fic: love me, love me, say that you love me (girl!mark/eduardo)
title: love me, love me, say that you love me
rating: nc-17? r? idk, there's sex.
warnings: language. sex. people being stupid.
pairing: mark/eduardo, girl!mark
word count: 4,813
summary: mark wakes up, and she's alone.
notes: this has been finished for a while. it's something i wrote about a few entries back. but, uh, posting it now because i juuuuuuust remembered it! genderswap is like my crack or something idk (lol writing 1d genderswap at the moment, WHAT IS MY LIFE).
disclaimer: not my boys (or, rather, boy and a lady). not real.
love me, love me, say that you love me
Mark hates these fucking things.
She hates coming to these parties - Chris makes her wear a stupid dress that’s itchy and likely too small for her (because Chris insists she needs to look sexy, which, what the fuck, she got into business so she wouldn’t have to do that) and she has to smile and pretend that she’s not a thousand times smarter than the asshole men in the room.
It isn’t that there’s anything wrong with men, but there is something wrong with the men looking at her as though she’s a piece of meat, as though she’s nothing more than something for them to stick their dick into.
Sometimes, they try it with her - they try to get in her pants (dress). That only happens once per person, though. Mark makes sure of that.
It’s not as though she never gets laid - she goes out to bars, every once in a while, because fuck everyone who thinks that women don’t have libidos, as though having a vagina means all sexual urges go away - but there is a time and a place, and the idea that just because she is a woman and does have a vagina she’ll want to fuck anyone that moves makes her want to punch things.
(She’s only punched the offender once, though, and she’d gone to Chris with her finger broken and near tears and he’d fixed it so she didn’t get in trouble.
Sometimes, she fucking loves the corruption that is the justice system.)
*
Of course, all of her fighting seems pretty pointless, now. The idea that she’d never fuck anyone at a party like this is laughable - because of course she would, because there’s always an exception to the rule, because Eduardo.
It doesn’t really matter how it happens - because she’s drinking and so is he and he smiles at her, as though he doesn’t hate her, and she’s always been a sucker for things like that, for the stupid smile of the stupid boy who she fucked over years and years ago.
And then - they end up in the hallway, kissing like there’s no tomorrow, like there’s nothing between them; kissing as though it’s late, and they’re in a bar, each other’s last choices.
But there’s something deeper running between them, something when he lifts her up and presses her against the wall, something when he runs his hand down her face, that makes the memories slam back into her, hot and roiling.
She pulls away from him, then, and bites her lip, closing her eyes for a moment.
He picks up on it - of course he does, because that’s who he is, because he’s always known her better than she would like, and he sets her down, looking decidedly awkward.
“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.
And Mark - she’s tired of this. She’s tired of not talking to him and of him apologizing and not letting herself have what she wants.
“Don’t be,” she whispers, just before kissing him again, pulling him close.
And the memories, the knowledge of what she did, courses through her, in her heart, and she’s pulling him closer, closer, because it’s the only way to not feel like an awful person, to not regret - not when he’s making those noises into her mouth, when he’s got his hands tight around her waist.
“Mark,” he whispers, and it’s almost broken.
She closes her eyes, and nods, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him back to her for another kiss - and she wants, she wants him to fuck her, wants to feel it for days.
She feels so, so silly in her golden dress that’s too small for her, but she feels sexy with the way he can’t keep his hands off of her, the way he’s sucking at her neck, and she’s sure it’ll bruise but she can’t bring herself to give a fuck.
“Wardo,” she whimpers out, and it’s louder than she’d intended - and as she says it she hears the noise of the room slam back into her.
She closes her eyes, pulling away from him, hands on his chest.
“I think - we should - uh - get away from here,” she gets out, shaking her head, biting at her lower lip. “Unless - you don’t want to take this further.”
He looks torn, frowning at her a bit. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” she breathes out, shaking her head, “I just - I want - your opinion is more important.”
