fic: the one where they share clothes and get high (part I)
fic: the one where they share clothes and get high (part I)
fandom: the social network
pairing: mark/eduardo
notes: for the tsn_kinkmeme prompt "They're sharing clothing and Dustin realises."
rating: mature?
still totally crap at titles.
“Isn’t that Wardo’s?”
Mark looks down. It’s a button-down, white, wrinkled, and he’s been wearing it for at least twelve hours. Hours have close to no meaning right now, not with a CS problem set due tomorrow and Facebook ideas niggling the back of his brain. He keeps writing lines of Facebook code into his homework and having to edit them out.
“Never mind,” Dustin says before he can answer, looking smug and a little constipated.
“Okay,” he says, before turning back to the computer.
“What’s up, Wardo,” he hears a couple hours later, and looks up for a second. Wardo’s above him, cheeks pink from cold, and he looks so stunningly healthy and outdoors-ish that Mark almost - almost - stops typing.
“Hey,” he says instead, and looks back down. Eduardo smells like winter, and cologne, and food.
“Here, idiot,” Eduardo says fondly, and sets down a white takeout box from the d-hall. “Tuna melt. Your favorite. Eat, or I swear to God I’ll close that laptop.”
He can hear Dustin giggling from the other room, and men should not - men should not giggle, in that fashion. It’s unbecoming.
“Fine,” he says, and the food tastes so normal and real and un-code-ish that he smiles a little, involuntarily. Eduardo’s still watching him, eyes soft.
“Good?”
He nods around a mouthful. Eduardo nods back, smiling, and collapses on the couch next to Dustin, long legs splayed, neck tipped back, and Mark stares at him for one split second. He may have worked for years at focusing on code above all else, but Eduardo makes it hard, sometimes. Especially for the last couple weeks, ever since Eduardo had slept with him, oh God, not with him, but on him, sort of- in his bed, at least, after a party. He’d woken up with Eduardo, shirtless, nuzzled into his chest, a hand spread possessively on his back, and Mark was hard. Of course he got hard. He’s not a robot, despite what most people seem to think. And Eduardo is- well, objectively, from the viewpoint of most of the population, Eduardo is hot. Sexy. Sexually attractive. Whatever.
He resumes typing when Eduardo snorts out laughter at the TV show Dustin’s watching. So yeah, he’s wearing Wardo’s shirt. So yeah, maybe he kicked it under the bed that morning, and handed Wardo a hoodie, blank expression fixed carefully on his face. So what. Eduardo’s always saying he needs to wear more (or, you know, any) formal clothing. He just chose to wear Eduardo’s.
----
It’s two weeks later, and there’s something between them that keeps him on edge, tense, snapping at Eduardo when he tries to take him away from the computer, coding until 6am and drinking Red Bull like water. He keeps falling asleep in class, unexpectedly, waking up when the girl next to him jostles him on her way out, waking up to the slowly-shaking judgmental head of his professor.
He’s bent over his desktop on a Friday night, typing furiously, when Eduardo comes in. He doesn’t acknowledge him, but his toes curl on the cold floor- fuck, he should put on socks, really- and his shoulders stiffen.
“Hey,” Eduardo says cautiously. He’s been busy, with an econ midterm and two business projects, and they haven’t really talked in a while.
Mark nods in greeting.
“I brought that movie, you, uh, yesterday you said you’d watch it with me. I have to, for my Spanish Lit class-” he trails off, and puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice carefully tight, even though Eduardo’s hand is warm and solid and his eyes are stinging, pricking at the edges from staring at the blue-white screen for too long.
Eduardo huffs out a laugh suddenly, hand still on his shoulder, and the hand travels down and pats firmly on his chest. Mark sucks in a breath.
“Is this mine?” he asks incredulously, and Mark looks down, nearly blushes, because it is. It’s the same shirt. And- and that’s why. Okay. He didn’t think- whatever.
“I don’t know,” he says blankly, and Eduardo’s hand slips onto Mark’s neck, pulls up the tag.
“Ha, it is. Armani. My God, Mark, you’re so fashionable. Whoever did you learn these style secrets from? Someone really special, obviously.”
Mark flips him off, trying valiantly to ignore Eduardo, now cupping the curve of his neck in an extremely distracting way.
“So, come on!” Eduardo says, lifting his hand and clapping. “Get off that fucking thing, we are going to watch this weird movie.”
Mark laughs, a little, more a puff of breath than anything else, and spins around in the chair.
"Where should we-”
“Couch. Dustin installed the DVD player, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, yeah. He did it last week.”
