I'm Here (4/5)
title: I'm Here (4/5)
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: This is just a short one. The next part will be the ending (ooh, my first ending post!)
Follow up to: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
"Wardo," Mark says slowly, taking a step back, out of Eduardo's hands. "Don't freak out on me."
"Freak out," Eduardo repeats numbly. "Why would I 'freak out' on you? Just because you've been letting someone--" and he almost says someone else, but that would sound dumb because Mark isn't even his to lose to someone else, so he settles for, "someone do that to you."
"It's nothing…real," Mark says and to his credit he looks ashamed, cheeks flushed red, bottom lip worried between his teeth. Standing in the centre of the room, shirtless, his wine-soaked t-shirt on the floor by his feet, Mark looks like every dream and nightmare that Eduardo has ever had. This confliction inside of him is splitting him in two, and he can think of no obvious conclusion to their story. There are so many more levels to the two of them and so many bigger questions than to either forgive or not forgive, so many aspects of their friendship that need to be fused back together before they can let the next stuff happen. Eduardo recognises how hard Mark is trying, but somehow everything he does just makes Eduardo feel worse.
"Tell me it wasn't him," Eduardo whispers, his voice low and agonised. Mark on a date with a six foot five super-twin was one thing, but Mark doing…other stuff…well, that is too much for Eduardo to handle.
"Wardo--"
"Just. Come on, Mark. Please."
Mark shakes his head. "I don't want to lie to you."
"Why not? You have before."
"Exactly! That's how I lost you."
The words seem to burst out of him before Mark can stop them, and Eduardo almost reels back when the weight of them hits him in the chest with an unimaginable force. Who was this man who could string words together to such devastating effect? He really has changed.
"Mark," Eduardo finally says, choosing to ignore the double, triple meanings between Mark’s words.
He sighs and lowers his head so that Eduardo cannot see his eyes. "It was Cameron."
Hearing it aloud makes it no easier to bear. The image that flutters into his head sparkles, and suddenly all Eduardo can see is Mark's slim, pale body being drowned in a sea of tanned rower's hands. He realises that he is shaking his head compulsively and he forces himself to stop.
"Why?" is all he can finally manage to say.
"Well, you've seen him haven't you?" Mark says and then his eyes widen at the sickened expression on Eduardo's face. "Shit, Wardo, that was supposed to be a joke. I was joking. Come on, man, you're taking this way too hard for someone who claims not to have any feelings for me."
"I never said that," Eduardo spits, going to sit on the edge of the bed. "I have too many feelings. That's the problem."
Mark sighs and goes to kneel down in front of Eduardo. He still doesn't have a shirt on and it's annoyingly distracting. Eduardo turns his face away.
"Wardo," Mark says gently, his voice calm. "Forget this, okay? It has nothing to do with you and I."
"But why him?" Eduardo asks. "You kicked me out of the company for doing something that jeopardised it, but he claims that you stole the whole goddamn idea from him and he gets to sleep with you? That's some messed up logic right there."
"I never slept with him," Mark says, taking one of Eduardo's hands in his. It makes Eduardo feel shivery, this contact, this initiated contact. Mark is usually so indifferent. "And don't you get it? He's the only person who has ever affected me even close to the way that you did. The way that you do."
The present tense is too much for Eduardo and he pulls his hand back and stands up. "Mark, I -- I lo -- I care about you a lot, but maybe some people aren't meant to be together, you know? Being around you, it's too difficult. It wears me out. I just -- I don't know how to handle you."
“That’s ridiculous,” Mark says, pushing himself to his feet and following Eduardo as he walks back across the room. “Come on, you’re acting, I don’t know, insane.”
“Well maybe I am!” Eduardo explodes, spinning round and facing Mark. “Don’t you think that that’s what following you around and trying to get your attention for years with nothing, no acknowledgement, just nothing…don’t you think that would drive a person insane, Mark? Huh?”
Mark doesn’t appear to be listening. He is staring at Eduardo, his eyes two huge pools of what is so obviously, obviously adoration and love, actual love, that it kills Eduardo and he hates Mark, hates him, hates himself, mostly himself, but he also loves Mark like he has never loved anyone, ever, not his family, nobody, and he can’t help himself, he moves quickly, pushing himself against Mark, pushing until Mark’s back hits the nearest wall and he huffs out not in protest, but it’s something, an acknowledgement perhaps and he presses his lips against Mark’s, forcefully, dominating, he wants him to complain, somebody has to stop this, this has…to…stop…
…but Mark is kissing him back, just as forcefully, and it is desperately filthy and cruel and beautiful and hateful and Mark makes this noise, low in his chest that Eduardo feels go through him and he presses every inch of himself against Mark, one hand around the back of his neck, the other on his collar bone, holding him against the wall. He works a knee between Mark’s legs and presses only slightly more gently upwards until Mark gasps into Eduardo’s mouth and then there’s a hand on the back of Eduardo’s jeans and hips colliding and so much friction that Eduardo is about to spontaneously combust. He forces himself not to think, not to recognise that this is Mark, Mark, his Mark. This boy who is curling his fingers in Eduardo’s hair and hissing when Eduardo tips his head and goes to kiss his throat, this is Mark. Eduardo finds the hickey, the softly bruised flesh, and lets his mouth rest there, reclaiming, leaving a new bruise, an Eduardo bruise, until Mark drags their lips back together, tongues knotting, every part of him wholly aware of Mark Zuckerberg crushing kisses onto his lips.
