FIC: Unlikely Places {The Social Network - Eduardo/Sean, (Eduardo/Mark) }
Title: Unlikely Places
Author: Silvia Kundera
Pairing: Eduardo/Sean, (includes some Eduardo/Mark)
Rating: Mature; sexual content
Warnings: I don't know if this counts because it's more like a fuck buddies situation. Still, if it's a sensitive issue for you... quasi-somewhat infidelity.
Length: 2,450 words
Summary: Inspired by kinkmeme prompt. Eduardo & Mark have started casually dating/fucking, but it isn't the most healthy non-relationship. Sean is a surprisingly positive variable.
(I've been waffling on posting this for several days, because I felt guilty about Mark. I wrote him that one fic with cuddles, though, so now we're even.)
*
The problem with being in love with Mark Zuckerberg is extremely straight forward: you are in love with Mark Zuckerberg. God knows what you did in a previous life to deserve it (stealing from babies or converting rent controlled apartments or drowning puppies for Cruella Deville), but it happened to you, like some people catch the bubonic plague or find themselves ground zero for a tornado, and it’s fucking terrible.
And the worst part is that it’s not like Mark means to ruin your life. He certainly didn’t ask for this, and if it’s not in his nature to be affectionate or accommodating or thoughtful or conscious of your existence about 70% of the time, well - this is the guy you fell in love with and, let’s be honest, like you have room to talk, if you were so fucking great the whole affection deficit conundrum wouldn’t even be an issue. So you have no one to blame but yourself.
To be honest, Eduardo was never expecting some crazy Hail Mary pass or miracle cure. He was focused on learning to live with it. He savored the occasional warm moment, tried to date Christy, and fought coming out to Palo Alto at all until Mark got that Eureka face, said "fine," and initiated very swift and functional sex on the dorm room couch.
Mark’s all about utility.
And it's not like he says no when Mark catches his sleeve and tugs, mouth crooked and palming himself almost absentmindedly with the hand that's not preoccupied with entering in another string. He doesn't want to object when Mark's face is carved in petulant displeasure, says nothing works right now, suggests "just suck me off for a bit", yanking his zipper down and tilting his head back without a pause, like how he used to just know Eduardo would storm out with him to raid a vending machine or walk the frustration off until Mark's socks were soaked from snow or puddles or damp grass, back when they still did those sorts of things together. The thing about being in love with Mark is: as terrible as that's turned out for you, of course you want make him feel better, feel good.
And if he'd never been with a guy before Mark, that's fine because Eduardo's always been a quick study.
So he says yes, okay, yeah, yeah we can, each time Mark shakes him awake because he's bored and a little horny, says he's got time if Eduardo feels like it, walks back to his room to get the condom while Eduardo works himself open and ready.
It's not as if Mark is trying to make some kind of point with it, purposely make him feel, like, untouchable, that's not Mark, who wouldn't have even started anything if Eduardo hadn't gone and fell head over heels like an idiot. This is just his faulty, dog-napping karma to work through. And anyway he is being touched, technically, that mostly has to happen in the process, that's the way this stuff works. It's simply that Eduardo can come just from being fucked a lot of the time. And it's not like he can't get himself off, obviously. He's got two hands.
Mark means well (or, to be more accurate, Mark means to be sensible) and his thought process might be boiled down to: Eduardo is familiar, leaves him his space, and can be made to shut up about that whole feelings thing once Mark spells the request out with enough conviction and bluntness.
Mark is just like this. Mark won't ever feel wound tight and shamefully grateful for small positioning touches, soaking in every quick press of skin against skin, daydreaming about someone's lips when it's pointless.
If you’d had Eduardo consider what Sean Parker’s input to the general situation would be, he would have conjectured:
(1) occasionally succumbing to hysterical, mean-spirited laughter
(2) sabotaging the few successful private moments that Eduardo engineered
(3) finding Mark a less emotionally volatile hormones-outlet, preferably a girlfriend
He wouldn’t have imagined Sean pausing the verbal sparring to call his mango salsa, "fucking delicious, holy shit, you made this?", or leaning on the open fridge door to ask about state labor laws while Eduardo hunted for Mark’s beer, or charging the extra controller for him when Eduardo had been standing in the hallway for a while, feeling lost and useless. Feeling pathetically grateful enough to stop caring about what was deliberate, calculated, the possible motivations.
