I hope you will forget things I still lack.
Title:I hope you will forget things I still lack.
Author:silenceguardian
Rating:NC-17 to be safe.
Pairing:Mark/Eduardo
Wordcount:1,500
Summary:Eduardo is an angsty mess.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Everybody's a fictional character. Title and cut belong to Brand New.
Eduardo swears. He sees that same gleam in Mark’s eyes, that same twitch at the very edge of thin and pale lips; the one that shoots fire, red hot, through his veins and he can’t decide whether or not that reaction is a bad thing. Glass separates them, and Eduardo promises himself this is as close as he will ever get to Mark for the rest of his life.
Even with skin pulled so tightly over his cheekbones, Mark looks utterly relaxed. It makes the hairs on the back of Eduardo’s neck stand up, and his eyes lessen into slits in irritation. Mark’s fractions of emotions used to never bother him, they used to be almost endearing, but not so anymore. Mark’s apathy translates to a selfishness the likes of which Eduardo’s never seen; the whole situation a fiasco, the result of words that never left lips.
Eduardo supposes Mark bears no regret.
Mark’s fingers tap on the glass, the reflection of them on the surface of the table are just as unforgiving, despite their existence in an opposite world. His words are curt when he speaks, never letting on anything more than what leaves his mouth, and Eduardo tries to grapple to something onto which he could exploit Mark for. Tries to grasp feeling in an unfeeling man. If Eduardo wasn’t a professional, he wouldn’t hesitate to lose his patience with Mark. He’s boggled with how anyone in this room can stand it.
Eduardo’s response to a question leaves his words hanging in the air, a fleeting hope in his mind desperately wishing for Mark to act upon it. It doesn’t matter what he says, as long as it acknowledges Eduardo’s reality.
Mark looks out the window; not an inflection to his voice, not an adjustment in his posture, not a single physical change.
When Eduardo finally turns his head to try to get a look at what Mark’s so interested in out there, God forbid he actually cares, it’s dark.
“I’m done for today.” Mark says, as if the world should have 12 billion ears to his speech.
Eduardo lets out a breath, sharply. It’s juvenile but he doesn’t care because now Mark is looking at him and his gaze lingers and the fires move into Eduardo’s blood again.
It’s liberating. It’s dangerous.
Mark casts his eyes towards the tile.
The stitches on Eduardo’s heart begin to falter.
The room is silent and empty.
“Wardo…” Mark starts, still allowing no tone to mar his words.
“Don’t call me that.” Eduardo’s lips hiss, he turns on his heel.
In the reflection of the table he sees Mark’s mouth twitch, but not in the familiar defiant way. He leaves.
~
Out of the corner of his eye, Eduardo sees the shuffling of papers. He hears rain fall against the pane of the window in a rhythmic way, and it’s calming. The nerves in his skin buzz, confronted with the constant pressure of everything that is hanging in the oxygen of the conference room. It’s been two days in that sleek environment since Mark had talked to him last. He doesn’t miss the monotone sound that filters past Mark’s uncensored lips. He tells himself so.
Seats are taken, and the further splintering of Eduardo’s heart begins.
The entire day seems rushed, especially by Mark. His words come out faster, the intonation higher. And whenever Eduardo’s gaze brushes past where Mark is sitting, he’s got fingers to his temples and he looks traumatized. As always, no one takes note of these changes.
No one except Eduardo. The feeling he gets by realizing such is akin to the repetition of bodily harm. He physically frowns. He wills his fingertips to stay gripped to the desk, not to react.
Mark is so childish.
Eduardo speaks with measured phrases, keeping his accounts of the past concise. It isn’t as bruising, he supposes. He recalls nights that he used to enjoy, spending hours coaxing Mark to have a bite of pizza; or encouraging a trip to a nearby bar, despite the fact that Mark was the world’s worst wingman. He nearly allows himself to smile at the memories, but then quells his fondness with one glance at Mark.
His mind wanders with every passing hour. He in no way pretends to pay mind, because it’s all reprisal against Mark. Mark knows he’s not doing this for the money he could get out of it, so Eduardo never indulges the billionaire with the attention.
He thinks about the weather in New York, the girl with the nice tits he met in the valley, the way Mark’s body disappears in his clothes, the oil futures in Alaska for the sake of investors, the holidays he has to spend in Miami, the sullen cheekbones on Mark’s face.
He looks down at the legal pad in front of him, the lightly defaced yellow paper.
Feet shuffle, doors close, a breath ghosts on his neck.
“Wardo.”
“Goddamnit Mark how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” Eduardo stands quickly.
No one is there to reply. He folds himself back into his chair, pulls his hands to his face and sobs.
~
His skin feels heavy on his bones. These days, he can barely pull himself out of bed to get back to that conference room where his heart still is sown, frayed, onto his sleeve. Shirts fit looser, hair falls unceremoniously flat. Dark circles have formed under his eyes from lack of sleep. If he were telling the truth, he would say that his mind keeps rewinding back to his past whenever he tries to nod off, seeing Mark’s face. But he’s lying, so he’ll say he had too much coffee in the conference room.
