Strength in Numbers, part 1/2
Title: Strength in Numbers
Fandom/Pairing: The Social Network, Mark/Eduardo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Mark, you couldn't make a cat happy-you couldn't keep a plant alive, never mind make me-give me anything I-” Eduardo says and walks out. Mark takes that as a challenge. ~9k
Warnings: Well! They have the sex. And they're based on characters based on real people, guys, so.
Acknowlodgements: Inspired by the kitten I got a month ago and Jesse Eisenberg’s growing collection of cats. Big huge thanks to michelinamarie for beta and cheerleading as well as, I feel, putting a carrot in front of this fandom and leading us to water (or that place in the wood where Thumper's little bunny family met Bambi. You know.). Thanks also to a lot of amazing women on tumblr who posted gorgeous pictures and funny tags about the jewnicorns and kept me inspired enough to bust out the first draft of the following story in two days. (I'm not going to name them here because this is not tumblr, but if you posted your obsessive love on that platform, I mean you. Thank you all.)
Note: 12/21--happy winter solstice everybody! Strength in Numbers has been translated into Chinese by sometimesinlove here (thank you, lovely person) if anyone would prefer to read it that way!
It starts with a blowjob.
That is unexpected.
Blowjobs aren’t that common in Mark’s life. Now half of them have happened in public restrooms. And half have involved Eduardo. The same half. That’s unexpected, too. Mostly.
It’s not like they don’t see each other. Apparently that’s unexpected. A few months ago, he and Dustin and Chris and some other guys who didn’t drop out of Harvard (because Facebook doesn’t hire dropouts anymore) but might as well have, were sitting in one of their big, empty houses and drinking a lot of beer and Dustin said, “What if you-saw Wardo again. What would you even do?”
“Dude, shut up,” said Chris. “You can’t just say ‘Wardo’ like Wardo.”
Dustin giggled. “Maaarkie. What would you do-ooo?”
“I see him all the time,” Mark said. “Saw him-last week at that thing for the tangerines.” What he meant was, “orangutans” and the fundraiser was really for the Energy Action Coalition. “I shook his fucking hand.”
That’s the thing: they’re civil. Sometimes he sees people around them do a double take, swinging their gazes from Mark to Eduardo and back again as if they’re about to run at each other like bulls. No. There might be lawsuits and broken computers between them now, but they’re goddamn professionals. There are reasons you can’t find a bunch of pictures of them glaring at each other on the internet and it’s not just that the backend of computers isn’t sexy and it’s not just that Mark has no patience for photo ops past content for his one-a-month fanpage update. It’s that they can grab each other’s palms and grin for the camera if they have to.
They have scripts. From November till March, Eduardo will start with, “70 degree winters, huh? California.”
Then comes Mark’s line: “Yeah. Beats those east coast snow storms.”
Then anyone paying attention chuckles and moves on. Courtesy fulfilled.
They haven’t been alone together in six years.
So maybe it starts when he walks into the bathroom and sees Eduardo at the urinal. It had been business as usual the rest of the night. Mark walks in and sees him and knows it’s Eduardo from his hair alone. He doesn’t think the instant recognition is too weird. Eduardo keeps it cut exactly the same as he did in college, probably the same as he did in high school.
Mark looks around. No one’s at the sinks; the stall doors are all angled open.
“Oh,” Mark says and stumbles back a step.
Eduardo’s head moves, but he doesn’t startle, doesn’t look at him. The splattering sound of piss continues steady, then a shimmy of the hips, zipper zipped up. He flushes, washes his hands, and finally turns and looks at Mark. He stares. Mark stares back.
“I-I-I mean, I-”
“Don’t. Don’t fucking talk,” Eduardo says slowly and then he charges at Mark.
Maybe the bull analogy wasn’t so off, Mark thinks, feeling more like a little boy in a matador costume. Eduardo grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him into the handicapped stall.