They end up side by side, and the first scene is just fucking, just straight up porn, all shaky and amateurish and Spanish, and Mark swallows hard as Eduardo laughs delightedly. It seems like all he’s seen for the last month is computer screens, and snow, and snatches of details like picture flashes- a slice of Eduardo’s smile, a sandwich in the cafeteria, sun glinting off of Widener. Now he has nothing to distract him, and all they’re doing is fucking. Jesus Christ. The guy on the screen is moaning in Spanish, and Eduardo breathes beside him, and it’s absolutely impossible to stop himself from picturing Eduardo, head down and focused and coming, neck tight, groaning in Portuguese, and Mark shakes his head.
“You okay?” Eduardo asks, and puts his long fingers on the back of Mark’s neck. He shudders.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says hotly, thickly, but Eduardo doesn’t move, just slips his arm a little further, around Mark’s shoulders. He’s 80% sure this isn’t normal bro behavior, but how is he supposed to know? It’s not like he’s had a friend like Eduardo, well, ever.
Still, he can’t relax, just sits stiffly, and finally Eduardo curls his hand around Mark’s shoulder and leans in.
“Mark. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Nothing.” He gets goosebumps, Eduardo’s breath in his ear.
“Then just relax, Jesus Christ. You’re like a corpse or something.”
Mark lets his muscles go, and ends up sort-of curled into Eduardo, face hot. He can smell Wardo’s deodorant, thick and musky, and he closes his eyes.
“Mark,” he hears, and he comes awake. It’s darker in the room, and Eduardo’s warm beside him, arm still around his shoulders.
“Mark, it’s over.”
Mark nods, blinking, and is he imagining Eduardo’s fingers stroking underneath his ear or is it happening? He’s not sure, but shit, he’s hard, he’s getting hard, and Eduardo is so close to him.
“Mark,” he says again, voice a little lower, and Mark finds Eduardo in the darkness and kisses him.
Eduardo doesn’t react in any of the ways Mark imagined, when he imagined it. Which he didn’t. Not at all. He doesn’t pull away and wipe his mouth, or say something shocked and indignant, or jump up. He laughs, a little, like he knows something Mark doesn’t, and kisses him back.
Mark breaks away after a minute, and nearly falls away, but Eduardo’s hand is on his lower back, holding him there, and he curls his fingers up in Mark’s shirt and pushes him down. Eduardo on top of him is so much better than he thought it would be, his weight comforting, his scent overwhelming- Mark bites his lip to keep himself quiet, and when Eduardo feels his cock against him he breathes shakily out and reaches down blindly and palms him through his pants.
“Fuck,” Mark grits out, because it’s not enough friction but Eduardo can’t stop, he can’t, and Eduardo breathes wet against his neck, teeth ten sharp points of pressure against his skin, and gets his hand inside, fists him hard, awkward, messy, and Mark gasps like a girl. Eduardo groans in response, and thrusts his hips down, and Mark feels he’s hard too. Jesus fucking Christ. He’s Jewish, obviously, but right now he would gladly convert if Jesus would let him not come before Eduardo. He wants to make Wardo come, and he wants to not seem like a twelve year old. Both of these goals are extremely important.
But then Eduardo’s pushing up Mark’s shirt, putting his lips against his stomach, and shit, Mark is so never gonna convert.
He sobs embarrassingly when Wardo gets his mouth around him, his hips jerk, and he can’t even form words. Finally, he gets out-
"Wardo. Fuck. Wardo. Fuck- ahh-"
Eduardo pulls away, breathing air on Mark's wet cock, and Mark shudders."Yeah?"
"What are you - doing, Christ, Wardo-"
"You sounded concerned. I thought maybe you were-"
"No. Please- just, uh, please return. To what you were. Doing."
Eduardo takes him back in, lets his tongue rub the underside, and Mark makes this choked sound like someone punched him in the stomach. Eduardo’s holding his hips, gently like he does everything else with Mark. Mark’s just clutching the sides of the couch, gasping for air, like he’s drowning.
“Shit, oh, shit, Wardo, I’m gonna come-” and Eduardo groans out around him at that, puts his head down further like he’s rededicated to his task, and Mark covers his eyes and comes.
God, it has been so long, he hasn’t even had the time to jerk off in a week, and it feels like forever- he loses himself, and Eduardo’s hands on his hips are the only thing keeping him anchored.
Finally it’s over and it’s dark and Eduardo’s got his head on Mark’s thigh, and fuck, he doesn’t even have his shirt off, and he blushes insanely hot because Eduardo just made him come. Come. Him. And- and- Eduardo. And Mark has a blank stare or witty, disinterested quip for everything but not for this.
