fic: Choppy Waves in the Ocean
title: Choppy Waves in the Ocean
fandom: The Social Network
pairing: Eduardo/Mark
rating: NC-17
warnings: sex, drug use (marijuana), slight kinkiness? (but not really)
disclaimer: Based on a fictional representation of real people; not meant to represent the actual people in any way. I don't own anything.
summary: Eduardo accidentally discovers that Mark really, really likes having his hair touched. This turns out to be mutually beneficial.
notes: Written for this prompt on the promptfest. You can blame thank listentokelly and oflights for the existence of this, since they were peer pressuring me to write it when I really should have been sleeping. Which is why there are weird tense issues, w/e.
The first time Eduardo noticed it, he chalked it up to being stoned.
They weren’t actually that high, thinking back. They had split one joint five ways, and it was pretty weak stuff besides, but Eduardo, who had never smoked before, thought he was completely fucking baked.
Chris and Dustin and Billy had gone off somewhere. Eduardo wasn’t quite sure where, which was mostly because he was having trouble paying attention to anything other than Mark. This wasn’t that unusual, but normally he was better at hiding it.
It was just that stoned Mark was so damn cute. He was rambling about something, Eduardo wasn’t exactly sure what, and waving his hands around dramatically. Eduardo had lost track of the conversation a while back. It was hard enough to keep up with Mark’s lightning-fast topic changes when they were both sober. Like this, it was a lost cause.
But he didn’t really mind. He was studying Mark’s hair, thinking it was probably the most fascinating texture he had ever scene. The little flips and curls, like choppy waves in the ocean. In the light from the lamp, he could count at least ten different shades of brown.
“Can I touch your hair?” he heard himself saying, without meaning to.
“What?” Mark said, but Eduardo’s fingers had already moved to stroke Mark’s head of their own volition.
He expected Mark to flinch away, but he didn’t. To the contrary: he tipped his head back into Eduardo’s palm, like a cat arching into a touch. His hair was so soft and silky between Eduardo’s fingers, and Eduardo thought, vividly, I want to touch your head for the rest of my life. . Mark’s eyes slid shut, and Eduardo ran his fingertips down Mark’s scalp.
At that, Mark made this noise, like a purr, and it was actually a cat noise, like, Mark was actually being a cat. Eduardo didn’t care, though. He just kept stroking Mark’s soft, sweet-smelling hair for what felt like hours, and Mark kept making that noise. Eduardo kept thinking, If I never end up getting to have sex with you, that will be okay, as long as we can do this forever.
He’s not quite sure how long it really went for. He didn’t bring it up later, when the weed had worn off, afraid of embarrassing Mark. But it just made it harder, after that, not to touch, now that he had.
--
The second time it happens, he realizes it had nothing to do with being high.
It’s the first real storm of the winter. All Eduardo can see out the window are swirls of white, the wind howling as it whips through the snow.
Mark stamps his sneakers in the hall outside Eduardo’s dorm. He enters in a flurry (pun intended), shedding the jacket and scarf Eduardo had forced him to wear. His cheeks are bright pink from the wind, and the tips of his nose and ears red. His hair is peppered with flecks of white. Eduardo immediately feels the all-too-familiar sensation of desire rising up and swirling inside him, not unlike the storm outside. He forcibly tamps it down (almost second nature, by now) and says, “You ignored what I said about the hat, I see.”
“I forgot,” Mark said. “Why the fuck do we live in New England? Why?”
“Because we’re stupid,” Eduardo says. Mark absently wipes a trickle of water off the side of his face. “For God’s sake, Mark, there’s snow in your hair,” Eduardo says, and without thinking, brushes his fingers through Mark’s hair, sending a small cascade of snowflakes to the floor.
Immediately, Mark makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, almost too quiet to hear, and Eduardo freezes.
“Mark?” he says. “Did you just-”
“Shut up,” Mark grits out, and he’s even more flushed now. Eduardo bites his lip very hard to keep from grinning.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says.
