fic: the people who pressed on
fic: the people who pressed on
pairing: mark/eduardo
notes: okay, nevermind, there will definitely be another part of this. oh yeah it's more whitehouse!AU. title is still from the victory speech.
So, Eduardo is in Greece, for a week at least, and Mark hates timing and his job and the universe. He’s curled on his side on his bed, one night at three AM, when his Blackberry buzzes.
hey mark-
in town for the weekend, wanted to drop a line. we should meet up and talk about the future. spago 9pm tonight would be great for me. let me know.
sean
Mark keeps opening the email the day, reading over it. He is curious and excited and he can’t tell Chris about it because Chris hates Sean Parker, has always hated Sean Parker, ever since they all worked on the campaign together. Sean’s- Sean’s a spin doctor, yeah, but since when is that a bad thing? He’s good at what he does. He runs campaigns and he doesn’t run them into the ground. He’s smart and clever and not- not tricky, exactly, but Mark appreciates how he thinks. Sean was the first person who ever sat Mark down and told him about how it worked, how it all worked. How it was a game, and you had to make sacrifices to get ahead, to get what you wanted.
Mark misses those days sometimes, fierce exhausting long days on the campaign trail, with Sean nudging him as they watch speeches, murmuring “you see how he changed his voice, there? dumbing himself down”, or “she doesn’t mention how she voted against the bill just last year, does she”. Mark would nod, bouncing on his feet, and Sean would clap him on the shoulder and wink.
Mark learned from him.
So he opens the email for the twentieth time and types-
i’ll see you at nine.
-mz
Sean is the same, all wide smile and carefully kept hair and obscenely expensive suit, and he hugs Mark, slapping his back.
“It has been too fucking long, Zuckerberg,” he says jovially, motioning for Mark to sit, and Mark nods, stomach fluttering a little.
“How have you been?” he asks, stiltedly, and Sean motions for a drink.
“Martini. Two,” he says to the waitress, and Mark swallows, sits on his hands, blinking rapidly.
“I have been fantastic, Mark. How about you?”
“Good. Uh, great.”
“Must be tense up there right now,” Sean says, biting into a piece of dark bread.
“We’re - we’re going alright-”
“Ah, don’t bullshit me, Mark. We never bullshitted each other. Everyone else, sure.” He winks.
Mark shrugs warily. “I mean, we’re working with a divided government. It is what it is.”
“And next year?”
“Next year?”
Sean grins around a bite of bread, and Mark looks down.
“You know what I’m talking about, Mark. We all know who’s running.”
“Well, I’ve been acquainted with Minority Leader Hoff for several years, and I think it’s going to be interesting to watch his trajectory.”
Sean nods, silent, staring at him. Mark looks up and then down again.
“Mark, I would absolutely love to speak to you about an exciting opportunity for next year. I’m sure you’re up on the latest about the campaign-”
“Well, I’ve been focusing on the current administration, Sean,” Mark says, a little testy.
“Of course you have. You’re quite personally attached to the team you’re working with, correct?”
Mark narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Sean takes a sip of his martini, glancing at Mark over the glass.
“You’re close to your team,” he says, voice blank.
“I’ve been working with them for four years.”
“Not all of them.”
“What’s your point, Sean?”
“I don’t have a point. Other than that you’re an asset to whoever you’re with. You’re smart, Mark. And I think you’d be an amazing fit for Senator Thompson’s campaign.”
Mark leans back.
“Sean-”
“Just a suggestion, Mark. An offer.”
“You know the President and the Senator don’t see eye to eye.”
“You’re not the President, Mark. You’re an independent person. Or so I thought.”
“Sean.”
“Just a suggestion.”
Mark nods slowly, taking a sip of his martini. It tastes expensive and bitter.
“Eduardo Saverin’s had a couple public conflicts with Senator Thompson,” Sean says casually.
“And?”
“Just an observation.”
“They weren’t conflicts.”
“Altercations outside the convention, Mark.”
“They don’t see eye to eye.”
“So, the President doesn’t, Saverin doesn’t. Which one do you work for, again?”
“I don’t know what you’re-”
“And then there’s Daddy Saverin.”
“Sean-”
“How much influence does he have in the White House? I mean, really, family’s more important than work, isn’t it? Such an interesting choice, the President’s made-”
“Don’t you fucking talk about Eduardo’s father.”
“Relax, Mark. Just making an observation.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Okay! Okay!” He holds his hands up in a peacemaking gesture, and Mark drains his martini, a little shaken at his own vehemence.
“You know I like to fuck with you, Mark,” Sean says, grinning, and Mark tries to drink the martini again, but it’s gone. Sean signals for another.
“Yeah, I know,” Mark says. He’d forgotten the other side of Sean, who smiled like a shark and fucked a different girl in each city.
“I respect you. I think you’re going to be wasted on the Minority Leader’s election. You know he’ll have trouble getting Iowa, no matter who’s endorsing him. And Iowa-”
“-is the most important state, I know,” Mark finishes, and Sean grins approvingly. Mark flushes. Sean can always do that, make him feel young and desperate for approval.
“You’re wanted, Mark.”
Mark gulps half of his second martini, fingers itching. Eduardo seems very far away. Sean is talking quickly, too quickly, fingers dancing in the air, and Mark is nostalgic and tipsy and Eduardo is so very far away.
His Blackberry buzzes, and he fumbles for it as Sean orders for them. It’s just a standard update from Chris, with meeting times and strategies and reminders, but he sees Eduardo’s name on the recipients list and he’s angry and confused and pretty damn sure he shouldn’t be there. And that’s just way too many fucking feelings, so he excuses himself and leaves Sean nonplussed and pissed at the table and gets a cab back to his apartment.
