fic: Just a Life Story and No Climax (The Pornstar AU)| The Social Network | Part 2/5

[abriata]

Part One



In the next two weeks Mark films three scenes. One of them is just a short part for a jerk off film, because they're doing a "non-twink" compilation for once and Mark is feeling lazy and more money never hurts. Dustin actually was set to film most of the scenes in the film, and his screeching when he finds out Mark's on his roster and he has to rearrange his whole schedule to avoid being assigned to him is pretty deafening but also pretty amusing. Dustin demands to know whether Mark would be okay with Dustin filming him, to which Mark shrugs, and that sets Dustin off again as he complains about Mark being deranged and violating friendship trust.

Mark, who decided a long time ago that he could happily fuck and be fucked by anyone on the range of archenemy to soul mate, doesn't really want his dick on Dustin's film either. While Dustin would never actually hurt Mark or his career, Mark wouldn't put it past him to take any raw footage he could and make some horrible voiceover drama out of it if he got bored. Staying away from the front of his camera seems like the best precaution Mark could take to protect his dignity.

The other two scenes are also standard ones. In the first he just blows a guy, which was supposed to be an easy job, a quick thousand bucks, but takes three tries because the guy can't aim worth shit and he keeps messing up the money shot. The second one is a slightly longer suck-and-fuck scene and takes two days to finish.

The footage from their shoot comes almost a week in, delivered by way of Dustin, who doesn't stick around to watch it despite his threats otherwise. Mark watches it twice straight through, and then rips it onto his computer and hides the discs away.

He digs across the internet for traces of Eduardo. He's easy to find - he's pretty popular, as far as porn stars go; but then, Mark already knew that - but it's always just Eduardo, Eduardo, Eduardo. There's no real identifying information.

Mark knows that's the point, but still, he's frustrated. He can't even hack his way into the studio's system and steal Eduardo's information that way, because the studio is twenty years out of date and keeps all their paperwork on actual paper.

"Do you want me to get his schedule?" Dustin asks, crunching into another chip. "I can ask Claire when he's going to film next. You can come catch him at the studio."

Mark considers this. He's sitting on Dustin's couch, eating pizza and bitching about privacy laws. Dustin is participating in some sort of twenty-four hour gaming tournament and he'd asked Mark to come keep him company. Mark, because he had nothing else to do and because it's fun watching Dustin kick everyone's asses, had agreed.

"No," he says. He doesn't think he wants to see Eduardo filming another scene; what if he likes everyone the way he seemed to like Mark?

"Your loss," Dustin says, shrugging.

Mark scowls.

"I mean," Dustin says, "technically not anything new. You lost as soon as you let him get away after two days straight of sex without a last name or phone number."

"Shut up," Mark says.

"You know," Dustin continues, still munching. The latest round is beginning and he's trying to finish his bag of Doritos before he has to start killing thirteen year olds. "If you think about it, he did the same thing. He doesn't know your last name, either. He could have changed his mind and tried looking for you, but he didn't have anything to go on either."

"He heard my last name," Mark snaps. "Grams always calls me by my last name."

"You think he isn't looking for you," Dustin says. He drops the empty bag of chips back on his shitty, scuffed-up coffee table, grabbing the controller in its place as the countdown timer begins onscreen. "You sure he was as into you as you thought?"

Mark leans forward and yanks the controller cable from the box.

"Hey!" Dustin says.

"Oops," Mark says.

"Asshole," Dustin mutters and watches his character get killed, setting him back a good four places in the rankings.

Vindictively, Mark eats the last slice of pizza.

"If it makes you feel any better," Dustin says, "he might just have forgotten. Zuckerberg isn't the easiest name in the world."

Mark doesn't acknowledge Dustin, but it does help.

"I'm sure he just forgot," Dustin adds, with more conviction.

Mark nobly gives him the remainder of the pizza slice.

---

Dustin was right. There is one avenue Mark hasn't been taking advantage of. He can't get around the privacy laws, because there's no possible way to get ahold of the records; Dustin could do it, probably, but Mark gave up trying to convince him after three days. Mark is not the best at convincing people, and Dustin is holding weirdly tight to his morals on this one. Mark's only option, really, is to find Eduardo at the studio again.

And since he doesn't want to see Eduardo fucking anyone else, Mark will just have to make sure he's the one lined up to film with Eduardo.

Mark doesn't relish admitting the validity of Dustin's point, not least because Dustin spends the next three hours gloating about what a genius he is, but he also tells Mark to go in the next morning and talk to a staffer on the second floor.

She's the Claire girl Dustin had mentioned the first time. She's kind of punk rocker-ish, pretty enough as far as girls go and loud enough, from what Mark observes while he's waiting for her to finish up on the phone and stop shoving everything off her desk in what looks like a fit of anger, to give Dustin a run for his money.

When she gets off the phone she turns to him and says, "Yeah?"

"Dustin sent me," Mark says. "He said you have the studio's schedule."

"Oh," girl Claire says, drawing out the word. "You're the guy who wants to creep on another actor."

"Yes," Mark says.

"Just a sec," she says. "I just got the next two weeks' schedule today, and I set it on my desk. I've got to find it - can you believe they only do shit on paper?"

Mark snorts. "No."

"It's fucking disgusting, dude," she says in agreement. "Wait, here." She pulls a manila folder from underneath her keyboard. It's already got a couple of coffee stains on it.

Mark leans forward. "The next two weeks, you said?"

"Hey," she says, holding the papers just out of his reach behind the desk. "Do you know if Dustin's available?"

"Um," Mark says. She looks hopeful. "He's not dating anyone right now?"

She smiles widely and says, "Awesome!" before handing over the papers. Mark takes them. He doesn't know if Dustin's looking to be anything but single right now, but she doesn't need to know that.

He flips through, scanning through the schedule, until his eyes catch on Eduardo S. listed as Cast for a film entitled Boyfriends 4, which is, all considered, the least imaginative title Mark has ever heard. It's filming in Studio 6 in two days, directed by…Grams.

Mark bites back his smirk, handing her back the paper. "Good luck with Dustin," he says.

"You, too," she says, and returns to demolishing her desk.

Grams won't be in his office. Grams is never here unless he's actually filming something, or unless one of the editing teams has fucked up one of his videos. However, shortly after the Roger incident Grams had called to simultaneously ream Mark out for ruining one of their stars and congratulate him on his balls, and Mark has had his cell number stored in his phone ever since.

Mark goes home to consider his plan of attack. Dustin's on his couch when he gets in - Dustin always gets into Mark's apartment; he must have a key, but Mark doesn't know where he got it - but Mark waves him quiet and sits on the couch next to him, dialing Grams. He hates talking on the phone, but his chances of convincing Grams to do what he wants are slimmer if he tries over text.

"What?" Grams answers.

"It's Mark," Mark says.

"Zuckerberg," Grams says, sounding, if possible, less enthused than he did when he answered. "I don't bail people out of jail."

"The fuck would I be in jail?" Mark snaps. "And why would I call you?"

"You're not in jail?" Grams asks.

"Are you high?" Mark says. Dustin snickers quietly.

"So what's up, kid?" Grams says.

Mark grits his teeth. "You're doing a movie in two days."

"Huh?" Grams says.

