I'm Here (3/5)
title: I'm Here (3/5)
pairing: Mark/Eduardo
disclaimer: Based on the Social Network idea of Mark/Eduardo, but in no way true. All from my own head.
fill: for this prompt, in which Mark and Eduardo are friends again after the settlement, and they are going to be more than friends, but Eduardo wants to take things slow. So, to ease his boredom, Mark strikes up a not entirely platonic relationship with Cameron Winklevoss.
A/N: Major kudos to slasher48 for the hickey idea. We both agreed that Mark needed some hickey action.
Follow up to: Part 1, Part 2
This is okay. This is normal. This is completely…rational…behaviour.
Eduardo keeps telling himself these things as he parks his car across the street from the restaurant that Mark told him earlier that he was going to. Mark was all about eating out at fancy restaurants these days, it seemed. Or maybe Eduardo was just bitter because Mark was eating out without him.
“I can’t tonight,” he had said awkwardly when Eduardo called him that morning and asked if he wanted to do something.
“Why not?” Eduardo had snapped, anger flaring up in the face of rejection.
“I already have plans.”
Eduardo felt his heart sink and he closed his eyes as he asked the question that he already knew the answer to. “Plans with whom?”
“Do you really need me to say it?”
Eduardo hadn’t said yes, but Mark went on anyway to explain that he was meeting Cameron Winklevoss at that new Indian place near the park, which is how Eduardo knows where to drive at half past eight that night. He has been trying to rationalise it in his head, but really nothing can make what he is doing right now okay. He doesn’t especially care. He wants to know - he needs to know - what Mark does with Cameron. If he is different with him to how he is with Eduardo. If he is happier.
Eduardo switches off the engine and slouches down in his seat. There Mark is, at a table by the window, as Eduardo had hoped he would be. It is almost as if he wants Eduardo to spy on him. And there’s Cameron, sitting opposite him, making some big gesture with his big hands, looking just as Calvin-Klein-underwear-model-handsome as Eduardo remembers. Eduardo had hoped that Mark would look bored, disinterested, tired, but no, Mark is leaning forward, nodding, and then…he…laughs, a proper, head thrown back laugh that makes Eduardo’s heart thump madly. Mark looks like he is actually enjoying himself. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.
But Eduardo doesn’t leave. He sits down low in his car seat, watching the two of them in the restaurant, talking animatedly together, making one another laugh. Mark smiles a lot, free and dazzling, something that Eduardo isn’t used to. At one point, Cameron reaches out and touches Mark's elbow. Eduardo’s hands unconsciously clench into fists.
For a long time, Eduardo had thought that he would never be able to forgive Mark. After he was ousted from the company, he had tried to pretend that he didn’t give a fuck and carried on with his pre-facebook life as normal. He went back to Harvard and finished his course with distinctions. But then there was the lawsuit that he had promised and things hit home harder than Eduardo had imagined. While his lawyers spent months digging up every single thing that they could about Mark and Harvard and facebook, Eduardo explored every single bar in New York City, trying to drown out the images of Mark that wouldn't stop coming into his head. He had dated a girl, who left him because he drunkenly admitted one night that he was probably gay. He dated a guy, who left him because he was obviously in love with someone else. He thought, very briefly, about jumping from the balcony of his 19th floor apartment, but he hadn’t wanted to give Mark the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had affected Eduardo.
But the one relentless thing through all those months and years of only being able to sleep a couple of hours at night because his chest ached so much was his fierce, unadulterated anger towards Mark Zuckerberg. It was his constant companion, in every bar and bed that Eduardo found himself in. The one thing he could always rely on was that he hated Mark, and that he would always hate him. It was comforting, in a way, if he could forget about how painful it was.
And then…then Mark had apologised. Mark had told Eduardo that he wanted him back. That he wanted him. In every way. And Eduardo. Eduardo was confused, because he loved Mark, but he also wanted to kill him.
He has been clinging to that anger because it is the one thing that he has over Mark, his one card to play, despite the fact that every minute that he and Mark spend together he can feel it slipping away. He should forgive him, and then they can be together. But now Mark has Cameron Winklevoss, and Eduardo is back to square one.
