open. He clutches Mark's face between alternating hands as he shakes off first his coat, then blazer, and finally his dress shirt to leave in a trail from the door to the bed as he presses his bare chest to Mark's. Mark feels thin, his heart beating out of his chest as he runs his hands down Eduardo's sides, and all the while Eduardo backs him up to the bed.
At the edge of the bed, Mark pivots them and pushes Eduardo down to the mattress. They are separate for seconds before Mark scrambles to straddle Eduardo and Eduardo surges upward, hands coming up to clutch at Mark's hair. He pulls at it and bares Mark's throat as he murmurs dark words that Mark can only imagine are threats, or at least complaints, as he rocks his hard cock against the flat plane of Eduardo's stomach.
Mark rakes at Eduardo's skin, wanting to leave scores of lines on Eduardo's skin with his nails, but he keeps them cut too short. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Eduardo's back and clings, trying to mold them together until the arch of his neck is perfect for Eduardo to bury his face in as he groans and shudders through his orgasm. Then he rolls them over, growling as he spreads Mark out beneath him; their underwear finally, belatedly, comes off and Mark is so hard and the underwear just gets kicked down to their ankles as Eduardo presses down on him. He nuzzles at Mark's collarbones, then nips and sucks bruises into Mark's skin. The feeling sends shudders down Mark's spine even as he arches up to rub against Eduardo. Mark wants to hang on and hold Eduardo to him so he can rut his way to release, but Eduardo has Mark's wrists in his hands and just the light pressure of Eduardo's fingers is holding Mark to the mattress, and keeps Mark from trying.
He doesn't think about it until Eduardo slithers his way up so his lips are nipping and kissing at Mark's ear and he is whispering, “Can you keep your hands to yourself?” that Mark considers it might be more than a courtesy. But there is headboard that Mark can grasp and Eduardo has a hand around his cock. He rocks into the circle of Eduardo's fingers and is so close to coming after such a short time that it's ridiculous. Mark's arms ache from hanging onto the headboard and Eduardo is so close to him without ever laying his chest flush to Mark's that it is a terrible tease. He just wants to digs his fingers into the skin at Eduardo's shoulder blades and arch up so he orgasms and shakes against Eduardo. Instead Mark comes with his lip bitten between his own teeth. And murmurs, “Fuck,” as he shudders against the sweat damp sheets beneath his back.
Eduardo lingers this time while Mark slowly pulls his arms down to his sides. He can feel Eduardo's eyes on him as he flexes his fingers to get some sensation of feeling back in them. There's Eduardo's fingers against his arm, brushing gently until Mark slowly succumbs to the loose and sleepy feeling brought on by his recent orgasm.
Mark is half-awake. His brain is making sleep impossible as it starts to question why he wanted Eduardo to have held him down harder.
While Mark drifts, Eduardo gets up and dresses.
Before he leaves Eduardo leans over the bed, his hands sliding to the back of Mark's neck and pulling him up so Eduardo can press a lingering kiss to Mark's forehead with his fingers tangling in Mark's curls. He murmurs something like “Go to sleep, Mark,” before he lets Mark lie back down.
-
Mark wakes up curled around his pillow and he feels bereft. It doesn't hit him suddenly, but more like an ache he can't help being struck by. He knows that Eduardo's side of the bed is empty and that Eduardo and his clothes are gone. Chances are high that over the course of the remaining two days of the conference Mark could get Eduardo to follow him back up to his room again, but an hour after he wakes up Mark has bought a ticket for the earliest flight out of Germany and back to the States.
His hands are shaking slightly as he stuffs his clothes back in the duffel bag he brought with him.
Mark stops at some point from stiltedly moving around his hotel room to stand naked beside the bed and he catches himself rubbing his fingers over his wrists. He notices the ache then, he doesn't know what this emptiness is, but he can't quite move to get dressed so he can go, and he also can't get back into bed. Somewhere in town Eduardo has eaten breakfast and is preparing to head back to the conferences. He'll network and he'll smile at the people he is talking to; genuinely smile and shake their hands while he attentively listens to what they have to say.
Mark clamps the fingers of his left hand tightly around his right wrist, clutching his arm across his chest.
Mark calls a car to come pick him up in an hour. He pays extra to make sure he's in first class and then turns off his phone.
He doesn't turn it back on once he's back in Palo Alto, so he doesn't get the forewarning of half-a-dozen drunken voice mails. Instead his taxi pulls into his drive way and while Mark is pulling his duffel along with him across the seats he looks out the window and sees Sean hunkered down by the door, an empty cardboard container and several empty beer bottles at his elbow. Mark would much rather climb into bed for a week straight with his laptop and a case of Red Bull to keep him company, but for whatever reason Sean keeps coming back and Mark keeps letting him so the week long coding binge he is refusing to acknowledge as a pity-party is set aside.
“Mark!” Sean calls from the porch, waving at Mark like it's normal to be sitting outside Mark's house completely wasted at mid-afternoon. The thing is, it is normal for Mark to come home to Sean doing his “royal” wave that he learned from the Princess Diaries movies, whether he'll admit it or not, and to let Sean follow him in.
It's not normal for Sean's eyebrows to scrunch up upon seeing Mark or for him to drape an arm over Mark's shoulder to usher him into the house faster. Or for Mark to end up sitting on his couch while a still very inebriated Sean stumbles around his kitchen, complaining about the lack of food in the house. Mark is getting suspicious about what he's missed while he was away; it was a three day trip and Mark was only gone for two, but Sean is being too nice.
Mark opens his mouth to ask what the hell Sean is up to and gets distracted by the pillows and blankets that he left on his couch. Before flying to Germany, Mark had spent a week sleeping on the couch while he worked from home to get everything arranged so he could leave for the conference without having his secretary calling him every five minutes about the paperwork he had put off.
Sean comes back with two beers from Mark's fridge and holds one out to Mark until Mark loosens his grip on the pillow he'd picked up and began clutching to his stomach.
“What did you do?” Mark asks, sinking low against the couch and wrapping his lips around the lip of the bottle. Sean grunts beside him, sinking even further on the couch so he can prop his feet on Mark's coffee table.
“Where's the remote for the TV?” Sean asks, already searing between the couch cushions and shoving the blanket toward Mark. Mark pulls it over his lap and over the pillow he has readjusted against his stomach. Mark doesn't realize what he is doing until Sean gives a drunken cheer and then turns to Mark to flaunt his success and his face - falls. Not the way Eduardo's or Dustin's would, but Mark has watched things blow up in Sean's face enough times to know what he looks like when his face falls.
“Dude,” Sean says and his voice is low and it sets Mark's nerves off. Mark tucks his chin in and clutches at his beer, glaring at the TV that is still turned off.
“Did something -?”
“Why are you here?” Mark growls. Sean turns to face him and it's been a really long time since Mark has seen Sean properly pissed off, but there it is. Sean is reaching over to set his beer on the coffee table as he turns to fully face Mark on the couch, and Mark is slowly sinking into his blanket cocoon. He kicks his feet out and waits for Sean to leave, or at least shuffle down to the guest bedroom at the back and slam the door dramatically.
Instead Sean says, “Fuck, we should make a blanket fort. Do you have more blankets in the linen closet?” and wanders off to check without waiting for an answer.