He didn't think he'd stop retreating when Sean seemed to take up all of the room in the kitchen, that Sean would become a steady, comforting pressure against his back as they restocked the make-shift bar or examined new adjustments to the interface.
He didn't think Sean would take to shoving himself in next to Eduardo on the floor, hooking a damp arm around his neck and jostling him with easy assurance, an unsettling combination of sweltering human warring against the seeping chill from his shirt and swim trunks, still smelling like chlorine.
He never expected that Sean would start demanding "group hug!" ("there are only two of us") at the end of their strategy debates confrontations discussions, rejecting the requisite back slap to wrap both arms around Eduardo and squeeze warmly.
(Or that Sean would not give a fuck when the newest intern objected to this habit.
"could you be any more gay?"
"I could explain why account levels are a fucking death sentence while he bounces on my dick, that work for you?"
"gross, man."
"If that image does not appeal, I am deeply sorry for your life," Sean breezily replied, leaning back against the sofa and letting his knees fall open, like maybe he was imagining it, which was ridiculous, obviously, but the thought still made Eduardo half hard and strangely, disconcertingly proud.)
He could not have predicted that the simple act of passing down a joint to Sean, shaking his head at the offer but pausing for a curious inspection, would make his hip and thigh tighten with awareness, inexplicable fear and anticipation churning in his gut as Sean leans in and waits.
He certainly would not have ever pictured himself running into Sean in the bathroom at 4am and feeling his skin heat when the door clicked shut.
But it’s immediate -- his face and neck gone shockingly hot in the deepening silence, this prickling starting along the top layer of his skin and working its way in, like it’s going to sink into his blood. Eduardo’s heard the term deafening quiet but he’s never really experienced anything like this before, like the roaring in his head when they continue to stand there, without a word.
Maybe it’s that tension he can’t take, that makes him drop to his knees-- or maybe just the way Sean was eyeing his mouth, like it was something really nice, like his mouth was something Sean thought about sometimes, privately, without Eduardo even doing anything to deserve it.
His hands are shaky as he pulls Sean’s cock out of his boxers, get shakier when Sean lets out a low hiss and Eduardo’s head jerks up to see Sean watching him, eyes not even closed yet. Which would make him think he’s already doing something wrong, except Sean’s breathing is uneven and a hand is settling at the back of Eduardo’s head.
He can take a hint - Eduardo is great at hints - so he doesn’t halt to consider what the everloving fuck he thinks he’s doing, just licks a wet stripe along the underside of Sean’s cock and opens for it, sucking it messy and slow, just the way that should make that hand clench wince-tight in his hair before Sean pulls back to hold himself up.
But.
But it doesn’t pull back, is the thing. It’s a light touch, really, first running through his hair and then drifting down to stroke at the side of his neck, the back of Sean’s hand brushing over the pulse there before returning to nestle in his hair again.
It’s--it’s sort of hard to concentrate, but in a good way, because he likes the weight of Sean’s cock in his mouth, the taste of it, the knowledge that he made it that hard (and it was really fucking hard, like, the first moment Eduardo even breathed on it), but then there’s this- This petting that’s making him feel drugged and languid, that he just instinctively wants to lean into, so much so that he has to actually remind himself not to, since he’s sort of busy with a blowjob he’s honestly enjoying, a lot.
And Sean starts whispering these things, "mm, go for it", "fuck, baby, you’re perfect", "you look so good like this", voice rough and approving. Cupping Eduardo’s face and brushing a thumb over it, searching for the press of his cock against the inside of Eduardo’s cheek, groaning and pulling Eduardo off when he finds it, to kiss him open mouthed until Eduardo is shivering and sucking on his tongue, hungry for things he can’t even name.
He’s achingly hard, spreading damp spots in his boxers as his hips can’t help jerking a little, taking in the smell of Sean’s skin and lingering hints of cologne with each quick, shuddering breath. It’s as if some floodgate’s torn open in his brain. He can’t get close enough, near scrambling, pressing them back into the sink that has to be biting into Sean’s back, but Sean doesn’t push him off, just makes calming strokes at his sides before curving a hand around to run fingers down the cleft of Eduardo’s ass, humming encouragingly into Eduardo’s mouth when he pushes back into it.