Mark honestly thinks Grams is one of the stupidest people he's ever met. "Eduardo's going to be in it."

Dustin goes into a paroxysm and starts poking Mark's side. Mark slaps at his hand and waits for Grams to respond.

"Oh, yeah," Grams says, sounding as if the light is coming to him, very distant and slowly. "Yeah, I think so."

"He is," Mark says firmly. "I want to film with him."

Dustin stops laughing, sitting up straight again and staring at Mark. Mark ignores the urge to shove a hand over his face.

"Huh," Grams says. "Well, your last scenes were pretty popular. I've got no problem with it."

"Yeah?" Mark asks, cautious.

"Gotta see if the other actor can be dropped or moved," Grams says.

"What's his name?" Mark says. He can handle one actor.

"I'll text you the shoot info, kid," Grams says.

"Tell me who-" Mark says, but the phone disconnects.

"So," Dustin says as soon as Mark's hung up. "So, Mark."

"Fuck off," Mark says. "Quit breaking into my apartment."

"I have a key," Dustin says. "Mark, you're going after the object of your affections through porn. This is not how relationships work, you need to reconsider your approach."

"I can get his phone number and last name," Mark says.

"You make me sad," Dustin says.

"Sad enough to leave?" Mark asks, but Dustin shakes his head cheerfully and turns the TV on. Mark goes to get his computer.

"It's not my fault there's no other way to get ahold of him," Mark says, once Dustin is engrossed in a dumb sitcom.

"Yeah, I know," Dustin says. He pats Mark's knee. "Even though it is your fault, a little bit. You brought this on yourself."

"Let it go," Mark snaps. "He wasn't supposed to say no. I didn't think I needed to ask for his number before asking him out."

"Yeah, but usually you find someone's last name out before you get around to asking them on a date," Dustin says.

Maybe Dustin does. Mark has never paid attention to when or if he learns someone's last name. It took almost a year before he knew Dustin's.

His phone lights up, buzzing against his knee. Dustin snatches it before Mark can react.

"Studio 6, two days, 10 - I think he means Wednesday at 10 - don't forget to..." Dustin trails off. "Ew, dude."

Mark rolls his eyes and takes the phone. "What did you expect?"

"Yeah, but ew," Dustin says. "I don't want to know the things you do with your ass in that much detail."

"Then don't read my texts," Mark says testily, but he holds the phone, with its crudely phrased promise of seeing Eduardo again, close in his curved palm.

---

There's something like impatience twisting in Mark's stomach as he gets into the dressing room. Eduardo's there, bent over and untying his shoes. He twists a little when he hears the door and then he startles, standing upright and turning to stare. Mark, caught in the doorway, stares back. Eduardo looks precisely the same as a month ago, and Mark's urge to learn everything about him hasn't abated.

"Mark," Eduardo says, still looking blankly surprised. "I didn't know we were-"

"Do you know how time-consuming it was to find you?" Mark says. "I had to convince Grams to film us together again."

Eduardo frowns. "You arranged this?" he asks, faintly disbelieving.

"There was no way to see you again," Mark says.

"Of course not," Eduardo says. Mark can't understand his expression.

"You won't let me take you home," Mark says, "but there's no reason we can't film together."

Eduardo blinks again and shakes his head. "I'm not sure how I feel about this."

Mark feels his mouth tighten. "You can always back out of the scene."

"No," Eduardo says, but he sounds distant. "No, I'm not going to do that."

Tension in Mark's chest loosens. "I wanted to see you again," he says.

"Oh," Eduardo says, his face doing something complicated, but at the end his faint, high flush shows, just a little, and Mark thinks the overall result is good. "You, too," he adds, and Mark understands where the blush came from.

"I haven't looked at the script," he says. He doesn't actually even have a script - he shoved his way into the role too quickly.

"Here," Eduardo says quickly. "Come here."

His is out on the counter. He tucks his arm around Mark's shoulders as soon as Mark gets close enough, holding the script in front of them for Mark to read. It's more involved than any other script Mark has done, because this is a higher-budget movie and they make more of an attempt at believability, but it's still only a few pages of intro. Mark doesn't particularly care if he might mess it up, anyway; the longer it takes to film, the more opportunity he has to convince Eduardo he was being an idiot last time.

There's not much to learn, though, and Mark skims through it twice before he turns and watches Eduardo instead. His face is smooth, eyes unfocused as he pretends to read this script, turning pages as Mark pretends to need him to. His hand is warm on Mark's arm through his t-shirt. When he catches Mark watching him, he breathes in a little too sharply and steps back, dropping his hold on Mark.

"You're being irrational," Mark informs him.

"I'm not - what?" Eduardo says.

"Did you look for me?" Mark asks. He's honestly curious. Eduardo seems to be sincere about the "avoiding relationships with costars" thing, which is weird, but whatever. Mark doesn't know whether that precludes him from looking people up online, the way every other normal person Mark has met does at least once in a while. He doesn't expect the dedicated stalking Dustin treats the objects of his affections to, or anywhere near the efficiency and thoroughness he himself possesses, but he wants to know if Eduardo cared to look.

"What?" Eduardo repeats. "No. I mean, no?"

Mark scowls. "Did you search for me online?"

"No!" Eduardo says. He holds his hands up, as if Mark were forcing this out of him. "I wouldn't do that. That'd be creepy."

"Hm," Mark says.

Someone knocks on the dressing room door, yelling for them.

"Why?" Eduardo asks, looking suddenly suspicious.

"It doesn't matter," Mark says.

The knock comes again. Eduardo ignores it again. Mark does, too.

"You looked for me," Eduardo says. "Oh. Of course you did. You said-"

"It doesn't matter," Mark repeats, rolling his eyes.

"No!" Eduardo says. "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean to imply you're creepy."

"Wardo," Mark says, "it's fine."

He says it mostly to prevent Eduardo from freaking out any more. It takes a lot more than that to offend Mark, but Eduardo's looking wide-eyed and worried, and Mark, who is not an idiot, knows he didn't mean it like that in the first place.

"Okay," Eduardo says, stalling abruptly. "Um-"

The knock comes again, loud and insistent and unceasing. "Guys, now!" Grams hollers. "Don't make me skin you, Zuckerberg!"

Mark yanks the door open, stepping into the studio. Grams gives him a dirty look before directing them to take their places.

---

They start in the doorway. The edge is sharp along Mark's back where he leans too hard back against it while they run the scene. Mark plays a cheating asshole and Eduardo the jealous boyfriend, and there's about two minutes of dialogue to introduce the plot.

Eduardo looks convincingly betrayed, Mark thinks, even if he also looks a little more desperate than angry. Mark thought the scene was supposed to be angry. He wants to touch Eduardo's face, smooth away the lines until he's smiling and looking stupid again. Grams doesn't call them out on their run-through, so Mark doesn't get a chance to touch him before Grams approves them for filming to start.

They go through the same scene for real this time, Eduardo shouting and Mark looking defensive, and then Eduardo steps forward, shoving Mark up against the doorframe. It hurts when Mark's back hits, and he hisses out through his teeth. Eduardo flinches, just a minuscule amount, and Mark doesn't want to do this part twice, so he goes off-script, spitting out something nasty and trying to egg Eduardo on.