“No,” Mark says petulantly.
“You do!” Eduardo says.
“I don’t-”
But before he can protest, Eduardo sinks his fingers into Mark’s curls, damp and cold at the ends. It’s like flipping a switch: Mark’s eyes flicker shut and he sighs, deeply. Eduardo is beyond delighted. He’s discovered Mark’s thing! Mark has a thing!
Still, he forces himself not to say anything, not wanting to break the spell. He brushes the last bits of snow from behind Mark’s ears, listening to Mark make little contented sighs under his breath. When Eduardo rubs his fingertips over the wet curls at the nape of Mark’s neck, gentle and barely-there, Mark stumbles backwards, nearly tripping on his feet.
He just catches his balance and his eyes fly open.
“Uh,” he says. “Uh, I have to go. Sorry.”
He rushes out the door without picking up his jacket or scarf, shoving his feet in his wet shoes.
Eduardo stares after him, baffled, then grins widely as he realizes what happened.
Mark’s knees buckled. He made Mark swoon.
He can’t stop grinning.
--
So now he knows. Mark has a thing about having his hair touched.
A couple of weeks pass before Eduardo gets a chance to use this information to his advantage. But when he does, it’s so worth the wait.
They’re in Mark’s room, both studying. Well, Eduardo is trying to study, but it’s a little-okay, a lot-hard to focus given his current proximity to Mark.
They’re both sitting on the floor, propped up against the bed, and it might be Eduardo’s imagination, but it sure seems like Mark is getting closer by the minute.
Eduardo reads the same paragraph for the fourth time as he feels Mark’s arm brush his. He swallows. He tries to think of a way to get Mark to let him touch his hair again, without it being obvious that he wants to.
Just then, Mark shuts his book suddenly and puts it down beside him, interrupting Eduardo’s scheming.
“Can you do that thing with my hair again?” he says.
“Uh,” Eduardo says. Mark asking outright? This is totally unexpected.
“I know you like it,” Mark says, a smirk in his voice.
“What? I’m not the one who-” Eduardo cuts himself off. “Fine, if you want. Uh-”
He drops his book and tries to maneuver himself so he’s facing Mark, but before he can, Mark slides down and pushes his head in Eduardo’s lap, just like that.
Eduardo feels like all the air has gone out of his lungs. Mark’s head is in his lap. Like. In his lap.
Just be cool, he tells himself, although how the hell he’s supposed to be cool with Mark Zuckerberg’s face that close to his crotch is frankly beyond him.
“Well, get on with it,” Mark says, snappy, but Eduardo can see that he’s gone slightly pink, like he’s flustered as well. “Okay,” he says.
This time, he doesn’t bother with light touches-no, he goes all out. Remembering what nearly made Mark faint before, he drags his fingertips against Mark’s scalp, feeling the curls tickle his knuckles.
This was apparently the right thing to do, because the noise Mark makes-it’s not a purr, not a gasp, but a moan. Eduardo’s throat is suddenly very dry and his stomach feels hot and tight. He swallows, or tries to, and keeps going.
Mark keeps moaning, but it’s muffled, mostly. That is, until Eduardo starts massaging tiny circles into his scalp, and the sound Mark makes, it’s like, actually pornographic. Like, Eduardo doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone moan like that in real life. Certainly not Mark.
He takes deep breaths to try and steady himself, but he’s dizzy and his heart is pounding and fuck, he can’t help it, he’s getting hard.
Shit, he thinks, mortified, because there’s no way Mark won’t notice. But really, how could he not? Who wouldn’t, with Mark’s head in their lap, with Mark making noises like that?
“Mm, keep going,” Mark murmurs.
Hands trembling, Eduardo runs his fingernails against the top of Mark’s scalp, gentle enough that it won’t hurt, just pressure.
“Ahh, Wardo, fuck, like that,” Mark moans, and that’s it, Eduardo can’t stand it.