-
“So. That's the last blanket,” Sean says, crawling back into the fort he and Mark have constructed between the couch and the entertainment center. They'd pulled all of the blankets from Mark's closet, and there were a surprising amount of them in there, and had also stripped all of the blankets and sheets from the bedrooms. They have all the beer from Mark's fridge in the fort with them, and Mark is considerably more prepared for the way Sean starts prying about his sex life now that's he's inebriated.
“Was Saverin at the conference,” Sean drawls, popping the cap off of his next beer and drinking a third of it in one go. Then he takes a deep breath and sets it aside to roll onto his stomach. “You look like a sad and/or constipated puppy, cute animal thing.”
Sean hand waves, sort of, because halfway through the motion he gives up and drops his hand to the floor and then buries his face in the carpet. He mumbles something and Mark chuckles, more self-deprecating than he would like, but he has a full bottle of beer in his hand and he quickly tries to train it so he can move onto the next.
“Not that I want to know anything about your woodland creature type romantic whatever. Your sex life,” Sean slurs.
Mark splutters.
“Woodland creatures? Are you high?”
“A little,” Sean mumbles. He turns his head to squint at Mark. “I have some weed with me if you're interested.”
Then he stops and makes his own constipated face and says, “No, wait. The thing with the sex with Saverin first. What is going on there?”
“Who said it was Eduardo?”
Sean scoffs, burying his face in the carpet again.
“You only look like that,” Sean says, waving his hand in the direction of Mark's face. “When Saverin is involved. So spill. But no in depth descriptions of penises.”
Mark looks down at his own wrists and swallows hard. His mouth tastes disgusting, partly from the amount of alcohol, but also because he can't remember when he last brushed his teeth. He chugs the last of his beer and then rolls over to start searching Sean for the bag of weed Mark knows he has on him. Sean groans and half-heartedly tries to swat Mark's hands away, but it's not enough for Mark to keep from fishing the Ziploc bag with one untouched joint and a half smoked one from Sean's front pocket.
“Where's your lighter?”
“Don't set my fort on fire,” Sean grumbles, shifting around before finally passing it over.
“They're my blankets,” Mark retorts. Then he's fighting to keep the joint to himself while Sean sits up and makes grabby hands.
“So, you and Eduardo . . .” Sean starts to say later after he's wrangled back the joint from Mark's hand and stolen one of Mark's pillows for his own use. At his words and his tone, Mark groans and flops back onto his back.
“I'm not judging, dude. Just . . . processing.” There's a moment of silence and then Sean whistles and adds, “Way to go Saverin.”
And Mark punches Sean in the shoulder.
“Ow, fuck you, we aren't bros anymore,” Sean says even as he pulls the pillow out from under his head to slap across Mark's face. Mark splutters, trying to get the pillow free from Sean's clutches all while slapping at Sean's arms.
Mark is too high to tell you how this ends up with him on his stomach, face squished into the carpet while Sean settles sideways on his back on top of Mark. The pillow ends up between their asses for reasons that Mark decides to find insulting in the morning. Or at least tomorrow morning since the light of dawn has come and gone from the windows beside the front door.
“So?” Sean asks, and Mark can feel him inhaling from where his weight is smothering Mark. “Is this a I'm the stressed out baby-CEO of a generation defining company and blah blah blah thing? Or do you just like 'submitting' to Eduardo?”
Mark can hear the air quotes and he frowns at them. Inevitably though, after Sean starts slapping at his thigh to get him to answer, Mark has to admit that he doesn't know what the answer is. He doesn't even know if he likes Sean's terminology. He wants to argue it, say that just because he likes it when Eduardo marks him up and when he holds too tight - Mark licks his lips and swallows against a dry throat.
“Can you get off me?” Mark growls, bucking up because he can't breathe. His voice must sound as strangled to Sean's ears as it does to Mark's because Sean lets him up easily.
“There's nothing wrong with it -” Sean starts to say, and assurances just sound ridiculous coming from his lips.
“Don't,” Mark interrupts. He punches Sean jokingly in the shoulder as he sits up to take some of the bite out of his tone.
-
Going clubbing is Sean's idea and that should be enough to send Mark spinning round and heading for the front door. The club is too loud and Mark gets lost staring down at the sea of people from the VIP balcony. Sean disappeared ages ago with the promise of getting them drinks, but he'd winked at Mark so Mark thinks it was probably a set-up. Mark has his lips around the bottle of beer he managed to get a waitress to bring him and he's watching the bodies dancing on the floor below. It's not as nice a club as the one Sean took him to that first time in Palo Alto, but then again the last time they went there Sean had almost been involved in a brawl. Mark thinks that Sean has been banned, and he's probably been tangentially banned as well.
His thoughts about this break up when a man with slicked-back hair slides onto the stool across from Mark. The man is smiling at Mark and the lights make his face glow in unhealthy blues and greens.
“Hope this seat wasn't taken,” he says. Then he turns toward the waiter passing them and flags him down.
“Can I get two Becks,” the guy says after a quick glance at Mark's nearly empty beer bottle. Then he smiles at Mark and reaches his right hand across the table. “Jacob Li.”
“Mark.”
They shake hands and Mark watches with narrowed eyes as Jacob's skin goes a little pink. He fidgets and Mark watches as he slowly gets the once over. Then Jacob sets his hands on the table between them and stares out at the crowd.
“Nice night,” Jacob says. Mark just hums, tracing Jacob's jaw line from his ear with his eyes, and then up along the arc of his nose; he can see Jacob swallowing hard as the light highlights the bobbing of his Adam's apple and Mark waits, pretending his heart isn't speeding.
The waiter comes back with the drinks and Jacob takes both with a smile. When he turns back to Mark he stares for a second and finally gives out a self-deprecating chuckle that has his chin dipping to his chest.
“Sorry, I'm not very good at this,” Jacob says. And Mark doesn't expect it, but he cracks a smile. A small one. He's been told by Dustin that it isn't particularly attractive, though there must be something worthwhile about it because Jacob chuckles at the sight of it and grins at Mark as he passes the beer bottle to Mark.
“It's cool that I bought you a beer, right?” Jacob asks and when Mark rolls his eyes, and takes a swig from it Jacob ducks his head over his own beer and chuckles some more. Mark is starting to like the sound of the man's laugh and his hands which he had started wringing when Jacob first sat down have settled. Mark finds the lines of Jacob's features pleasant and he's not much taller than Mark, if he is at all. He could probably take Jacob if things got out of hand, but Mark wants things to go according to Sean's crazy schemes. So he sits, picking at the label on the glass of the bottle while Jacob tells him about being new to the city.
“It was only an interview, but it looks like I'll be moving to San Francisco,” Jacob says and Mark responds with, “Do you want to get out of here?”
There's a momentary pause that would be quiet if the bass beat from the dance floor wasn't pounding through out the room. Jacob sighs and looks relieved and smiling even more which Mark doesn't understand.
“Thank god you asked. I was running out of things to say.”
They go to Jacob's hotel which is an almost too familiar of a scenario for comfort, but Mark fights the urge to slouch and hide his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Jacob fiddles with his key-card in the door, and Mark suspects that maybe Jacob has never done this before. He's debating either just leaving now or giving up on Sean's plans (because they are dumb, and Mark doesn't know how he can be expected to ask for something he's not sure he wants) when Jacob gets the door open. Jacob turns around and stares at Mark for a moment, the blush dissipating as he flicks his gaze between Mark's eyes and his lips. They settle on Mark's lips, finally, and he asks, “Are you sure?”
