DRABBLES PART 5: THE ONE WHERE THEY MEET NATALIE PORTMAN

[ymorton]

----- more!
-----they are not in chronological order, really
----- prompt: Stalking Natalie Portman around Harvard.

ONE

"She spoke to you," Dustin says in a monotone, and grabs both of Mark's hands in his. Mark tries to jerk away, but Dustin is hanging on for dear life.

"She spoke to you! SHE SPOKE TO YOU!" he repeats, and Mark keeps trying to wriggle out of his grasp. From behind him Mark can see Eduardo, giving them a weird face and walking towards them quickly.

"What the fuck?" he says, karate-chopping Dustin's arm.

"Natalie spoke to him," he says, fighting against Eduardo's punches, hanging on. Mark's actually annoyed.

"She- she talked to him, she knew who he was… Oh god, Mark, did she touch you, did she touch you!?"

"Jesus, Dustin, get the fuck off me!" Mark yells, and finally steps away, holding his hands out defensively. Eduardo stands in front of him like a security guard.

"She shook my hand. It was not a big deal," Mark says, but it doesn't even matter, because Dustin is holding up his own hand in front of his face in wonder.

"She touched you and then you touched me," he murmurs, eyes alight with joy, and reverently kisses his own palm.

"You are such a freak," Eduardo says, and puts a hand on Mark's back to lead them towards the d-hall. "Seriously, she's just a person."

"Just a person?" Dustin runs in front of them so they have to stop walking. "She is not just a person! She is the love of my life. SHE IS QUEEN AMIDALA. Mark, you of all people should appreciate that! Don't think I don't know about your Star Wars themed bar mitzvah!"

"She's actually just an actress though," Mark explains condescendingly, and Eduardo snorts. Dustin just presses his hand against his face again, breathing it in, and walks backwards in front of them.

"Whatever. Mark, how fast can you arrange a meeting between us? I'll- I'll go to the gym tonight, work on my biceps. God, I need a haircut."

"I worry about your sanity," Mark says dryly.

"But you're friends now, right?"

"Yeah, we painted each other's nails and talked about the Backstreet Boys."

"How do you even know who the Backstreet Boys are?" Eduardo asks.

"I have sisters, okay?"

"Your sarcasm wounds me, Mark," Dustin says, eyes huge. "It stabs me right in the heart. The heart which is full and thumping only for my sweet space queen."

"Not the only thing that's full and thumping for her," Eduardo says, and Mark bumps fists with him without looking, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth up.

"Assholes," Dustin says, sighing. "Seriously, Mark, I will be your slave for a week if you introduce me."

"I already have Wardo," Mark says, and Eduardo punches him in the shoulder, laughing.

"I didn't mean your sex slave," Dustin says, and Eduardo shoves him. Mark goes red and shakes his head, staring down at the ground.

"You're such a dumbass," Eduardo says, slinging an arm around Mark's shoulders, grinning at nothing.

Mark doesn't say anything. Eduardo's arm is warm.

--

A week later, Dustin bursts into the room, breathing hard.

"I held the door open for her!"

"Who?" Chris asks.

"Natalie Portman," Mark says flatly, still typing.

"My queen," Dustin sighs. "The fire in my loins."

"Gross, bro. We don't need to hear anything about your loins."

"I thought man-loins were your main interest, Chris."

"I think the term "man-loins" might actually be turning me straight. At least temporarily."

"Well if you're straight now, wanna talk about Natalie Portman?" he bounces down onto the couch next to Chris like an eager puppy. Chris looks up from his history textbook.

"No, I do not want to discuss her loins."

"Oh Chris. Your loin-avoidance pains me. Loinvoidance. A-loin-dance."

"Stop doing that!" Mark says from the computer. Dustin's been combining words more and more for the last couple weeks, and they were all getting sick of it. Eduardo had finally cracked after Dustin, high on Red Bull and no sleep, had kept trying to make up a name for him and Mark. Markwardo. Mark-do. Ed-Mark-do. Eduark.

"You can't stop me," Dustin says like a six-year-old, flicking Mark off. Mark narrows his eyes at him, fingers still flying across the keyboard.

"Chris," he says, and Chris reaches across the couch without looking up from his book and punches Dustin in the arm.

"Owwwww, fuck you guys!" Dustin says, rubbing his arm and pouting. Mark grins.

TWO

"Dude, are you actually crying though?" Eduardo asks, looking over at Dustin.

"No," Dustin says, sniffing, and he swipes a hand across his nose. Chris grabs the magazine out of his hand.

"Natalie Portman and Mexican actor Gael Garcia Bernal seen canoodling-" he starts to read, and Dustin cuts him off.

"Stop! We- we all know what it says, Chris, we've all read it. I can't hear it again."

Mark swallows a bite of Cap'n Crunch. "She told me she was going to ask you out but you seemed really emotionally unavailable," he says with a completely straight face. "That guy is just a rebound."

Eduardo snorts around a mouthful of eggs and Chris tosses the magazine back at Dustin.