“Mark, I-” he says, voice shaky.
“It’s okay,” Mark says, and turns his head so his cheek is right against Eduardo’s crotch.
“Mark, what-what are you-” Eduardo gasps.
“It feels so good,” Mark mumbles, and turns more so his face is pressed completely into Eduardo’s erection.
“Oh my god,” Eduardo says, totally breathless, as he feels Mark’s hot breath against him. Mark mouths at his cock through his pants, and Eduardo’s fingers flex in Mark’s hair. It’s just barely enough contact and friction and warmth, and when and Mark runs his tongue over the spot wet with precome, his head falls back against the bed, and he has to pull his hands out of Mark’s hair to keep from pushing his head too forcefully between his legs.
Mark pulls back slightly, and Eduardo can’t contain his whine. “No, keep touching me,” Mark says, and Eduardo nods frantically. When Mark ducks back down, putting a hand on Eduardo’s thigh, Eduardo’s fingers twist in his hair and tug. When he looks down, he sees that Mark has shoved his other hand down his pants and is stroking himself. Combined with the perfect wet heat, this is too much for Eduardo, and he gasps and comes in his pants, pulling harder on Mark’s hair. Mark moans against Eduardo as Eduardo shudders through it.
Instead of letting himself collapse against the bed, Eduardo drags Mark up and kisses him, deep and slow, through his aftershocks. He keeps one hand in Mark’s hair, dragging his fingers down to his neck, and pushes the other down his pants where Mark is already touching himself, and Mark comes immediately, gasping into Eduardo’s mouth.
They collapse against the bed, both panting. Eduardo pulls his hand, sticky, out of Mark’s pants.
Mark opens his eyes and smiles at him, bleary and sweet and a little shy.
“Mark,” Eduardo says, grinning, blissful and delighted. “Do you have a thing about hair-touching?”
Mark bites his lip. “Maybe,” he says, and it’s so cute that Eduardo has no choice but to kiss him again.
fandom: The Social Network
pairing: Eduardo/Mark
rating: NC-17
warnings: sex, drug use (marijuana), slight kinkiness? (but not really)
disclaimer: Based on a fictional representation of real people; not meant to represent the actual people in any way. I don't own anything.
summary: Eduardo accidentally discovers that Mark really, really likes having his hair touched. This turns out to be mutually beneficial.
notes: Written for this prompt on the promptfest. You can blame thank listentokelly and oflights for the existence of this, since they were peer pressuring me to write it when I really should have been sleeping. Which is why there are weird tense issues, w/e.
The first time Eduardo noticed it, he chalked it up to being stoned.
They weren’t actually that high, thinking back. They had split one joint five ways, and it was pretty weak stuff besides, but Eduardo, who had never smoked before, thought he was completely fucking baked.
Chris and Dustin and Billy had gone off somewhere. Eduardo wasn’t quite sure where, which was mostly because he was having trouble paying attention to anything other than Mark. This wasn’t that unusual, but normally he was better at hiding it.
It was just that stoned Mark was so damn cute. He was rambling about something, Eduardo wasn’t exactly sure what, and waving his hands around dramatically. Eduardo had lost track of the conversation a while back. It was hard enough to keep up with Mark’s lightning-fast topic changes when they were both sober. Like this, it was a lost cause.
But he didn’t really mind. He was studying Mark’s hair, thinking it was probably the most fascinating texture he had ever scene. The little flips and curls, like choppy waves in the ocean. In the light from the lamp, he could count at least ten different shades of brown.
“Can I touch your hair?” he heard himself saying, without meaning to.
“What?” Mark said, but Eduardo’s fingers had already moved to stroke Mark’s head of their own volition.
He expected Mark to flinch away, but he didn’t. To the contrary: he tipped his head back into Eduardo’s palm, like a cat arching into a touch. His hair was so soft and silky between Eduardo’s fingers, and Eduardo thought, vividly, I want to touch your head for the rest of my life. . Mark’s eyes slid shut, and Eduardo ran his fingertips down Mark’s scalp.