He’s panting when Sean breaks away and too out of his head to be as embarrassed as he should be at his complete lack of restraint, how easily this is taking him to pieces.
Sean strokes a thumb over Eduardo’s bottom lip, murmurs, "Let’s put it back in, yeah?" like he’d even have to coax them open, like Eduard’s not dying for it. And though it’s not difficult anymore to picture Sean being in any way soft, this strange, utterly unfamiliar brand of predatory desire and tenderness is a heady mix, gutting him.
He lets his tongue taste the thumb and nods, sinking back down to lap just a little at the head of Sean’s cock, just to look up and see Sean’s chest hitch, his eyes dark and intent like he sees something he wants to keep.
It’s absolutely necessary, then, to try to swallow as much as he can, feel the cock head bump blood-hot at the back of his throat. He adds a flick of his tongue and Sean jerks, flooding his mouth and fighting to keep his swearing hushed.
The clock on the counter blinks a red 12:00 as Sean leans back, catching his breath as Eduardo rises to his feet and mirrors him, resting against the opposite wall, head tilted up, gasping as he finally touches himself--so ready it’s painful. He wants to watch, he does, but for a moment he will bite at his lip and swipe a thumb over the top and it’s more than enough until Sean startles him into stumbling, says, insulted,
"I was getting to that."
He steps forward to catch Eduardo’s hips, flipping them so Eduardo’s back is to the mirror, and is heading for the carpet when Eduardo stops him.
Eduardo’s gaze darts away but he shoves out, "no, just--", licks across the palm of Sean’s hand and squeezes his eyes shut before placing it on his cock, wrapping an arm around Sean’s neck to pull him in. Bright spots burst behind his eyelids as he presses his face into Sean’s throat to hide a whine and lets himself ask for it,
"kiss me, kiss me."
Allows his chin to be lifted.
"I have no problem with that," Sean whispers against his mouth, and then takes it, kissing him hard and wet as he jerks Eduardo off.
He’s so close it only takes a couple minutes, clutching Sean’s shoulders like a life preserver, needy and desperately torn between the curl of Sean’s tongue and the hand working his cock.
When Eduardo comes he almost fights it -- like his body wasn’t sure it could handle the additional stimulation (like the story of his goddamn life, where he wants and he wants but he’s too damn scared) - and it’s good, it’s fucking good, and Sean kisses him through it, continues. Slower now and almost approaching lazy, like they’re aimless and fifteen again.
It might be ten minutes before Sean finally pushes him gently back, nudging at Eduardo’s face with his nose before placing hands flat on his chest. "Sleep, at some point, might be a good idea," he says teasingly.
Just the sight of the bathroom door leaves Eduardo cold. The thought of walking through it makes him nauseous. "I don’t want to leave," he confesses, without meaning to speak, and flushes.
"Eventually we might need food. The interns can take a leak in the bushes, but I don’t think Dustin would go for that." Sean’s very carefully avoiding the M word, and Eduardo honestly doesn’t know what’s worse for a moment: that Mark wouldn’t care or the thought that Sean could believe Eduardo doesn’t know that Mark wouldn’t care, and did this anyway.
The fact that these two things are suddenly of equal consideration makes his decision, just possibly, less insanely stupid.
"Can we go back to you room?"
He’s honestly expecting Sean to reply with something like, 'that means I get to fuck you later, right?', which would not actually be a problem, getting fucked is a pretty great idea, come to think of it, especially since Eduardo has single-handedly screwed up in a single night the one chance he’d been given with the person he’d assumed would be the love of his miserable life.
But instead Sean grins boyishly, bright with self-satisfaction, and says, "I’d claim to be taking back everything I have ever said about the quality of your ideas, but I’d be lying," then grabs a hand and laces their fingers together, leaving Eduardo staring at them with eyebrows raised as Sean tugs him out of the bathroom and down the hall.
"This was a pretty great one, though," Sean continues once they’ve made it through his door, hiding a yawn with his free hand and then pulling Eduardo down with him to flop, completely undignified, across his unmade bed.
The one benefit to being 20 years old and letting yourself go fall in love with Mark Zuckerberg, of all fucking people, Eduardo considers drowsily, is that the only direction you can go is up and so it’s pretty easy to recognize it.
(despite some very clever disguises)
/end
[note: you can find my other TSN fic here]
This entry was originally posted at http://silviakundera.dreamwidth.org/827123.html. There are
comments.