Eduardo looks torn between laughing and looking appalled, but they turn just enough to hide his face from the camera as he "pushes" Mark into the room and he says his next line obediently. Mark raises his eyebrows and lets Eduardo shove him back again, closer to the bed. Before they can reach it, Mark grabs hold of Eduardo's shoulders and kisses him, all teeth and rude words.

Eduardo kisses him back, and he wasn't supposed to, he was supposed to shove Mark fully onto the bed and yank his pants down, shove him around some more while calling him a cheating bastard or a lying whore or something along those lines. But he kisses him back instead, arms going right around Mark, and Mark half-freezes waiting for Grams to yell at them. But it doesn't come, and he opens his mouth to Eduardo's tongue, licking in on a slow warm sweep that doesn't fit the feel of the scene at all. When Eduardo releases him, breathing out in a rush against his face, Mark darts back in immediately, squeezing Eduardo's shoulders. They've already ruined this take, he might as well take advantage of it.

But they kiss again and again and again, and Grams doesn't call cut, and he doesn't and he doesn't. Mark tries to hold onto Eduardo, dizzy from kissing too much too fast too long, and Eduardo's squeezing back just at tightly, that might be why Mark can't breathe, and they fall onto the bed.

Eduardo laughs when he lands on Mark, and Mark shoves half-heartedly at his shoulders. Eduardo does move off of him, just long enough to grab Mark's hips and shove him further onto the bed. Mark snorts, wiggling to try to fix his shirt where it's bunched between his shoulder blades, but Eduardo takes his movement the wrong way and pulls the shirt off of him instead. Mark's nipples are hard, and Eduardo thumbs them, grinning when Mark twitches at it, stomach jumping. Eduardo's warm when he settles back on top of Mark.

He crawls over Mark and Mark spreads his legs, feet falling off the bed. One foot barely brushes one of the metal posts on the bed; he can feel the chill against his toes. Eduardo settles down against him, squirming until he gets them lined up right; then Mark hisses and arches up, and Eduardo grinds down, and his hands tangle tightly in Mark's hair. Mark doesn't mind the tugging, just leans his head back and holds his knees tight around Eduardo's hips.

It's unsatisfying, when they're both still mostly dressed and their legs are dangling halfway off the bed. Mark runs his hands down Eduardo's shoulders, around his side and to his belly, where he digs his knuckles into the soft flesh until Eduardo moves enough for Mark to get his hands in there.

He tugs impatiently at Eduardo's pants, yanking at the button and trying to get the fucking jeans undone. Eduardo moves, but instead of helping he pulls away, off the bed, and stands up. He reaches for Mark's jeans, and Mark holds still while he pulls them off, kicking to free his ankles. Eduardo tosses them to the side, and Mark sits up, tangling his fingers in the hem of Eduardo's shirt and yanking it up. Eduardo laughs and raises his arms, and when he brings them back down he hugs Mark, playful and close around his shoulders.

"Roll over," Eduardo says.

Mark does after a second, puzzled, and he gets on hands on knees; but Eduardo kisses his shoulder and puts a hand on his back and pushes him down onto the bed. Eduardo kisses down his spine, straddling Mark's hips, and he digs his thumbs in on either side of Mark's spine, like a massage. Mark groans.

"Shh, you're so loud," Eduardo chides him, mocking, and Mark grunts back.

Eduardo pushes his fingers into Mark, the lube from Mark's own fingers earlier easing the way. He bites gently at Mark's shoulder and then his neck, up to his ear where he murmurs, "The condoms are under the pillows."

Mark fumbles one out, tearing it open sloppily and handing it back to Eduardo, since he seems to be occupied sucking hickeys into every square inch of Mark's back. Eduardo's weight leaves him for just a minute, and the cold air feels like a shock against Mark's skin. He twists his head, casting around, but then Eduardo is settling back over him, kissing his cheek in a completely incongruous counterpoint to the heat of his cock pressing into Mark.

Mark groans again, pushing his hips up as best he can, and Eduardo slides all the way into him easily and then goes still, rubbing his face against Mark's shoulder.

Somewhere along the line they've fallen off-script, Mark realizes fuzzily. They were supposed to be nasty to each other, Mark was supposed to mouth off and Eduardo was supposed to slap him around a little, and then they were supposed to fuck and get off and go home. This scene was just supposed to be standard-issue hardcore.

Not this, with Eduardo cradling Mark and touching him all over and Mark clearly acting desperate instead of reluctant. It's still quiet on set, though, just the nearly silent movement of cameras and the soft rush of the air conditioning turned up too high. Mark can hear his own bitten-off sounds.

Eduardo says something too low for Mark to catch. Mark lifts his head, trying to ask, and Eduardo catches his mouth. It's barely a kiss, it's a horrible angle for it, and Mark pants out and drops back down, straining for breath after holding himself up under all of Eduardo's weight. Eduardo bites behind his ear and moves.

Mark clenches tightly, trying to hold Eduardo inside even though he wants just as badly to get fucked as he does to stay just like this. Eduardo moans and bites his shoulder, clearly a rebuke though Mark has no idea how this is supposed to be his fault.

Eduardo does fuck him, slow and regular and an unsatisfactory tease, until Mark has his fingers clenched in the bedspread and he's groaning through gritted teeth because at this point, he wants anything.

"I'm sorry," Eduardo says in a strained whisper, when Mark reaches back and scratches at his hip. "I thought you'd look pretty like this, but I didn't think about how inconvenient it would be."

"I can't even reach my dick," Mark says, and he means to sound angry or frustrated but instead just sounds pathetic.

"Ugh," Eduardo groans, as if he's actually sympathetic, the asshole, but he pulls out of Mark.

Mark snaps, "Hey-" before Eduardo grabs his leg and starts rolling him over, and Mark gets the idea.

He spreads his legs. Eduardo grabs behind one of his knees, pulling it around his hips, and Mark closes his eyes as Eduardo pushes back in. It feels less intimate this way, less private; he can see the cameras overhead and off to the side, and the hover of people just beyond that. It also means Eduardo can get a hand around his dick, though, and Mark's not going to complain. Eduardo thrusts into him harder, moaning as he does it, and Mark is mildly gratified to discover that he still hates the sounds.

The position's better, but it's not great. Eduardo can't get as deep, and after a couple of minutes the strain of keeping his hips in place is starting to threaten in Mark's thighs. Eduardo, from the way he keeps readjusting his hold on Mark's knee, digging his fingers in harder each time, isn't doing much better.

"Let me-" Mark says, sucking his lip into his mouth and tasting the sweat gathered there, and Eduardo releases his leg for the last time and leans down to kiss him. Mark runs his hands up and down Eduardo's back, over the sticky skin, and makes an inadvertent noise when Eduardo stops kissing too soon.

"Do you want," Eduardo says, and Mark grumbles, "I'm not moving."

Eduardo laughs into his ear, an alarming puff of nearly-silent breath, and then says, "I was going to suggest we put you on all fours, so I can get at you better."

Mark is annoyed, but his skin is also flushed hot. He wraps his arms around Eduardo's neck and pulls him down, holding him close.