His watch is the only thing he can trust anymore, it never makes false promises or tells him the wrong time. It’s black and white and there’s no space for questions because there is only one answer.
He rubs his palms across his cheeks for the thirtieth time this morning, and it’s never as refreshing as he hopes. Nothing is ever as he hopes. He folds the cuffs of his shirt back automatically, and blinks at himself in the mirror.
He laughs bitterly, imagining Mark turning to him from the computer screen only to say how he looks like shit.
“I know Mark. I know.” He breathes out.
He stumbles into the deposition right before it’s scheduled to begin.
He swears Mark’s stare falters at him. The demeaning pity makes him internally choke.
“Eduardo clearly isn’t fit for the process today; I think we’d all agree.” Sy interrupts his thoughts.
He wants to oppose, but he really can’t do anything in the state he’s in.
Everyone nods and sighs, and Eduardo thinks they all needed a break. Chairs slide across the tile as people file out of the conference room.
Mark stays seated.
The chair he’s in swings around, and then Eduardo’s faced with that hard jaw and those striking eyes and his mind is reeling.
He stands, hands shoved roughly into the pockets of his hoodie, mouth set in the way that rarely appears, set in the way that Eduardo recognizes as Mark thinking over his words. Its permanent red stain beckons to Eduardo like a lighthouse in a dark night out at sea.
Mark clamps his teeth onto his bottom lip, brightening the scarlet color on those sinner’s lips and Eduardo can’t take how he lives anymore.
Seconds pass and two pairs of hands and two pairs of lips take to rememorizing whatever they had forgotten.
Mark’s fingers search underneath his dress shirt, the pads of them as calloused as he remembers, and he breaks the kiss to rest his head in Mark’s neck. Quiet quips of air escape his mouth as his head tries to catch up.
“I’m sorry, Wardo. I’m so sorry.” Is whispered like some sacred mantra into his ear between Mark’s kisses to his collarbone.
Eduardo’s hands are gripped onto Mark’s upper arms, an anchor that makes all that’s happening a reality. He’s shaking, he can feel it. He pulls his head back to reveal a dark spot on Mark’s shoulder; he brings a hand to his face and realizes he’s crying.
He’s crying so hard he’s shaking.
Mark’s hand travels farther, reaching below Eduardo’s waistband and a shudder passes through him and he shuts his eyes tight. He wants this so bad his mouth can’t shape words.
A few flicks of Mark’s wrist and Eduardo’s toes are curling in his loafers.
“I love you.” He says before he can stop himself.
His heart stops and stammers.
“I love you too.” Mark’s lips curl against his chest.
He breathes out.
His heart resumes.
Author:silenceguardian
Rating:NC-17 to be safe.
Pairing:Mark/Eduardo
Wordcount:1,500
Summary:Eduardo is an angsty mess.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Everybody's a fictional character. Title and cut belong to Brand New.
Eduardo swears. He sees that same gleam in Mark’s eyes, that same twitch at the very edge of thin and pale lips; the one that shoots fire, red hot, through his veins and he can’t decide whether or not that reaction is a bad thing. Glass separates them, and Eduardo promises himself this is as close as he will ever get to Mark for the rest of his life.
Even with skin pulled so tightly over his cheekbones, Mark looks utterly relaxed. It makes the hairs on the back of Eduardo’s neck stand up, and his eyes lessen into slits in irritation. Mark’s fractions of emotions used to never bother him, they used to be almost endearing, but not so anymore. Mark’s apathy translates to a selfishness the likes of which Eduardo’s never seen; the whole situation a fiasco, the result of words that never left lips.
Eduardo supposes Mark bears no regret.
Mark’s fingers tap on the glass, the reflection of them on the surface of the table are just as unforgiving, despite their existence in an opposite world. His words are curt when he speaks, never letting on anything more than what leaves his mouth, and Eduardo tries to grapple to something onto which he could exploit Mark for. Tries to grasp feeling in an unfeeling man. If Eduardo wasn’t a professional, he wouldn’t hesitate to lose his patience with Mark. He’s boggled with how anyone in this room can stand it.
Eduardo’s response to a question leaves his words hanging in the air, a fleeting hope in his mind desperately wishing for Mark to act upon it. It doesn’t matter what he says, as long as it acknowledges Eduardo’s reality.
Mark looks out the window; not an inflection to his voice, not an adjustment in his posture, not a single physical change.
When Eduardo finally turns his head to try to get a look at what Mark’s so interested in out there, God forbid he actually cares, it’s dark.
“I’m done for today.” Mark says, as if the world should have 12 billion ears to his speech.
Eduardo lets out a breath, sharply. It’s juvenile but he doesn’t care because now Mark is looking at him and his gaze lingers and the fires move into Eduardo’s blood again.
It’s liberating. It’s dangerous.
Mark casts his eyes towards the tile.
The stitches on Eduardo’s heart begin to falter.
The room is silent and empty.
“Wardo…” Mark starts, still allowing no tone to mar his words.
“Don’t call me that.” Eduardo’s lips hiss, he turns on his heel.
In the reflection of the table he sees Mark’s mouth twitch, but not in the familiar defiant way. He leaves.