He bites his lower lip, and runs a hand through his hair. “I have - I have a room. Here. If you want.”
She smiles, and nods, grabbing his hand, kissing the knuckles.
He seems to freeze, at that, but he drags her along, upstairs, and she holds onto him tight.
When they get there, it’s only a moment before they’re kissing again, hard, and she clutches him tight, pulls him close, because this is the last time that this is going to happen. She’s suffering under no delusions - this is a one-time thing and no matter how much she might want it to be more she’s not actually idealistic enough to expect it.
Instead, she pulls him over to the bed, letting herself fall down against it, and he crawls on top of her, kissing her again.
The way he looks at her when he pulls away, lets his gaze drag over her, makes her squirm, and feel like she hasn’t in years. Everyone else, everyone since Harvard, since him, has been - transitory, has been quick fucks in the backs of cars, in hotel rooms, in places that didn’t mean anything because they didn’t. And this - that’s what this is, for him. That’s all this can be, and that’s okay.
“Mark,” he whispers, and she closes her eyes, nodding. He’s hovering over her, now, and he trails a hand down the side of her face like he never did when they were younger, younger and stupid. “You’re so - Mark.”
“Please,” she whimpers out, and he’s the only person that can make her sound like this, like she’s about to fall apart with the lightest of touches.
He looks at her as though she’s precious, and he leans down, sucking at her neck again, the same spot, making the bruise bigger.
“Louder,” he whispers to her, “louder, Mark, I want to hear you.”
And like that, it’s as though a switch has been turned on -
“I want you,” she breathes out, eyes shut, and her hips are rolling up against him, and he’s moving down her body, peeling off her dress, “I want you, so much, Wardo, Wardo, I can’t - can’t believe -” and he’s pulling down her nylons, tossing them over his shoulder, and now she’s naked on the bed in front of him. “You, too,” she whispers, sitting up to tug at his dress shirt, and he makes a strangled sort of noise and pulls his clothes off with almost no finesse before pressing her to the bed, again, kissing her hard.
“Mark, shit,” he whispers out, and he’s sliding a hand down her body, pressing one finger inside her and then two, and she rocks against his hand, whimpering.
When she comes it’s with a small cry and a bite to his shoulder, and she pulls back, almost worried.
“I’m -” and that’s as far as she gets before he kisses her.
She spares a thought for - I’d like to do this always - but then she’s shaking her head, reaching down to his hip, squeezing, gentle.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers, and she’s scared and not scared; she’s nervous because it’s Wardo but she trusts him not to hurt her, even after everything.
He rolls away from her for the briefest of moments, and she makes a pained sound but he comes right back, smiling, soft, holding a condom.
He rolls it on and it takes no time at all before he’s positioning himself, and then he’s sliding into her, slow.
It’s been a while, and Mark’s eyes roll back into her head at the feeling - and she rocks up against him, short, shallow thrusts that make him choke on a gasp.
“Shit,” and then he’s fucking her, hard, with no pretense, and she takes it, loving it.
Before long he’s shaking apart above her, and he fumbles a hand down, gets a finger on her clit and she’s coming, again, hard, louder now, words spilling out of her with each breath.
He comes not long after, and she takes a moment to wish he hadn’t been wearing a condom, that she could have felt it, more intimate - but those are thoughts for later, not now, not when she’s - happy, or something like it.
She rolls over to him, curling against his chest, and she smiles, presses a quick kiss there.
“Mmm, you’re warm,” she breathes out, content.
He seems stiff, but he cards a hand through her hair, and she knows without having to look that he’s smiling.
The afterglow only lasts a moment, though, and then he’s stiffening further.
She closes her eyes.
“I can leave, if you want.”
He freezes. “What?”
“I mean - if you’d prefer. It’s okay. I don’t - it’s okay.” It’s not, of course it’s not, but she knew what this was when she kissed him, and she’s not guilting him into staying with her.