Mark jerks himself off, because while that's not as satisfying as when Eduardo did it, Eduardo is mouthing at Mark's neck and down over his nipples, running his fingers everywhere, and Mark feels hot all over. He won't come like this, but Eduardo will, and Mark can watch him and touch him all over.

When Eduardo comes he digs his fingers into Mark's hips. Mark groans, probably inaudible under Eduardo's noises, and clenches on Eduardo's cock to listen to him whine.

"If you could get off on getting fucked-" Eduardo starts, and Mark says, "You're a pain in the ass," because no, he doesn't have a sense of humor when he's sexually frustrated.

Eduardo laughs and licks his way down Mark's chest, which feels kind of disgusting but looks really hot. He twists one of Mark's nipples, brutally hard, and Mark yelps and slaps at his arm. Eduardo is still laughing when he slides the fingers of his other hand back into Mark and licks over the head of Mark's cock.

He's quick about it, at least; he doesn't tease. Mark yanks at his hair, both because he's desperate and because he decides Eduardo deserves it for the nipple thing, and tries to pretend his legs aren't shaking. Eduardo swallows quick and clean when Mark comes, then crawls up to kiss him.

Mark only lets himself kiss back for a few moments before climbing wearily to his feet. Grams waves them off wordlessly and the set explodes back into life. Mark hauls Eduardo into the dressing room with him.

"That was…not what we were supposed to do," Eduardo says. He leans back against the door as soon as it's shut, closing his eyes.

"No," Mark agrees. He steps away from Eduardo, but only about a foot.

"They might make us come in and re-film," Eduardo says.

"They won't," Mark says. Grams never said a word. They'll use it.

"Oh," Eduardo says. He pushes away from the door, edging around Mark. His eyes are cast towards the floor.

Mark grabs Eduardo's wrist before he can go to the showers. "Tell me you don't want to see me again," he says. Eduardo smells good, like clean sweat and Mark. Mark doesn't understand why he feels the need to shower.

Eduardo's hand is warm on the back of his neck when he touches Mark. "I do," he says. "I do want to see you again."

"We can keep doing porn," Mark says.

"Or I can agree to date you," Eduardo says. He snorts and meets Mark's eyes. "I see where this is going."

"I'll settle for porn if you insist," Mark says. "But you have to tell me your last name and phone number."

"Saverin," Eduardo says.

"Saverin," Mark repeats suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

Eduardo snorts what might be a laugh, nodding. "Yes, yeah. My last name. Saverin."

"And your phone number?" Mark says.

Eduardo reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. "Give me yours."

Mark rattles it off, and Eduardo taps away, and a short while later Mark's own phone buzzes. He checks, and it's a message, presumably from Eduardo, containing only :).

"Don't use emoticons," Mark demands. "I hate them, they're moronic."

"Alright," Eduardo says agreeably.

"You're the type of person who uses emoticons all the time," Mark says.

"Yes," Eduardo says, just as agreeably.

"Fine," Mark says.

"If my texting has met your approval," Eduardo says, grinning a little, "and since you've got my last name and phone number, you should ask me out again."

"Would it be worth it?" Mark asks.

"I'm going to say yes, if that's what you mean," Eduardo says.

"Good," Mark says and smiles.

---

Three days later, Mark is just leaving his apartment to meet Eduardo at a restaurant downtown when he gets a text.

Running late. Meet you in a couple hours or rain check?

He hasn't exactly been worried about the date - Dustin took care of that for him, fretting and trying to bother people around the studio for hints about what Eduardo's like. Nobody had been able to help him, because, true to his word, nobody besides Mark has ever seen Eduardo outside of work.

Mark hadn't been worried at all once Dustin told him that, and he'd spent the next two days waiting with the semi-required patience.

This, however, doesn't bode well.

Mark frowns. Why?

Pet emergency. My cat is sick but I can't get her out of my apartment so we can go to the vet

Mark rolls his eyes. Eduardo would be the type to lose a battle with a cat. What's your address?

There's a long wait, during which Mark debates going back into his apartment. He already has Eduardo's address. He had looked it up, along with almost everything else about Eduardo, as soon as he got home that first evening. So he already has the address, but unless Eduardo volunteers the information, there's no way he can get away with showing up. It's not as if he particularly wants to help Eduardo with his cat, but when the other option is not seeing Eduardo at all, Mark will take the cat.

Just as he is about to give up and go back upstairs, his phone chirps. Mark sees the numbers spelled out on the screen and slides into his car.

The apartment complex is a lot like Mark's: middle-range, fairly nice, some young parents with younger kids playing on the sidewalks and in the parking lot. Mark parks in front of Eduardo's building and takes the stairs up to the top floor. He knocks and then waits, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Hey," Eduardo says, opening the door almost immediately. His face is drawn and he looks worried, but he still smiles when he sees Mark.

"Where's your cat?" Mark says.

The cat is lying on the couch, flat on her side, panting intermittently. She growls as soon as Eduardo approaches her. When Mark comes over too, she switches to hissing, but runs out of breath to do it.

"So why can't you take her to the vet?" Mark asks. The carrier is on the floor by the couch, there's a little blanket set on top of it, and the cat is clearly located within reach.

"I can't pick her up!" Eduardo says, and reaches a hand out. As soon as he lays it on the cat's side, she screams, shrieking at the top of her feline lungs. It's an ungodly sound. When Eduardo removes his hand, she subsides back to growling.

"Nice cat," Mark says.

Eduardo glowers. "She doesn't know any better. She's new to being a pet, I think."

Mark stares at him. "She's not really yours, is she?"

"She is," Eduardo says defensively. "The apartment complex was going to have her put down if nobody claimed her."

"You have a feral cat dying on your couch," Mark says.

"She wouldn't be dying if she'd let me take her to the vet!" Eduardo says. "She hasn't figured out that I'm trying to help her. I've been feeding her for two months and she still doesn't trust me."

"She'd be happier if she were dying outside," Mark says. He tries to touch the cat too. The same result is produced.

"She's not going to die," Eduardo says firmly.

"Well, then we'd better get her in the carrier," Mark says, and scoops her up.

She screams the whole way down to the car. Some kids by Mark's car stop and stare at them. Eduardo waves awkwardly and says, "We're taking her to the vet. She's just scared."

Once in the car, she shuts up. The switch is so abrupt that Eduardo, in the front passenger seat, twists around to stare into the carrier. "Did she pass out?"

"Hopefully," Mark mutters. He jumps when Eduardo slaps his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Sorry," Eduardo says. "But that was uncalled for. She's ill."

"Stupid cat," Mark mutters, and follows Eduardo's directions to the emergency Animal Clinic.

The cat starts screaming again as soon as Eduardo grabs the carrier from the backseat. "Maybe she just likes the car," he says.

Mark, who has never heard of such a thing, shrugs. The nurse, vet assistants, whatever they are, give them some of the nastiest looks Mark has ever seen as soon as they push through the doors. Eduardo rushes up to the desk, babbling about the not-his cat with the literal caterwauling as background punctuation.

Mark looks at the viciously frowning woman who's listening to Eduardo speak and heads to the other side of the waiting room, claiming a chair in the corner.