He sighs heavily and sits up, switching the engine back on. He cannot bear this, sitting here watching Mark be happy with another man. It makes him feel sick. It should be him sat across from Mark, him reaching out and curling his fingers around the crook of Marks elbow. Why did he even come here? How on earth had he expected that this would make him feel any better? Checking his mirrors, Eduardo pulls out into the road and heads home, but not before taking one last look at the restaurant. He almost smashes into the car in front of him when his eyes lock with Mark’s. He is staring at Eduardo, his mouth down turned, his expression intense with longing. Eduardo looks away quickly, his body washing hot with embarrassment and then cold with panic. He pushes his foot down on the accelerator, swearing under his breath, and he cannot get the thought out of his head that Mark looked as if he had known that Eduardo was there the entire time.
***
Ashamed, mortified that Mark had seen him, caught him, spying, Eduardo goes into hibernation. He stays in his apartment and keeps his phone switched off. He orders food in and he watches entire series reruns of Gilmore Girls. He doesn’t open his curtains for days. He wallows in his own special brand of self-pity, the same self-pity that always seems to come bubbling to the surface when some Mark-related disaster occurs in his life. He scrawls down excuses on a notepad, possible reasons that he could have had to have been creeping around that particular restaurant at that particular time, but nothing sounds even remotely plausible. He is lying in bed and has just resigned himself to the fact that he will simply have to never leave his apartment again in case he, on the off-chance, happens to bump into Mark, when Mark knocks on his front door.
If Eduardo hadn’t been on his third bottle of wine in two hours, he probably would not have opened the door. But he is, so he fumbles with the locks, mumbling to himself about neighbours always disturbing his peace, and eventually gets the it pulled open.
“Oh,” he breathes when he sees Mark, and he has to grip the door tighter because he feels suddenly very weak.
“So you are alive,” Mark says. He has his hands stuffed into his jean pockets and his shoulders are hunched up nervously. He looks lovely, Eduardo drunkenly thinks. If I was a cartoon my eyes would turn to hearts.
“Um,” he poetically replies. “Yes. I think.”
Mark raises his eyebrows. “Can I come in?”
Eduardo glances behind him at the mess that is his apartment. Then he looks down at the mess that is himself.
“Ugh,” he mutters and turns around, leaving Mark to come inside and close the door behind him. Eduardo ignores him and goes back into his bedroom, flopping face down on the bed. He listens to Mark following, and he cheeks warm when the bed creaks beside him, the mattress dipping as Mark sits down and leans against the headboard. Eduardo hears him pick up the half empty Cabernet bottle that is on his bedside table. There is a sigh.
“Are you drunk?” Mark asks. A faint vein of concern runs through his words.
“No,” Eduardo lies to his pillow.
“Then why don’t you sit up and talk to me?”
“Don’t want to talk to you.”
There is a long pause. Eduardo hears the covers rustle as Mark shifts uncomfortably.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” Mark says. “You were always…I don’t know. Controlled. The sensible one.”
“Go away,” Eduardo groans.
“You let me in,” Mark replies.
“No. Stop talking. Stop.” To emphasise his point, Eduardo lifts a hand and claws blindly for Mark’s face. He feels the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, and clamps his hand there. “Stop. You make my brain hurt.”
Underneath his hand, Eduardo feels Mark smile, and it makes his stomach spin in a not unpleasant way. Or maybe that's the wine, he cannot be certain right now. After a moment, Mark takes Eduardo’s hand and gently pries his fingers from where he is gripping his chin, then places the hand on his thigh. Eduardo digs his fingertips in to the soft flesh, feeling strange.
"I told you where we were going on purpose, you know?" Mark says after a couple of minutes of strange silence.
"What?" Eduardo mumbles, his face still masked by his pillow.
"The other day. I told you where Cameron and I were going on purpose."
Eduardo rolls over onto his back and stares hard at Mark, who is looking down at his hands linked nervously together, resting besides Eduardo’s.
“Why?” Eduardo asks.
