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Second Fill: Cracks in the Reservoir (2/?) {Do I even need to say NSFW?}

[slasher48]

The annoyance is fueled, however, when Mark goes for his buttons. Awfully presumptuous, isn’t he. If anybody should know that pushing for sex isn’t always the way to get it, it’s Mark: Eduardo remembers the nights when Mark would give him these completely befuddled looks, telling him how some woman or other had shut him down again for the “good shit”. And good thing too, because insecurities and his characteristic thirst for Mark’s approval, they don’t belong here. Those are for later, after he’s already had Mark gasping his name up against the glass of the conference room.

First, he throws Mark down on the table, his hands pinning Mark’s as his knees hit the wood hard; he has to remind himself that Dustin tried to Slip’N’Slide down this particular table before he feels safe where he is, but safety doesn’t get much concern with Mark looking at him like that anyway. To stop his body reacting to simply that look, he leans down and grabs Mark’s neck between his teeth and lips, worrying the skin until Mark is actually arching just from his mouth, his hips restless, working up through the air between his pelvis and Eduardo’s.

It’s intoxicating, feeling Mark lose all semblance of control under him, and suddenly the idea of Mark’s fingers under his shirt, clawing helplessly at his back and chest, isn’t so offensive. He reaches for his own buttons, letting Mark’s hands go but slapping them away from where he’s unbuttoning as he balances his weight on his knees and the pressure of his lips against Mark’s. Mark pants for a long moment, wriggling under the hold of Eduardo straddling him, but Eduardo doesn’t budge and once his shirt is undone, Mark’s eyes kind of glaze over as he takes in the skin, his fingers twitching as he drags them over every bare inch, his escape forgotten.

“Wardo,” he gasps, his usual direct tone disturbed by the kind of distraction Eduardo’s never heard in his voice before, and Eduardo works at his cufflinks while his knees tremble every time Mark’s fingers brush over his nipples (accidentally the first time, deliberately every time after as Mark sees how his nostrils flare with it), anxious for more of that breathless awe and supposing he can get it from more skin for Mark’s view.

He’s right; as soon as he shoves his suit jacket off of his shoulders, trying not to wince instinctively at the twin clunks of the metal hitting the floor with his shirt after, Mark growls low in his throat and grabs for him. Eduardo tries and fails not to groan as Mark surges up, with a strength a man who goes without sleep or food regularly should not have, to yank him down onto him. And his hips jump forward the moment he feels Mark hard under him to boot - he pretends not to see Mark’s smirk, except to lick past the spread corners of his mouth and leave him panting open-mouthed, the expression vanishing quickly in the face of an effect Eduardo has on Mark that he had never even considered possible.

“Fuck,” Mark grunts when Eduardo’s hips jerk forward again, and he’s drunk on that, drunk on the things Mark can say when code and Facebook are gone from his brain and all that’s left is Eduardo and anything Eduardo can do for him, with him, to him. His hands grip onto Mark to shove himself up, almost failing entirely to balance him when Mark’s head tilts up and those Red Vine stained lips take his nipple between them for far too long to leave him sane, and the next moment he devotes to divesting Mark of his ever-present hoodie. He doesn’t give a fuck where it ends up, and about the same amount of thought (none) goes to the t-shirt that follows. Turnabout is fair play, and Eduardo means to play as much as he can before the tables are turned again: dropping his hips back where they were, he catches the hard pebble of Mark’s nipple between his lips this time, and doesn’t drop it as quickly. Instead he works it between his teeth and tongue, wetting all of the darker pink skin there on his chest and then blowing there, relishing the helpless way Mark’s hips meet his so hard he almost tumbles sideways off of him and giving as much as Mark with the way he rolls his in response, in circles.