It's not all bad. From this vantage point he can watch Eduardo, the way he moves his whole body around as he tries to convey his utter cluelessness about the cat to the unimpressed woman. When she reaches in to try to touch the cat, making soft shushing sounds, the cat positively wails. It scratches her, and she yanks her hand back out. Eduardo winces and repeats endless apologies, and another vet assistant comes to help.

They take the carrier to a back room, and Mark weighs his newly-developed hatred for that cat against his curiosity, then gets up to see how they're planning on doing this.

They're not doing much planning. They've shoved Eduardo away, and are currently peering into the crate at the cat. Neither seems too willing to reach in and grab her.

Mark watches them for a moment, while Eduardo stands stiff next to him, fairly vibrating with worry - over a cat that doesn't even like him, Mark does not understand this - and then he sighs.

"Move," he snaps.

The first assistant gives him a dirty look and tries to hold him back. Mark moves around to the other side of the table, undoes the four latches on the carrier, and lifts the whole lid off. The bitchy cat is left exposed, hunkered down in the bottom half of the carrier.

It's silent for a moment as everyone adjusts to their surprise. Eduardo looks like an idiot, gaping between the cat and Mark. The two assistants are just staring at him. The cat is blinking in the light and frozen in fear.

"Jesus Christ," Mark mutters, and walks back out to the waiting room.

Eduardo joins him a little more than a minute later. "They got her sedated," he says.

"Good for them," Mark says.

Eduardo sits in the chair next to Mark's, stiffly. "So that was embarrassing."

Mark agrees, but he says, "More for them than for you."

"This whole situation is a little embarrassing for me," Eduardo says.

"A little?" Mark says.

"Oh, shut up," Eduardo mutters, flushing. Mark pretends to flip through the magazines on the side table, because he can't help smiling and he doesn't want Eduardo to get the wrong idea - he really does not approve of any of this.

Eduardo leans over Mark to dig through the magazines, too. Mark, having selected Popular Science, presses himself stiffly back into his chair and glares down at Eduardo's head. Eduardo, once he's grabbed a travel magazine - Mark is relieved he didn't go for one of the gossip rags; he might've actually had to give up on Eduardo if he had - leans back into his own chair and smiles over at Mark, a little sly.

Mark frowns back and adjusts himself in his seat, abruptly uncomfortable with their proximity. He tries to read but pays more attention to the pattern of Eduardo's breathing and the rustle of the pages turning. Eduardo, after a few minutes, lays his hand on Mark's thigh; Mark gives up on the magazine entirely and stares uncomprehendingly at its pages, hoping the fucking cat will be done soon.

"Mr. Saverin?" the second assistant says, coming out. "The vet is done looking at her if you want to come in."

Eduardo grabs Mark's elbow as he stands, towing Mark with him wordlessly. Mark makes a haphazard toss but misses the table, the magazine flapping sadly to the floor. "I hope she's okay," Eduardo mutters under his breath, and Mark pats his wrist awkwardly with his own free hand.

"Mr. Saverin," the vet says. She's a middle-aged, smiling woman. "I hear your cat has quite the personality."

"She was a stray," Eduardo says. "She's still adjusting."

Mark snorts.

"Right, well," the vet says, smile widening. "She has a bladder infection. It's swollen up her abdomen and made movement difficult for her. You've noticed a decrease in her food and water intake recently?"

"A little," Eduardo says. "But she never ate much before, and I thought it was just the heat."

Mark doesn't point out that the apartment the cat inhabits is, courtesy of Eduardo, air-conditioned. The vet just nods knowledgeably.

"Well, I've given her a strong shot of antibiotics, and sedated her further. She should stay asleep for another couple of hours, and she might be drowsy for a while after that. I'm going to give you a couple of prescriptions for her, and you can bring her to your regular vet in three days for a check up. She'll probably have to be on antibiotics for a couple of weeks." The vet strokes a hand over the cat's side. She's breathing shallow and regular, completely limp on the table. It's a little creepy.

"Thank you," Eduardo says, sounding relieved. He finally releases Mark's elbow.

"If you and your boyfriend can watch her carefully for the next six hours," the vet says, "that'd be great. Allergic reactions to the meds usually show up pretty early, but just in case something happens."

"Right, yes," Eduardo says.

Mark rubs at his elbow and wonders why the vet thinks they're boyfriends.

"She really is beautiful," the vet says, still petting the cat. Objectively, she probably is, but Mark thinks that all her attitude wouldn't be worth it if she were a pureblood show cat.

The vet assistants load the cat back into the carrier, snapping the lid back on. Eduardo pays at the front desk and the vet assistant shoves the carrier into Mark's hand. He takes it, blinking, and then goes outside to deposit it in his car. He decides, after a minute, to strap it in properly this time, looping the seatbelt through the handle, because if he gets in an accident on the way home he doesn't want to die of cat carrier-induced head trauma.

"Thank you," Eduardo says quietly, coming up behind him.

Mark finishes buckling the seatbelt and shuts the door. "Yeah," he says. "Did you get the prescriptions?"

Eduardo holds up a white bag and Mark nods.

On the way back to Eduardo's apartment, the car is eerily silent except for the cat in the back, who can be heard to make faint wheezing sounds every couple of breaths. "What's her name?" Mark asks.

"Oh," Eduardo says. "Just Cat."

Mark blinks and turns to look at Eduardo quizzically. "You went to all the effort to rescue a cat from your apartment complex, and later save her from death by bladder infection, and you haven't named her?"

"I have named her," Eduardo says, "and please watch the road."

Mark rolls his eyes but looks forward again. It's after seven and they're on the outskirts of the city - there's little to no traffic. "You named her Cat," he says.

"It's short for Catherine," Eduardo says. "After one of the kids in the apartment below mine."

Mark finds this even more annoying than a cat just named Cat. Of course Eduardo named his rescued feral pet after a female child who lives near him. The girl also probably had leukemia. He scowls at the cat carrier through the rearview mirror.

"And Catherine is a perfectly acceptable name for a cat," Eduardo says. "I don't have to worry about any of the kids being unable to pronounce it."

"Do you have a lot of kids running through your apartment to bother your pets?" Mark asks impulsively. "No wonder she doesn't like you."

Eduardo smiles and laughs a little. Mark hazards a quick glance over. He's relaxed again, finally, and he's looking back at the cat carrier fondly. "No, she doesn't get many visitors," Eduardo says. "The kids ask me about her, usually. Everyone remembers her from when she was just a stray. Maybe if I brought more of them in she wouldn't hate people so much."

"Or maybe she would've found a way to kill herself earlier," Mark says, who wouldn't put that past any animal, never mind a cat as antisocial and vicious as that one.

"Implying she's tried to kill herself now?" Eduardo says, and Mark winces but Eduardo doesn't get angry. "Yeah, you're probably right."

They arrive at Eduardo's apartment and unload the cat. Eduardo opens the door for Mark. It turns out he didn't even lock it before they left, and Mark wonders if he really trusts his neighbors that much or whether he was honestly that worried about the cat.

"I'm sorry about our date," Eduardo says.

Mark sets the carrier on the couch. He opens the door. The cat, still drugged to sleep, doesn't so much as twitch. Mark peers in at her and decides she's almost cute when she's passed out and silent. "It's okay," he says, and is surprised to realize he means it.