When he's pulled Mark inside the room just to back him up against the wall beside the door, Jacob swallows hard and ask, “Is this okay?” as he slides his fingers up along the side of Mark's neck to cup Mark's cheek. Mark closes his eyes and whimpers, leaning into the touch and arching his hips against the thigh Jacob is sliding between his legs. Mark chews his lip to keep from panting and manages a nod amongst his bitten back groans as Jacob's fingers slide through his hair, sliding to the back of his skull and then curling there.
He tugs once at Mark's hair and makes a soft sound of his own when the motion elicits a moan from Mark's lips. The fingers of Jacob's other hand slide from the wall to around Mark's wrist.
“Do you normally take your sweet fucking time?” Mark asks, groaning the words out when he'd rather be growling them because Jacob is rocking his hips against Mark's and it's too little friction to do much for either of them.
“No, not usually. But you looked like you were looking for something more,” Jacob says, smiling and ducking his head to suck at Mark's collar bone. He tries to turn Mark around to the bed and something clenches in mark's chest. He scrambles at Jacob's clothing wanting to shove this man down on the bed and prove to himself that he can get off just as well when he's in control.
He must growl or something equally embarrassing as he helps Jacob pull his v-neck T off his body before Jacob topples backwards onto the bed because Jacob starts chuckling. His eyes are warm and approving as he watches Mark strip down to his boxers. He runs calloused fingers over Mark's side, and Mark wonders for a moment what occupation Jacob said he was interviewing for, but then Jacob's hand is running up and down his thigh in a soothing manner.
“What do you want,” Jacob asks with his chin tipped up and his teeth bared in a grin as his blown-pupils try to take all of Mark in, in the half-light because they hadn't thought to turn the lights on. And Mark thinks about what Sean had said about asking and taking what he wanted.
“I can blow you, I can ride you,” Jacob starts listing before Mark cuts him off with a groan and a, “Yes.” Jacob licks his lips and lifts a foot to run his heel over Mark's calf.
“Good.”
He rolls them over, kissing Mark hard as he wriggles out of his underwear and starts helping Mark out of his own. Mark stay at his side as Jacob kisses his way down Mark's navel.
“You can touch,” Jacob teases. He adds, “Unless you want …?”
“H-hold me down?” Mark asks in a whisper. He stares steadfastly at Jacob, daring him to laugh or to give him a pitying look. But that smirk just stays in tact while a look that Mark can't, that he won't interrupt crosses Jacob's eyes.
“It'll be hard to do from down here,” Jacob breaths, kissing Mark's hip. “But if you hang onto the headboard, like a good boy, until I'm done down here then I'll hold you down while I fuck myself on your cock.”
Mark shudders.
After Jacob, and after Sean drives him home from Jacob's hotel, the first thing Mark does when he gets home is take a shower, washing around the bite marks on his inner thighs and ignoring them until he's finished scrubbing his skin of sweat and semen and his hair is clean. Then Mark trails his fingers down, skirting around the edges of the bruises before pressing down hard on them. He hisses, and tries not to think about how much better it would have been if Eduardo's teeth had been the ones marking him up last night.
-
continued
Recipient: underscoress
Prompt Number: 110
Characters/Pairings: Eduardo/Mark
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, D/s themes between two people who don't know what they are doing
Word Count: 13600
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts.
Summary: It's like a second sort of release for Mark. Giving himself over to the press of Eduardo's warm body spread over his own.
Notes: Thanks to A. for doing a wonderful job betaing this and generally being there for me to soundboard off of and test ideas out on and putting up with me in general. ♥
Mark wakes up slowly; he wasn't deeply asleep to begin with so his senses come back to him quicker than usual. The warm weight slung over his chest, the one that was making him feel safe while he dozed, is Eduardo's arm. Mark turns his head to look at Eduardo who is still asleep with his lips parted slightly. Mark stays still, staying on his back so he doesn't disturb Eduardo while his gaze roams over Eduardo's soft features: the lines across his brow and the ones in the corners of his eyes that have appeared in the last few years to reveal Eduardo's age while the rest of his features remain tauntingly youthful.
Eduardo is so still in sleep that Mark could count each dark eyelash that Eduardo has; and Mark considers it, taking in the shadow those lashes are making against the skin beneath Eduardo's eyes, as he runs his hand up Eduardo's arm. Mark runs his hand down to rest over Eduardo's hand, running his thumb over Eduardo's knobby wrist bone and Mark almost doesn't breathe.
When he does, his chest aches, and his limbs rebel. They move and make the sheets rustle. The glow of sunrise is coming in through the sheer curtains and it's time for Mark to go. Mark slides out from under Eduardo's arm. The sheet slips down Eduardo's back to settle so Mark can see the stretch of Eduardo's lower back. Mark hesitates, turns toward the wrinkled pile that is his discarded clothing from the night before. When he is half-dressed, his sweatpants on and his bare feet shoved into his sneakers, Mark glances over his shoulder. He swallows and pads back to the bed and pulls the sheet up to rest at Eduardo's shoulders. The fabric still feels starched between his fingers; they are nice sheets, considering, but they are thin and Mark contemplates the duvet recklessly before pulling his discarded t-shirt and old hoodie over his head. Mark's underwear and socks get stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. He grabs his backpack from the chair in the corner, slides the strap up his shoulder and stares around the room.
He stares at Eduardo with his hair mussed and standing on end, his hand outstretched to where Mark had just been, and his legs are spread beneath the sheet. The hotel insignia is emblazoned on the pillow case beside Eduardo's head and the room service menu on the table beside Mark's side of the mattress - the left side of the bed, Mark reminds himself. Sentimentality isn't useful and he has no reason to stay; he tells himself this when his feet still don't begin to move.
Eduardo makes a snuffling sound, rolling over to settle on his stomach, but the whole time Eduardo is moving and shuffling Mark doesn't breathe. And as soon as Eduardo has seemed to drop off again, Mark leaves. He pulls the door open just enough to slip through and is halfway to the elevator at the end of the hall when it finishes sliding shut with a click. His backpack sways against his back and Mark is glad, in the quiet of early morning in a hotel where he had a one night stand with Eduardo, that he hadn't worn flip-flops. Just the thought of the plastic smacking as he made his getaway makes him frown.
Mark hunches his shoulders while he waits for the elevator, shuffling his feet and tucking his hands into his pockets. He stares straight ahead at the faulty reflection of himself that the elevator doors project like a fun house mirror. He looks like he had just had sex, with his wrinkled clothes and with his curls combed straight by fingers running through his hair. One strand hangs low on his brow and Mark stares at it with confusion because he doesn't remember Eduardo's fingers in his hair. He remembers hands on his hips and on the backs of his thighs, but not in his hair.
The doors open with an electronic bell sound on his level and Mark takes the elevator down to the lobby, planning to wave down a taxi if he can.
The lobby is empty when he exits the doors of the elevator. The employee on the night shift looks up and calls out, “Checking out, sir?”
Mark hadn't planned to stop at the desk, but there's something to the employee's smile, a recognition that makes a weight settle in Mark's stomach. He changes course halfway across the linoleum and his shoes squeak as he pivots to approach the desk, hiking his backpack up as he goes. Unconsciously he straightens his posture and gives the young man a once over, and hopes that his disinterest is clear.
