[PART SEVEN] - CLOSED
quick note; GUYS. please be aware that if you posted a prompt in part six and it is now screened, i have posted them to the post already - so that you guys don't have to. thanks for being patient and making the fill-a-thon such a success
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It starts with hands.
Mark had figured Eduardo was tired; kisses against the car hadn’t yielded a fucking thing, and Mark had resigned himself to crawling into bed once Eduardo was sleeping deeply with his laptop and coding all night, until he forgot about the brandy in the sauce on Eduardo’s steak, the press of his fingers against Mark’s back, the sinful things he could do purely with his tongue. He would fall asleep eventually anyway, right? It hadn’t been such an awful thought.
He should have known better.
Eduardo’s not much for public affection -- it might have something to do with how their relationship is new and for some reason there’s some kind of longevity you have to achieve before orgasms can happen in anything more than an empty manner. Mark, personally, thinks this is ludicrous, and should be forgotten for the amount of times he’s woken up to breakfast on the night-stand on his side of the bed, as well as the amount of times he’s let Eduardo do things like wash his hair and force movies that are not remotely quality into his life --
The point is, Eduardo isn’t public with his attentions, but once the doors are closed, it’s always been no holds barred. From that very first encounter making marks on the conference room walls, Eduardo has done things to Mark that no one ever has once they’re alone.
So really, he maybe should have expected that once they were in the house and Eduardo had kicked his shoes off, Eduardo might touch him.
That he might, oh, maybe slam him against the door -- Eduardo’s got some kind of weird fetish for making his back ache after they've finished, Mark doesn’t really understand it -- and lift him up by his ass and kiss him excruciatingly harder than he had when they were back at the restaurant.
Mark should have known this was possible; it should not have surprised him enough to make him cry out, or yank Eduardo’s hair, or moan so loud it echoed in the foyer.
Regardless of shoulds, it fucking does, okay.
When it starts with hands, with carefully kept nails making sandpaper sounds against Mark’s slacks and jerking motions that bring Mark right up against every warm, rough part of Eduardo’s body, he moans.
When it continues with lips, on his ear and his neck, and Christ, Eduardo even rips his shirt a little to get to his shoulder and leave wet bites all over his skin, Mark maybe cries out. He’s already flushing down to where Eduardo’s nipping at him, and all he can do is turn darker and clutch at Eduardo like he’ll fall without his strong fingers cupping his ass (and he might).
He’s so far gone he doesn’t even laugh when Eduardo trips over the shoes that dropped off of Mark’s feet as he’s yanking Mark away from the door (which is a crime, really, considering the demented dance he does to stay upright), just lets out a frustrated groan when they almost hit the floor before they’ve even started yet.
(On second thought -- it might be intriguing to try the floor again. Especially on the softer worn carpet of the foyer.)
Eduardo shoves him, fucking shoves him, into the living room and onto the sofa and Mark’s knees are hitting cushion uncomfortably and his hands are waving a bit trying to find purchase, but Eduardo gives him no fucking time to focus on this.
“Mmm, love this shirt on you,” Eduardo whispers, licking at Mark’s neck where the collar’s come undone at his whim and reaching forward to unbutton what he hasn’t yet ripped open. Mark’s stomach shivers under his questing fingers and his hips brush back against the hard pressure of Eduardo’s cock; for a second he forgets Eduardo’s earlier intentions entirely, but only a second, and then he’s leaning on purpose.
“Not like I give a shit, but you should probably try not to ruin it, in that case,” Mark says dryly, leaning back, almost twisting himself to kiss Eduardo when he huffs out choked laughter against the back of his head. He wants his mouth again, no specific place, just wherever, and kissing him seems like the fastest, most efficient way to get there.
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He’s panting when Eduardo pulls away, and fuck, why did he do that? Eduardo should always be kissing him when he looks like that; Mark knows this with absolute certainty.
Mark goes right for his mouth again, but Eduardo only smirks, purrs a bit,
“It’s not like I need your shirt off for what I’m doing to you tonight, anyway.”