Eduardo isn't smiling when Mark turns back around, which is such a change that Mark almost stops to stare for a minute. Instead he's got his head slightly tilted and he's just watching Mark. Mark shifts on the balls of his feet, hunching slightly.

"Do you want a drink?" Eduardo asks. "I have beer."

"Yes," Mark says.

They end up on the couch, the three of them: Eduardo, Mark, and the cat in her carrier. A full six-pack later and they're watching I Love Lucy, because Eduardo claims it's his right to choose what they watch in his apartment. Mark, who operates under those rules in his own apartment, can't argue.

"I love this show," Eduardo says, a little drunkenly. "It's so happy."

"Your cat isn't dead," Mark says. She's just twitched a little, and one eye has slitted open.

"I'm very glad," Eduardo says. "Really, thank you."

"Ye-" Mark says, turning to Eduardo and making sure to keep all of his body parts well away from the open carrier door when Eduardo kisses him.

Mark was expecting this. He would've been incredibly disappointed, in fact, if he went through all of this without getting at least a kiss. Eduardo's more serious than Mark was expecting though. He leans away for a moment, setting his bottle on the coffee table, and then his hand catches Mark's, taking that bottle and setting it aside too.

His palm is clammy from condensation when he grabs Mark's hand, lacing their fingers together. Mark squeezes back, instinctive clutching, and opens his mouth to Eduardo's kiss. Eduardo tastes like beer and his tongue is still a little cool with the tang of the refrigerated beer. Mark hums and shivers when Eduardo releases his hand to pull him closer.

"Thank you," Eduardo breathes, and Mark breaks away.

"You're welcome," he says, "now stop saying that. I helped you take your cat to the vet. It was maybe two hours out of my day."

"You just don't seem like the type to do things like that often," Eduardo says. It doesn't sound like a dig at Mark; instead, as he rubs his thumb over the back of Mark's hand, it feels like he's saying thank you again.

"And you do it all the goddamn time, of course," Mark mutters, and ignores his face getting hot. "You owe me."

"Yes," Eduardo agrees, and releases Mark's hand. "We'll do a real date later?"

"Or we could get food now," Mark says.

"Oh, yeah," Eduardo says, starting to smile again. "Do you want to order in?"

"You're not going to make it yourself?" Mark says.

"I'm not confident enough in my abilities," Eduardo says. "Giving you food poisoning would definitely ruin what's left of tonight's potential."

"Not really," Mark says. "But we can order pizza."

Eduardo gives him an odd look, half puzzled and half amused, but he agrees.

Mark only puts up with I Love Lucy until the pizza comes. When Eduardo gets up to pay, Mark steals the remote and flips until he finds a movie channel. Whatever the movie was, it's just credits playing now, but Mark thinks that will still get the point across.

Eduardo, instead of bringing the pizza in, goes to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Mark calls.

"I'm getting plates," Eduardo calls back. "Impatient."

"Plates?" Mark says blankly. "It's pizza."

"Yes, plates," Eduardo says firmly, and hands him one. Plus napkins. Mark shakes his head wordlessly and decides it'd be easier to just go with it.

They finish the pizza and Mark asks, "What time is it?"

"A little before nine," Eduardo says. "Do you need to go?"

"I'm not leaving until the cat's okay," Mark says. He doesn't give a fuck about the cat - who, after that first feeble movement, has only barely slitted her eyes open once or twice; she hasn't even mustered the energy for a tail twitch - but it's a convenient excuse.

"You don't have to leave even when she is," Eduardo says.

Mark nods.

The movie gets ignored as they kiss some more, Mark fumbling close to Eduardo so he doesn't bump into the cat carrier.

Everything goes well, much better than it has so far, and then the cat perks up.

"Ugh," Eduardo says, as the first low, menacing growl permeates the room.

Mark twists, staring into the carrier. "She's not even fucking awake."

"We should give her some peace," Eduardo says.

Mark narrows his eyes. "You want to give the cat some peace."

"I just meant," Eduardo says, smiling and catching Mark's wrist, "that I have other rooms. Like my bedroom."

"Oh," Mark says. "Okay."

Eduardo's bedroom is much neater than Mark's. It's like the rest of the apartment that way. Mark ignores Eduardo, who's mumbling something about "his mess" while he puts the one pair of shoes Mark can see in the closet, and crawls onto the bed.

"Hi," Eduardo says, coming over to him.

Mark moves further back onto the bed, making room for Eduardo. Eduardo follows him.

"You mentioned," he says, pushing Mark onto his back, "something about fucking me without a script."

"No," Mark blurts, and then wonders what the hell is wrong with him. "Yes. I mean I don't care."

Eduardo pauses above him. His eyes are bright and really warm, though his mouth is only curved up a little. "I know," he says. He settles down against Mark, and Mark spreads his legs to hold him between his thighs. It brings back sense memories of the last time they were like this, and Mark feels his pulse pick up.

They kiss for a long time, for too long, until Mark feels half-sleepy and hot. Eduardo is warm and grounding on top of Mark. He combs through Mark's hair while they make out, sucking on Mark's tongue while he tugs on his curls, and Mark is starting to suspect Eduardo has a thing for his hair.

Mark can't take it as long as Eduardo can. He twists his face away, finding cool sheets with his cheek and panting. He braces his hands on Eduardo's shoulders and considers pushing him off.

"What do you want?" Eduardo whispers, sound buzzing against Mark's mouth, and Mark goes from pushing to abruptly pulling close again.

"Are we talking in general, or-" he asks, dazed, and Eduardo, instead of laughing, bites at his collarbone.

"You saved my cat," Eduardo says, "that deserves at least one orgasm. We have no script. What do you want?"

"Hands," Mark says, discarding all sarcasm or disgust about the cat in favor of honesty. "Hands, I just want you to-"

"Like that first day?" Eduardo says. He palms Mark over his jeans.

"Yes," Mark hisses.

Eduardo hums, tucking his face into Mark's neck. He's smiling, smug, but he unzips Mark's jeans and slips his hand inside, and Mark doesn't care.

Eduardo apparently remembers the first day, squeezing tight and twisting and pressing his thumb over the head every time Mark can't help his hips thrusting up, and he watches the whole time, holding himself up on an elbow and head angled down while he gets Mark off. Mark doesn't watch like Eduardo does; instead he watches Eduardo, his hair and the movement of his arm and the way, when he blinks, Mark can just see the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks.

Mark comes easily because he feels like he's been on a slow burn for the last couple of hours, if not all evening, and also it's plausible he might have a thing for his hair, too, at least when Eduardo's touching it.

"Really," Eduardo says, head heavy on Mark's shoulder and arm draped over his middle. He licked his hand clean - which Mark did not think was hot, it was probably a disgusting habit he's assimilated after too many years doing porn - and then sprawled half on top of Mark. Mark can feel his erection against his hip, and he's working on getting his hand down there, but he also kind of wants to sleep and Eduardo's not giving him the incentive to get moving.

"Really," Mark parrots back and yawns.

Eduardo laughs and kisses the side of his nose. Mark twists to stare at him, because what the fuck?

"Really," Eduardo says, "thank you for today."