Author: Silvia Kundera
Pairing: Eduardo/Sean, (includes some Eduardo/Mark)
Rating: Mature; sexual content
Warnings: I don't know if this counts because it's more like a fuck buddies situation. Still, if it's a sensitive issue for you... quasi-somewhat infidelity.
Length: 2,450 words
Summary: Inspired by kinkmeme prompt. Eduardo & Mark have started casually dating/fucking, but it isn't the most healthy non-relationship. Sean is a surprisingly positive variable.
(I've been waffling on posting this for several days, because I felt guilty about Mark. I wrote him that one fic with cuddles, though, so now we're even.)
*
The problem with being in love with Mark Zuckerberg is extremely straight forward: you are in love with Mark Zuckerberg. God knows what you did in a previous life to deserve it (stealing from babies or converting rent controlled apartments or drowning puppies for Cruella Deville), but it happened to you, like some people catch the bubonic plague or find themselves ground zero for a tornado, and it’s fucking terrible.
And the worst part is that it’s not like Mark means to ruin your life. He certainly didn’t ask for this, and if it’s not in his nature to be affectionate or accommodating or thoughtful or conscious of your existence about 70% of the time, well - this is the guy you fell in love with and, let’s be honest, like you have room to talk, if you were so fucking great the whole affection deficit conundrum wouldn’t even be an issue. So you have no one to blame but yourself.
To be honest, Eduardo was never expecting some crazy Hail Mary pass or miracle cure. He was focused on learning to live with it. He savored the occasional warm moment, tried to date Christy, and fought coming out to Palo Alto at all until Mark got that Eureka face, said "fine," and initiated very swift and functional sex on the dorm room couch.
Mark’s all about utility.
And it's not like he says no when Mark catches his sleeve and tugs, mouth crooked and palming himself almost absentmindedly with the hand that's not preoccupied with entering in another string. He doesn't want to object when Mark's face is carved in petulant displeasure, says nothing works right now, suggests "just suck me off for a bit", yanking his zipper down and tilting his head back without a pause, like how he used to just know Eduardo would storm out with him to raid a vending machine or walk the frustration off until Mark's socks were soaked from snow or puddles or damp grass, back when they still did those sorts of things together. The thing about being in love with Mark is: as terrible as that's turned out for you, of course you want make him feel better, feel good.
And if he'd never been with a guy before Mark, that's fine because Eduardo's always been a quick study.
So he says yes, okay, yeah, yeah we can, each time Mark shakes him awake because he's bored and a little horny, says he's got time if Eduardo feels like it, walks back to his room to get the condom while Eduardo works himself open and ready.
It's not as if Mark is trying to make some kind of point with it, purposely make him feel, like, untouchable, that's not Mark, who wouldn't have even started anything if Eduardo hadn't gone and fell head over heels like an idiot. This is just his faulty, dog-napping karma to work through. And anyway he is being touched, technically, that mostly has to happen in the process, that's the way this stuff works. It's simply that Eduardo can come just from being fucked a lot of the time. And it's not like he can't get himself off, obviously. He's got two hands.
Mark means well (or, to be more accurate, Mark means to be sensible) and his thought process might be boiled down to: Eduardo is familiar, leaves him his space, and can be made to shut up about that whole feelings thing once Mark spells the request out with enough conviction and bluntness.
Mark is just like this. Mark won't ever feel wound tight and shamefully grateful for small positioning touches, soaking in every quick press of skin against skin, daydreaming about someone's lips when it's pointless.
If you’d had Eduardo consider what Sean Parker’s input to the general situation would be, he would have conjectured:
(1) occasionally succumbing to hysterical, mean-spirited laughter
(2) sabotaging the few successful private moments that Eduardo engineered
(3) finding Mark a less emotionally volatile hormones-outlet, preferably a girlfriend
He wouldn’t have imagined Sean pausing the verbal sparring to call his mango salsa, "fucking delicious, holy shit, you made this?", or leaning on the open fridge door to ask about state labor laws while Eduardo hunted for Mark’s beer, or charging the extra controller for him when Eduardo had been standing in the hallway for a while, feeling lost and useless. Feeling pathetically grateful enough to stop caring about what was deliberate, calculated, the possible motivations.