“I, uh, I just - to make you jealous, I think. So that you would see…”
Eduardo, feeling dizzy, closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Did you really expect me to come?”
“No.” Mark’s voice is gentle, barely more than a whisper. “But I…I hoped you would.”
“Huh,” Eduardo mumbles eloquently. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint.”
There’s another soft sigh and then a tentative hand rests on Eduardo’s head, fingers curling lightly into his hair. Eduardo can’t help it - Mark’s touch is warm, comforting, and he rolls onto his side, pushing his head against Mark’s palm. This is all Eduardo has ever wanted. This…a sign of Mark’s affection. That was all that he has ever, ever needed.
“Wardo,” Mark says quietly, his voice relaxed, distantly happy. “You never disappoint.”
Eduardo sits up so fast that he almost passes out.
“What?”
“Wardo -“
“Shut up. Just. What? You cannot say shit like this to me, Mark. You freak me out. It’s like talking to someone I don’t even know.”
Mark, red-cheeked but still calm, shrugs. “You don’t really know me anymore. I changed a lot. You need to start understanding that.”
Eduardo freezes, staring at Mark for what seems like an impossibly long time. The thing is…the thing is, Mark really has changed. But so has Eduardo. When before he was trusting and naïve and kind, now he is hardened, suspicious and wary. And Mark made him that way.
“Fuck you,” Eduardo finally mutters, leaning unsteadily over Mark and reaching for the bottle of wine.
Mark grabs his arm when he sways and says, “I really don’t think you want any more of that.”
But Eduardo ignores him, the way that Mark used to ignore him. He reaches again for the bottle, his fingertips brushing glass, but then his eyes unfocus and he rocks forward; Mark tries to grab him again and Eduardo tries to grab the bedside table, but he only succeeds in knocking the bottle over onto Mark’s chest, splashing deep burgundy liquid over his pale blue t-shirt.
“Jesus, Wardo!” Mark snaps, grabbing the bottle and jumping up, holding his t-shirt out in front of himself. He slams the now empty bottle onto the dresser and Eduardo, on his feet now, babbling apologies, runs to the bathroom and grabs a damp face cloth. He comes back into the bedroom holding it out to Mark, but he stops dead in the doorway, his hand still outstretched, when he sees Mark dragging his half-soaked t-shirt over his head.
His back is pale, ramrod straight and his shoulders are muscled, the lasting reward of years of fencing at school. His jeans hang low and Eduardo goes a little shaky as his eyes travel along the smooth line of his back that swoops to the indentation above the visible band of his boxers.
“Oh,” he whispers softly, a different oh to when he’d found Mark on his doorstep. This was surprise too, but it was also deep, knee-weakening lust.
Mark turns around and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Eduardo stares unashamedly, his eyes wide. Mark is…beautiful.
“Mark,” Eduardo says softly, but Mark cuts him off.
“I need to borrow a shirt,” he says, holding up his own stained t-shirt.
Eduardo nods, taking a step forward. Amazing, he thinks, what desire can make you forget. I'm not even angry.
“What are you doing?” Mark asks, frowning, his voice a little shaky as Eduardo drops the cloth and puts his hands, one on either of Mark’s bare shoulders.
“Shut up, please,” Eduardo murmurs, letting a hand trail down Mark’s arm. All the little hairs stand on end as he does that, and Eduardo smiles.
“Wardo,” Mark tries to say, but his voice cracks and Eduardo smiles again, leaning forward, brushing his lips against Mark’s shoulder, the jut of his collarbone, all the places he has wanted to be. He runs a tongue across the smooth ivory skin as Mark brings up a hand and tightens it around Eduardo’s hip.
“Mark,” Eduardo breathes, his warm breath making Mark shiver, his fingers tighten on Eduardo’s waist, and Eduardo trails his lips up Mark’s throat, turning his head on one side, the dip under the start of his jawbone -
“Mark,” Eduardo says, a little louder, his voice now a solid presence in the room between them. He leans back and looks at Mark’s face, who’s eyes widen in realisation.
“Wardo-“ he starts to say, but Eduardo cuts him off.
“Mark, why is there a hickey right here and who the fuck gave it to you?"
