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Fill: Bored (But Not Tired) in Singapore (3/?)

[slasher48]

“Eduardo you are going to. Later we are going to talk about this, but. God, please stop that.”

And material shifts that he didn’t move.

Suddenly he’s hearing a nervous goodbye that won’t kill at all whatever suspicions the attendees have, and the scrape of a chair makes him gasp out a surprised laugh - in sync with Dustin’s, apparently - and then Mark is slamming the door behind him and he can hear the slap of his flip-flops away from the buzz of conversation going on behind the door.

“Shit Eduardo, do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate when your voice sounds like that?” he asks, the last word sounding like a gasp for air, and Eduardo wonders where he’s running to. He pictures Mark slamming down on the couch in his office - the one he remembers fondly as the place where Mark gave him their first blowjob - and ripping his pants down and is shocked by the heat that runs down his spine at the thought of Mark forgetting to shut the blinds on the glass doors. Forgetting to hide his complete and total submission to how Eduardo is making him feel, even from Singapore.

***

The thump and then twin thunks that follow tell him that while he was fantasizing, Mark was doing just that, making it their reality. His lover’s on that couch, that unbearably soft couch that puts him to sleep every time but the ones where Eduardo is with him, and he’s kicked off those damned flip-flops, and all that labored breathing in his ear tells him Mark is in for the long haul, ready when he is. There is absolutely no reason why his dick should pulse just at the thought of Mark being okay with having phone sex, but there it is.

Nothing’s funny about this anymore, and Eduardo’s hand is past his waistband now, his ears attuned for every single noise on the other end of the phone, hearing it clearly when Mark pops the button on his shorts, that crinkle of the cloth he usually adds a hiss to with his mouth up against the bulge there, and then a soft sigh of pure relief when Mark’s hand is actually where he needs it.

Eduardo has to fight off his orgasm even just the first moment he gets skin on skin, working his hand down once to wet it and then twisting around the head of him. Just knowing Mark can hear the soft smack of his fingers around himself and thinking that Mark must be heading toward, if not doing, the same thing - it’s almost unbearable to wait.

“Tell me what you would do if you were ready - ah - Mark, tell me.”

“Wardo I can’t. I can’t tell you what you want to hear when I’m - nngh.” It’s not like he needed it anyway, with the little involuntary grunt Mark makes, and he grabs his base quickly to stop the rush he can feel readying.

“Fine then, I’ll, fuck, I’ll tell you. You would. You would grab onto my hip, always so damn c-cocky when I’m giving you anything you want. You would grab onto me and force me harder into you, without even asking, just because you needed it. Fuck Mark - you’d need it.”

Mark is actually gasping now, and he can hear, just beneath their harsh tones, he can hear the slick sound of his hand moving, and Eduardo's eyes roll back a little, because it’s identical to how it sounds when he’s grabbed himself along with Eduardo’s hips, intent on getting everything he can out of everything they do because there isn’t going to be another time for a while. Always soaking in every bit of sex he can, making out with Eduardo at the airport, tugging his hair right in front of the paparazzi, gripping his thigh on the way home, and throwing him against whatever’s closest the moment they get past the locked door: it’s such a Mark thing to do, and Eduardo cannot imagine a time when he ever complained.