But it isn’t sustainable, it can’t be, that kind of passion, eventually it has to burn out, and Eduardo doesn’t realise it, doesn’t feel it happening, but the kisses become slower, gentler, and fuck, it’s possibly…romantic. Hands linger, exploring, and Mark shivers breathlessly with every one of Eduardo’s fingers that rest on his skin. Eduardo closes his eyes and imagines them back in college, Mark’s dorm room, Dustin blasting zombies on some computer game next door. They could have done this, quietly, for hours; fuck studying, fuck facebook, maybe just…fuck. Maybe Eduardo could take his shirt off, too. Maybe things wouldn’t have to turn out the way they did. Maybe Eduardo could just spend the rest of his life, here, with Mark, with the tiny, soft sighs of contentment he is breathing and the way that his hands, resting on Eduardo’s hips, just feel right. Maybe.
Eduardo leans back slightly and immediately Mark’s expression just…droops, like he was waiting for this to happen. Like he was hoping it wouldn’t, ever.
“What’s wrong?” Mark asks, his voice a whisper.
“Mark, I -“
“Please don’t tell me to leave,” Mark says.
Eduardo shakes his head. “I’m not going to, I just. I just need you to give me some time.”
“All I ever do is give you time,” Mark sighs, slipping out from between Eduardo and the wall and rolling his shoulders back tiredly. “You think I’m going to wait forever.”
“No,” Eduardo says, reaching out for Mark’s hand. “No. Just tonight. I…I think I’ve figured something out. I just need tonight, okay?”
Mark pulls his hand back and crosses his arms, surveying Eduardo. Finally he nods. “Okay. Tomorrow I want to know, for good, if we’re going to do this. And I want your shirt.”
“What?”
“Your shirt,” he repeats, pointing at Eduardo’s old baseball shirt that he sleeps in.
“Um…Why?” Eduardo asks.
“Because I can’t walk home like this,” he says, touching his bare chest, “and I can’t exactly wear that.” He points at the wine-stained t-shirt on the floor.
“Right,” Eduardo says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You, uh…you sure you don’t want a clean one?”
Mark pulls it out of Eduardo’s hand and puts it on, grinning. “No. This is fine.”
He looks Eduardo up and down once more, then, still smiling to himself, he turns and lets himself out, leaving Eduardo stood, dazed, in the middle of the room, until he can rouse himself enough to go and have a long, cold shower.
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: This is just a short one. The next part will be the ending (ooh, my first ending post!)
Follow up to: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
"Wardo," Mark says slowly, taking a step back, out of Eduardo's hands. "Don't freak out on me."
"Freak out," Eduardo repeats numbly. "Why would I 'freak out' on you? Just because you've been letting someone--" and he almost says someone else, but that would sound dumb because Mark isn't even his to lose to someone else, so he settles for, "someone do that to you."
"It's nothing…real," Mark says and to his credit he looks ashamed, cheeks flushed red, bottom lip worried between his teeth. Standing in the centre of the room, shirtless, his wine-soaked t-shirt on the floor by his feet, Mark looks like every dream and nightmare that Eduardo has ever had. This confliction inside of him is splitting him in two, and he can think of no obvious conclusion to their story. There are so many more levels to the two of them and so many bigger questions than to either forgive or not forgive, so many aspects of their friendship that need to be fused back together before they can let the next stuff happen. Eduardo recognises how hard Mark is trying, but somehow everything he does just makes Eduardo feel worse.
"Tell me it wasn't him," Eduardo whispers, his voice low and agonised. Mark on a date with a six foot five super-twin was one thing, but Mark doing…other stuff…well, that is too much for Eduardo to handle.
"Wardo--"
"Just. Come on, Mark. Please."
Mark shakes his head. "I don't want to lie to you."
"Why not? You have before."
"Exactly! That's how I lost you."
The words seem to burst out of him before Mark can stop them, and Eduardo almost reels back when the weight of them hits him in the chest with an unimaginable force. Who was this man who could string words together to such devastating effect? He really has changed.
"Mark," Eduardo finally says, choosing to ignore the double, triple meanings between Mark’s words.
He sighs and lowers his head so that Eduardo cannot see his eyes. "It was Cameron."
Hearing it aloud makes it no easier to bear. The image that flutters into his head sparkles, and suddenly all Eduardo can see is Mark's slim, pale body being drowned in a sea of tanned rower's hands. He realises that he is shaking his head compulsively and he forces himself to stop.
"Why?" is all he can finally manage to say.