He stops cold for just a second, digesting this (ingenious, and Mark would know -- he invented Facebook) idea, and then mauls Eduardo anew, gripping at his biceps as he falls into the luxurious sofa Mark bought for just this reason. Then it’s his turn, and he gets to grind down into the pliable slim body beneath him, gets to bite and grab at the jaw that tightened a few times tonight at dinner when Mark’s ankle brushed Eduardo’s. Mark gets his own back for a little while, nudging under that jaw to mark Eduardo’s neck and purposefully scratching up the sides of Eduardo’s face to get into his hair and pull him wherever Mark’s mouth wants him to be.
“It might be hot...I don’t know,” Eduardo tries to say, tries to affirmatively enunciate, fails when Mark digs his teeth into his jugular and the top of his head smacks the arm of the couch when he arches every part of him to get closer to that sharp pain and pressure.
“Might be kind of sexy for you to keep your shirt on, so that I can’t even see you move, so that I have to figure out how you feel by listening. I don’t know...Mm. Mark. What do you think?”
“I don’t want to be loud,” Mark says softly, blushing again, damn it, and shoving at Eduardo’s shoulder. He ignores Eduardo’s scoffing noises to pull at the buttons of Eduardo’s shirt up until the gray fabric falls to the floor, wrinkled in a way that will make Eduardo complain but gone, which is most important.
“Really, querido? You sure about that one?” Eduardo murmurs, pressing into Mark’s back where his shirt’s practically falling off him anyway, his fingers ten points of hot, smooth touch. Mark makes a little sound, but buries his mouth in the flesh of Eduardo’s chest before he gets anything else out. He can tell without even looking that Eduardo is grinning at him.
“I think you like being loud for me.”
Mark doesn’t say anything at first, chewing his lip to shreds and swallowing hard as he presses his forehead against Eduardo’s sternum and tries to ignore Eduardo’s fingers creeping beneath his slacks to grip and knead his ass. He doesn’t succeed, and even as Eduardo’s rubbing barely below the waist of his underwear, Mark makes an embarrassingly loud choked noise.
Eduardo shivers under him, spreading his legs even more and gripping tighter to Mark’s ass, nudging him down as his own hips jerk up. Mark coughs, covering what might’ve been a shout, and mutters,
“It’s just artful manipulation, Wardo. You fucking lose it when I react like that.”
Eduardo’s eyes sharpen somehow, and before Mark knows it, he’s on his back again, staring up at the flexing muscle of Eduardo’s torso, beautiful and golden -- he may not say it aloud, but yes, he knows he’s lucky to have someone like this -- and Eduardo is growling as Mark’s shirt gets fully torn off of him and tossed away,
“We’ll fucking see.”
Mark lifts onto his elbow to kiss him, but Eduardo shoves him back down, and by the time he gets anything that could substantially be called a kiss, Eduardo’s hand is riding along the thin, bony paleness of his chest and stomach, past his hipbones, beneath his underwear on the other side. He gasps against the soft swelling of Eduardo’s mouth and pushes into the hold, hardening fully again until his urgency returns and he’s got to bite something, bite chest or shoulder or lip.
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It’s right about the moment he bypasses Mark’s cock (and balls) to play with the soft patch of skin just a little further below that Mark forgets to fucking care.
“Ah. Wardo.” It comes out almost pleading, and Mark doesn’t give a fuck, he doesn’t, not when Eduardo takes him at his tone and scrapes his teeth over Mark’s bottom lip as he touches right where he had before, poking a little at that little nub under his skin again, and harder.
“Yeah, like that,” Eduardo says, softer now, his eyes intent on Mark’s face as he teases, mercilessly, dragging one finger over the wet ridges of Mark’s dick and then returning to that nub -- his perineum, he knows, but who cares what the damn thing is called -- subtly overjoyed that Mark is coming apart before his eyes for the umpteenth time. Eduardo always does this; it’s his so-called favorite part, seeing how everything affects Mark, affecting Mark as actively as possible and witnessing the show-and-tell of Mark’s body yielding under his hands.
Which basically proves his point, leaving Eduardo primed for manipulation, as he said.
Eduardo jabs, sharply, at that spot beneath the heavy swell of Mark’s balls, and Mark jerks.
It’s possible he just doesn’t mention how much he enjoys the manipulation as it happens.
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