~
Out of the corner of his eye, Eduardo sees the shuffling of papers. He hears rain fall against the pane of the window in a rhythmic way, and it’s calming. The nerves in his skin buzz, confronted with the constant pressure of everything that is hanging in the oxygen of the conference room. It’s been two days in that sleek environment since Mark had talked to him last. He doesn’t miss the monotone sound that filters past Mark’s uncensored lips. He tells himself so.
Seats are taken, and the further splintering of Eduardo’s heart begins.
The entire day seems rushed, especially by Mark. His words come out faster, the intonation higher. And whenever Eduardo’s gaze brushes past where Mark is sitting, he’s got fingers to his temples and he looks traumatized. As always, no one takes note of these changes.
No one except Eduardo. The feeling he gets by realizing such is akin to the repetition of bodily harm. He physically frowns. He wills his fingertips to stay gripped to the desk, not to react.
Mark is so childish.
Eduardo speaks with measured phrases, keeping his accounts of the past concise. It isn’t as bruising, he supposes. He recalls nights that he used to enjoy, spending hours coaxing Mark to have a bite of pizza; or encouraging a trip to a nearby bar, despite the fact that Mark was the world’s worst wingman. He nearly allows himself to smile at the memories, but then quells his fondness with one glance at Mark.
His mind wanders with every passing hour. He in no way pretends to pay mind, because it’s all reprisal against Mark. Mark knows he’s not doing this for the money he could get out of it, so Eduardo never indulges the billionaire with the attention.
He thinks about the weather in New York, the girl with the nice tits he met in the valley, the way Mark’s body disappears in his clothes, the oil futures in Alaska for the sake of investors, the holidays he has to spend in Miami, the sullen cheekbones on Mark’s face.
He looks down at the legal pad in front of him, the lightly defaced yellow paper.
Feet shuffle, doors close, a breath ghosts on his neck.
“Wardo.”
“Goddamnit Mark how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” Eduardo stands quickly.
No one is there to reply. He folds himself back into his chair, pulls his hands to his face and sobs.
~
His skin feels heavy on his bones. These days, he can barely pull himself out of bed to get back to that conference room where his heart still is sown, frayed, onto his sleeve. Shirts fit looser, hair falls unceremoniously flat. Dark circles have formed under his eyes from lack of sleep. If he were telling the truth, he would say that his mind keeps rewinding back to his past whenever he tries to nod off, seeing Mark’s face. But he’s lying, so he’ll say he had too much coffee in the conference room.
His watch is the only thing he can trust anymore, it never makes false promises or tells him the wrong time. It’s black and white and there’s no space for questions because there is only one answer.
He rubs his palms across his cheeks for the thirtieth time this morning, and it’s never as refreshing as he hopes. Nothing is ever as he hopes. He folds the cuffs of his shirt back automatically, and blinks at himself in the mirror.
He laughs bitterly, imagining Mark turning to him from the computer screen only to say how he looks like shit.
“I know Mark. I know.” He breathes out.
He stumbles into the deposition right before it’s scheduled to begin.
He swears Mark’s stare falters at him. The demeaning pity makes him internally choke.
“Eduardo clearly isn’t fit for the process today; I think we’d all agree.” Sy interrupts his thoughts.
He wants to oppose, but he really can’t do anything in the state he’s in.
Everyone nods and sighs, and Eduardo thinks they all needed a break. Chairs slide across the tile as people file out of the conference room.
Mark stays seated.
The chair he’s in swings around, and then Eduardo’s faced with that hard jaw and those striking eyes and his mind is reeling.
He stands, hands shoved roughly into the pockets of his hoodie, mouth set in the way that rarely appears, set in the way that Eduardo recognizes as Mark thinking over his words. Its permanent red stain beckons to Eduardo like a lighthouse in a dark night out at sea.
Mark clamps his teeth onto his bottom lip, brightening the scarlet color on those sinner’s lips and Eduardo can’t take how he lives anymore.
Seconds pass and two pairs of hands and two pairs of lips take to rememorizing whatever they had forgotten.
Mark’s fingers search underneath his dress shirt, the pads of them as calloused as he remembers, and he breaks the kiss to rest his head in Mark’s neck. Quiet quips of air escape his mouth as his head tries to catch up.
“I’m sorry, Wardo. I’m so sorry.” Is whispered like some sacred mantra into his ear between Mark’s kisses to his collarbone.
Eduardo’s hands are gripped onto Mark’s upper arms, an anchor that makes all that’s happening a reality. He’s shaking, he can feel it. He pulls his head back to reveal a dark spot on Mark’s shoulder; he brings a hand to his face and realizes he’s crying.
He’s crying so hard he’s shaking.
Mark’s hand travels farther, reaching below Eduardo’s waistband and a shudder passes through him and he shuts his eyes tight. He wants this so bad his mouth can’t shape words.
A few flicks of Mark’s wrist and Eduardo’s toes are curling in his loafers.
“I love you.” He says before he can stop himself.
His heart stops and stammers.
“I love you too.” Mark’s lips curl against his chest.
He breathes out.
His heart resumes.