He texts Eduardo, lying on his back on his bed.
im sorry
He waits five minutes, and sends-
i miss you a lot
--
He wakes up slightly hungover and pretty fucking proud of himself for leaving when he did.
Of course, it doesn’t matter, because the homepage of huffingtonpost.com has a picture of him and Sean. Sean’s leaning towards him across the table, gesturing wildly, and Mark is smiling slightly. The entire article is about the election next year, about what they’d been talking about, speculation and gossip and rumors and is sean parker trying to recruit mark zuckerberg to an outside campaign, making him leave the administration he’s worked with for five years?
Mark groans and gulps half of his coffee, nearly burning the roof of his mouth off.
MY OFFICE 1/2 HOUR, he gets from Chris about ten minutes after the article’s published.
He sidles into Chris’ office guiltily, with a persistent headache.
“Mark, what the fuck?” Chris says as greeting, and Mark sits down at the desk, sullen like a child.
“You had dinner with Sean Parker?”
“Yeah, so what?” Mark asks hotly, not mentioning that he left before dinner. He doesn’t want to give Chris the satisfaction.
Chris shoots him a look. “Mark.”
“He had some opportunities for me.”
“Oh, don’t be coy. We all know who he’s working for. Mark, you hate Senator Thompson. Think he’s an excuse for a liberal because he’s obsessed with the Second Amendment.”
Mark shrugs. “A job’s a job. And I haven’t heard anything from the Minority Leader about next year.”
Chris sighs frustratedly. “Oh God, Mark. You know he can’t start putting out feelers when you’re working in this fucking administration. He doesn’t do that. Sean, on the other hand...”
“Maybe it’s a good offer.”
Chris stares at him, hurt. “A job’s a job?” he repeats. “It’s not like that, with you. Or so I thought. Come on, Mark, stop being like this. You know Hoff will recruit you. You’re the best in the business. Don’t act like a kid.”
“Sean actually values my input,” Mark says defensively, and Chris leans back in his chair, sighing.
“Sean wants to break up this administration, this team. He wants to divide and conquer. Mark, do you want Senator Thompson to be the President of the United States?”
Mark can’t look at him.
“I want a Democrat to be the President of the United States,” he mutters.
“So, you’d be fine with it. No more gun control. Stacking the bench against Roe v. Wade to try and overturn it.”
“Chris, he never said he’d do that-”
“Oh god, Mark. Listen to yourself. This is what you believe in. I thought that meant something to you.”
Mark looks up, stomach churning. Chris is looking straight at him very seriously.
“I have to go and work,” he says quietly, flatly. Chris sighs.
“Just remember why you’re here, Mark. You’re the best, but you also care the most.”
He doesn’t respond to Sean’s emailed inquiry of hey you left abruptly last night, we should meet again and talk this out.
He opens it thirty-some times, stares at it, biting his lip.
People ask Mark if he’s an idealist, or an optimist, or a fucking positive person or whatever. They usually ask sarcastically, because he seems cynical about 80% of the time. He knows he does. It’s okay.
When he got recruited from Harvard, the Internet whiz kid, he was so fucking excited. He had never been that excited. He wanted to use what he had, what he could do, to change the way people thought about the world. To change the world.
Sean had taught him, how politics really worked.
He had forgotten a lot about Sean, about how he operated. How Mark had caught him snorting coke off an intern in Lousiana. How he’d seen Sean laughing, watching the President go through a speech in Wisconsin, and Sean had muttered to him, “Fucking hick idiots. Look at them eat it up.” Mark had felt guiltily amused, superior in a heady way, but sick with it at the same time. Sean was intoxicating, but dangerous. And Mark had forgotten how dangerous he could be.
Time goes by and Eduardo doesn’t call or text and Mark doesn’t respond to Sean’s email and he feels sick, queasy, torn between two unknown poles. He sees Eduardo on the news, shaking hands with the Prime Minister or in the background of a press conference, and he chews his hoodie strings to shreds.
--
He emails Chris, three days later, sheepishly, too scared to actually talk to him.
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
do you think eduardo heard about it?
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
have you not talked to him?
---
Mark stares at the email, not sure whether or not to lie.
In the end, self-preservation helps for once.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
no. we haven’t.
----
He can practically hear Chris worrying. Mark feels a little dickish for putting it on him, but simultaneously better because Chris is really good at fixing things.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
call him tonight. don’t get defensive. explain what you’re feeling. and apologize!
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
okay. thanks.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
i am such a normal and nice person and yet all i do is give relationship advice to workaholic emotionally-stunted crazy people. where is my boyfriend.
---
Mark snorts. He knows it’s Chris’ weird way of apologizing, of offering a truce.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
i’m the workaholic? you sleep here 70% of the time. and i still think you need to give dustin a chance.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
shut up.
---
Mark grins, spinning around in his desk chair.
“You’d date Chris, wouldn’t you?” he calls, and Dustin peeks over the cubicle.
“If he’d have me!” he says, clasping his hands and sighing like a damsel in distress.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
just checked with him. it’s a yes. and think of the convenience!
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
i hate you.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
call him. if i can’t manage a relationship i can at least save yours.
---
Later that night, before Mark has the chance or courage to call Eduardo, his phone buzzes.
i know we need to talk and i want to. i’m really busy here mark and i can’t devote the energy you deserve right now. please don’t give up on me.