It’s crazy, but Mark thinks he knows what’s going on. He puts his hands over Eduardo’s belt and stretches up to reach his mouth with his own, but Eduardo wrenches away before they touch, holding Mark a few feet from him, hands fisted in Mark’s lapels.
Maybe Mark has it wrong. Maybe Eduardo wants to fight, but he’s such a nice guy that it’s turning out like this.
“Wardo, what-?”
Eduardo’s eyes are saying it all, Mark can tell, but he’s going too quickly and Mark has no idea how to give Wardo what he wants or how to take what he wants for himself.
“Get up, get up here,” Eduardo says, jerking him up and Mark can’t tell what he’s trying to do-kiss him back? But Mark gets pushed away again and then Eduardo’s pulling at his knees and Mark steps up and back and jumps a little until he’s standing on the toilet which is really awkward because there’s a big hole in the middle of toilets, right? But at least each stall is a room, with a wall all the way up to the ceiling hiding Mark’s face which would be a pretty clear indicator of what’s going on.
What the hell is going on?
Eduardo yanks Mark’s belt open and the buckle hits him the balls, but he doesn’t say anything because Eduardo’s pulling his fucking pants open and mouthing his cock through his boxers and okay that is what’s going on and Mark can’t shut up most of the time, but sometimes he can, thank God, because if he’d been mumbling he would have missed Eduardo bringing his hand around Mark’s cock and saying, “Fucking Mark-Mark,” almost reverently.
And yeah, it’s pretty big, but Mark’s always thought it looked that way because he’s pretty small everywhere else and he’s not embarrassed to admit he doesn’t know what to do with it. He never wanted to invest the time. If he can get off in four minutes, why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he try for three?
At first, Eduardo just bends forward and gets Mark’s cock into his mouth. Mark runs his hands through Wardo’s hair which is really thick and soft and pretty and shiny under the low, orange bathroom light. He presses his fingers underneath Eduardo’s collar, over the taut tendons in his neck and somehow being allowed to touch him like this feels just as good as the mouth moving hot over him, as if there are as many nerve endings in his fingertips as there are in his cock.
He slips a little and grabs on to the wall, shuffles so the the heels of his dress shoes hook over the seat, rubber squeaking against plastic. One good reason not to wear flip-flops, he thinks, as if he could wear flip-flops to an event like this, and he remembers fresh where they are and what they’re doing and Mark laughs, he can’t help it.
Wardo pulls back and demands, “This is funny to you?”
“Why am I standing on a toilet?”
Wardo cracks a smile, maybe realizing how crazy this whole situation is, but not so much that he reconsiders. He moves into a half-kneeling position on the toilet so he can get at Mark’s cock more comfortably. He handles Mark’s ball sac in one hand and digs into his own pants with the other jerking himself off so Mark can’t see him at all which seems unfair (even if he is the one getting a blowjob here).
Mark comes as quickly as he does when he’s alone, maybe faster. He’s not embarrassed, but he doesn’t want to let Wardo go. He wants to hold onto him, hold his head against his stomach, but he pulls away quickly. Eduardo straightens up and Mark realizes he should step onto the floor again. He hops down, but his muscles aren’t working and Eduardo has to catch him around the waist to keep him upright. He lets him go again right away.
Wardo came-Mark can see the evidence being wiped onto a long piece of toilet paper and flushed down the toilet. He reaches between them for Wardo’s cock. He wants to-he doesn’t know what. It’s not like he can get him off again, twenty seconds later, but then again maybe Eduardo has magical stamina or maybe Mark can just hold it for a minute or tuck it in his pants for him or something, God, like it’s a puppy, but Eduardo jerks away and goes as far from Mark as he can in the small space. He leans his head back and covers his eyes with his forearm and catches his breath. Mark wants to follow him, but he makes himself stay still, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. He moves his gaze over the line's of Wardo's body, where the soft blue cotton is straining against muscles.
The room is quiet except for their breathing. Has anyone come in? Did they keep anyone out? Mark has no idea. As the afterglow falls away, he remembers he went to the bathroom because he has to piss and he stands there for a full sixty seconds, wondering if he’s allowed to leave the stall, if he wants to, if he should. If Eduardo would be there when he gets back.