“No. I'm paying for an extra day actually.”
“What's the name?” the man says as he turns to look at the computer on the desk.
Mark taps his fingers on the counter top and says, “Olson. Mr. Billy Olson.”
-
Mark gives the taxi driver a ridiculous tip when he pulls into Mark's driveway. It's not a ploy, though Chris would probably have a few choice words to say to Mark on the topic of non-disclosure agreements and not fucking with his ex-best friend, but Mark is too tired to count how many bills he has thrown into the front seat as he shuffles out of the taxi. The driver does call after him, but Mark slams the door to the backseat and walks the rest of the way up the driveway as if he can't hear the man.
He feels tired, the lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours catching up to him finally and he just wants to collapse on his couch and sleep until it's time to go into work. His clothes are relatively clean, he could probably wear them into work without anyone knowing the difference. There's at least a layer of spit and sweat on his skin, probably some semen too, and he could use the shower; the hot water and the jets would help loosen the knots in his back.
There are three text messages from Dustin when Mark turns on his phone, ranging from silly to concerned. Mark types out, Back home. See you at work, and turns his phone back off after it sends. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch down over himself and falls asleep curled in toward the back of the couch.
-
It all starts at Billy's wedding reception.
Mark was invited to the wedding which had been a surprise, staring at the white card stock with its black trim and the lettering in black and silver cordially inviting him to Billy's wedding to the girl he had been dating since senior year at Harvard. But it was nice, and Mark had smiled as he sent Billy a message through Facebook to ask about wedding gifts, which had turned into a phone call with Billy on speaker so Dustin could yell nonsense from where he was working on Mark's couch.
In preparation for the wedding Mark goes with Dustin and Chris to see Chris' tailor. They've seen Dustin before, so they don't even seem surprised by Mark appearing in jeans and a ratty t-shirt. They just bring him and Chris to the back. Chris helps him pick out a gray suit with a dark blue shirt, while Dustin tries to convince the tailor to let him try on the powder blue suit that is hanging on a clearance rack, despite the man's protests that it's left over from prom season. Mark lets Chris go over and try and talk Dustin out of it.
After the ceremony, which is beautiful with Billy's bride smiling and crying as Billy says his vows, Mark ignores Dustin elbowing him in the side and smiles at how sweet they are. Dustin whimpers and wipes at his eyes with the handkerchief he convinced Chris to buy him even though he could afford it easily; Mark smiles up at Billy and his now-wife Julie.
Mark hadn't seen Eduardo at the wedding, and he until he saw the distinctive silhouette of Eduardo entering the hall just in time to catch the best man's speech Mark had thought that he had just forgotten about Eduardo and the possibility that Eduardo might be there. Really, he'd just convinced himself to stop checking for Eduardo after the first five minutes of the ceremony and had assumed that Eduardo wasn't invited. Except now that he's seen Eduardo, Mark can't look away. He tracks Eduardo's movements around the ballroom.
Mark doesn't know what compels him to set his drink aside and leave the safety of his table to walk toward Eduardo. Maybe it's the way Eduardo's dressed, the lines of his suit fitting him perfectly and the way that Eduardo looks mature. And happy. There is a half-smile on his lips as he shakes hands with another of Billy's guests, and Mark just wants.
He aches in a way that is best left undisturbed.
Eduardo doesn't see him approaching and Mark is right beside Eduardo's elbow when he makes his presence known. He could reach out and run his fingers down the line of Eduardo's spine if he just reached out, could lay his hand flat and maybe feel the heat of Eduardo's body through the layers of his suit.
“Eduardo.”
The small smile on Eduardo's face melts away in a moment. Even Mark can see the way that Eduardo tenses up, and that elbow that is so close to Mark's body move away so Eduardo can cradle it to his side. Everything about the way Eduardo holds himself as he turns his head to look at Mark screams how much he'd rather have Mark on the opposite side of the room.
If not on the opposite side of the globe.
“Mark,” Eduardo says, nodding to him like they are in a business meeting and not half an hour from being in a roomful of happy drunks. And Mark's body tenses up in retaliation. Mark tips his chin up and narrows his eyes on Eduardo, searching his face for a tick, a break in the mask Eduardo is showing with Billy's aunt watching them.
“How are you?”
Mark starts to answer, his lips lifting in a smile because he can't help himself. Even with everything about Eduardo telling him to back off, the proximity of Eduardo, the way Mark could reach out like it was easy, like they were back at Harvard. He says, “I'm good, Facebook is - “
But he stops, his teeth nearly clacking with the force it takes to shut his mouth. Because Eduardo has turned fully away to look at Billy's aunt to say, “That's a lovely necklace.”
Mark doesn't mean it, doesn't even plan it, when he says, “Facebook has been doing great since you're not around to do something stupid like crash the site.”
Eduardo bristles. His spine straightens and Mark can see Eduardo's fingers clench around his glass.
“Excuse me,” Eduardo hisses through his teeth, as he turns slowly to look at Mark. At the last minute he remembers that Billy's aunt is watching and he fakes a fearsome smile. But Mark isn't fooled, Eduardo's eyes are screaming that he's about to murder Mark.
“We're really financially stable,” Mark adds. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, which probably isn't his best idea. Not if Eduardo loses the shred of control he's holding onto and hauls off and punches Mark.
Instead he wraps his fingers around Mark's elbow and pulls him away from the group. Mark's mouth stops running off without him the moment he and Eduardo are out alone in the hall. It actually snaps shut when he notices the look on Eduardo's face. He is visibly angry, jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he keeps dragging Mark along with him toward the bank of elevators.
“Where are we -”
“What floor are you on?” Eduardo asks, already stabbing the up button beside the elevator.
“The third, why?”
“Because I'm not going to have a screaming match with you out in the open.” Eduardo lets go of Mark's elbow after he pulls him toward the open elevator door. Then his hand slips down, pressing against the small of his back and ushering Mark into the elevator. Mark goes easily, with the warm pressure of Eduardo's fingers so close to his skin, and he should put up more of a fight. He thinks as much once Eduardo's hand is away from his body and he's turned around to stare at Eduardo's stormy face.
Eduardo stands in front of the closed doors and stares at Mark, eyes tight and moving rapidly across Mark's face. When Eduardo's lips peal back so he can speak an ill-fitting sneer mares his face, Mark flinches and sinks back against the far wall. He toes the floor of the elevator, ignoring the tightness in his throat.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Mark shrugs.
“No. Don't you dare.” Eduardo snaps. Mark jerks his head up and finds Eduardo moving in towards him. Eduardo's cheeks are flushed and his back is so straight.
And his eyes keep glancing down at Mark's lips even as he lectures Mark about being an asshole. It's enough of an invitation for Mark to surge forward the few feet between them and drag Eduardo down by the back of his neck into a kiss. Eduardo groans low in his throat and moves forward, pressing Mark into the wall of the elevator as his fingers twist and pull at Mark's hair.
They trip and stumble from the elevator to Mark's room. To Mark it's a blur of fingers pulling at his skin and his clothes while he fumbles with the keycard because Eduardo won't let him go and won't let him up for air until they are inside the hotel room.
He only lets Mark go so he can shove him up against the closed door.
