FIC: How Many Ways
FIC: How Many Ways
Pairing: Eduardo/Mark
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/S
Summary: Wardo freezes the accounts. Instead of getting all soppy and "I need my CFO"-y, Mark gets angry. Which is ok because Wardo is obviously a sub waiting to happen. (Don't argue with me about that, unless it is to convince me that Mark is a sub waiting to happen, which is also true, though not for the purpose of this particular fic.)
Author's Note the First: I vowed not to write Mark/Eduardo. See what you people have brought me to? Are you happy now?
Author's Note the Second: Title taken from Public Pervert by Interpol because those lyrics are just so right.
Author's Note the Third: Do as I say, don't do as they do. Safeword, safeword, safeword. Seriously.
How many days will it take to land?
How many ways to reach abandon?
(Interpol - Public pervert)
Mark has worked himself back up into a proper rage in the cab, on the way up in the elevator, on the walk down the corridor. So it's easy to shout, and push his way into Wardo's tiny room, and Wardo shouts back and pushes back, but that doesn't matter, Mark isn't done yet. So there is shouting and pushing and then, he doesn't know, fencing reflexes maybe. He hits Wardo. Backhanded, right across the face.
He doesn't know what he finds more shocking, the fact the he just - hit - Wardo, or the immediacy of the apology that leaps into his throat. But he forces it down, he will not apologise.
So he just stands there, drawing short sharp still-angry breaths, and then Wardo turns to look at him, and - his eyes. They look black and fathomless and unguarded and hungry. And then it's like one of those moments when you're really, truly coding, when your fingers know the next lines before you have thought them, when you don't have to do anything, just let it all unfurl, and it's more than knowing and more than feeling.
"You want this." It's not a question.
"Mark - " Wardo starts, but Mark cuts him off with a kiss, brutal and wild, teeth and stabbing tongue, and Eduardo goes lax against him for a moment before he rallies, shoves Mark away and says, "How dare you -" but there is something plastic in his voice so Mark hits him again, and Eduardo moans and grabs him to bring their mouths back together, but Mark pushes him off and reaches for Eduardo's belt buckle, distantly noting how steady his hands seem.
He jerks sharply, and the belt slides out of the loops with an angry hiss, slicing the air. Eduardo's lips part about an angstrom before Mark hears himself, cold and harsh.
"Take everything off and get on the bed."
And this is the moment to stop, this is the moment to bolt, hell, this may even be the moment to apologise, but then Eduardo obeys him, and next thing he's on his hands and knees on the bed like he just knows. 'Good boy,' Mark thinks and really wants to say it out loud, but he bites it back, it's too cheesy and late-night-porn, but his dick still twitches at the thought.
Eduardo's head is hanging down, and he's breathing heavily but steadily. It's a fascinating rhythm, so Mark matches his own breathing to Eduardo's while he slowly wraps the length of leather around his hand once, twice.
The first slash is surprisingly difficult to make, the second less so and then it's easy. He would like to have Eduardo count out loud, but that would only fit if he'd called him a good boy earlier. But then, in between strokes, he hears a soft susurration, "Três… quatro… cinco…" and he has to press the heel of his hand against his cock, through layers of cotton, so he won't make a fool of himself.
"How many?" he says. "How many do you deserve for this?" And fuck, how many does he deserve?
"More," Eduardo groans, voice broken and desperate. "Just more."
And that's just too much and Mark drops the belt and starts hitting Wardo in earnest, one arm around his hip and then just his flat hand on his ass, over and over again, hard, and Wardo moans like he's disintegrating and reaches between his legs to touch himself, and Mark knows he really ought not to let him, but it's just too fucking hot, and then Wardo comes and collapses onto the bed, and he just lies there shuddering into the mattress, sobbing with want, and Mark has never been so grateful for all his orgasm-denial practice (right to the brink, twenty lines of code, right to the brink, twenty lines of code) because otherwise this would all just be over way too soon.
He distracts himself by opening the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, and yes, lube and condoms. Mark flushes hot at the thought of what he can do with those.
"Lie down properly, on your back, hands above your head," he instructs. Wardo tries to push himself up, but he's still too shaky to achieve much, which earns him another swipe at his ass. "Now," Mark says, voice calm over Wardo's sharply indrawn breath.
Wardo moves, slowly, as if drunk on something, and Mark likes that a lot, so he doesn't take his eyes off Wardo while he undresses. It feels good to be naked finally. It feels even better to see Wardo's eyes unerringly drawn down to his dick. He is so hard. Wardo swallows and seemingly without thinking brings one of his hands down again to touch his own cock.