Finally he finds the nerve to say, “I actually-really have to-go-do you-mind?”
Eduardo doesn’t take his arm from across his eyes, just waves his agreement.
Mark unbuttons his pants again, pulls his cock through the slit of his boxers, feels the moist parts where Wardo puts his mouth. He’s peeing, trying to get it out quickly in case Eduardo decides to leave because Mark really doesn’t want him to leave when he can’t see him go, when he can’t stop him.
Needless worry because Eduardo comes up behind him. Mark tells himself to breathe and finish peeing. When he's finished, Wardo puts his hands on Mark’s shoulders and kisses him behind the ear, a long and warm press of lips. He moves the kiss to Mark’s temple, to the hinge of his jaw, beneath his cheekbone, and then on his mouth, and again, and again, just slow closed-mouthed kisses that make Mark feel like he’s floating. Mark lets his pants fall to his ankles and turns so they’re face-to-face. Wardo closes his hands around Mark’s neck, like he could strangle him, but so gentle.
Then he’s gone. He opens the door, buttons his blazer with one hand, takes a long stride. Mark fumbles his pants up and spits out, “Do you-want to-get some-pizza? Dinner. How long are you in town? The finger food sucked tonight, so. Or the next time. When you’re here next. Or I go to New York sometimes. No, I don’t. But-I could?”
“Mark. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Eduardo says.
Mark has to consider because he’s never thought of Eduardo in terms of that word, but the truth is, “Yes.”
“Be your boyfriend. Mark, you couldn’t make a cat happy-you couldn’t keep a plant alive, never mind make me-give me-No.”
Eduardo leaves the bathroom and Mark watches the door slowly close behind him. He goes home early thinking it must be nice to be Eduardo, always going home to a hotel after these things. A hotel is supposed to be impersonal. Mark’s house has no excuse.
The End.
JUST KIDDING, this story is actually 85% fluff.
( ON TO PART TWO! )
Fandom/Pairing: The Social Network, Mark/Eduardo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Mark, you couldn't make a cat happy-you couldn't keep a plant alive, never mind make me-give me anything I-” Eduardo says and walks out. Mark takes that as a challenge. ~9k
Warnings: Well! They have the sex. And they're based on characters based on real people, guys, so.
Acknowlodgements: Inspired by the kitten I got a month ago and Jesse Eisenberg’s growing collection of cats. Big huge thanks to michelinamarie for beta and cheerleading as well as, I feel, putting a carrot in front of this fandom and leading us to water (or that place in the wood where Thumper's little bunny family met Bambi. You know.). Thanks also to a lot of amazing women on tumblr who posted gorgeous pictures and funny tags about the jewnicorns and kept me inspired enough to bust out the first draft of the following story in two days. (I'm not going to name them here because this is not tumblr, but if you posted your obsessive love on that platform, I mean you. Thank you all.)
Note: 12/21--happy winter solstice everybody! Strength in Numbers has been translated into Chinese by sometimesinlove here (thank you, lovely person) if anyone would prefer to read it that way!
It starts with a blowjob.
That is unexpected.
Blowjobs aren’t that common in Mark’s life. Now half of them have happened in public restrooms. And half have involved Eduardo. The same half. That’s unexpected, too. Mostly.
It’s not like they don’t see each other. Apparently that’s unexpected. A few months ago, he and Dustin and Chris and some other guys who didn’t drop out of Harvard (because Facebook doesn’t hire dropouts anymore) but might as well have, were sitting in one of their big, empty houses and drinking a lot of beer and Dustin said, “What if you-saw Wardo again. What would you even do?”
“Dude, shut up,” said Chris. “You can’t just say ‘Wardo’ like Wardo.”
Dustin giggled. “Maaarkie. What would you do-ooo?”
“I see him all the time,” Mark said. “Saw him-last week at that thing for the tangerines.” What he meant was, “orangutans” and the fundraiser was really for the Energy Action Coalition. “I shook his fucking hand.”