Mark hisses as Eduardo's fingers dig under his shirt and scrape at the skin of his hip bones, but Eduardo doesn't hear him; pressing all of his weight against Mark's back, Eduardo keeps Mark pinned to the hotel door and his lips are sliding along the collar of Mark's shirt. His tongue and teeth tentatively lick and nip at the nape of Mark's neck and Mark rocks back against Eduardo. Eduardo's fingers stop searching across his navel and scrape back down to rest on Mark's hips, fingers bruising in their grip as Eduardo holds Mark's hips still.
“You're so infuriating,” Eduardo groans out, rolling his hips so Mark can feel Eduardo's erection through their pants and there is too much clothing on both of them. The more Eduardo presses Mark into the door the more the room feels too hot, like his lungs aren't taking in enough air. Mark is so hard already and he is panting as his hands scramble on the door and Eduardo isn't even really touching him yet.
Eduardo bites down on the skin of Mark's neck and a moan shakes its way out of Mark's throat as he drops his head forward to let Eduardo do what he wants. Eduardo is thrusting against him lazily as he sucks the bite into a deeper bruise, and Mark feels young and stupid with his knees ready to give out beneath him.
Then one of Eduardo's hands slides across the skin of Mark's stomach and he thrusts forward against the door with a whimper. Eduardo nips at him again and Mark presses his chin into his chest just to give Eduardo enough reach. The hand on his stomach is moving steadily south and Mark is whimpering and whining without wanting to. Between nips and licks Eduardo starts to say something against Mark's skin, something condescending if Mark can guess from the tone. He think Eduardo calls him names as he takes Mark in hand and jerks him off lazily. There isn't enough space for Mark to thrust into Eduardo's hand and Eduardo seems to have no compulsion of helping Mark to his release quickly.
And Mark's hands keep scrambling for a hold as he feels crushed by the scent and the heat of Eduardo all over him. It's as if he has been living in sense deprivation ever since Eduardo left and now he is being allowed to experience him all at once and it is too much for Mark. His chest aches with it and each whimper feels torn from him, and Mark doesn't understand why.
When Mark does come he shakes through it, hand gripping Eduardo's forearm as tight as he can manage, his knuckles white and with his teeth clenched so he won't scream.
Eduardo steps back, wiping his hand on Mark's pants, and leaving Mark to slump into the door with both arms up to keep him steady as his knees lock and then unlock beneath his frame. There is a sliding, slithering sound as Eduardo pulls his belt loose that sends more shivers running down Mark's spine. The soft sound of the clasp rattling as Eduardo handles it before setting it aside is the only sound until Eduardo speaks.
“Mark.”
Mark turns slowly from the door to see Eduardo sitting on the bed, his pants open and his legs spread wide as he jerks himself slowly. The frown is still on his face and there is nothing happy or approving that Mark can see on his features, but he doesn't need a translation guide to understand what Eduardo wants him to do. Mark moves to the space in between Eduardo's knees and stares down at him for a moment, meeting Eduardo's disinterested look with as much blankness as Mark can manage when his hands are shaking and his mind is racing as he tries to understand what just happened.
None of that stops Mark from going to his knees, or from running his hands along the inseam of Eduardo's pants as he licks over Eduardo's fingers and his erection. Peering up, Mark catches his first glimpse of surprise on Eduardo's face. Then he is replacing Eduardo's hand with his own and as much of his mouth as he can fill with Eduardo's cock.
Eduardo comes with one hand wrapped around the back of Mark's neck, fingers pressing into the bruise he put there. Then he pushes Mark off and works at his pants while Mark sits on the floor, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. It doesn't matter that there is semen on his clothes, as he watches Eduardo straighten his shirt and run his fingers uselessly through his hair.
Eduardo leaves without looking back, probably in show of how little this meant or to throw Mark off. Maybe to make Mark feel too ashamed to try this again. But, later, when he is still sitting in this room, in the same clothes and clicking away on his laptop, plans of how to make it happen again are all Mark can think about.
When he goes back to work the following week the bruise at the nape of his neck doesn't hurt anymore, but it's gone from red to a livid bruise of blacks and blues that are shaped like Eduardo's teeth. Mark runs his fingers over the impression, head turned at an awkward angle so he can look at them in the mirror. He can't manage to see them completely, but he touches them often over the course of the weekend so that by the time he sits down to a meeting with Dustin on Tuesday he is doing it absentmindedly.
“That works,” Mark says in response to Dustin's statement. He touches the back of his neck as he leans down to squint at the paperwork Dustin has pushed to his side of the table. It's something from legal that goes along with the rest of the packet. Mark drags his nails across the skin at his nape, slides his hand down the side of his throat before sliding his hand back into the pocket of his hoodie.
When he looks up Dustin is staring at him like he's trying to read between the metaphorical lines of code that Dustin says Mark is made of.
“Where did you go?” Dustin asks. “After the reception? I saw you talking to Eduardo and then you both disappeared.”
“Don't you have a job to do?” Mark asks, ignoring the question as he clenches his fist so tight that his nails bite into the flesh of his palm. “Don't make me fire you.”
-
In Germany, Mark likes to pretend that he's lost count of the number of times he and Eduardo have had spontaneous sex. Mostly it's hand jobs or blow jobs in the nearest bathroom after a board meeting or during a guest speaker's lengthy speech, but sometimes they make it back to nearest hotel room.
In fact, Mark hasn't lost count, he holds the number of encounters at the forefront of his mind, going over each comment he's made and the way Eduardo reacted. Mark has stopped verbally attacking Eduardo about chickens and his clothing because Eduardo has been getting used to it. The last time Mark had made a cutting statement about Harvard graduates, Eduardo had rolled his eyes and smiled dimly at Mark, and he had just raised his glass in a sardonic salute before leaving the room when Mark had started talking about Facebook's current CFO.
At least that one had ended with Mark shoved against the wall of a coat closet, with one leg around Eduardo's waist and Eduardo grinding up against him until they both came in their pants.
It's the first day of the conference in Germany and this time Mark doesn't have to say anything to get what he wants.
Eduardo has his arm wrapped around Mark's waist, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Mark's hoodie and his nails biting into the skin of his hip. A shiver runs its way up Mark's spine and Eduardo seems to hold him tighter, looking down at him for a split second with a look that even Mark can read volumes out of. It says to stay still and that Mark shouldn't give their game away. It won't be difficult to obey. Mark's limbs feel like lead and he tries to keep from shaking at the press of Eduardo's side against his own. He's half-hard in the khaki shorts he'd insisted on wearing and his palms are sweating.
But no one in their group seems to notice. Not the way Eduardo's smile is so obviously fake and plastered on or the way he is holding Mark too tight to be friendly. Certainly they can't see his fingers sneaking down to press at Mark's bare skin beneath the waistband of his shorts. Mark tugs his hoodie down with his hands in his pockets and no one notices.
Eduardo waves the rest of the group off in a way that sends Mark back to sophomore year of Harvard; the moments after the Bill Gates conference when Eduardo had acted like thefacebook was theirs and had pulled Mark away from their awkward fan club with a conspiratorial smile on his face and the weight of his arm heavy on Mark's shoulders. Mark chews on his lower lip and catalogs away his feelings about the comparison and lets himself lean into Eduardo as he's pulled away. Eduardo's fingers are pressure points in the flesh of his arm and Mark stumbles into Eduardo's side as they move toward the hall.