“Don’t be silly,” he whispers, and she feels him shake his head, “of course I don’t want you to leave,” and he rolls so he’s facing her, pulls her in tight.
She smiles, but tries to tamp down the hope blooming in her chest, because this is them, this isn’t a romantic comedy - this is Mark and Eduardo, and tonight is enough. “Okay,” she whispers, and when she kisses him this time, it feels soft, almost fragile.
This is ending - their night together is drawing to a close, and she’s sweaty and so is he. They should probably shower, or something, but she doesn’t want anything but to lie here, with him, tangled together, and pretend that they have all the time in the world.
She feels more sober than when they started - the alcohol isn’t out of her system but it’s on its way there, and she’s realizing that this was a colossally bad idea. Eduardo could, and they might, a thousand different things.
But - she falls asleep, underneath Eduardo’s arm, and she lets herself be happy, here, if only for a moment.
*
She wakes up, and she’s alone.
There’s a note next to her head -
mark,
I took you up on your advice.
the room is yours until three pm.
eduardo
She closes her eyes and crumples up the note, letting the hurt course through her. She doesn’t know why she’s feeling so fucking hurt - it’s not as though she has any fucking right to him, but - it had felt like they’d wanted the same things, last night.
(She’s rocked, suddenly, with the memory of Eduardo sliding into her, of his hand on the side of her face, and she feels sort of like she’s going to cry, which - okay, that’s fucked up.)
She tosses the note to the side and - the rest of the room is empty, except for her dress and nylons, neatly folded on the chair with a Post-It on top of them. There’s not a note, simply a smiley face that makes her feel like shit.
She gets dressed quickly and leaves the room, turning the keycard into the desk.
Her car is still there, and she gets inside, feeling sort of numb. All she has is her purse, and she tosses it to the side before leaving, driving more quickly than she probably should.
She has to get home - before anything else, she has to get home and get dressed, properly, and then she can go into work and deal with all of that shit. She’s not going looking like this.
Last night - now, in the light of day, it feels like last night was more of a one-night stand than any of her one night stands have been, and the thought makes her feel strangely empty inside.
She’s never been one to mind waking up alone; she prefers her solitude, prefers being alone to make her decisions, but she thinks that she wouldn’t have minded with Eduardo.
She lets herself into her house and sinks back, against the door, feeling stupid and childish in her heels and short dress.
She peels the dress off, tossing it onto her couch, and steps out of her shoes, walking upstairs in only her underwear.
She pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, hair moving up into a messy bun.
She takes a look at herself in the mirror and winces; her make-up is smeared, and she takes only a moment to fix it, somewhat, before running back out.
Work really does need her.
Dustin lets out a wolf-whistle when he sees her, and she glares at him while walking to her office. He follows her, of course he does, the asshole, and she raises an eyebrow at him.
“Yes?”
“You got laid last night.”
She folds her hands and looks at her keyboard. “So?”
He holds his hand out for a high-five, which she promptly ignores. “So who was the lucky guy? Anyone I know?”
The words, coming from him, so flippant, make her feel like shit - tears prick at the back of her eyes and she has to close them for a moment, to stop herself from doing something stupid like crying.
Dustin frowns; she can hear it. “What’s wrong?”
“Eduardo,” she breathes out, barely more than a whisper. “I slept with Eduardo.”
And Dustin - he gets it. There’s a reason she’s told him; he’s always known about Eduardo, how stupid Mark is for him, and he walks to her, gives her a hug, tight, kisses the top of her head.
She lets herself be comforted, turning to press her face against his chest, and she feels the beginnings of tears fall.
“Shh,” Dustin whispers, and he’s a childish asshole sometimes but it’s times like these she remembers just why she loves him so much.
“I’m stupid,” Mark whispers, because if there’s anyone that should hear the story, it’s Dustin.
He pulls away from her, frowning. “What’d you do?”
“We just - I told him - we had sex, okay, and that was - nice - but I asked if he wanted me to leave and he said no.” She looks at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I thought that meant - he wanted - that he didn’t want to leave.”