At that, Mark made this noise, like a purr, and it was actually a cat noise, like, Mark was actually being a cat. Eduardo didn’t care, though. He just kept stroking Mark’s soft, sweet-smelling hair for what felt like hours, and Mark kept making that noise. Eduardo kept thinking, If I never end up getting to have sex with you, that will be okay, as long as we can do this forever.
He’s not quite sure how long it really went for. He didn’t bring it up later, when the weed had worn off, afraid of embarrassing Mark. But it just made it harder, after that, not to touch, now that he had.
--
The second time it happens, he realizes it had nothing to do with being high.
It’s the first real storm of the winter. All Eduardo can see out the window are swirls of white, the wind howling as it whips through the snow.
Mark stamps his sneakers in the hall outside Eduardo’s dorm. He enters in a flurry (pun intended), shedding the jacket and scarf Eduardo had forced him to wear. His cheeks are bright pink from the wind, and the tips of his nose and ears red. His hair is peppered with flecks of white. Eduardo immediately feels the all-too-familiar sensation of desire rising up and swirling inside him, not unlike the storm outside. He forcibly tamps it down (almost second nature, by now) and says, “You ignored what I said about the hat, I see.”
“I forgot,” Mark said. “Why the fuck do we live in New England? Why?”
“Because we’re stupid,” Eduardo says. Mark absently wipes a trickle of water off the side of his face. “For God’s sake, Mark, there’s snow in your hair,” Eduardo says, and without thinking, brushes his fingers through Mark’s hair, sending a small cascade of snowflakes to the floor.
Immediately, Mark makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, almost too quiet to hear, and Eduardo freezes.
“Mark?” he says. “Did you just-”
“Shut up,” Mark grits out, and he’s even more flushed now. Eduardo bites his lip very hard to keep from grinning.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says.
“No,” Mark says petulantly.
“You do!” Eduardo says.
“I don’t-”
But before he can protest, Eduardo sinks his fingers into Mark’s curls, damp and cold at the ends. It’s like flipping a switch: Mark’s eyes flicker shut and he sighs, deeply. Eduardo is beyond delighted. He’s discovered Mark’s thing! Mark has a thing!
Still, he forces himself not to say anything, not wanting to break the spell. He brushes the last bits of snow from behind Mark’s ears, listening to Mark make little contented sighs under his breath. When Eduardo rubs his fingertips over the wet curls at the nape of Mark’s neck, gentle and barely-there, Mark stumbles backwards, nearly tripping on his feet.
He just catches his balance and his eyes fly open.
“Uh,” he says. “Uh, I have to go. Sorry.”
He rushes out the door without picking up his jacket or scarf, shoving his feet in his wet shoes.
Eduardo stares after him, baffled, then grins widely as he realizes what happened.
Mark’s knees buckled. He made Mark swoon.
He can’t stop grinning.
--
So now he knows. Mark has a thing about having his hair touched.
A couple of weeks pass before Eduardo gets a chance to use this information to his advantage. But when he does, it’s so worth the wait.
They’re in Mark’s room, both studying. Well, Eduardo is trying to study, but it’s a little-okay, a lot-hard to focus given his current proximity to Mark.
They’re both sitting on the floor, propped up against the bed, and it might be Eduardo’s imagination, but it sure seems like Mark is getting closer by the minute.
Eduardo reads the same paragraph for the fourth time as he feels Mark’s arm brush his. He swallows. He tries to think of a way to get Mark to let him touch his hair again, without it being obvious that he wants to.
Just then, Mark shuts his book suddenly and puts it down beside him, interrupting Eduardo’s scheming.
“Can you do that thing with my hair again?” he says.
“Uh,” Eduardo says. Mark asking outright? This is totally unexpected.