"You're such a dick," Dustin says, and tears the page out, crumples it in his fist.

"I'm sorry about your loins," Chris says, and Dustin stuffs two pieces of bacon in his mouth at once, chewing moodily, lips sticking out.

"She also said she didn't like that you didn't keep kosher," Mark adds, and Dustin regurgitates a mouthful of bacon on the plate.

"Oh my God, Dustin, really," Chris says, picking up his Blackberry from the table and examining it for saliva. Eduardo just laughs, shoulders shaking, and hooks a leg with Mark's under the table.

Mark takes a sip of orange juice, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling, as Dustin pushes the chewed-up bacon into a napkin, muttering you guys are assholes, Natalie would understand what I'm going through.

THREE

"She's perfect," Dustin sighs, clutching his hands to his chest and swooning dramatically over the back of the sofa. He almost tips over and breaks his neck, but manages to right himself, then looks around to see if anyone saw.

"Saw that," Chris says absently, already looking back down at his computer, and Dustin shrugs inwardly.

"How drunk do you think she'd have to be to have sex with me?" Dustin muses, way past tipsy himself.

"Drunk enough so that it would not be legal," Mark says, grinning to himself, and Dustin nearly knocks over his beer bottle trying to punch him halfheartedly.

"Maybe you should dress up as like, Captain Kirk or something, and go uh, plunder her spaceship," Chris suggests, and Dustin sits up straight, glaring at him.

"OH MY GOD, Chris, that's Star TREK. Kill yourself. Just, kill yourself. Natalie would never go out with someone who didn't know that."

"Luckily I have no interest," Chris says dryly. "Gael Garcia Bernal, on the other hand..."

"Don't say that name in this room."

FOUR

"He did not," Eduardo breathes, watching them from across the Thirsty Scholar. Dustin is actually- he's actually eating dinner with Natalie fucking Portman. She rummages through her tiny, classy purse for a second and Dustin shoots them a look that's an equal combination of OH MY FUCKING GOD and I AM SO TERRIFIED RIGHT NOW.

Mark shrugs and kicks Eduardo under the table, taking another sip of beer. Eduardo's still staring over his shoulder at them incredulously, and he doesn't look away even when Mark kicks him again, then just leaves his foot there and starts rubbing it against Eduardo's ankle.

"I thought you said she was just a person," Mark says tightly, moving his foot up to Eduardo's thigh, and Eduardo finally tears his eyes away, smiles sweet and private at Mark, puts his hand under the table and Mark kicks at it, grinning.

"Crazy," Eduardo says. "Not sure which is more unbelievable, the fact that you're trying to give me a footjob under the table, or that Dustin's having dinner with Natalie Portman."

"I'll help you decide," Mark says, and pushes between Eduardo's legs with the arch of his foot. Eduardo inhales sharply.

--

"What did you say to her?" Chris asks, genuinely curious for once. Dustin's curled in fetal position on the couch. He hasn't stopped grinning since he got back from dinner. Mark's starting to worry about jaw paralysis.

"I just- I just said things," Dustin says dreamily. "We talked about Star Wars. We talked about philosophy, and life, and world problems, and about- about the ocean."

"The ocean?" Eduardo says from his spot on Mark's bed. Mark's lying perpendicular to him, feet in his lap and Eduardo's got a hand curled around his ankle, absentmindedly.

"Deep stuff, like the ocean, Wardo," Dustin says with grandeur. "It was so beautiful. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

FIVE

"Natalie Portman's in our room," Eduardo murmurs, eyes wide, trying to keep his mouth completely still. He's pulled Chris' desk chair over to sit next to Mark at the computer. Mark, as always, is typing.

"This is true," Mark says absently. Eduardo nods about seven times, still frozen.

"Look who's getting a little starstruck!" Mark says, well, teasingly, if Mark knew how to be teasing and not just sound vaguely interested.

"Shut up."

Natalie is indeed in their room, sitting on the couch with her feet curled under her, talking about Israel/Palestine relations with Chris.

"Dustin's going to piss himself," Mark says, smirking, and right on cue, the key turns in the lock.

It takes five minutes to clean up the broken forty, but Natalie actually helps.

Luckily, Dustin doesn't break the handle of Smirnoff, and they all end up getting drunk. Which is surreal. Natalie keeps getting texts and taking shots and Dustin's face looks like a still life- longing.

They're playing COD, and even Mark's left the computer and is sitting on the floor next to Eduardo, a little drowsy. Eduardo bumps his thigh against his and looks at him, grinning, like, can you believe it?

"So," Dustin starts, twisting the controller and narrowing his eyes for a second, "how long did it take you to figure out they're fucking?" He gestures vaguely at Mark and Eduardo, and Chris, from his place sprawled on the armchair, laughs hysterically.

Natalie grins, and Eduardo says, "Really, really no need to answer that."

"No, it's okay," she says, laughing. "I'm from Hollywood. My gaydar is very honed."

"Okay, I'll ask people then. Jake Gyllenhaal?"

"Whoa, whoa, we're not playing that game."