“Oh, Mark,” and in anyone else this would sound pitying but with Dustin it just sounds like he gets it, like he’s not blaming her for hoping, for wanting, even after years.
Her hands are shaking when they pull away, and she turns to her laptop, opening it up. “Do you have something for me to do?”
He nods at her, and she tries not to let the relief show on her face - but he gets it, if the way he squeezes her shoulder is anything to go by.
She breathes out, a shaky breath, and gets to work.
*
Time passes.
She doesn’t forget about Eduardo - she doesn’t think she could if she tried - but she doesn’t focus all of her energy on him. It’s pointless, anyway, and she has a thousand things to do for Facebook. That’s the thing about running a company like this - inventing it wasn’t enough. It’s forever evolving, changing, and she has to be there for the changes, has to make sure the site’s still running okay through everything.
And so - she doesn’t really have time to think about Eduardo.
(That doesn’t stop her from, at night, just before she falls asleep, letting herself remember and want, holding onto a pillow - but these moments are fleeting, because she refuses to let herself dwell.)
And life goes on.
Dustin is worried about her. He’s not subtle in the least, always checking up “just to be sure”, but Mark doesn’t blame him. She tries to thank him in the way she smiles before telling him to get out of her office.
And, as always, he gets it. He smiles back at her, wide, and leaves, nodding.
And Mark returns to her code.
*
Mark stops going to the parties. She doesn’t want to see Eduardo again; she doesn’t know how she’d handle a thing like that and seriously, her libido can step the fuck down because once was enough. (It has to have been.)
She doesn’t go and has either Chris or Dustin or her assistant, Allie, go for her, and she stays at home and works.
She hears a knock, after one of these parties, and her heart skips a beat but she gets up, going to answer it.
It’s Dustin.
“The fuck are you doing here?” she asks before she can stop herself, leaning against the doorframe.
It’s raining out, and Dustin’s covered in rain. He blinks, and shakes his head, stepping into her house.
“He wants you,” is all he says.
Mark stares at him. “What?”
“He - you need to talk to him.”
Mark crosses her arms. “Are you talking about Eduardo?”
He gives her a look. “No, I’m talking about Bill Gates.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
“Hey.” His voice turns soft. “He - you really do need to talk to him.”
“I’d rather not,” and her voice is stiff.
“Why?”
“Because if I do - we might end up sleeping together again - and I don’t know if I could handle waking up alone again.” This is soft, and she stares very determinately at her shoes.
“Mark,” and then she’s being wrapped into an entirely unwarranted hug - but she really doesn’t try that hard to push him away.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, smiling, but then she stops, pulling away to look at him. “You’re - you’re not fucking with me, are you?”
Dustin shakes his head.
“What - what is it that he wants?”
“I’m not telling you that. That’s for you two to discuss. I’m out, after this.”
She closes her eyes. “Okay.”
She doesn’t let herself hope, not properly, but she does - she hopes that Dustin means - that Eduardo wants what she does.
She goes back to her computer and after a long moment of staring at it sends off a Facebook message (because they’re still Facebook friends - Eduardo never unfriended her, perhaps out of some need to seem as though he was okay, really, with the whole thing, and not that petty, and she’s never been as grateful for that as she is right now).
Eduardo -
Dustin says we should talk. I suppose I agree, if you don’t mind.
Would you like to get lunch this week sometime? If you’re still in town, that is; if not, perhaps next time you’re around?
Mark
She sends it and swallows, hands shaking slightly.
And she goes to bed, makes herself stay away from checking her phone or computer. She doubts Eduardo will reply right away, and she’s not going to freak out over nothing, over words not appearing in her inbox.
She hasn’t slept properly in what seems like weeks, and she falls asleep nearly instantly, despite the worry nagging at her.
*
Eduardo replies a couple of days later.
Sorry, I never check my Facebook.
I’m in town for a couple more days - we can meet today, if you like? Sorry it’s such short notice.