That’s the thing: they’re civil. Sometimes he sees people around them do a double take, swinging their gazes from Mark to Eduardo and back again as if they’re about to run at each other like bulls. No. There might be lawsuits and broken computers between them now, but they’re goddamn professionals. There are reasons you can’t find a bunch of pictures of them glaring at each other on the internet and it’s not just that the backend of computers isn’t sexy and it’s not just that Mark has no patience for photo ops past content for his one-a-month fanpage update. It’s that they can grab each other’s palms and grin for the camera if they have to.
They have scripts. From November till March, Eduardo will start with, “70 degree winters, huh? California.”
Then comes Mark’s line: “Yeah. Beats those east coast snow storms.”
Then anyone paying attention chuckles and moves on. Courtesy fulfilled.
They haven’t been alone together in six years.
So maybe it starts when he walks into the bathroom and sees Eduardo at the urinal. It had been business as usual the rest of the night. Mark walks in and sees him and knows it’s Eduardo from his hair alone. He doesn’t think the instant recognition is too weird. Eduardo keeps it cut exactly the same as he did in college, probably the same as he did in high school.
Mark looks around. No one’s at the sinks; the stall doors are all angled open.
“Oh,” Mark says and stumbles back a step.
Eduardo’s head moves, but he doesn’t startle, doesn’t look at him. The splattering sound of piss continues steady, then a shimmy of the hips, zipper zipped up. He flushes, washes his hands, and finally turns and looks at Mark. He stares. Mark stares back.
“I-I-I mean, I-”
“Don’t. Don’t fucking talk,” Eduardo says slowly and then he charges at Mark.
Maybe the bull analogy wasn’t so off, Mark thinks, feeling more like a little boy in a matador costume. Eduardo grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him into the handicapped stall.
It’s crazy, but Mark thinks he knows what’s going on. He puts his hands over Eduardo’s belt and stretches up to reach his mouth with his own, but Eduardo wrenches away before they touch, holding Mark a few feet from him, hands fisted in Mark’s lapels.
Maybe Mark has it wrong. Maybe Eduardo wants to fight, but he’s such a nice guy that it’s turning out like this.
“Wardo, what-?”
Eduardo’s eyes are saying it all, Mark can tell, but he’s going too quickly and Mark has no idea how to give Wardo what he wants or how to take what he wants for himself.
“Get up, get up here,” Eduardo says, jerking him up and Mark can’t tell what he’s trying to do-kiss him back? But Mark gets pushed away again and then Eduardo’s pulling at his knees and Mark steps up and back and jumps a little until he’s standing on the toilet which is really awkward because there’s a big hole in the middle of toilets, right? But at least each stall is a room, with a wall all the way up to the ceiling hiding Mark’s face which would be a pretty clear indicator of what’s going on.
What the hell is going on?
Eduardo yanks Mark’s belt open and the buckle hits him the balls, but he doesn’t say anything because Eduardo’s pulling his fucking pants open and mouthing his cock through his boxers and okay that is what’s going on and Mark can’t shut up most of the time, but sometimes he can, thank God, because if he’d been mumbling he would have missed Eduardo bringing his hand around Mark’s cock and saying, “Fucking Mark-Mark,” almost reverently.
And yeah, it’s pretty big, but Mark’s always thought it looked that way because he’s pretty small everywhere else and he’s not embarrassed to admit he doesn’t know what to do with it. He never wanted to invest the time. If he can get off in four minutes, why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he try for three?
At first, Eduardo just bends forward and gets Mark’s cock into his mouth. Mark runs his hands through Wardo’s hair which is really thick and soft and pretty and shiny under the low, orange bathroom light. He presses his fingers underneath Eduardo’s collar, over the taut tendons in his neck and somehow being allowed to touch him like this feels just as good as the mouth moving hot over him, as if there are as many nerve endings in his fingertips as there are in his cock.