Then they're in the bathroom and Eduardo is locking the door to the stall behind them. And Eduardo finally drops his smile, polite and insincere, completely. His fingers tangle in Mark's hair, pulling his head back as he kisses Mark hard and backs Mark up against the wall of the cubicle. Mark whimpers, and he hates it even as his hands grasp at Eduardo's hips. His back hits the wall and the stalls shake and Mark groans.
Eduardo's nails are digging into Mark's scalp and Mark's mouth falls open in a gasp; Eduardo kisses him the same way Mark expects Eduardo would fuck him. Hard and fast, with teeth and an edge of ferocity that makes Mark's knees go weak.
And also his heart; weak and stuttering, but he ignores it in favor of pulling Eduardo's shirt free from his slacks so he can run his hands over the expanse of Eduardo's back. Eduardo hums into the kiss and rocks forward so their hips grind together and Mark kisses Eduardo with as good as he can give, biting in retaliation when Eduardo's nails scrape his skin. Mark tries to pull Eduardo flush against him. The weight of Eduardo’s body, warm and solid, holding Mark against the wall makes Mark's heart ache in that stuttering off-beat way over and over again. He feels like a heart attack might kill him right here, and even though he doesn't think he would mind, at the same time there is something safe about Eduardo. He moves Mark's head to the right angle so his tongue is there and Mark's mouth is open wide and letting Eduardo in, letting him fuck into Mark's mouth and Mark doesn't know why, but he goes limp and lets Eduardo do it.
Mark digs his fingers into the skin of Eduardo's lower back to keep from falling over. He inhales harshly through his nose and then nearly chokes on air.
When Eduardo nips his way down Mark's neck, Mark is shaking and there is too much noise escaping his lips. He's sure that everyone in the main hall can hear them and that they know exactly what Eduardo is doing to Mark.
Eduardo slides his hands down to Mark's hips before he slides down to his knees. His fingers pull at the button on Mark's khakis and he bites at the bare skin of Mark's navel as soon as he has Mark's khakis and briefs down around his ankles. And Mark's hips stutter forward even as he drops his head back with a groan that is only half out of pain. Eduardo sucks his cock down like his goal is to make Mark come hard enough to hurt and when Mark's close, Eduardo slithers up Mark's body, jerking him off between them while he hisses in Mark's ear.
“I'm sick of you embarrassing me in public, Mark,” Eduardo says. He bites Mark's ear and Mark comes, shaking and biting his lower lip to keep from screaming. It was just a quickie in a bathroom, he tries to tell himself even as he leans into Eduardo and lets Eduardo lift his shirt and hoodie to wipe Mark's come off his hand and onto Mark's bare stomach.
“Do you have a room in the hotel?” Eduardo asks. His breath is hot on Mark's ear and his teeth brush Mark's skin. Mark has to hold onto Eduardo to keep from giving into his traitorously weak knees.
When he tells Eduardo that he's in a different hotel but that it's nearby, Mark tries to sound confident, detached even. He doubts he comes off that way.
They leave the party immediately with very little concern for how it looks to the rest of the guests. Eduardo ushers Mark into a taxi with his hand on the small of Mark's back. Mark feels crushed in the back seat, invisible and being drawn in and drowned by the seats as Eduardo speaks to the driver in a calm voice; even though his hand is on Mark's thigh with his thumb running patterns on the top of Mark's thigh. The driver doesn't seem to spare Mark a look, and when they get to the hotel, Eduardo pays and ushers them out. But they stop on the sidewalk.
“Go in, Mark,” Eduardo says, loitering. Mark almost expects him to have a packet of cigarettes to pull from the pocket of his coat. This situation that they're in feels dirty, but not seedy. And Mark has to take the elevator up to his room with his erection obvious to anyone that sees him because not even adjusting his pants or pulling his hoodie down does much good.
He strips to his briefs while he waits for Eduardo to show up at the door because if he's going to be presumptuous, this is the situation.
Eduardo knocks, and starts shedding clothing as soon as Mark gets the door open. He clutches Mark's face between alternating hands as he shakes off first his coat, then blazer, and finally his dress shirt to leave in a trail from the door to the bed as he presses his bare chest to Mark's. Mark feels thin, his heart beating out of his chest as he runs his hands down Eduardo's sides, and all the while Eduardo backs him up to the bed.
At the edge of the bed, Mark pivots them and pushes Eduardo down to the mattress. They are separate for seconds before Mark scrambles to straddle Eduardo and Eduardo surges upward, hands coming up to clutch at Mark's hair. He pulls at it and bares Mark's throat as he murmurs dark words that Mark can only imagine are threats, or at least complaints, as he rocks his hard cock against the flat plane of Eduardo's stomach.
Mark rakes at Eduardo's skin, wanting to leave scores of lines on Eduardo's skin with his nails, but he keeps them cut too short. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Eduardo's back and clings, trying to mold them together until the arch of his neck is perfect for Eduardo to bury his face in as he groans and shudders through his orgasm. Then he rolls them over, growling as he spreads Mark out beneath him; their underwear finally, belatedly, comes off and Mark is so hard and the underwear just gets kicked down to their ankles as Eduardo presses down on him. He nuzzles at Mark's collarbones, then nips and sucks bruises into Mark's skin. The feeling sends shudders down Mark's spine even as he arches up to rub against Eduardo. Mark wants to hang on and hold Eduardo to him so he can rut his way to release, but Eduardo has Mark's wrists in his hands and just the light pressure of Eduardo's fingers is holding Mark to the mattress, and keeps Mark from trying.
He doesn't think about it until Eduardo slithers his way up so his lips are nipping and kissing at Mark's ear and he is whispering, “Can you keep your hands to yourself?” that Mark considers it might be more than a courtesy. But there is headboard that Mark can grasp and Eduardo has a hand around his cock. He rocks into the circle of Eduardo's fingers and is so close to coming after such a short time that it's ridiculous. Mark's arms ache from hanging onto the headboard and Eduardo is so close to him without ever laying his chest flush to Mark's that it is a terrible tease. He just wants to digs his fingers into the skin at Eduardo's shoulder blades and arch up so he orgasms and shakes against Eduardo. Instead Mark comes with his lip bitten between his own teeth. And murmurs, “Fuck,” as he shudders against the sweat damp sheets beneath his back.
Eduardo lingers this time while Mark slowly pulls his arms down to his sides. He can feel Eduardo's eyes on him as he flexes his fingers to get some sensation of feeling back in them. There's Eduardo's fingers against his arm, brushing gently until Mark slowly succumbs to the loose and sleepy feeling brought on by his recent orgasm.
Mark is half-awake. His brain is making sleep impossible as it starts to question why he wanted Eduardo to have held him down harder.
While Mark drifts, Eduardo gets up and dresses.
Before he leaves Eduardo leans over the bed, his hands sliding to the back of Mark's neck and pulling him up so Eduardo can press a lingering kiss to Mark's forehead with his fingers tangling in Mark's curls. He murmurs something like “Go to sleep, Mark,” before he lets Mark lie back down.