She replies right away.
That sounds fantastic, today is fine. Is one okay? I know a nice Italian place.
New Message from: Eduardo Saverin
That works. I’ll meet you at the offices?
New Message to: Eduardo Saverin
Of Facebook?
Eduardo calls her.
“Where else would I meet you?” he asks, sounding amused.
Mark’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “Well, I didn’t think you - you know, you don’t want to - talk about it, or anything, I didn’t think -”
“Mark,” and he sounds lightly chastising, but all she can think about is him saying her name in a different way; saying her name as he trailed kisses down her skin, and what the fuck, okay, Mark can barely breathe. “I’ll be there, okay?”
She smiles. “Okay.”
*
Eduardo is right on time.
Mark takes a moment to wish she looked better - she’s wearing jeans, at least, but has a faded hoodie on over a ratty t-shirt because she hadn’t thought about - seeing him, really, getting a response.
He walks to her anyway, pulling her into a hug. “You look great,” he whispers, and she closes her eyes. Much like Dustin, he’s always been able to read her like a book, see what she needs.
“Let’s go,” she whispers, because she feels like she’s going to fall apart.
They get into her car without comment and she drives without speaking much, nerves jangling in her.
When they get there, she just sits there for a moment before looking at him. “Is this - what is this?”
And just like that, he’s kissing her, soft, hand cupping the side of her face. She lets out a soft noise into his mouth, and - there’s a seatbelt digging into her side and Eduardo’s at an awkward angle but she undoes the belt and all but crawls into his lap, still kissing him, pulling him close.
“Shit,” Eduardo breathes, and then he’s backing off, resting his forehead against hers.
She bites her lip, and he groans.
“Listen, Mark - don’t do that, okay.”
“Sorry,” she whispers, and her voice is fucked - but Eduardo doesn’t mind, if the way he’s eyeing her is any indication.
“We need to talk,” he says, instead, and she sits up all the way, raising an eyebrow at him.
“That sounds ominous.”
“Can we please talk inside?”
She feels her heart drop to somewhere in her stomach, and she nods, getting off of him with no grace.
They walk inside in silence, and they’re led to their table. They don’t talk much until they order, and then Eduardo leans in close.
“I need to know why you asked to leave.”
Mark frowns. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
She rolls her eyes. “I asked if you wanted me to leave, Wardo. Not the same thing.”
“You said ‘I’ll leave if you want me to’. I assumed that was a more polite way of saying you wanted to.”
“Well, there’s your first mistake. When have I ever been polite?” Mark asks, and she doesn’t know where this conversation is going but her heart picks up speed, a bit, because she thinks - maybe.
Eduardo frowns. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So what are you saying?” Mark asks, soft, and she holds her breath, waiting for his response.
“Did you want it to be a one-night thing?” Eduardo asks.
She’s shaking her head before he’s done with the question. “God, no.”
Eduardo sucks in a breath, sharp. “Oh?”
This is probably too much - but he’s gotten everything from her and he’s still here, still talking to her, and she thinks maybe she can trust him enough not to hurt her, if this goes badly. “I wanted - to wake up with you,” she says, looking down at her hands, “I don’t blame you but I - I wanted to.”
Eduardo reaches across, grabbing her hand, and it’s only then that she sees how torn apart he looks. “I want that, too,” he whispers, and she can barely hear him but she’s hanging onto every word. “Fuck, Mark - please.”
“Please what?” she asks, not to be a bitch but to be sure that this is what Eduardo’s asking, that they want the same thing.
“Wake up with me,” he says, soft, “and we can - we can make breakfast together and we can - shit, anything.”
Mark closes her eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I do mean it, though. I want - you, I want you, and I’m not - if you don’t want it, too, I’ll -”
“I do,” Mark whispers, and it’s silly, that they’re in a restaurant, discussing this in hushed tones, but - this is how they’ve always been, less than conventional. “Please.”