He didn't think he'd stop retreating when Sean seemed to take up all of the room in the kitchen, that Sean would become a steady, comforting pressure against his back as they restocked the make-shift bar or examined new adjustments to the interface.
He didn't think Sean would take to shoving himself in next to Eduardo on the floor, hooking a damp arm around his neck and jostling him with easy assurance, an unsettling combination of sweltering human warring against the seeping chill from his shirt and swim trunks, still smelling like chlorine.
He never expected that Sean would start demanding "group hug!" ("there are only two of us") at the end of their strategy debates confrontations discussions, rejecting the requisite back slap to wrap both arms around Eduardo and squeeze warmly.
(Or that Sean would not give a fuck when the newest intern objected to this habit.
"could you be any more gay?"
"I could explain why account levels are a fucking death sentence while he bounces on my dick, that work for you?"
"gross, man."
"If that image does not appeal, I am deeply sorry for your life," Sean breezily replied, leaning back against the sofa and letting his knees fall open, like maybe he was imagining it, which was ridiculous, obviously, but the thought still made Eduardo half hard and strangely, disconcertingly proud.)
He could not have predicted that the simple act of passing down a joint to Sean, shaking his head at the offer but pausing for a curious inspection, would make his hip and thigh tighten with awareness, inexplicable fear and anticipation churning in his gut as Sean leans in and waits.
He certainly would not have ever pictured himself running into Sean in the bathroom at 4am and feeling his skin heat when the door clicked shut.
But it’s immediate -- his face and neck gone shockingly hot in the deepening silence, this prickling starting along the top layer of his skin and working its way in, like it’s going to sink into his blood. Eduardo’s heard the term deafening quiet but he’s never really experienced anything like this before, like the roaring in his head when they continue to stand there, without a word.
Maybe it’s that tension he can’t take, that makes him drop to his knees-- or maybe just the way Sean was eyeing his mouth, like it was something really nice, like his mouth was something Sean thought about sometimes, privately, without Eduardo even doing anything to deserve it.
His hands are shaky as he pulls Sean’s cock out of his boxers, get shakier when Sean lets out a low hiss and Eduardo’s head jerks up to see Sean watching him, eyes not even closed yet. Which would make him think he’s already doing something wrong, except Sean’s breathing is uneven and a hand is settling at the back of Eduardo’s head.
He can take a hint - Eduardo is great at hints - so he doesn’t halt to consider what the everloving fuck he thinks he’s doing, just licks a wet stripe along the underside of Sean’s cock and opens for it, sucking it messy and slow, just the way that should make that hand clench wince-tight in his hair before Sean pulls back to hold himself up.
But.
But it doesn’t pull back, is the thing. It’s a light touch, really, first running through his hair and then drifting down to stroke at the side of his neck, the back of Sean’s hand brushing over the pulse there before returning to nestle in his hair again.
It’s--it’s sort of hard to concentrate, but in a good way, because he likes the weight of Sean’s cock in his mouth, the taste of it, the knowledge that he made it that hard (and it was really fucking hard, like, the first moment Eduardo even breathed on it), but then there’s this- This petting that’s making him feel drugged and languid, that he just instinctively wants to lean into, so much so that he has to actually remind himself not to, since he’s sort of busy with a blowjob he’s honestly enjoying, a lot.
And Sean starts whispering these things, "mm, go for it", "fuck, baby, you’re perfect", "you look so good like this", voice rough and approving. Cupping Eduardo’s face and brushing a thumb over it, searching for the press of his cock against the inside of Eduardo’s cheek, groaning and pulling Eduardo off when he finds it, to kiss him open mouthed until Eduardo is shivering and sucking on his tongue, hungry for things he can’t even name.
He’s achingly hard, spreading damp spots in his boxers as his hips can’t help jerking a little, taking in the smell of Sean’s skin and lingering hints of cologne with each quick, shuddering breath. It’s as if some floodgate’s torn open in his brain. He can’t get close enough, near scrambling, pressing them back into the sink that has to be biting into Sean’s back, but Sean doesn’t push him off, just makes calming strokes at his sides before curving a hand around to run fingers down the cleft of Eduardo’s ass, humming encouragingly into Eduardo’s mouth when he pushes back into it.
He’s panting when Sean breaks away and too out of his head to be as embarrassed as he should be at his complete lack of restraint, how easily this is taking him to pieces.