"Shut up," Mark says, "don't say that again," by which he means, you're welcome. Then he sucks his lip into his mouth and rubs the heel of his hand against Eduardo's dick and says, "You want me to blow you again?"

Eduardo's loud moan is sufficient enough answer. Mark smirks and leans down to get to work, and really means I'd do it again.

---

Mark wakes up and his back is cold. He gropes around behind him, but when he's unable to locate the sheets he blinks his eyes open. Eduardo isn't next to him, and Mark considers his options: he can go back to sleep, or he can get up and make sure Eduardo's cat didn't murder him in the dark of night.

"Good morning," Eduardo says warmly as soon as Mark steps out of the bedroom. He's standing by the microwave, which is lit up and humming away. He's wearing pajama pants, which makes Mark glad he put his boxers on before he came out. The cat is crunching food from a bowl on the counter.

Mark says, "You feed it on the counter?"

"I put the food up here in hopes she'll let her guard down and I can grab her," Eduardo says sheepishly. "I'm supposed to squirt her medicine into her mouth with the syringe, but I don't know how I'm supposed to catch her long enough to do it."

Mark rolls his eyes and steps into the kitchen. Eduardo, when Mark is close enough, reaches out and tugs him close. He kisses the side of Mark's head and asks, "Do you want oatmeal?"

"Is that what you're making?" Mark asks.

"Yeah," Eduardo says. The microwave dings.

"No," Mark says, wrinkling his nose and stepping away.

The cat lifts her head, eyeing him warily. He asks, "Where's the medicine?"

"In the fridge," Eduardo says. He's stirring the oatmeal; Mark can smell it. "She needs one dropperful."

Mark grabs the bottle and sucks up a milliliter of the nasty off-white liquid. It smells somewhat like bleach, and he does not envy the cat. "She's still injured," Mark says, at Eduardo's look. "It won't be that hard to catch her."

Unfortunately, it's not exactly easy, either. She sees Mark coming and takes off, throwing herself off the counter and fleeing. Mark traps her in the bathroom without too much trouble, and then corners her in the bathtub, and finally scoops her up around the middle and shoves the dropper in her mouth, squeezing the plunger down.

She makes a noise like she's dying and Mark lets her go, and when he opens the door again Eduardo is standing in front of it, bowl of oatmeal and spoon in hand, puzzled expression on his face. "You didn't have to do that," he says.

"Oatmeal or the cat," Mark says, shrugging. "I hate oatmeal." Besides, it needed to be done, and from what Mark's seen, it probably would've taken Eduardo two hours to do it.

"Of course," Eduardo says, face contorting with something like smothered amusement. "Come on, I'm watching cartoons."

Mark would normally rather shoot himself, but Eduardo waits until he sits down and then leans against him, and even if the cartoons are dumb and the oatmeal smells overpoweringly bad and Eduardo apparently has a sense of humor dumb enough to rival Dustin's, Mark is perfectly content where he is.

After more than an hour's worth of cartoons, when Mark has given up the fight and started dozing off with his head propped back against the couch, Eduardo turns and touches his face gently and says, "I really like you."

Mark doesn't trust that phrase. He focuses on Eduardo, holding still while he gets kissed gently. "You, too," he says, when Eduardo has pulled back and a response still seems to be required.

"I want to see you again," Eduardo says. "As soon as possible."

"You're kicking me out," Mark says.

"I have to go somewhere this weekend," Eduardo says. He looks guilty. "I'm sorry. I'd stay if I could."

Mark shrugs and yawns. "When will you be back?"

"Two days," Eduardo says. "I'll see you then?"

"Sure," Mark says. He stands up, stretching, and follows Eduardo into the bedroom to get his clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Oh," Eduardo says. He waves his hand. "Just a convention."

"Like a fan convention?" Mark asks blankly.

"No, like a technology convention," Eduardo says. He smiles at Mark. "I've got a friend who's presenting one of the talks and I promised I'd be there."

"Okay," Mark says, frowning. He wonders what sort of friends Eduardo would have to make technology presentations and takes his shirt when Eduardo hands it to him.

Eduardo leads him out. There's a break where Mark grabs his keys and Eduardo crowds him up against the counter, kissing him slow and deep. Mark runs his hands over Eduardo's bare skin, playing his fingers along the waistband of the pajama pants, and wonders why they didn't have morning sex. Eduardo's mouth is warm and doesn't even taste like oatmeal anymore, just faintly of honey.

When they stop kissing it's because the cat, eating again on the counter, knocks her food bowl off. Kibble goes everywhere. Mark is sure she has to be doing it on purpose.

"Oh," Eduardo says, looking at her. "That reminds me."

Mark raises an eyebrow. Eduardo hunches a little, running his palms up and down Mark's sides, and asks, "Would you mind taking her while I'm gone?"

"Taking her?" Mark repeats.

"You're so good with her," Eduardo starts, but Mark snorts and he amends, "You're better than anyone else with her. I was just going to leave her food and water, but since she needs to meds now, too…" he trails off, looking hopeful. Mark doesn't know what to say. "You don't have to, of course," Eduardo adds. "I could ask one of my neighbors. I just don't know how reliable that would be, and she doesn't know any of them-"

Mark nods and kisses him, just to shut him up, because the attempt at guilt tripping is obvious and shameless, but it's also working and Mark doesn't like saying goodbye to this much of his dignity but there's not much else to be done.

Eduardo loads him down with all the cat's accoutrements, from litter box to food bowl. He even tucks the two bottles of medicine into a ziplock bag with some ice to keep them cool as directed. Then he gets dressed, a neat t-shirt and jeans that look pressed, and helps Mark put everything in his car. The asphalt is radiating heat already, and there are kids running around, some of which wave happily at Eduardo.

The cat is the last thing to grab, and inside Eduardo's apartment, he grabs Mark again and thanks him. Mark kisses him, sick of hearing those words, and tries to nudge him toward the bedroom.

"I have to leave in less than three hours," Eduardo says regretfully, pulling back. "I'm driving. And I'm not packed yet."

Mark makes a frustrated noise and releases his grip on Eduardo's belt loops. "Fine. I'm going to catch the cat."

She still seems to be cowed from earlier, hunkering down noiselessly when Mark approaches. She doesn't attempt to flee, and it's easy enough to shove her into the carrier.

"I think she's starting to like you," Eduardo says, grinning.

"Fuck off," Mark says. That's just uncalled for.

Eduardo grins harder and kisses his cheek. "I'll see you soon," he promises.

Mark nods and takes Eduardo's cat out to his car.

---

Mark hasn't heard from Eduardo in three days, and he was supposed to be home yesterday.

"You could call him," Dustin says. "Stop whining."

"I'm not whining," Mark says, disgusted. He mentioned, once, how it's a little worrying that Eduardo hasn't texted him yet.

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Oh, no, what if he doesn't like your dick as much as you thought!'" he says.

Mark says, "He does like my dick, but he likes my mouth more."

"Oh, Jesus," Dustin says, looking less amused suddenly. "Okay, first of all, when you do talk to him, don't open with discussion of dicks or mouths or asses or anything else you two rub on each other."

"No shit," Mark says.

Dustin ignores him. "Second of all, call him. Don't be a fucking baby. You can make the first move."

"I've made all the first moves," Mark points out.