Continued.
pairing: Mark/Eduardo
disclaimer: Based on the Social Network idea of Mark/Eduardo, but in no way true. All from my own head.
fill: for this prompt, in which Mark and Eduardo are friends again after the settlement, and they are going to be more than friends, but Eduardo wants to take things slow. So, to ease his boredom, Mark strikes up a not entirely platonic relationship with Cameron Winklevoss.
A/N: Major kudos to slasher48 for the hickey idea. We both agreed that Mark needed some hickey action.
Follow up to: Part 1, Part 2
This is okay. This is normal. This is completely…rational…behaviour.
Eduardo keeps telling himself these things as he parks his car across the street from the restaurant that Mark told him earlier that he was going to. Mark was all about eating out at fancy restaurants these days, it seemed. Or maybe Eduardo was just bitter because Mark was eating out without him.
“I can’t tonight,” he had said awkwardly when Eduardo called him that morning and asked if he wanted to do something.
“Why not?” Eduardo had snapped, anger flaring up in the face of rejection.
“I already have plans.”
Eduardo felt his heart sink and he closed his eyes as he asked the question that he already knew the answer to. “Plans with whom?”
“Do you really need me to say it?”
Eduardo hadn’t said yes, but Mark went on anyway to explain that he was meeting Cameron Winklevoss at that new Indian place near the park, which is how Eduardo knows where to drive at half past eight that night. He has been trying to rationalise it in his head, but really nothing can make what he is doing right now okay. He doesn’t especially care. He wants to know - he needs to know - what Mark does with Cameron. If he is different with him to how he is with Eduardo. If he is happier.
Eduardo switches off the engine and slouches down in his seat. There Mark is, at a table by the window, as Eduardo had hoped he would be. It is almost as if he wants Eduardo to spy on him. And there’s Cameron, sitting opposite him, making some big gesture with his big hands, looking just as Calvin-Klein-underwear-model-handsome as Eduardo remembers. Eduardo had hoped that Mark would look bored, disinterested, tired, but no, Mark is leaning forward, nodding, and then…he…laughs, a proper, head thrown back laugh that makes Eduardo’s heart thump madly. Mark looks like he is actually enjoying himself. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.
But Eduardo doesn’t leave. He sits down low in his car seat, watching the two of them in the restaurant, talking animatedly together, making one another laugh. Mark smiles a lot, free and dazzling, something that Eduardo isn’t used to. At one point, Cameron reaches out and touches Mark's elbow. Eduardo’s hands unconsciously clench into fists.
For a long time, Eduardo had thought that he would never be able to forgive Mark. After he was ousted from the company, he had tried to pretend that he didn’t give a fuck and carried on with his pre-facebook life as normal. He went back to Harvard and finished his course with distinctions. But then there was the lawsuit that he had promised and things hit home harder than Eduardo had imagined. While his lawyers spent months digging up every single thing that they could about Mark and Harvard and facebook, Eduardo explored every single bar in New York City, trying to drown out the images of Mark that wouldn't stop coming into his head. He had dated a girl, who left him because he drunkenly admitted one night that he was probably gay. He dated a guy, who left him because he was obviously in love with someone else. He thought, very briefly, about jumping from the balcony of his 19th floor apartment, but he hadn’t wanted to give Mark the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had affected Eduardo.
But the one relentless thing through all those months and years of only being able to sleep a couple of hours at night because his chest ached so much was his fierce, unadulterated anger towards Mark Zuckerberg. It was his constant companion, in every bar and bed that Eduardo found himself in. The one thing he could always rely on was that he hated Mark, and that he would always hate him. It was comforting, in a way, if he could forget about how painful it was.
And then…then Mark had apologised. Mark had told Eduardo that he wanted him back. That he wanted him. In every way. And Eduardo. Eduardo was confused, because he loved Mark, but he also wanted to kill him.
He has been clinging to that anger because it is the one thing that he has over Mark, his one card to play, despite the fact that every minute that he and Mark spend together he can feel it slipping away. He should forgive him, and then they can be together. But now Mark has Cameron Winklevoss, and Eduardo is back to square one.