-
Mark wakes up curled around his pillow and he feels bereft. It doesn't hit him suddenly, but more like an ache he can't help being struck by. He knows that Eduardo's side of the bed is empty and that Eduardo and his clothes are gone. Chances are high that over the course of the remaining two days of the conference Mark could get Eduardo to follow him back up to his room again, but an hour after he wakes up Mark has bought a ticket for the earliest flight out of Germany and back to the States.
His hands are shaking slightly as he stuffs his clothes back in the duffel bag he brought with him.
Mark stops at some point from stiltedly moving around his hotel room to stand naked beside the bed and he catches himself rubbing his fingers over his wrists. He notices the ache then, he doesn't know what this emptiness is, but he can't quite move to get dressed so he can go, and he also can't get back into bed. Somewhere in town Eduardo has eaten breakfast and is preparing to head back to the conferences. He'll network and he'll smile at the people he is talking to; genuinely smile and shake their hands while he attentively listens to what they have to say.
Mark clamps the fingers of his left hand tightly around his right wrist, clutching his arm across his chest.
Mark calls a car to come pick him up in an hour. He pays extra to make sure he's in first class and then turns off his phone.
He doesn't turn it back on once he's back in Palo Alto, so he doesn't get the forewarning of half-a-dozen drunken voice mails. Instead his taxi pulls into his drive way and while Mark is pulling his duffel along with him across the seats he looks out the window and sees Sean hunkered down by the door, an empty cardboard container and several empty beer bottles at his elbow. Mark would much rather climb into bed for a week straight with his laptop and a case of Red Bull to keep him company, but for whatever reason Sean keeps coming back and Mark keeps letting him so the week long coding binge he is refusing to acknowledge as a pity-party is set aside.
“Mark!” Sean calls from the porch, waving at Mark like it's normal to be sitting outside Mark's house completely wasted at mid-afternoon. The thing is, it is normal for Mark to come home to Sean doing his “royal” wave that he learned from the Princess Diaries movies, whether he'll admit it or not, and to let Sean follow him in.
It's not normal for Sean's eyebrows to scrunch up upon seeing Mark or for him to drape an arm over Mark's shoulder to usher him into the house faster. Or for Mark to end up sitting on his couch while a still very inebriated Sean stumbles around his kitchen, complaining about the lack of food in the house. Mark is getting suspicious about what he's missed while he was away; it was a three day trip and Mark was only gone for two, but Sean is being too nice.
Mark opens his mouth to ask what the hell Sean is up to and gets distracted by the pillows and blankets that he left on his couch. Before flying to Germany, Mark had spent a week sleeping on the couch while he worked from home to get everything arranged so he could leave for the conference without having his secretary calling him every five minutes about the paperwork he had put off.
Sean comes back with two beers from Mark's fridge and holds one out to Mark until Mark loosens his grip on the pillow he'd picked up and began clutching to his stomach.
“What did you do?” Mark asks, sinking low against the couch and wrapping his lips around the lip of the bottle. Sean grunts beside him, sinking even further on the couch so he can prop his feet on Mark's coffee table.
“Where's the remote for the TV?” Sean asks, already searing between the couch cushions and shoving the blanket toward Mark. Mark pulls it over his lap and over the pillow he has readjusted against his stomach. Mark doesn't realize what he is doing until Sean gives a drunken cheer and then turns to Mark to flaunt his success and his face - falls. Not the way Eduardo's or Dustin's would, but Mark has watched things blow up in Sean's face enough times to know what he looks like when his face falls.
“Dude,” Sean says and his voice is low and it sets Mark's nerves off. Mark tucks his chin in and clutches at his beer, glaring at the TV that is still turned off.
“Did something -?”
“Why are you here?” Mark growls. Sean turns to face him and it's been a really long time since Mark has seen Sean properly pissed off, but there it is. Sean is reaching over to set his beer on the coffee table as he turns to fully face Mark on the couch, and Mark is slowly sinking into his blanket cocoon. He kicks his feet out and waits for Sean to leave, or at least shuffle down to the guest bedroom at the back and slam the door dramatically.
Instead Sean says, “Fuck, we should make a blanket fort. Do you have more blankets in the linen closet?” and wanders off to check without waiting for an answer.
-
“So. That's the last blanket,” Sean says, crawling back into the fort he and Mark have constructed between the couch and the entertainment center. They'd pulled all of the blankets from Mark's closet, and there were a surprising amount of them in there, and had also stripped all of the blankets and sheets from the bedrooms. They have all the beer from Mark's fridge in the fort with them, and Mark is considerably more prepared for the way Sean starts prying about his sex life now that's he's inebriated.
“Was Saverin at the conference,” Sean drawls, popping the cap off of his next beer and drinking a third of it in one go. Then he takes a deep breath and sets it aside to roll onto his stomach. “You look like a sad and/or constipated puppy, cute animal thing.”
Sean hand waves, sort of, because halfway through the motion he gives up and drops his hand to the floor and then buries his face in the carpet. He mumbles something and Mark chuckles, more self-deprecating than he would like, but he has a full bottle of beer in his hand and he quickly tries to train it so he can move onto the next.
“Not that I want to know anything about your woodland creature type romantic whatever. Your sex life,” Sean slurs.
Mark splutters.
“Woodland creatures? Are you high?”
“A little,” Sean mumbles. He turns his head to squint at Mark. “I have some weed with me if you're interested.”
Then he stops and makes his own constipated face and says, “No, wait. The thing with the sex with Saverin first. What is going on there?”
“Who said it was Eduardo?”
Sean scoffs, burying his face in the carpet again.
“You only look like that,” Sean says, waving his hand in the direction of Mark's face. “When Saverin is involved. So spill. But no in depth descriptions of penises.”
Mark looks down at his own wrists and swallows hard. His mouth tastes disgusting, partly from the amount of alcohol, but also because he can't remember when he last brushed his teeth. He chugs the last of his beer and then rolls over to start searching Sean for the bag of weed Mark knows he has on him. Sean groans and half-heartedly tries to swat Mark's hands away, but it's not enough for Mark to keep from fishing the Ziploc bag with one untouched joint and a half smoked one from Sean's front pocket.
“Where's your lighter?”
“Don't set my fort on fire,” Sean grumbles, shifting around before finally passing it over.
“They're my blankets,” Mark retorts. Then he's fighting to keep the joint to himself while Sean sits up and makes grabby hands.
“So, you and Eduardo . . .” Sean starts to say later after he's wrangled back the joint from Mark's hand and stolen one of Mark's pillows for his own use. At his words and his tone, Mark groans and flops back onto his back.
“I'm not judging, dude. Just . . . processing.” There's a moment of silence and then Sean whistles and adds, “Way to go Saverin.”
And Mark punches Sean in the shoulder.
“Ow, fuck you, we aren't bros anymore,” Sean says even as he pulls the pillow out from under his head to slap across Mark's face. Mark splutters, trying to get the pillow free from Sean's clutches all while slapping at Sean's arms.
Mark is too high to tell you how this ends up with him on his stomach, face squished into the carpet while Sean settles sideways on his back on top of Mark. The pillow ends up between their asses for reasons that Mark decides to find insulting in the morning. Or at least tomorrow morning since the light of dawn has come and gone from the windows beside the front door.
“So?” Sean asks, and Mark can feel him inhaling from where his weight is smothering Mark. “Is this a I'm the stressed out baby-CEO of a generation defining company and blah blah blah thing? Or do you just like 'submitting' to Eduardo?”