Sean strokes a thumb over Eduardo’s bottom lip, murmurs, "Let’s put it back in, yeah?" like he’d even have to coax them open, like Eduard’s not dying for it. And though it’s not difficult anymore to picture Sean being in any way soft, this strange, utterly unfamiliar brand of predatory desire and tenderness is a heady mix, gutting him.
He lets his tongue taste the thumb and nods, sinking back down to lap just a little at the head of Sean’s cock, just to look up and see Sean’s chest hitch, his eyes dark and intent like he sees something he wants to keep.
It’s absolutely necessary, then, to try to swallow as much as he can, feel the cock head bump blood-hot at the back of his throat. He adds a flick of his tongue and Sean jerks, flooding his mouth and fighting to keep his swearing hushed.
The clock on the counter blinks a red 12:00 as Sean leans back, catching his breath as Eduardo rises to his feet and mirrors him, resting against the opposite wall, head tilted up, gasping as he finally touches himself--so ready it’s painful. He wants to watch, he does, but for a moment he will bite at his lip and swipe a thumb over the top and it’s more than enough until Sean startles him into stumbling, says, insulted,
"I was getting to that."
He steps forward to catch Eduardo’s hips, flipping them so Eduardo’s back is to the mirror, and is heading for the carpet when Eduardo stops him.
Eduardo’s gaze darts away but he shoves out, "no, just--", licks across the palm of Sean’s hand and squeezes his eyes shut before placing it on his cock, wrapping an arm around Sean’s neck to pull him in. Bright spots burst behind his eyelids as he presses his face into Sean’s throat to hide a whine and lets himself ask for it,
"kiss me, kiss me."
Allows his chin to be lifted.
"I have no problem with that," Sean whispers against his mouth, and then takes it, kissing him hard and wet as he jerks Eduardo off.
He’s so close it only takes a couple minutes, clutching Sean’s shoulders like a life preserver, needy and desperately torn between the curl of Sean’s tongue and the hand working his cock.
When Eduardo comes he almost fights it -- like his body wasn’t sure it could handle the additional stimulation (like the story of his goddamn life, where he wants and he wants but he’s too damn scared) - and it’s good, it’s fucking good, and Sean kisses him through it, continues. Slower now and almost approaching lazy, like they’re aimless and fifteen again.
It might be ten minutes before Sean finally pushes him gently back, nudging at Eduardo’s face with his nose before placing hands flat on his chest. "Sleep, at some point, might be a good idea," he says teasingly.
Just the sight of the bathroom door leaves Eduardo cold. The thought of walking through it makes him nauseous. "I don’t want to leave," he confesses, without meaning to speak, and flushes.
"Eventually we might need food. The interns can take a leak in the bushes, but I don’t think Dustin would go for that." Sean’s very carefully avoiding the M word, and Eduardo honestly doesn’t know what’s worse for a moment: that Mark wouldn’t care or the thought that Sean could believe Eduardo doesn’t know that Mark wouldn’t care, and did this anyway.
The fact that these two things are suddenly of equal consideration makes his decision, just possibly, less insanely stupid.
"Can we go back to you room?"
He’s honestly expecting Sean to reply with something like, 'that means I get to fuck you later, right?', which would not actually be a problem, getting fucked is a pretty great idea, come to think of it, especially since Eduardo has single-handedly screwed up in a single night the one chance he’d been given with the person he’d assumed would be the love of his miserable life.
But instead Sean grins boyishly, bright with self-satisfaction, and says, "I’d claim to be taking back everything I have ever said about the quality of your ideas, but I’d be lying," then grabs a hand and laces their fingers together, leaving Eduardo staring at them with eyebrows raised as Sean tugs him out of the bathroom and down the hall.
"This was a pretty great one, though," Sean continues once they’ve made it through his door, hiding a yawn with his free hand and then pulling Eduardo down with him to flop, completely undignified, across his unmade bed.
The one benefit to being 20 years old and letting yourself go fall in love with Mark Zuckerberg, of all fucking people, Eduardo considers drowsily, is that the only direction you can go is up and so it’s pretty easy to recognize it.
(despite some very clever disguises)
/end
[note: you can find my other TSN fic here]
This entry was originally posted at http://silviakundera.dreamwidth.org/827123.html. There are
comments.