Mark surprises himself by drawing in a shaky breath, half a sob.
How can Eduardo think that he’ll ever-
He throws the phone on his nightstand and falls into an uneasy sleep.
---
Eduardo ends up having to stay in Greece for a week and a half. He flies straight to Miami from Greece, to see his family for a day, and Mark barely hears from him after that late-night inscrutable text, until Saturday night he gets- can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow? flight in at 11pm.
He’s waiting at the terminal, because he searched the flight online and tracked it and Eduardo doesn’t look surprised when he comes out of the jetway and sees Mark.
He doesn’t look anything, except really fucking drunk.
He’s stumbling under the weight of his backpack and his briefcase, face flushed, and Mark has to half-catch him when he nearly falls.
“Hey,” Mark says cautiously, helping him stand back up, and Eduardo looks at him directly, lips wet, eyes wide.
“Hi, Mark,” he slurs, and Mark is confused.
“You drunk, Wardo?”
“I had a drink,” Eduardo says, swaying a little. “I had a drinks at the airport. And then in first class it’s free. It’s so free. Like they will bring you whatever you want. For freedom.”
“Jesus,” Mark says, and Eduardo grabs for his bag, completely misses.
“I got it, Wardo.”
“I can do it myself,” Eduardo says hotly, trying to grab it again, and Mark hooks an arm in his, walks with him.
“Let’s just get back to your apartment, okay?”
“I don’t need you to help me, Mark,” Eduardo keeps saying, leaning heavily on him, and Mark is torn between thinking it’s hilarious and sad. He can assume, he thinks, from Eduardo’s level of inebriation, that Miami did not go well.
“How’s your family?” Mark asks, and Eduardo scrunches his face up in distaste, shakes his head.
“I don’t- don’t wanna talk about that, right now. Or ever. Never never never.”
Mark helps Eduardo get his checked luggage, and helps Eduardo into the car, and Eduardo fumbles with his seatbelt until Mark reaches over and does it for him.
Eduardo puts his face into the hollow of Mark’s neck, and Mark shivers, pulls away. Eduardo’s got his eyes closed, mouth open.
“I’m still mad at you,” he says suddenly, eyes still closed. His voice is loose and sleepy.
“I know, and- and I’m so fucking sorry, Wardo.”
“It was so stupid.”
“I know.”
“I heard about your little- about Sean.”
Mark swallows nervously.
“You going to leave us, Mark?” Eduardo’s head is lolling to the side and his eyes are now open and dark and Mark’s head hurts because he can never leave Eduardo. Which sucks to realize, because Mark has no choice, and he hates having no choice.
“No,” he says roughly, turning back to the road, and Eduardo’s hand comes out, catches his sleeve.
“You fucking him?” he asks, low in his throat.
“What? Jesus Christ, Eduardo, no. No!”
Eduardo leans back in his seat, nodding.
“Why would I- Wardo, I don’t want to fuck anyone except for you ever again,” Mark says, and realizes it’s true, and it’s scary, and he sort of hopes Eduardo’s too drunk to realize that Mark basically just said he wants Eduardo for the rest of his life. Eduardo is breathing slowly, evenly, and Mark just squeezes his hands on the wheel and pulls up to Eduardo’s apartment.
“Do you want me to come in?” Mark asks, setting Eduardo’s bags down at the corner. Eduardo is swaying slightly, scratching his ear.
“Wardo? Wardo.”
Eduardo looks up, and grabs Mark by the neck and kisses him sloppily and wet. He tastes like vodka and cranberry, bitter and fruity, and Mark is about to curl a hand around the back of his neck when Eduardo pulls away, breathing hard.
“Not- not right now,” he says, over-enunciating. “I- fuck, Mark, I’m so drunk.”
“Okay,” Mark says, running his hand over Eduardo’s cheek, his neck, his collarbone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eduardo says with drunken finality, squeezing Mark’s shoulders, and goes inside. Mark drives home, to his empty one-room bare apartment, and lets himself be quietly happy. He needs this to work.
---
The first thing he does the next morning is email Sean.
Hi Sean-
I’m going to have to decline your offer of employment for the next year. While I appreciate the sentiment, I am attached to this administration and its wishes for the next election, and I respect my colleagues too much to leave them in that manner. Thank you, and of course, good luck.
Mark Zuckerberg
He hits Send and grins cautiously. This is going to work.
Except when Eduardo comes into work, an hour late, he shuts himself in his office and doesn’t emerge until 10pm. Mark bites the eraser off three separate pencils, gnawing until Dustin pops his head over the top of his cubicle and tells him to shut the hell up.
He finally works up the courage to go in at 10, knocks gently on the door and Eduardo sighs before he answers like he knows it’s Mark.
“Hi,” he says, and Eduardo looks up wearily at him. His eyes are practically half-closed.
“Hey, Mark,” he says, voice blurred with exhaustion.
“You- you should sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” Eduardo says, movements sluggish as he reaches for his laptop. “I took pills, so I wouldn’t get jetlag. They’re supposed to work.”
“That shit never works,” Mark says, and Eduardo looks at him angrily, eyes sharp. Mark didn’t mean to make him angry. They always talk shit to each other. That’s just them.
Except is there a them?
Mark needs there to be a them.
Eduardo looks so tired.
“Can I take you home?” Mark asks, and Eduardo looks mad at himself as he nods.
Except of course Mark didn’t drive that day, his car is getting the oil changed, or something like that. He calls them a cab.
Eduardo sleeps in the cab, mouth slack, premature lines around his eyes. Mark leans his head back against the seat and watches him.