Mark can hear the air quotes and he frowns at them. Inevitably though, after Sean starts slapping at his thigh to get him to answer, Mark has to admit that he doesn't know what the answer is. He doesn't even know if he likes Sean's terminology. He wants to argue it, say that just because he likes it when Eduardo marks him up and when he holds too tight - Mark licks his lips and swallows against a dry throat.
“Can you get off me?” Mark growls, bucking up because he can't breathe. His voice must sound as strangled to Sean's ears as it does to Mark's because Sean lets him up easily.
“There's nothing wrong with it -” Sean starts to say, and assurances just sound ridiculous coming from his lips.
“Don't,” Mark interrupts. He punches Sean jokingly in the shoulder as he sits up to take some of the bite out of his tone.
-
Going clubbing is Sean's idea and that should be enough to send Mark spinning round and heading for the front door. The club is too loud and Mark gets lost staring down at the sea of people from the VIP balcony. Sean disappeared ages ago with the promise of getting them drinks, but he'd winked at Mark so Mark thinks it was probably a set-up. Mark has his lips around the bottle of beer he managed to get a waitress to bring him and he's watching the bodies dancing on the floor below. It's not as nice a club as the one Sean took him to that first time in Palo Alto, but then again the last time they went there Sean had almost been involved in a brawl. Mark thinks that Sean has been banned, and he's probably been tangentially banned as well.
His thoughts about this break up when a man with slicked-back hair slides onto the stool across from Mark. The man is smiling at Mark and the lights make his face glow in unhealthy blues and greens.
“Hope this seat wasn't taken,” he says. Then he turns toward the waiter passing them and flags him down.
“Can I get two Becks,” the guy says after a quick glance at Mark's nearly empty beer bottle. Then he smiles at Mark and reaches his right hand across the table. “Jacob Li.”
“Mark.”
They shake hands and Mark watches with narrowed eyes as Jacob's skin goes a little pink. He fidgets and Mark watches as he slowly gets the once over. Then Jacob sets his hands on the table between them and stares out at the crowd.
“Nice night,” Jacob says. Mark just hums, tracing Jacob's jaw line from his ear with his eyes, and then up along the arc of his nose; he can see Jacob swallowing hard as the light highlights the bobbing of his Adam's apple and Mark waits, pretending his heart isn't speeding.
The waiter comes back with the drinks and Jacob takes both with a smile. When he turns back to Mark he stares for a second and finally gives out a self-deprecating chuckle that has his chin dipping to his chest.
“Sorry, I'm not very good at this,” Jacob says. And Mark doesn't expect it, but he cracks a smile. A small one. He's been told by Dustin that it isn't particularly attractive, though there must be something worthwhile about it because Jacob chuckles at the sight of it and grins at Mark as he passes the beer bottle to Mark.
“It's cool that I bought you a beer, right?” Jacob asks and when Mark rolls his eyes, and takes a swig from it Jacob ducks his head over his own beer and chuckles some more. Mark is starting to like the sound of the man's laugh and his hands which he had started wringing when Jacob first sat down have settled. Mark finds the lines of Jacob's features pleasant and he's not much taller than Mark, if he is at all. He could probably take Jacob if things got out of hand, but Mark wants things to go according to Sean's crazy schemes. So he sits, picking at the label on the glass of the bottle while Jacob tells him about being new to the city.
“It was only an interview, but it looks like I'll be moving to San Francisco,” Jacob says and Mark responds with, “Do you want to get out of here?”
There's a momentary pause that would be quiet if the bass beat from the dance floor wasn't pounding through out the room. Jacob sighs and looks relieved and smiling even more which Mark doesn't understand.
“Thank god you asked. I was running out of things to say.”
They go to Jacob's hotel which is an almost too familiar of a scenario for comfort, but Mark fights the urge to slouch and hide his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Jacob fiddles with his key-card in the door, and Mark suspects that maybe Jacob has never done this before. He's debating either just leaving now or giving up on Sean's plans (because they are dumb, and Mark doesn't know how he can be expected to ask for something he's not sure he wants) when Jacob gets the door open. Jacob turns around and stares at Mark for a moment, the blush dissipating as he flicks his gaze between Mark's eyes and his lips. They settle on Mark's lips, finally, and he asks, “Are you sure?”
When he's pulled Mark inside the room just to back him up against the wall beside the door, Jacob swallows hard and ask, “Is this okay?” as he slides his fingers up along the side of Mark's neck to cup Mark's cheek. Mark closes his eyes and whimpers, leaning into the touch and arching his hips against the thigh Jacob is sliding between his legs. Mark chews his lip to keep from panting and manages a nod amongst his bitten back groans as Jacob's fingers slide through his hair, sliding to the back of his skull and then curling there.
He tugs once at Mark's hair and makes a soft sound of his own when the motion elicits a moan from Mark's lips. The fingers of Jacob's other hand slide from the wall to around Mark's wrist.
“Do you normally take your sweet fucking time?” Mark asks, groaning the words out when he'd rather be growling them because Jacob is rocking his hips against Mark's and it's too little friction to do much for either of them.
“No, not usually. But you looked like you were looking for something more,” Jacob says, smiling and ducking his head to suck at Mark's collar bone. He tries to turn Mark around to the bed and something clenches in mark's chest. He scrambles at Jacob's clothing wanting to shove this man down on the bed and prove to himself that he can get off just as well when he's in control.
He must growl or something equally embarrassing as he helps Jacob pull his v-neck T off his body before Jacob topples backwards onto the bed because Jacob starts chuckling. His eyes are warm and approving as he watches Mark strip down to his boxers. He runs calloused fingers over Mark's side, and Mark wonders for a moment what occupation Jacob said he was interviewing for, but then Jacob's hand is running up and down his thigh in a soothing manner.
“What do you want,” Jacob asks with his chin tipped up and his teeth bared in a grin as his blown-pupils try to take all of Mark in, in the half-light because they hadn't thought to turn the lights on. And Mark thinks about what Sean had said about asking and taking what he wanted.
“I can blow you, I can ride you,” Jacob starts listing before Mark cuts him off with a groan and a, “Yes.” Jacob licks his lips and lifts a foot to run his heel over Mark's calf.
“Good.”
He rolls them over, kissing Mark hard as he wriggles out of his underwear and starts helping Mark out of his own. Mark stay at his side as Jacob kisses his way down Mark's navel.
“You can touch,” Jacob teases. He adds, “Unless you want …?”
“H-hold me down?” Mark asks in a whisper. He stares steadfastly at Jacob, daring him to laugh or to give him a pitying look. But that smirk just stays in tact while a look that Mark can't, that he won't interrupt crosses Jacob's eyes.
“It'll be hard to do from down here,” Jacob breaths, kissing Mark's hip. “But if you hang onto the headboard, like a good boy, until I'm done down here then I'll hold you down while I fuck myself on your cock.”
Mark shudders.
After Jacob, and after Sean drives him home from Jacob's hotel, the first thing Mark does when he gets home is take a shower, washing around the bite marks on his inner thighs and ignoring them until he's finished scrubbing his skin of sweat and semen and his hair is clean. Then Mark trails his fingers down, skirting around the edges of the bruises before pressing down hard on them. He hisses, and tries not to think about how much better it would have been if Eduardo's teeth had been the ones marking him up last night.
-
continued