Eduardo crawls up his body and kisses him, and Mark can’t relax because yes, that is definitely Eduardo’s cock against his thigh, and is he supposed to give him a blowjob, and he never has before, and he doesn’t even know how. Eduardo huffs out a breath against Mark’s lips, and presses harder against him, and finally just takes Mark’s hand in his and pushes it between their bodies.
“Yeah, okay, yeah-” Mark says, and swallows hard when he feels the outline of it, through Eduardo’s pants.
“It’s okay?” Eduardo asks, and cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Shit, Mark. Yeah. Right ther- yeah.”
Mark bites his lip and works at it, in a way he hasn’t had to since art class in tenth grade, and Eduardo clutches at him, and hisses, and comes between them.
They lay there for a while, and Mark’s about to get up when he hears someone fiddling with the door. He freezes.
“Yes! Yes!” he hears Dustin mutter as he opens the door, a slice of hallway light nearly illuminating them on the couch. Eduardo claps a hand over Mark’s mouth.
Dustin doesn’t even turn on the light, just stumbles unevenly to his room, and the mattress creaks like someone’s fallen onto it.
“Good night, Mark!” he calls, slurring, and starts laughing. “Good niiiight!”
Eduardo grins against his hand over Mark’s mouth, eyes crinkling, and they both hear Dustin from the room-
“- hello, pillow. Pillow! Isn’t it great there are pillows. I wish you were not a pillow, pillow, because I wish you were that blonde chick from Sigma, but failing that, I will accept your presence, pillow. Because I love you. Pillow.”
Eduardo chokes and they both crack up like idiots, albeit completely silently, and Eduardo takes him by the shoulders and just laughs into his collarbone.
After a minute, Eduardo kisses him one more time and rolls off and into the crook of the couch. He kicks off his pants.
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, already sounding half-gone.
Mark doesn’t say anything, but he stands up and digs in his dresser for a clean pair of boxers, throws them straight at Eduardo’s face.
“Ha!” he hears muffled, from underneath them, and Mark turns his back as Eduardo changes without standing up. “Thanks.”
“I’m gonna-” he motions to his bedroom.
“Okay,” Eduardo says, sleepy, face pushed into the couch. “I’ll wake up before Dustin. Go to sleep.”
The next morning, they wake up to Eduardo coming back into the room with bagels and coffee, and if Dustin notices that Eduardo's wearing one of Mark's zip-ups, he doesn't say anything.
fandom: the social network
pairing: mark/eduardo
notes: for the tsn_kinkmeme prompt "They're sharing clothing and Dustin realises."
rating: mature?
still totally crap at titles.
“Isn’t that Wardo’s?”
Mark looks down. It’s a button-down, white, wrinkled, and he’s been wearing it for at least twelve hours. Hours have close to no meaning right now, not with a CS problem set due tomorrow and Facebook ideas niggling the back of his brain. He keeps writing lines of Facebook code into his homework and having to edit them out.
“Never mind,” Dustin says before he can answer, looking smug and a little constipated.
“Okay,” he says, before turning back to the computer.
“What’s up, Wardo,” he hears a couple hours later, and looks up for a second. Wardo’s above him, cheeks pink from cold, and he looks so stunningly healthy and outdoors-ish that Mark almost - almost - stops typing.
“Hey,” he says instead, and looks back down. Eduardo smells like winter, and cologne, and food.
“Here, idiot,” Eduardo says fondly, and sets down a white takeout box from the d-hall. “Tuna melt. Your favorite. Eat, or I swear to God I’ll close that laptop.”
He can hear Dustin giggling from the other room, and men should not - men should not giggle, in that fashion. It’s unbecoming.
“Fine,” he says, and the food tastes so normal and real and un-code-ish that he smiles a little, involuntarily. Eduardo’s still watching him, eyes soft.
“Good?”
He nods around a mouthful. Eduardo nods back, smiling, and collapses on the couch next to Dustin, long legs splayed, neck tipped back, and Mark stares at him for one split second. He may have worked for years at focusing on code above all else, but Eduardo makes it hard, sometimes. Especially for the last couple weeks, ever since Eduardo had slept with him, oh God, not with him, but on him, sort of- in his bed, at least, after a party. He’d woken up with Eduardo, shirtless, nuzzled into his chest, a hand spread possessively on his back, and Mark was hard. Of course he got hard. He’s not a robot, despite what most people seem to think. And Eduardo is- well, objectively, from the viewpoint of most of the population, Eduardo is hot. Sexy. Sexually attractive. Whatever.