“A left here, right?” the cabbie asks, and Eduardo jerks awake.
“Yeah,” Mark says, unreasonably angry with the guy for waking Eduardo up. Eduardo looks at him, eyes soft, and licks at his own lips. Mark exhales hard and leans back against the seat again.
“Come up with me,” Eduardo says, and Mark nods, stomach twisting in vague anticipation.
“I want to talk about it,” Eduardo explains, throwing his briefcase onto the table. “We need to talk about it. About what this is.”
Mark nods again, helping Eduardo take off his suit jacket.
“I really want to. But right now I just want you to get into bed with me,” Eduardo says, and Mark’s hands pause on his shoulders.
“Can you-”
“Yeah.”
Eduardo lies down and beckons to Mark and Mark crawls onto the bed on his knees. Eduardo grabs at him, pulling him down by the edges of his hoodie, and Mark curls a leg around Eduardo’s hip, nuzzles his face into Eduardo’s warm cologne-scented chest. Eduardo clings to him, a hand up the back of his shirt, the other laced with Mark’s in the hollow between their bodies. Eduardo nudges a thigh between Mark's legs, toes rubbing his shin.
“Just needed this,” he murmurs, near-incoherently, and Mark closes his eyes, burrows further into him.
Eduardo’s asleep within minutes, and Mark pulls back a little, watches him. Eduardo is clutching at him, eyes delicately closed. Mark watches him without blinking for a good half minute, and kisses the edge of his mouth carefully before pressing his face to Eduardo’s neck again and falling into a content sleep.
----
He wakes up alone in Eduardo's bed, and when he walks out into Eduardo's kitchen, scratching idly at his scalp, hoodie riding up, Eduardo is sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, looking nervous and sharp-edged and tense.
"Morning," Mark says cautiously, and he sits down at the table. Eduardo pushes a mug towards him, and Mark takes it.
"We need to talk," Eduardo announces, in a tight voice.
"Can I start?" Mark says abruptly, nearly surprising himself. Eduardo looks taken aback, but he nods.
"Eduardo." He hesitates, starts to talk, then stops again. Sticks a hoodie string in his mouth, and looks down at the table and says, "Wardo, I'm really sorry about what I did. I didn't think about it. I was just- I was so angry. And he- Wardo, I hate him so much-"
Eduardo makes a little pained sound in his throat, and takes a sip of coffee to cover it up.
"I mean, I just- it was stupid of me to meddle."
Eduardo nods, and Mark adds- "Because, Wardo, I'm pretty much really in love with you. And I acted like an asshole. So I'm sorry."
He swallows nervously, picks up the coffee mug and puts it down again, then just clasps his hands in his lap.
Eduardo is staring at him.
"Mark," he says, voice rough, and coughs to clear his throat. "I- I shouldn't have gotten so angry, I -"
"No, Wardo, you had every right-"
"You don't deserve that. You- you're a good person and I don't want to heap my family shit or my issues on you, because-"
"Wardo! Listen!"
Eduardo stops, shaken.
"I want- that. I want your issues. Or whatever. I just- Wardo, I just want you. All the time."
Eduardo is going pink, high on his cheekbones, his eyes wide. Mark shifts uncomfortably in the chair.
"I am so bad at this," he says softly, laughing at himself, and Mark doesn't realize why Eduardo can't see that he is the normal one and Mark is the one who is pathetic and who has never been able to have a normal relationship.
"I'm not really a great example either," Mark says, but Eduardo is standing up and he's standing up and they meet in the middle, and Eduardo puts a hand on the kitchen table to brace himself and wraps the other around Mark's head and brings his face up to his.
Mark kisses him until he can't breathe and then inhales, wraps both arms around Eduardo's neck and it feels so good to fall into him again. It was two weeks without this, without Eduardo's tongue, in his mouth and hand on his back and his scent, everywhere, coffee and familiar cologne, overwhelming. He lowers one hand to Eduardo's lower back, then his ass, squeezes hard. They're both panting, making wet deep little sounds and Mark can't go one more fucking second without blowing him so he pushes him against the kitchen counter, and Eduardo hops up on his own and draws Mark's head up again, into another kiss.
"Work in ten minutes," he murmurs, and Mark kisses his chest through the shirt, hands working at Eduardo's pants. Eduardo sucks in a breath when Mark goes at him hungrily, licking the head, rubbing his nose against it, breathing deep.
"Missed this," he says low and rumbly against the side of Eduardo's cock, and Eduardo makes a sound like a sob when Mark takes him in.
"God, Mark," he says loudly, wildly, fingers clenching at the countertop, legs spread carelessly. "Fucking - yes, yes-"
Mark laughs a little, mouth vibrating around Eduardo's cock, because it seems like Eduardo missed it too.
---
They come in late, together, and Dustin points at the bruise Eduardo had sucked onto Mark's neck not half an hour before and laughs.
Mark just flicks him off, grinning satisfied and warm and content in a way he hasn't felt in two weeks, and sits down.
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
well?
----
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
i can feel your smugness through the wall. yes. it's all fixed, you helped, thank you, etc etc.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
oh what's that? thank you? couldn't hear you as i am too busy starting my own dating service. i am a genius.
---
fr: dustin_moskovitz@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
MARK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR NECK RU OKAY? WANT ME TO CALL THE DOCTR? RU A VAMPIRE NOW?
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to: dustin_moskovitz@whitehouse.gov
shut the fuck up, dustin.
pairing: mark/eduardo
notes: okay, nevermind, there will definitely be another part of this. oh yeah it's more whitehouse!AU. title is still from the victory speech.