“I know you like it,” Mark says, a smirk in his voice.
“What? I’m not the one who-” Eduardo cuts himself off. “Fine, if you want. Uh-”
He drops his book and tries to maneuver himself so he’s facing Mark, but before he can, Mark slides down and pushes his head in Eduardo’s lap, just like that.
Eduardo feels like all the air has gone out of his lungs. Mark’s head is in his lap. Like. In his lap.
Just be cool, he tells himself, although how the hell he’s supposed to be cool with Mark Zuckerberg’s face that close to his crotch is frankly beyond him.
“Well, get on with it,” Mark says, snappy, but Eduardo can see that he’s gone slightly pink, like he’s flustered as well. “Okay,” he says.
This time, he doesn’t bother with light touches-no, he goes all out. Remembering what nearly made Mark faint before, he drags his fingertips against Mark’s scalp, feeling the curls tickle his knuckles.
This was apparently the right thing to do, because the noise Mark makes-it’s not a purr, not a gasp, but a moan. Eduardo’s throat is suddenly very dry and his stomach feels hot and tight. He swallows, or tries to, and keeps going.
Mark keeps moaning, but it’s muffled, mostly. That is, until Eduardo starts massaging tiny circles into his scalp, and the sound Mark makes, it’s like, actually pornographic. Like, Eduardo doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone moan like that in real life. Certainly not Mark.
He takes deep breaths to try and steady himself, but he’s dizzy and his heart is pounding and fuck, he can’t help it, he’s getting hard.
Shit, he thinks, mortified, because there’s no way Mark won’t notice. But really, how could he not? Who wouldn’t, with Mark’s head in their lap, with Mark making noises like that?
“Mm, keep going,” Mark murmurs.
Hands trembling, Eduardo runs his fingernails against the top of Mark’s scalp, gentle enough that it won’t hurt, just pressure.
“Ahh, Wardo, fuck, like that,” Mark moans, and that’s it, Eduardo can’t stand it.
“Mark, I-” he says, voice shaky.
“It’s okay,” Mark says, and turns his head so his cheek is right against Eduardo’s crotch.
“Mark, what-what are you-” Eduardo gasps.
“It feels so good,” Mark mumbles, and turns more so his face is pressed completely into Eduardo’s erection.
“Oh my god,” Eduardo says, totally breathless, as he feels Mark’s hot breath against him. Mark mouths at his cock through his pants, and Eduardo’s fingers flex in Mark’s hair. It’s just barely enough contact and friction and warmth, and when and Mark runs his tongue over the spot wet with precome, his head falls back against the bed, and he has to pull his hands out of Mark’s hair to keep from pushing his head too forcefully between his legs.
Mark pulls back slightly, and Eduardo can’t contain his whine. “No, keep touching me,” Mark says, and Eduardo nods frantically. When Mark ducks back down, putting a hand on Eduardo’s thigh, Eduardo’s fingers twist in his hair and tug. When he looks down, he sees that Mark has shoved his other hand down his pants and is stroking himself. Combined with the perfect wet heat, this is too much for Eduardo, and he gasps and comes in his pants, pulling harder on Mark’s hair. Mark moans against Eduardo as Eduardo shudders through it.
Instead of letting himself collapse against the bed, Eduardo drags Mark up and kisses him, deep and slow, through his aftershocks. He keeps one hand in Mark’s hair, dragging his fingers down to his neck, and pushes the other down his pants where Mark is already touching himself, and Mark comes immediately, gasping into Eduardo’s mouth.
They collapse against the bed, both panting. Eduardo pulls his hand, sticky, out of Mark’s pants.
Mark opens his eyes and smiles at him, bleary and sweet and a little shy.
“Mark,” Eduardo says, grinning, blissful and delighted. “Do you have a thing about hair-touching?”
Mark bites his lip. “Maybe,” he says, and it’s so cute that Eduardo has no choice but to kiss him again.