"Keep making them," Dustin says. "It's good for you. You're not being lazy for once in your life."

"Whatever," Mark says.

"You have his cat," Dustin says. "He has to see you at least once more. Call him and tell him you're worried about its health."

Mark made the mistake of telling Dustin about the cat. He meant to complain - he was complaining, actually - but Dustin had started going on about how it was the cutest fucking thing ever, as if homicidal felines made for ideal date conditions.

"Dude, you got laid, didn't you?" Dustin had pointed out.

"We've already had sex," Mark had said. "I would've gotten laid if all we'd done was gone rollerblading."

"Do you even know how to rollerblade?" Dustin had asked, and that was really the last of the conversation Mark had bothered paying attention to.

"I'm not relying on the cat," Mark says. "I don't need an excuse to call."

"You don't need an excuse," Dustin agrees. "But believe me when I say that you can use all the help you can get, and that's a good, hard-to-fuck-up opener."

"Fuck you," Mark says.

"Did you leave anything behind in his apartment?" Dustin asks. "Anything to give you an excuse to go over there?"

"What?" Mark says blankly. "No."

"You have to use the cat," Dustin says, nodding.

"I'm going home," Mark says, scowling.

"Good boy," Dustin says. "Call me when you're done and tell me what you two talked about."

"No," Mark says and gets off the couch.

"You know, I'm still kind of wondering how you're going to pull this off," Dustin says.

"I can date," Mark says defensively.

"No, I mean the porn-and-relationships thing," Dustin says. Dustin had voiced the same concerns as Eduardo when Mark admitted why Eduardo turned him down at first, which had surprised Mark. He hadn't thought Dustin was taking any of this seriously. "You're kind of a possessive asshole."

"I don't care if he fucks other people," Mark says.

"Just so long as he doesn't like them," Dustin says.

"Exactly," Mark says. It's not that complicated.

"This won't go wrong," Dustin mutters.

***
END PART TWO?
***

So Mark decides to call Eduardo. He has to drink two beers before he takes out his phone and pulls up Eduardo's number.

When Eduardo answers on the second ring he sounds tired. "Hello?"

"Hi," Mark says blankly.

"Hi," Eduardo says back, just as blankly. "Mark."

"Yes," Mark says slowly, narrowing his eyes at his wall. Eduardo doesn't sound happy at all.

"Right," Eduardo says. "Hold on a moment."

Then the line goes silent. Mark pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it, and then reluctantly settles further down on his couch and puts his phone back up by his ear. The cat comes sneakily out of his bedroom, eyeing him, then apparently decides all is well. She jumps onto the back of the couch, settling in the middle. She's gotten much too comfortable in the seventy-two hours she's been living at Mark's apartment, and Mark wants her gone. She's usually not too disruptive, except for the times when she decides it's been too long since she made her existence known. Right now, she's near enough to Mark's head that he can hear her breathing, loud in the silence of the apartment. Mark leans forward and turns the TV on.

"Right, Mark, hello?" Eduardo says, line clicking back on.

Mark almost drops the remote. "Yes," he says.

Eduardo sighs. "Hello. I'm sorry."

"Where are you?" Mark asks.

"About half an hour from your apartment," Eduardo says. "I was going through a drive through to get food just now. I'm getting home late. I got started talking to an old friend - the one who was presenting, I told you - and ended up staying the night in her hotel room, and I didn't get going today until late. I'm sorry I didn't call you."

"Of course," Mark says shortly. The cat takes this moment to lean forward and scratch the back of his neck, and he yelps, lurching away.

"Mark?" Eduardo asks, voice tinny. "Are you okay?"

"Fucking cat," Mark hisses. He rubs his neck and comes away with a faint smear of blood. "I'm going to skin you," he tells her.

"Ah," Eduardo says. "I'll be there in half an hour, please don't kill her just yet?"

"Fine," Mark says grumpily, scowling at the horrible animal, and hangs up his phone.

True to his word, Eduardo knocks at Mark's door a little more than half an hour later. Mark and the cat have declared another truce - Mark moved to the armchair and the cat stayed on the couch, whatever, nobody's bleeding anymore - and Mark has turned on some nineties sitcom, which he's ignoring in favor of his laptop.

He jumps a little when the knock comes, but he knows it has to be Eduardo - even if Eduardo hadn't said he was on his way, nobody else who visits Mark ever knocks, least of all someone who would visit at almost midnight. He opens the door to be greeted with the sight of Eduardo, dark and sleepy-eyed, blinking blearily at him under bags of Mexican fast food.

"I brought you some, too," he says, "in repayment for watching the cat."

"She's not dead yet," Mark informs him, and steps aside to let him in.

"You're very sorry to have to report," Eduardo says, mouth quirking up.

"I never laid a hand on her," Mark protests, quite truthfully. Except for the medicine, he's avoided any dealings with the feline.

Eduardo sets the food on the kitchen table, looking around curiously. Mark's apartment isn't quite as nice as Eduardo's; he puts a lot less effort into homemaking than Eduardo seemed to. He doesn't have live plants on his coffee table. Eduardo doesn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry I-" Eduardo starts, interrupting himself with a yawn. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I meant to call."

Mark shrugs. "It doesn't matter."

"Or at least text you," Eduardo continues, "just to let you know what was going on."

"You got caught up with your friend," Mark says.

"Yeah," Eduardo says. He starts taking food out of the bags and tries to hand a box to Mark.

Mark steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. Eduardo looks at him, frowning, and he looks exhausted. Mark almost feels bad.

"Mark?" Eduardo asks.

"So how was she?" Mark asks. "Your friend. How did her presentation go? What was it on, again?" Mark, after bringing Eduardo's cat home, had searched around for technology conferences anywhere within a radius one day's drive, but there had been hundreds of matches and no way to know for sure which one Eduardo had gone to.

"How was-" Eduardo repeats, still frowning, and then his face clears. "Oh, Mark. No. Not like that."

"Not like what?" Mark says. He refuses to retreat when Eduardo steps forward, so Eduardo's catching his wrists and pulling his hands out of his pockets a second later.

"She really is just a friend," Eduardo says. "You of all people should know she - any woman - would not be my type. Besides, I would've told you if I had someone like that. We wouldn't be doing this."

Mark pulls his hands from Eduardo's grasp, stepping away and grabbing the food. "It doesn't matter," he says. "Are you hungry?"

"It's really sweet that you're jealous," Eduardo says, "but I promise she's just a friend."

"I believe you," Mark says sharply. He feels embarrassed. He hadn't even been jealous, not really, just frustrated because he didn't know who this "she" was Eduardo was driving hours and hours to see.

Eduardo snorts but picks over his food quietly. Mark isn't that hungry either - he ate earlier - and after a few minutes he takes Eduardo's container from his hands and sticks them both in the fridge.

"If we can get Cat's things together, I'll-" Eduardo starts.

"Stay here," Mark says.

"What?" Eduardo asks.

"Stay the night," Mark says. "It's midnight, you're half-asleep, and the cat's already been here three days, she'll survive another."

"No, I couldn't-" Eduardo says, but he breaks off into another yawn. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

"Stay," Mark says. "You can take your cat back in the morning."

Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | More Porn (Sequel-ish Thingy)