He slips a little and grabs on to the wall, shuffles so the the heels of his dress shoes hook over the seat, rubber squeaking against plastic. One good reason not to wear flip-flops, he thinks, as if he could wear flip-flops to an event like this, and he remembers fresh where they are and what they’re doing and Mark laughs, he can’t help it.
Wardo pulls back and demands, “This is funny to you?”
“Why am I standing on a toilet?”
Wardo cracks a smile, maybe realizing how crazy this whole situation is, but not so much that he reconsiders. He moves into a half-kneeling position on the toilet so he can get at Mark’s cock more comfortably. He handles Mark’s ball sac in one hand and digs into his own pants with the other jerking himself off so Mark can’t see him at all which seems unfair (even if he is the one getting a blowjob here).
Mark comes as quickly as he does when he’s alone, maybe faster. He’s not embarrassed, but he doesn’t want to let Wardo go. He wants to hold onto him, hold his head against his stomach, but he pulls away quickly. Eduardo straightens up and Mark realizes he should step onto the floor again. He hops down, but his muscles aren’t working and Eduardo has to catch him around the waist to keep him upright. He lets him go again right away.
Wardo came-Mark can see the evidence being wiped onto a long piece of toilet paper and flushed down the toilet. He reaches between them for Wardo’s cock. He wants to-he doesn’t know what. It’s not like he can get him off again, twenty seconds later, but then again maybe Eduardo has magical stamina or maybe Mark can just hold it for a minute or tuck it in his pants for him or something, God, like it’s a puppy, but Eduardo jerks away and goes as far from Mark as he can in the small space. He leans his head back and covers his eyes with his forearm and catches his breath. Mark wants to follow him, but he makes himself stay still, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. He moves his gaze over the line's of Wardo's body, where the soft blue cotton is straining against muscles.
The room is quiet except for their breathing. Has anyone come in? Did they keep anyone out? Mark has no idea. As the afterglow falls away, he remembers he went to the bathroom because he has to piss and he stands there for a full sixty seconds, wondering if he’s allowed to leave the stall, if he wants to, if he should. If Eduardo would be there when he gets back.
Finally he finds the nerve to say, “I actually-really have to-go-do you-mind?”
Eduardo doesn’t take his arm from across his eyes, just waves his agreement.
Mark unbuttons his pants again, pulls his cock through the slit of his boxers, feels the moist parts where Wardo puts his mouth. He’s peeing, trying to get it out quickly in case Eduardo decides to leave because Mark really doesn’t want him to leave when he can’t see him go, when he can’t stop him.
Needless worry because Eduardo comes up behind him. Mark tells himself to breathe and finish peeing. When he's finished, Wardo puts his hands on Mark’s shoulders and kisses him behind the ear, a long and warm press of lips. He moves the kiss to Mark’s temple, to the hinge of his jaw, beneath his cheekbone, and then on his mouth, and again, and again, just slow closed-mouthed kisses that make Mark feel like he’s floating. Mark lets his pants fall to his ankles and turns so they’re face-to-face. Wardo closes his hands around Mark’s neck, like he could strangle him, but so gentle.
Then he’s gone. He opens the door, buttons his blazer with one hand, takes a long stride. Mark fumbles his pants up and spits out, “Do you-want to-get some-pizza? Dinner. How long are you in town? The finger food sucked tonight, so. Or the next time. When you’re here next. Or I go to New York sometimes. No, I don’t. But-I could?”
“Mark. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Eduardo says.
Mark has to consider because he’s never thought of Eduardo in terms of that word, but the truth is, “Yes.”
“Be your boyfriend. Mark, you couldn’t make a cat happy-you couldn’t keep a plant alive, never mind make me-give me-No.”
Eduardo leaves the bathroom and Mark watches the door slowly close behind him. He goes home early thinking it must be nice to be Eduardo, always going home to a hotel after these things. A hotel is supposed to be impersonal. Mark’s house has no excuse.
The End.
JUST KIDDING, this story is actually 85% fluff.
( ON TO PART TWO! )