He sighs heavily and sits up, switching the engine back on. He cannot bear this, sitting here watching Mark be happy with another man. It makes him feel sick. It should be him sat across from Mark, him reaching out and curling his fingers around the crook of Marks elbow. Why did he even come here? How on earth had he expected that this would make him feel any better? Checking his mirrors, Eduardo pulls out into the road and heads home, but not before taking one last look at the restaurant. He almost smashes into the car in front of him when his eyes lock with Mark’s. He is staring at Eduardo, his mouth down turned, his expression intense with longing. Eduardo looks away quickly, his body washing hot with embarrassment and then cold with panic. He pushes his foot down on the accelerator, swearing under his breath, and he cannot get the thought out of his head that Mark looked as if he had known that Eduardo was there the entire time.
***
Ashamed, mortified that Mark had seen him, caught him, spying, Eduardo goes into hibernation. He stays in his apartment and keeps his phone switched off. He orders food in and he watches entire series reruns of Gilmore Girls. He doesn’t open his curtains for days. He wallows in his own special brand of self-pity, the same self-pity that always seems to come bubbling to the surface when some Mark-related disaster occurs in his life. He scrawls down excuses on a notepad, possible reasons that he could have had to have been creeping around that particular restaurant at that particular time, but nothing sounds even remotely plausible. He is lying in bed and has just resigned himself to the fact that he will simply have to never leave his apartment again in case he, on the off-chance, happens to bump into Mark, when Mark knocks on his front door.
If Eduardo hadn’t been on his third bottle of wine in two hours, he probably would not have opened the door. But he is, so he fumbles with the locks, mumbling to himself about neighbours always disturbing his peace, and eventually gets the it pulled open.
“Oh,” he breathes when he sees Mark, and he has to grip the door tighter because he feels suddenly very weak.
“So you are alive,” Mark says. He has his hands stuffed into his jean pockets and his shoulders are hunched up nervously. He looks lovely, Eduardo drunkenly thinks. If I was a cartoon my eyes would turn to hearts.
“Um,” he poetically replies. “Yes. I think.”
Mark raises his eyebrows. “Can I come in?”
Eduardo glances behind him at the mess that is his apartment. Then he looks down at the mess that is himself.
“Ugh,” he mutters and turns around, leaving Mark to come inside and close the door behind him. Eduardo ignores him and goes back into his bedroom, flopping face down on the bed. He listens to Mark following, and he cheeks warm when the bed creaks beside him, the mattress dipping as Mark sits down and leans against the headboard. Eduardo hears him pick up the half empty Cabernet bottle that is on his bedside table. There is a sigh.
“Are you drunk?” Mark asks. A faint vein of concern runs through his words.
“No,” Eduardo lies to his pillow.
“Then why don’t you sit up and talk to me?”
“Don’t want to talk to you.”
There is a long pause. Eduardo hears the covers rustle as Mark shifts uncomfortably.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” Mark says. “You were always…I don’t know. Controlled. The sensible one.”
“Go away,” Eduardo groans.
“You let me in,” Mark replies.
“No. Stop talking. Stop.” To emphasise his point, Eduardo lifts a hand and claws blindly for Mark’s face. He feels the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, and clamps his hand there. “Stop. You make my brain hurt.”
Underneath his hand, Eduardo feels Mark smile, and it makes his stomach spin in a not unpleasant way. Or maybe that's the wine, he cannot be certain right now. After a moment, Mark takes Eduardo’s hand and gently pries his fingers from where he is gripping his chin, then places the hand on his thigh. Eduardo digs his fingertips in to the soft flesh, feeling strange.
"I told you where we were going on purpose, you know?" Mark says after a couple of minutes of strange silence.
"What?" Eduardo mumbles, his face still masked by his pillow.
"The other day. I told you where Cameron and I were going on purpose."
Eduardo rolls over onto his back and stares hard at Mark, who is looking down at his hands linked nervously together, resting besides Eduardo’s.
“Why?” Eduardo asks.
“I, uh, I just - to make you jealous, I think. So that you would see…”
Eduardo, feeling dizzy, closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Did you really expect me to come?”