"Gay," Chris opines hopefully, and Natalie just shakes her head, clamping her mouth shut.

"Another shot?" she says, and Dustin nods reverently.

SIX

"Do you think I should write more?" Dustin asks anxiously, biting his nails, knees drawn up to his chest on his office chair. Chris bends over the computer.

"Jesus Christ," he murmurs, scanning the email. "Dustin. Just- no. You can't send this."

"What? Why? I quoted the original Star Wars. I thought- I thought that was a nice touch. And, here, look, that's a really rare emoticon."

Chris spins him around forcefully in the office chair, eyes wide.

"Dustin. Okay, I'll admit you somehow conned Natalie Portman into thinking you're a semi-functioning member of society, but this email- this email, in which you say, and I quote, "don't underestimate the Force", this will ruin everything."

Dustin just scoffs and looks back at the email with pride, and Chris grabs the laptop and deletes it.

"Chris, you fucker, that took me like three hours to write!" Dustin protests, grabbing it back, and Mark calls from the other room, "You're supposed to be coding the picture settings, Dustin. Get back to work."

"Well, thanks, dickface," Dustin mutters to Chris, and opens up Facebook.

"It's like a sweatshop in here," Dustin yells, taking a swig of his Beck's, and he can hear Eduardo laughing from Mark's room.

"Or maybe like a Taiwanese brothel," he yells, louder. "Wardo, if he's abusing you, you can tell me! I know how it feels!"

Eduardo appears at the doorway, hair mussed, shirt partially unbuttoned. "You know how it feels? Should I be jealous, Dustin?"

Dustin goes red and waves him away. "Mark, your sex slave is distracting me," he says imperiously, and Eduardo steals his beer and leaves, laughing to himself.

SEVEN

"Oh, Dustin, that's so sweet and a little demented." Natalie laughs, and reaches a hand to help him off his knee.

"Well?" Dustin says, brushing his knees off, cheeks pink, and Natalie kisses him on the cheek.

"Yeah, I just, I can't marry you. But I am going to do you a huge solid and pretend that that never happened."

Dustin shrugs resignedly. "That's fair."

"Unfortunately for you, they definitely saw it," Natalie says, giggling, pointing behind Dustin. Eduardo is literally doubled over, choking with laughter, and even Mark is cracking a grin. Chris has his hands in his hoodie sleeves, pressed against his eyes.

"Can I look yet?" he calls, and Dustin flicks them off. Natalie reaches up and puts an arm around his shoulder, and Dustin stares at her longingly. She just laughs again.

"Let's all get dinner."

"You're making me get dinner with them? Adding insult to injury?"

"The truth is, Dustin, I know in the end your friendship with them will out-live our torrid affair."

"Torrid affair?" Dustin says, perking up. "Consider the challenge accepted. I'll break up with them right now if it's torrid affair time."

She just flicks him on the temple and starts walking toward the dining hall. Dustin stares after her for a second, then runs to catch up.

EIGHT (HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!)

"You guys are being sickeningly cute again," Chris calls over his sixth screwdriver. He's halfway through a box of chocolates that Dustin bought him as a joke, and way past halfway drunk.

"Mark can't help it, he's just so cuddly!" Eduardo says, pinching his cheek from where they're curled together on the couch, and Mark makes a vague noise of protest and then buries his head deeper into Eduardo's neck.

"I'm single and alone," Chris says miserably, sprawled on the armchair, biting into another chocolate.

"You're not alone, you have Dustin," Mark says, motioning to Dustin, who's already passed out on the floor, face down, snoring, ears still flushed with alcohol. Chris half-heartedly throws a chocolate wrapper at him.

"It's Valentine's Day and I have a passed-out, straight, idiotic roommate who's probably a burgeoning alcoholic and forms weird emotional attachments to celebrities he barely even knows," Chris whines, only slurring his words a little bit. Mark snorts into Eduardo's collarbone.

"You wanna watch Final Destination again?" Eduardo asks sympathetically, and Chris nods. Eduardo presses play on the remote, reaching over Mark's shoulder to point it at the TV.

Dustin's phone buzzes, on the floor, just out of the reach of his sprawled arm. Chris fumbles for it, flips it open clumsily.

"Happy Valentine's day, Dustin, go cuddle with Chris, love Natalie," he reads slowly, and tosses the phone down. "Oh my God," he says despairingly. Eduardo's shaking with laughter.

"Even Natalie Portman knew I'd be alone on Valentine's Day," Chris says, and Dustin stirs.

"Natalie?" he murmurs into the floor. "Natalie, my queen-"

Chris sighs and stumbles to his feet, drags Dustin up by the shoulders and pushes him into his room.

"What are you doing?" Eduardo asks, still laughing, and Chris lifts his middle finger up, nearly tripping over a beer bottle.

"I'm gonna- fucking- cuddle," he says slowly, enunciating like he always does when he's insanely wasted, and Dustin wraps his arms around his neck.

Mark grins, and in the darkness of the room, kisses Eduardo's neck.