So, Eduardo is in Greece, for a week at least, and Mark hates timing and his job and the universe. He’s curled on his side on his bed, one night at three AM, when his Blackberry buzzes.
hey mark-
in town for the weekend, wanted to drop a line. we should meet up and talk about the future. spago 9pm tonight would be great for me. let me know.
sean
Mark keeps opening the email the day, reading over it. He is curious and excited and he can’t tell Chris about it because Chris hates Sean Parker, has always hated Sean Parker, ever since they all worked on the campaign together. Sean’s- Sean’s a spin doctor, yeah, but since when is that a bad thing? He’s good at what he does. He runs campaigns and he doesn’t run them into the ground. He’s smart and clever and not- not tricky, exactly, but Mark appreciates how he thinks. Sean was the first person who ever sat Mark down and told him about how it worked, how it all worked. How it was a game, and you had to make sacrifices to get ahead, to get what you wanted.
Mark misses those days sometimes, fierce exhausting long days on the campaign trail, with Sean nudging him as they watch speeches, murmuring “you see how he changed his voice, there? dumbing himself down”, or “she doesn’t mention how she voted against the bill just last year, does she”. Mark would nod, bouncing on his feet, and Sean would clap him on the shoulder and wink.
Mark learned from him.
So he opens the email for the twentieth time and types-
i’ll see you at nine.
-mz
Sean is the same, all wide smile and carefully kept hair and obscenely expensive suit, and he hugs Mark, slapping his back.
“It has been too fucking long, Zuckerberg,” he says jovially, motioning for Mark to sit, and Mark nods, stomach fluttering a little.
“How have you been?” he asks, stiltedly, and Sean motions for a drink.
“Martini. Two,” he says to the waitress, and Mark swallows, sits on his hands, blinking rapidly.
“I have been fantastic, Mark. How about you?”
“Good. Uh, great.”
“Must be tense up there right now,” Sean says, biting into a piece of dark bread.
“We’re - we’re going alright-”
“Ah, don’t bullshit me, Mark. We never bullshitted each other. Everyone else, sure.” He winks.
Mark shrugs warily. “I mean, we’re working with a divided government. It is what it is.”
“And next year?”
“Next year?”
Sean grins around a bite of bread, and Mark looks down.
“You know what I’m talking about, Mark. We all know who’s running.”
“Well, I’ve been acquainted with Minority Leader Hoff for several years, and I think it’s going to be interesting to watch his trajectory.”
Sean nods, silent, staring at him. Mark looks up and then down again.
“Mark, I would absolutely love to speak to you about an exciting opportunity for next year. I’m sure you’re up on the latest about the campaign-”
“Well, I’ve been focusing on the current administration, Sean,” Mark says, a little testy.
“Of course you have. You’re quite personally attached to the team you’re working with, correct?”
Mark narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Sean takes a sip of his martini, glancing at Mark over the glass.
“You’re close to your team,” he says, voice blank.
“I’ve been working with them for four years.”
“Not all of them.”
“What’s your point, Sean?”
“I don’t have a point. Other than that you’re an asset to whoever you’re with. You’re smart, Mark. And I think you’d be an amazing fit for Senator Thompson’s campaign.”
Mark leans back.
“Sean-”
“Just a suggestion, Mark. An offer.”
“You know the President and the Senator don’t see eye to eye.”
“You’re not the President, Mark. You’re an independent person. Or so I thought.”
“Sean.”
“Just a suggestion.”
Mark nods slowly, taking a sip of his martini. It tastes expensive and bitter.
“Eduardo Saverin’s had a couple public conflicts with Senator Thompson,” Sean says casually.
“And?”
“Just an observation.”
“They weren’t conflicts.”
“Altercations outside the convention, Mark.”
“They don’t see eye to eye.”
“So, the President doesn’t, Saverin doesn’t. Which one do you work for, again?”
“I don’t know what you’re-”
“And then there’s Daddy Saverin.”
“Sean-”
“How much influence does he have in the White House? I mean, really, family’s more important than work, isn’t it? Such an interesting choice, the President’s made-”
“Don’t you fucking talk about Eduardo’s father.”
“Relax, Mark. Just making an observation.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Okay! Okay!” He holds his hands up in a peacemaking gesture, and Mark drains his martini, a little shaken at his own vehemence.
“You know I like to fuck with you, Mark,” Sean says, grinning, and Mark tries to drink the martini again, but it’s gone. Sean signals for another.
“Yeah, I know,” Mark says. He’d forgotten the other side of Sean, who smiled like a shark and fucked a different girl in each city.
“I respect you. I think you’re going to be wasted on the Minority Leader’s election. You know he’ll have trouble getting Iowa, no matter who’s endorsing him. And Iowa-”
“-is the most important state, I know,” Mark finishes, and Sean grins approvingly. Mark flushes. Sean can always do that, make him feel young and desperate for approval.
“You’re wanted, Mark.”
Mark gulps half of his second martini, fingers itching. Eduardo seems very far away. Sean is talking quickly, too quickly, fingers dancing in the air, and Mark is nostalgic and tipsy and Eduardo is so very far away.
His Blackberry buzzes, and he fumbles for it as Sean orders for them. It’s just a standard update from Chris, with meeting times and strategies and reminders, but he sees Eduardo’s name on the recipients list and he’s angry and confused and pretty damn sure he shouldn’t be there. And that’s just way too many fucking feelings, so he excuses himself and leaves Sean nonplussed and pissed at the table and gets a cab back to his apartment.