He resumes typing when Eduardo snorts out laughter at the TV show Dustin’s watching. So yeah, he’s wearing Wardo’s shirt. So yeah, maybe he kicked it under the bed that morning, and handed Wardo a hoodie, blank expression fixed carefully on his face. So what. Eduardo’s always saying he needs to wear more (or, you know, any) formal clothing. He just chose to wear Eduardo’s.
----
It’s two weeks later, and there’s something between them that keeps him on edge, tense, snapping at Eduardo when he tries to take him away from the computer, coding until 6am and drinking Red Bull like water. He keeps falling asleep in class, unexpectedly, waking up when the girl next to him jostles him on her way out, waking up to the slowly-shaking judgmental head of his professor.
He’s bent over his desktop on a Friday night, typing furiously, when Eduardo comes in. He doesn’t acknowledge him, but his toes curl on the cold floor- fuck, he should put on socks, really- and his shoulders stiffen.
“Hey,” Eduardo says cautiously. He’s been busy, with an econ midterm and two business projects, and they haven’t really talked in a while.
Mark nods in greeting.
“I brought that movie, you, uh, yesterday you said you’d watch it with me. I have to, for my Spanish Lit class-” he trails off, and puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice carefully tight, even though Eduardo’s hand is warm and solid and his eyes are stinging, pricking at the edges from staring at the blue-white screen for too long.
Eduardo huffs out a laugh suddenly, hand still on his shoulder, and the hand travels down and pats firmly on his chest. Mark sucks in a breath.
“Is this mine?” he asks incredulously, and Mark looks down, nearly blushes, because it is. It’s the same shirt. And- and that’s why. Okay. He didn’t think- whatever.
“I don’t know,” he says blankly, and Eduardo’s hand slips onto Mark’s neck, pulls up the tag.
“Ha, it is. Armani. My God, Mark, you’re so fashionable. Whoever did you learn these style secrets from? Someone really special, obviously.”
Mark flips him off, trying valiantly to ignore Eduardo, now cupping the curve of his neck in an extremely distracting way.
“So, come on!” Eduardo says, lifting his hand and clapping. “Get off that fucking thing, we are going to watch this weird movie.”
Mark laughs, a little, more a puff of breath than anything else, and spins around in the chair.
"Where should we-”
“Couch. Dustin installed the DVD player, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, yeah. He did it last week.”
They end up side by side, and the first scene is just fucking, just straight up porn, all shaky and amateurish and Spanish, and Mark swallows hard as Eduardo laughs delightedly. It seems like all he’s seen for the last month is computer screens, and snow, and snatches of details like picture flashes- a slice of Eduardo’s smile, a sandwich in the cafeteria, sun glinting off of Widener. Now he has nothing to distract him, and all they’re doing is fucking. Jesus Christ. The guy on the screen is moaning in Spanish, and Eduardo breathes beside him, and it’s absolutely impossible to stop himself from picturing Eduardo, head down and focused and coming, neck tight, groaning in Portuguese, and Mark shakes his head.
“You okay?” Eduardo asks, and puts his long fingers on the back of Mark’s neck. He shudders.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says hotly, thickly, but Eduardo doesn’t move, just slips his arm a little further, around Mark’s shoulders. He’s 80% sure this isn’t normal bro behavior, but how is he supposed to know? It’s not like he’s had a friend like Eduardo, well, ever.
Still, he can’t relax, just sits stiffly, and finally Eduardo curls his hand around Mark’s shoulder and leans in.
“Mark. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Nothing.” He gets goosebumps, Eduardo’s breath in his ear.
“Then just relax, Jesus Christ. You’re like a corpse or something.”
Mark lets his muscles go, and ends up sort-of curled into Eduardo, face hot. He can smell Wardo’s deodorant, thick and musky, and he closes his eyes.
“Mark,” he hears, and he comes awake. It’s darker in the room, and Eduardo’s warm beside him, arm still around his shoulders.
“Mark, it’s over.”
Mark nods, blinking, and is he imagining Eduardo’s fingers stroking underneath his ear or is it happening? He’s not sure, but shit, he’s hard, he’s getting hard, and Eduardo is so close to him.
“Mark,” he says again, voice a little lower, and Mark finds Eduardo in the darkness and kisses him.
Eduardo doesn’t react in any of the ways Mark imagined, when he imagined it. Which he didn’t. Not at all. He doesn’t pull away and wipe his mouth, or say something shocked and indignant, or jump up. He laughs, a little, like he knows something Mark doesn’t, and kisses him back.
Mark breaks away after a minute, and nearly falls away, but Eduardo’s hand is on his lower back, holding him there, and he curls his fingers up in Mark’s shirt and pushes him down. Eduardo on top of him is so much better than he thought it would be, his weight comforting, his scent overwhelming- Mark bites his lip to keep himself quiet, and when Eduardo feels his cock against him he breathes shakily out and reaches down blindly and palms him through his pants.
