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And I'll Play the Maid and Clean Up the Mess 1/2

[anonymous]

It starts when they come back in the fall for Junior year. Mark hadn’t seen it for what it was then, but he realizes now how blind he’d been- the rough summer Eduardo’d had at home with his family, his uncontrollable need to please people, all of the things that Mark had missed before but had still befuddled him make so much sense, now, in retrospect.

But Mark cannot change what has already happened, he cannot go back in time and make himself more observant, cannot do anything but reflect and try to fix what went wrong by using what has already happened, what he already knows.

So Junior year had started. Mark had been sharing a suite with Dustin and Chris, and it was perfect, because they’d all go on coding binges and stay up all night shooting the shit and taunting each other into hacking challenges, or sit in companionable silence, all three of them with their headphones on and nothing but the sound of clacking keys reverberating in the empty room.

Eduardo had said time and time again how he couldn’t understand how anyone could live the way the three of them managed, but he was more fond than he was frustrated, more bemused than he could ever be angry. Mark likes it when Eduardo brings him Red Bulls, or beer, because it’s time that Mark saves without having to get up and go to the fridge, okay, it’s convenient. 

Eduardo was the one who wasn’t able to live with the fact that Mark sometimes skipped meals, he was the one who was always picking up food and pushing it insistently into Mark’s hands, and one day Mark was trying to work out a particularly uncooperative line of code, but Eduardo was buzzing at Mark’s side, not letting up on all the reasons why Mark doesn’t take care of himself properly, and Mark had been frustrated, had snapped, “Do you want to feed it to me?” and Eduardo had gone bright red and dissolved into stammers, disappearing almost immediately after. At the time, Mark had blinked after him, confused but happy to go back to what he had been doing without interrupting, but looking back on it now, it was... interesting. Very interesting.

Eduardo would press a beer into Mark’s hand, and Mark would tear his eyes away from the computer, look up at Eduardo through his eyelashes and say “Thank you,” very careful and slow, and watch the way Eduardo’s eyes went unfocused, the way his breathing shallowed out before he averted his eyes, mumbling “You’re welcome,” and walking away quickly.

Mark should have picked up on it then, but he never did. Today, though, in the present, Mark is fully aware of what it means when Eduardo pounces on him right after he’s finished cleaning Mark’s bathroom, the way he spoon-feeds him his dinner and then takes him to bed immediately after, the way he shudders when Mark is particularly pleased at a favor he’d asked Eduardo to do that he’d executed correctly, the way Eduardo melts under his hands so Mark can thank him.

It’s something really interesting that Mark decides he actually really likes, wants to play with a little, but doesn’t know how. He figures it’s the best of both worlds- Mark can’t take care of himself, and Eduardo gets off on doing it for him. Plus, Mark gets off on watching Eduardo get off. So it really is a win/win situation.

He brings it up for the first time right after a round of incredible sex, says, “I want to try something,” quietly, right into Eduardo’s ear when he’s still panting coming down from his orgasm. When he gets his breathing back under control he nods, sleepy already.

“Tomorrow,” he says, and Mark agrees, goes easily into the circle of Eduardo’s embrace and snuggles against his chest, irrationally excited for what the day might bring.

*

It’s Sunday, so neither of them have to work, and Mark wakes Eduardo up with a slow kiss, bringing him back to consciousness by bringing his hand down and wrapping it around Eduardo’s cock, jerking him until he’s hard, a little wet and pushing into the tight circle of Mark’s fist. Mark turns him over easily, and when he’s got two fingers curled against Eduardo’s prostate, Eduardo biting the pillow and practically sobbing under him, he says very carefully, “Today’s Sunday.” He’s being deliberately casual, and hopes he’s not overdoing it. “You know what that means.”