He texts Eduardo, lying on his back on his bed.
im sorry
He waits five minutes, and sends-
i miss you a lot
--
He wakes up slightly hungover and pretty fucking proud of himself for leaving when he did.
Of course, it doesn’t matter, because the homepage of huffingtonpost.com has a picture of him and Sean. Sean’s leaning towards him across the table, gesturing wildly, and Mark is smiling slightly. The entire article is about the election next year, about what they’d been talking about, speculation and gossip and rumors and is sean parker trying to recruit mark zuckerberg to an outside campaign, making him leave the administration he’s worked with for five years?
Mark groans and gulps half of his coffee, nearly burning the roof of his mouth off.
MY OFFICE 1/2 HOUR, he gets from Chris about ten minutes after the article’s published.
He sidles into Chris’ office guiltily, with a persistent headache.
“Mark, what the fuck?” Chris says as greeting, and Mark sits down at the desk, sullen like a child.
“You had dinner with Sean Parker?”
“Yeah, so what?” Mark asks hotly, not mentioning that he left before dinner. He doesn’t want to give Chris the satisfaction.
Chris shoots him a look. “Mark.”
“He had some opportunities for me.”
“Oh, don’t be coy. We all know who he’s working for. Mark, you hate Senator Thompson. Think he’s an excuse for a liberal because he’s obsessed with the Second Amendment.”
Mark shrugs. “A job’s a job. And I haven’t heard anything from the Minority Leader about next year.”
Chris sighs frustratedly. “Oh God, Mark. You know he can’t start putting out feelers when you’re working in this fucking administration. He doesn’t do that. Sean, on the other hand...”
“Maybe it’s a good offer.”
Chris stares at him, hurt. “A job’s a job?” he repeats. “It’s not like that, with you. Or so I thought. Come on, Mark, stop being like this. You know Hoff will recruit you. You’re the best in the business. Don’t act like a kid.”
“Sean actually values my input,” Mark says defensively, and Chris leans back in his chair, sighing.
“Sean wants to break up this administration, this team. He wants to divide and conquer. Mark, do you want Senator Thompson to be the President of the United States?”
Mark can’t look at him.
“I want a Democrat to be the President of the United States,” he mutters.
“So, you’d be fine with it. No more gun control. Stacking the bench against Roe v. Wade to try and overturn it.”
“Chris, he never said he’d do that-”
“Oh god, Mark. Listen to yourself. This is what you believe in. I thought that meant something to you.”
Mark looks up, stomach churning. Chris is looking straight at him very seriously.
“I have to go and work,” he says quietly, flatly. Chris sighs.
“Just remember why you’re here, Mark. You’re the best, but you also care the most.”
He doesn’t respond to Sean’s emailed inquiry of hey you left abruptly last night, we should meet again and talk this out.
He opens it thirty-some times, stares at it, biting his lip.
People ask Mark if he’s an idealist, or an optimist, or a fucking positive person or whatever. They usually ask sarcastically, because he seems cynical about 80% of the time. He knows he does. It’s okay.
When he got recruited from Harvard, the Internet whiz kid, he was so fucking excited. He had never been that excited. He wanted to use what he had, what he could do, to change the way people thought about the world. To change the world.
Sean had taught him, how politics really worked.
He had forgotten a lot about Sean, about how he operated. How Mark had caught him snorting coke off an intern in Lousiana. How he’d seen Sean laughing, watching the President go through a speech in Wisconsin, and Sean had muttered to him, “Fucking hick idiots. Look at them eat it up.” Mark had felt guiltily amused, superior in a heady way, but sick with it at the same time. Sean was intoxicating, but dangerous. And Mark had forgotten how dangerous he could be.
Time goes by and Eduardo doesn’t call or text and Mark doesn’t respond to Sean’s email and he feels sick, queasy, torn between two unknown poles. He sees Eduardo on the news, shaking hands with the Prime Minister or in the background of a press conference, and he chews his hoodie strings to shreds.
--
He emails Chris, three days later, sheepishly, too scared to actually talk to him.
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
do you think eduardo heard about it?
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
have you not talked to him?
---
Mark stares at the email, not sure whether or not to lie.
In the end, self-preservation helps for once.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
no. we haven’t.
----
He can practically hear Chris worrying. Mark feels a little dickish for putting it on him, but simultaneously better because Chris is really good at fixing things.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
call him tonight. don’t get defensive. explain what you’re feeling. and apologize!
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
okay. thanks.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
i am such a normal and nice person and yet all i do is give relationship advice to workaholic emotionally-stunted crazy people. where is my boyfriend.
---
Mark snorts. He knows it’s Chris’ weird way of apologizing, of offering a truce.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
i’m the workaholic? you sleep here 70% of the time. and i still think you need to give dustin a chance.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
shut up.
---
Mark grins, spinning around in his desk chair.
“You’d date Chris, wouldn’t you?” he calls, and Dustin peeks over the cubicle.
“If he’d have me!” he says, clasping his hands and sighing like a damsel in distress.
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to:chris_hughes@whitehouse.go
just checked with him. it’s a yes. and think of the convenience!
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
i hate you.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.go
call him. if i can’t manage a relationship i can at least save yours.
---
Later that night, before Mark has the chance or courage to call Eduardo, his phone buzzes.
i know we need to talk and i want to. i’m really busy here mark and i can’t devote the energy you deserve right now. please don’t give up on me.
Mark surprises himself by drawing in a shaky breath, half a sob.