“Fuck,” Mark grits out, because it’s not enough friction but Eduardo can’t stop, he can’t, and Eduardo breathes wet against his neck, teeth ten sharp points of pressure against his skin, and gets his hand inside, fists him hard, awkward, messy, and Mark gasps like a girl. Eduardo groans in response, and thrusts his hips down, and Mark feels he’s hard too. Jesus fucking Christ. He’s Jewish, obviously, but right now he would gladly convert if Jesus would let him not come before Eduardo. He wants to make Wardo come, and he wants to not seem like a twelve year old. Both of these goals are extremely important.
But then Eduardo’s pushing up Mark’s shirt, putting his lips against his stomach, and shit, Mark is so never gonna convert.
He sobs embarrassingly when Wardo gets his mouth around him, his hips jerk, and he can’t even form words. Finally, he gets out-
"Wardo. Fuck. Wardo. Fuck- ahh-"
Eduardo pulls away, breathing air on Mark's wet cock, and Mark shudders."Yeah?"
"What are you - doing, Christ, Wardo-"
"You sounded concerned. I thought maybe you were-"
"No. Please- just, uh, please return. To what you were. Doing."
Eduardo takes him back in, lets his tongue rub the underside, and Mark makes this choked sound like someone punched him in the stomach. Eduardo’s holding his hips, gently like he does everything else with Mark. Mark’s just clutching the sides of the couch, gasping for air, like he’s drowning.
“Shit, oh, shit, Wardo, I’m gonna come-” and Eduardo groans out around him at that, puts his head down further like he’s rededicated to his task, and Mark covers his eyes and comes.
God, it has been so long, he hasn’t even had the time to jerk off in a week, and it feels like forever- he loses himself, and Eduardo’s hands on his hips are the only thing keeping him anchored.
Finally it’s over and it’s dark and Eduardo’s got his head on Mark’s thigh, and fuck, he doesn’t even have his shirt off, and he blushes insanely hot because Eduardo just made him come. Come. Him. And- and- Eduardo. And Mark has a blank stare or witty, disinterested quip for everything but not for this.
Eduardo crawls up his body and kisses him, and Mark can’t relax because yes, that is definitely Eduardo’s cock against his thigh, and is he supposed to give him a blowjob, and he never has before, and he doesn’t even know how. Eduardo huffs out a breath against Mark’s lips, and presses harder against him, and finally just takes Mark’s hand in his and pushes it between their bodies.
“Yeah, okay, yeah-” Mark says, and swallows hard when he feels the outline of it, through Eduardo’s pants.
“It’s okay?” Eduardo asks, and cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Shit, Mark. Yeah. Right ther- yeah.”
Mark bites his lip and works at it, in a way he hasn’t had to since art class in tenth grade, and Eduardo clutches at him, and hisses, and comes between them.
They lay there for a while, and Mark’s about to get up when he hears someone fiddling with the door. He freezes.
“Yes! Yes!” he hears Dustin mutter as he opens the door, a slice of hallway light nearly illuminating them on the couch. Eduardo claps a hand over Mark’s mouth.
Dustin doesn’t even turn on the light, just stumbles unevenly to his room, and the mattress creaks like someone’s fallen onto it.
“Good night, Mark!” he calls, slurring, and starts laughing. “Good niiiight!”
Eduardo grins against his hand over Mark’s mouth, eyes crinkling, and they both hear Dustin from the room-
“- hello, pillow. Pillow! Isn’t it great there are pillows. I wish you were not a pillow, pillow, because I wish you were that blonde chick from Sigma, but failing that, I will accept your presence, pillow. Because I love you. Pillow.”
Eduardo chokes and they both crack up like idiots, albeit completely silently, and Eduardo takes him by the shoulders and just laughs into his collarbone.
After a minute, Eduardo kisses him one more time and rolls off and into the crook of the couch. He kicks off his pants.
“Can I sleep here?” he asks, already sounding half-gone.
Mark doesn’t say anything, but he stands up and digs in his dresser for a clean pair of boxers, throws them straight at Eduardo’s face.
“Ha!” he hears muffled, from underneath them, and Mark turns his back as Eduardo changes without standing up. “Thanks.”
“I’m gonna-” he motions to his bedroom.
“Okay,” Eduardo says, sleepy, face pushed into the couch. “I’ll wake up before Dustin. Go to sleep.”
The next morning, they wake up to Eduardo coming back into the room with bagels and coffee, and if Dustin notices that Eduardo's wearing one of Mark's zip-ups, he doesn't say anything.