He looks at her as though she’s beautiful, even in her sweats, as though she’s everything he wants, and she has to close her eyes and take a steadying breath.
He leans forward a bit, and raises an eyebrow.
“So after dinner,” he starts, in a low voice, “you’ll let me fuck you again?”
Mark’s eyes widen and she just stares at him for a moment - and he looks as though he’s about to backtrack, which is so not okay she can’t formulate words. “Yeah,” she whispers, and she can tell that she sounds wrecked, “yeah, you can.”
“And - I’ll be there - I’ll stay.”
Mark smiles, and nods. “You’d damn well better.”
*
Dinner goes by quickly, but when they get back to the house (Mark’s house, Eduardo is about to - they’re going to - in Mark’s house) she all but throws herself at him, kissing him, hard, nipping at his lips, pulling him close.
“Shit,” he breathes, “Mark, shit,” and he lifts her up, pressing her against the wall.
“Oh, fuck,” Mark gets out, and her head hits the wall with a thunk that she ignores. “Shit, please, oh - please,” and she doesn’t know what she’s begging for but Eduardo seems to, if the way he kisses her, sliding her jeans down and off, is any indication.
And then it’s just her, in her panties, and she can feel his cock through his slacks, and she pushes against him, groaning. “Off,” she breathes.
He sets her down and she leans against the wall, heavy, watching as he slides his pants off, and she pushes at his sleeves, sliding his shirt off.
He lifts her up again, and she wraps her legs around his waist, kissing him again, moving to his neck, sucking a dark bruise there.
“Fuck,” he gasps, “where’s your room?”
“First door on the left,” she whispers in his ear.
They barely make it there but he tosses her down onto the bed when they do, and hovers over her, looking almost unsure.
She bites her lip, and slides off her sweatshirt, tossing it ot the side, looking up at him. “You going to fuck me?” she asks, but her tone betrays the nerves coursing through her.
“Shit, Mark,” he whispers, and she can barely hear him over the sound of her racing heart. “Yeah, I - yeah, I am.”
He kisses her, then, sliding a finger into her, and she bucks up against him, mouth falling open.
“Wait,” he whispers, and then he’s sliding down her body, pulling her panties off and tossing them to the side - and then - oh. He’s licking at her, hands holding onto her thighs, and she reaches a hand into his hair, pulls at the strands while simultaneously holding him close to her.
“Wardo,” she chokes out just before she comes, and then she’s moaning, loud, writhing against the sheets, “oh, fuck, Wardo.” She pulls him up to her for another kiss, and she tastes herself, and groans into his mouth.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers against her lips, biting, soft, and then he’s leaning away from her, pulling off his boxers, and she thinks that she really wants to suck his cock - but that’s for later, later, and the thought courses through her, a promise. She smiles.
He slides on a condom and lines himself up, and this time she willingly wraps her legs around his hips, nodding at him.
He fucks her more gently this time, careful, and when she comes it’s almost peaceful. He slides out of her and she curls into him, just like before, but this time there’s no fear, only want and need and the knowledge that he’ll stay.
“You know it’s only eight at night,” he says, and he’s laughing a bit.
She hums, holding him tighter. “Nap, and then I’m going to suck you off.”
“Oh.” He trails a hand through her hair, and she can hear the laughter in his voice. “That’s - okay, yeah, that’s okay.”
She smirks, looking up at him, and kisses him before cuddling into his side, and falling asleep.
(And when she wakes up, he’s there, still pressed close to her.
She bites her lip and kisses him awake.
“You stayed,” she whispers.
His smile is blinding - and, okay, with that thought she has to distract herself, so she slides down his body until she’s hovering over his cock, and then she’s sucking him, slow and sweet, teasing.
He comes with his hand buried in her hair and her name on his lips, and she swallows like a pro. He pulls her up, kissing her, wet, licking his way into her mouth, and she makes a happy sound, nodding.
She thinks that maybe she’s never been this happy.)