How can Eduardo think that he’ll ever-
He throws the phone on his nightstand and falls into an uneasy sleep.
---
Eduardo ends up having to stay in Greece for a week and a half. He flies straight to Miami from Greece, to see his family for a day, and Mark barely hears from him after that late-night inscrutable text, until Saturday night he gets- can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow? flight in at 11pm.
He’s waiting at the terminal, because he searched the flight online and tracked it and Eduardo doesn’t look surprised when he comes out of the jetway and sees Mark.
He doesn’t look anything, except really fucking drunk.
He’s stumbling under the weight of his backpack and his briefcase, face flushed, and Mark has to half-catch him when he nearly falls.
“Hey,” Mark says cautiously, helping him stand back up, and Eduardo looks at him directly, lips wet, eyes wide.
“Hi, Mark,” he slurs, and Mark is confused.
“You drunk, Wardo?”
“I had a drink,” Eduardo says, swaying a little. “I had a drinks at the airport. And then in first class it’s free. It’s so free. Like they will bring you whatever you want. For freedom.”
“Jesus,” Mark says, and Eduardo grabs for his bag, completely misses.
“I got it, Wardo.”
“I can do it myself,” Eduardo says hotly, trying to grab it again, and Mark hooks an arm in his, walks with him.
“Let’s just get back to your apartment, okay?”
“I don’t need you to help me, Mark,” Eduardo keeps saying, leaning heavily on him, and Mark is torn between thinking it’s hilarious and sad. He can assume, he thinks, from Eduardo’s level of inebriation, that Miami did not go well.
“How’s your family?” Mark asks, and Eduardo scrunches his face up in distaste, shakes his head.
“I don’t- don’t wanna talk about that, right now. Or ever. Never never never.”
Mark helps Eduardo get his checked luggage, and helps Eduardo into the car, and Eduardo fumbles with his seatbelt until Mark reaches over and does it for him.
Eduardo puts his face into the hollow of Mark’s neck, and Mark shivers, pulls away. Eduardo’s got his eyes closed, mouth open.
“I’m still mad at you,” he says suddenly, eyes still closed. His voice is loose and sleepy.
“I know, and- and I’m so fucking sorry, Wardo.”
“It was so stupid.”
“I know.”
“I heard about your little- about Sean.”
Mark swallows nervously.
“You going to leave us, Mark?” Eduardo’s head is lolling to the side and his eyes are now open and dark and Mark’s head hurts because he can never leave Eduardo. Which sucks to realize, because Mark has no choice, and he hates having no choice.
“No,” he says roughly, turning back to the road, and Eduardo’s hand comes out, catches his sleeve.
“You fucking him?” he asks, low in his throat.
“What? Jesus Christ, Eduardo, no. No!”
Eduardo leans back in his seat, nodding.
“Why would I- Wardo, I don’t want to fuck anyone except for you ever again,” Mark says, and realizes it’s true, and it’s scary, and he sort of hopes Eduardo’s too drunk to realize that Mark basically just said he wants Eduardo for the rest of his life. Eduardo is breathing slowly, evenly, and Mark just squeezes his hands on the wheel and pulls up to Eduardo’s apartment.
“Do you want me to come in?” Mark asks, setting Eduardo’s bags down at the corner. Eduardo is swaying slightly, scratching his ear.
“Wardo? Wardo.”
Eduardo looks up, and grabs Mark by the neck and kisses him sloppily and wet. He tastes like vodka and cranberry, bitter and fruity, and Mark is about to curl a hand around the back of his neck when Eduardo pulls away, breathing hard.
“Not- not right now,” he says, over-enunciating. “I- fuck, Mark, I’m so drunk.”
“Okay,” Mark says, running his hand over Eduardo’s cheek, his neck, his collarbone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eduardo says with drunken finality, squeezing Mark’s shoulders, and goes inside. Mark drives home, to his empty one-room bare apartment, and lets himself be quietly happy. He needs this to work.
---
The first thing he does the next morning is email Sean.
Hi Sean-
I’m going to have to decline your offer of employment for the next year. While I appreciate the sentiment, I am attached to this administration and its wishes for the next election, and I respect my colleagues too much to leave them in that manner. Thank you, and of course, good luck.
Mark Zuckerberg
He hits Send and grins cautiously. This is going to work.
Except when Eduardo comes into work, an hour late, he shuts himself in his office and doesn’t emerge until 10pm. Mark bites the eraser off three separate pencils, gnawing until Dustin pops his head over the top of his cubicle and tells him to shut the hell up.
He finally works up the courage to go in at 10, knocks gently on the door and Eduardo sighs before he answers like he knows it’s Mark.
“Hi,” he says, and Eduardo looks up wearily at him. His eyes are practically half-closed.
“Hey, Mark,” he says, voice blurred with exhaustion.
“You- you should sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” Eduardo says, movements sluggish as he reaches for his laptop. “I took pills, so I wouldn’t get jetlag. They’re supposed to work.”
“That shit never works,” Mark says, and Eduardo looks at him angrily, eyes sharp. Mark didn’t mean to make him angry. They always talk shit to each other. That’s just them.
Except is there a them?
Mark needs there to be a them.
Eduardo looks so tired.
“Can I take you home?” Mark asks, and Eduardo looks mad at himself as he nods.
Except of course Mark didn’t drive that day, his car is getting the oil changed, or something like that. He calls them a cab.
Eduardo sleeps in the cab, mouth slack, premature lines around his eyes. Mark leans his head back against the seat and watches him.