"Don't make me get the belt again," Mark warns and Wardo's fingers twitch back, reluctantly, and his wrist crosses back over the other one on the pillow. Wardo's cock stiffens anyway.
Mark wills his fingers to stillness as he pulls on the condom, slicks himself with lube. It would be easier if he could close his eyes and focus, easier to withstand the temptation to just jerk roughly, once, twice, just to quickly come, to take the edge off. But he won't stop looking at Wardo, and if Wardo notices that Mark's legs are beginning to tremble with the effort of it all, then he doesn't show it.
There is enough lube left on his fingers to give Wardo's hole some perfunctory touches, and Wardo quivers underneath him and his legs fold themselves close to his chest as if pulled on strings. It makes Mark dizzy how much Wardo wants this. How ready he is for him.
He takes it slow, because he wants to. There is a time and a place for breaching Wardo with one relentless push, but this is not it. Mark wants slow. Marks wants to feel every little instant of owning Wardo, every tiny little bit of give, every heartbeat and every shudder that translates into a steel-soft fluttering around his cock.
It takes an eternity until he's finally fully inside and then he has to be still and breathe and pretend it's to tease Wardo, to not let him have this yet, but really it's because he is whiting out from the heat and the tightness and his own desperate need for this. But this can get better, he knows it can, so he braces himself, holds Wardo's wrists down with one hand, easily, Wardo is so pliant, and then he starts fucking him.
Mark can't help himself, it's fast and rough and so good and so dirty. He's trying to control his moans, but that's getting more difficult with each thrust, with each of Wardo's needy sounds. Wardo's cock is completely hard again, leaking against his stomach, and Mark would like to touch but won't, this isn't for Wardo, not now, but he will touch him sometime soon, will force his hand down Wardo's pants somewhere semi-public and wank him until he's come in his expensive briefs, all humiliation and arousal and gratitude. And he will suck him off too, but that doesn't bear thinking about now, that would simply be too much, and Mark is not ready to give in yet.
And then Wardo's phone chirps into life with that goddamn Christina Aguilera tune, which means that it's Christy. Something in Mark starts to splinter when Wardo frees one arm, stretches, reaches over, but then Wardo just grabs the phone and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall, a hundred tiny shards sparking down onto the floor, and Mark stares, incredulous, and shivers and that makes Wardo arch his back and shout, "Fuck, harder!"
So Mark slaps him again because he will not be told what to do, and he knows that there will be a bruise tomorrow, right across Wardo's beautiful high cheekbone, and that makes his hips buck harder and Wardo moans and it's absolutely shocking and sinful and the hottest thing ever, so Mark continues to push in harder and deeper, and then Wardo is coming all over himself, and Mark doesn't even know what he's doing until he sees his hand on Wardo's dick, milking him, trying to have more from him, and he gets some of Wardo's come on his chest and it feels amazing, and Wardo just whines and then Mark comes so hard.
And then Wardo is grabbing at him, hands on Mark's ass and he's pulling him deeper and Mark just can't anymore and he says the first thing he can think of, the only thing he can think of, just one word left, buzzing around his head, and he says it, and it sounds far too reverent and gentle, hardly more than a breath.
"Wardo."
And then Wardo makes this crazy keening sound that tears at something inside Mark and then they are kissing, kissing, kissing, and Mark doesn't think they'll ever be able to stop, and for all that's just happened, for all they have just done, this is the bit that feels significant, this is the bit that feels life-changing.
It's awkward, afterwards. It always is after sex, but after this… They don't really speak, or look at each other when they eventually clean up and get dressed again.
"So," Mark says, eventually, when they are sat side by side on the bed, prim and proper, hands on knees. "Um. I'm glad. I'm glad I found this out about you."
Wardo gives a shaky laugh and pushes his hand through his hair. "I… yeah. I'm glad too, I think." He sounds unsure.
"Come out to California."
There is a long pause.
"Okay," Wardo says. "Yes. Okay."
"We can do this again." Mark adds, trying to sound detached. As detached as possible. Given the circumstances.
Wardo laughs. "In that house? With Dustin and Chris in the next room?"
"I'm sure you can be quiet, Wardo." Mark says, making his voice dangerous. "If I tell you to."
And the look on Wardo's face tells him that he can. Oh, he can.
If Mark tells him to.