“No.” Mark’s voice is gentle, barely more than a whisper. “But I…I hoped you would.”
“Huh,” Eduardo mumbles eloquently. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint.”
There’s another soft sigh and then a tentative hand rests on Eduardo’s head, fingers curling lightly into his hair. Eduardo can’t help it - Mark’s touch is warm, comforting, and he rolls onto his side, pushing his head against Mark’s palm. This is all Eduardo has ever wanted. This…a sign of Mark’s affection. That was all that he has ever, ever needed.
“Wardo,” Mark says quietly, his voice relaxed, distantly happy. “You never disappoint.”
Eduardo sits up so fast that he almost passes out.
“What?”
“Wardo -“
“Shut up. Just. What? You cannot say shit like this to me, Mark. You freak me out. It’s like talking to someone I don’t even know.”
Mark, red-cheeked but still calm, shrugs. “You don’t really know me anymore. I changed a lot. You need to start understanding that.”
Eduardo freezes, staring at Mark for what seems like an impossibly long time. The thing is…the thing is, Mark really has changed. But so has Eduardo. When before he was trusting and naïve and kind, now he is hardened, suspicious and wary. And Mark made him that way.
“Fuck you,” Eduardo finally mutters, leaning unsteadily over Mark and reaching for the bottle of wine.
Mark grabs his arm when he sways and says, “I really don’t think you want any more of that.”
But Eduardo ignores him, the way that Mark used to ignore him. He reaches again for the bottle, his fingertips brushing glass, but then his eyes unfocus and he rocks forward; Mark tries to grab him again and Eduardo tries to grab the bedside table, but he only succeeds in knocking the bottle over onto Mark’s chest, splashing deep burgundy liquid over his pale blue t-shirt.
“Jesus, Wardo!” Mark snaps, grabbing the bottle and jumping up, holding his t-shirt out in front of himself. He slams the now empty bottle onto the dresser and Eduardo, on his feet now, babbling apologies, runs to the bathroom and grabs a damp face cloth. He comes back into the bedroom holding it out to Mark, but he stops dead in the doorway, his hand still outstretched, when he sees Mark dragging his half-soaked t-shirt over his head.
His back is pale, ramrod straight and his shoulders are muscled, the lasting reward of years of fencing at school. His jeans hang low and Eduardo goes a little shaky as his eyes travel along the smooth line of his back that swoops to the indentation above the visible band of his boxers.
“Oh,” he whispers softly, a different oh to when he’d found Mark on his doorstep. This was surprise too, but it was also deep, knee-weakening lust.
Mark turns around and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Eduardo stares unashamedly, his eyes wide. Mark is…beautiful.
“Mark,” Eduardo says softly, but Mark cuts him off.
“I need to borrow a shirt,” he says, holding up his own stained t-shirt.
Eduardo nods, taking a step forward. Amazing, he thinks, what desire can make you forget. I'm not even angry.
“What are you doing?” Mark asks, frowning, his voice a little shaky as Eduardo drops the cloth and puts his hands, one on either of Mark’s bare shoulders.
“Shut up, please,” Eduardo murmurs, letting a hand trail down Mark’s arm. All the little hairs stand on end as he does that, and Eduardo smiles.
“Wardo,” Mark tries to say, but his voice cracks and Eduardo smiles again, leaning forward, brushing his lips against Mark’s shoulder, the jut of his collarbone, all the places he has wanted to be. He runs a tongue across the smooth ivory skin as Mark brings up a hand and tightens it around Eduardo’s hip.
“Mark,” Eduardo breathes, his warm breath making Mark shiver, his fingers tighten on Eduardo’s waist, and Eduardo trails his lips up Mark’s throat, turning his head on one side, the dip under the start of his jawbone -
“Mark,” Eduardo says, a little louder, his voice now a solid presence in the room between them. He leans back and looks at Mark’s face, who’s eyes widen in realisation.
“Wardo-“ he starts to say, but Eduardo cuts him off.
“Mark, why is there a hickey right here and who the fuck gave it to you?"
Continued.