“A left here, right?” the cabbie asks, and Eduardo jerks awake.
“Yeah,” Mark says, unreasonably angry with the guy for waking Eduardo up. Eduardo looks at him, eyes soft, and licks at his own lips. Mark exhales hard and leans back against the seat again.
“Come up with me,” Eduardo says, and Mark nods, stomach twisting in vague anticipation.
“I want to talk about it,” Eduardo explains, throwing his briefcase onto the table. “We need to talk about it. About what this is.”
Mark nods again, helping Eduardo take off his suit jacket.
“I really want to. But right now I just want you to get into bed with me,” Eduardo says, and Mark’s hands pause on his shoulders.
“Can you-”
“Yeah.”
Eduardo lies down and beckons to Mark and Mark crawls onto the bed on his knees. Eduardo grabs at him, pulling him down by the edges of his hoodie, and Mark curls a leg around Eduardo’s hip, nuzzles his face into Eduardo’s warm cologne-scented chest. Eduardo clings to him, a hand up the back of his shirt, the other laced with Mark’s in the hollow between their bodies. Eduardo nudges a thigh between Mark's legs, toes rubbing his shin.
“Just needed this,” he murmurs, near-incoherently, and Mark closes his eyes, burrows further into him.
Eduardo’s asleep within minutes, and Mark pulls back a little, watches him. Eduardo is clutching at him, eyes delicately closed. Mark watches him without blinking for a good half minute, and kisses the edge of his mouth carefully before pressing his face to Eduardo’s neck again and falling into a content sleep.
----
He wakes up alone in Eduardo's bed, and when he walks out into Eduardo's kitchen, scratching idly at his scalp, hoodie riding up, Eduardo is sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, looking nervous and sharp-edged and tense.
"Morning," Mark says cautiously, and he sits down at the table. Eduardo pushes a mug towards him, and Mark takes it.
"We need to talk," Eduardo announces, in a tight voice.
"Can I start?" Mark says abruptly, nearly surprising himself. Eduardo looks taken aback, but he nods.
"Eduardo." He hesitates, starts to talk, then stops again. Sticks a hoodie string in his mouth, and looks down at the table and says, "Wardo, I'm really sorry about what I did. I didn't think about it. I was just- I was so angry. And he- Wardo, I hate him so much-"
Eduardo makes a little pained sound in his throat, and takes a sip of coffee to cover it up.
"I mean, I just- it was stupid of me to meddle."
Eduardo nods, and Mark adds- "Because, Wardo, I'm pretty much really in love with you. And I acted like an asshole. So I'm sorry."
He swallows nervously, picks up the coffee mug and puts it down again, then just clasps his hands in his lap.
Eduardo is staring at him.
"Mark," he says, voice rough, and coughs to clear his throat. "I- I shouldn't have gotten so angry, I -"
"No, Wardo, you had every right-"
"You don't deserve that. You- you're a good person and I don't want to heap my family shit or my issues on you, because-"
"Wardo! Listen!"
Eduardo stops, shaken.
"I want- that. I want your issues. Or whatever. I just- Wardo, I just want you. All the time."
Eduardo is going pink, high on his cheekbones, his eyes wide. Mark shifts uncomfortably in the chair.
"I am so bad at this," he says softly, laughing at himself, and Mark doesn't realize why Eduardo can't see that he is the normal one and Mark is the one who is pathetic and who has never been able to have a normal relationship.
"I'm not really a great example either," Mark says, but Eduardo is standing up and he's standing up and they meet in the middle, and Eduardo puts a hand on the kitchen table to brace himself and wraps the other around Mark's head and brings his face up to his.
Mark kisses him until he can't breathe and then inhales, wraps both arms around Eduardo's neck and it feels so good to fall into him again. It was two weeks without this, without Eduardo's tongue, in his mouth and hand on his back and his scent, everywhere, coffee and familiar cologne, overwhelming. He lowers one hand to Eduardo's lower back, then his ass, squeezes hard. They're both panting, making wet deep little sounds and Mark can't go one more fucking second without blowing him so he pushes him against the kitchen counter, and Eduardo hops up on his own and draws Mark's head up again, into another kiss.
"Work in ten minutes," he murmurs, and Mark kisses his chest through the shirt, hands working at Eduardo's pants. Eduardo sucks in a breath when Mark goes at him hungrily, licking the head, rubbing his nose against it, breathing deep.
"Missed this," he says low and rumbly against the side of Eduardo's cock, and Eduardo makes a sound like a sob when Mark takes him in.
"God, Mark," he says loudly, wildly, fingers clenching at the countertop, legs spread carelessly. "Fucking - yes, yes-"
Mark laughs a little, mouth vibrating around Eduardo's cock, because it seems like Eduardo missed it too.
---
They come in late, together, and Dustin points at the bruise Eduardo had sucked onto Mark's neck not half an hour before and laughs.
Mark just flicks him off, grinning satisfied and warm and content in a way he hasn't felt in two weeks, and sits down.
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
well?
----
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
i can feel your smugness through the wall. yes. it's all fixed, you helped, thank you, etc etc.
---
fr: chris_hughes@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
oh what's that? thank you? couldn't hear you as i am too busy starting my own dating service. i am a genius.
---
fr: dustin_moskovitz@whitehouse.gov
to: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
MARK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR NECK RU OKAY? WANT ME TO CALL THE DOCTR? RU A VAMPIRE NOW?
---
fr: mark_zuckerberg@whitehouse.gov
to: dustin_moskovitz@whitehouse.gov
shut the fuck up, dustin.