"Well, you've seen him haven't you?" Mark says and then his eyes widen at the sickened expression on Eduardo's face. "Shit, Wardo, that was supposed to be a joke. I was joking. Come on, man, you're taking this way too hard for someone who claims not to have any feelings for me."
"I never said that," Eduardo spits, going to sit on the edge of the bed. "I have too many feelings. That's the problem."
Mark sighs and goes to kneel down in front of Eduardo. He still doesn't have a shirt on and it's annoyingly distracting. Eduardo turns his face away.
"Wardo," Mark says gently, his voice calm. "Forget this, okay? It has nothing to do with you and I."
"But why him?" Eduardo asks. "You kicked me out of the company for doing something that jeopardised it, but he claims that you stole the whole goddamn idea from him and he gets to sleep with you? That's some messed up logic right there."
"I never slept with him," Mark says, taking one of Eduardo's hands in his. It makes Eduardo feel shivery, this contact, this initiated contact. Mark is usually so indifferent. "And don't you get it? He's the only person who has ever affected me even close to the way that you did. The way that you do."
The present tense is too much for Eduardo and he pulls his hand back and stands up. "Mark, I -- I lo -- I care about you a lot, but maybe some people aren't meant to be together, you know? Being around you, it's too difficult. It wears me out. I just -- I don't know how to handle you."
“That’s ridiculous,” Mark says, pushing himself to his feet and following Eduardo as he walks back across the room. “Come on, you’re acting, I don’t know, insane.”
“Well maybe I am!” Eduardo explodes, spinning round and facing Mark. “Don’t you think that that’s what following you around and trying to get your attention for years with nothing, no acknowledgement, just nothing…don’t you think that would drive a person insane, Mark? Huh?”
Mark doesn’t appear to be listening. He is staring at Eduardo, his eyes two huge pools of what is so obviously, obviously adoration and love, actual love, that it kills Eduardo and he hates Mark, hates him, hates himself, mostly himself, but he also loves Mark like he has never loved anyone, ever, not his family, nobody, and he can’t help himself, he moves quickly, pushing himself against Mark, pushing until Mark’s back hits the nearest wall and he huffs out not in protest, but it’s something, an acknowledgement perhaps and he presses his lips against Mark’s, forcefully, dominating, he wants him to complain, somebody has to stop this, this has…to…stop…
…but Mark is kissing him back, just as forcefully, and it is desperately filthy and cruel and beautiful and hateful and Mark makes this noise, low in his chest that Eduardo feels go through him and he presses every inch of himself against Mark, one hand around the back of his neck, the other on his collar bone, holding him against the wall. He works a knee between Mark’s legs and presses only slightly more gently upwards until Mark gasps into Eduardo’s mouth and then there’s a hand on the back of Eduardo’s jeans and hips colliding and so much friction that Eduardo is about to spontaneously combust. He forces himself not to think, not to recognise that this is Mark, Mark, his Mark. This boy who is curling his fingers in Eduardo’s hair and hissing when Eduardo tips his head and goes to kiss his throat, this is Mark. Eduardo finds the hickey, the softly bruised flesh, and lets his mouth rest there, reclaiming, leaving a new bruise, an Eduardo bruise, until Mark drags their lips back together, tongues knotting, every part of him wholly aware of Mark Zuckerberg crushing kisses onto his lips.
But it isn’t sustainable, it can’t be, that kind of passion, eventually it has to burn out, and Eduardo doesn’t realise it, doesn’t feel it happening, but the kisses become slower, gentler, and fuck, it’s possibly…romantic. Hands linger, exploring, and Mark shivers breathlessly with every one of Eduardo’s fingers that rest on his skin. Eduardo closes his eyes and imagines them back in college, Mark’s dorm room, Dustin blasting zombies on some computer game next door. They could have done this, quietly, for hours; fuck studying, fuck facebook, maybe just…fuck. Maybe Eduardo could take his shirt off, too. Maybe things wouldn’t have to turn out the way they did. Maybe Eduardo could just spend the rest of his life, here, with Mark, with the tiny, soft sighs of contentment he is breathing and the way that his hands, resting on Eduardo’s hips, just feel right. Maybe.
Eduardo leans back slightly and immediately Mark’s expression just…droops, like he was waiting for this to happen. Like he was hoping it wouldn’t, ever.
“What’s wrong?” Mark asks, his voice a whisper.
“Mark, I -“
“Please don’t tell me to leave,” Mark says.
Eduardo shakes his head. “I’m not going to, I just. I just need you to give me some time.”
“All I ever do is give you time,” Mark sighs, slipping out from between Eduardo and the wall and rolling his shoulders back tiredly. “You think I’m going to wait forever.”
“No,” Eduardo says, reaching out for Mark’s hand. “No. Just tonight. I…I think I’ve figured something out. I just need tonight, okay?”
Mark pulls his hand back and crosses his arms, surveying Eduardo. Finally he nods. “Okay. Tomorrow I want to know, for good, if we’re going to do this. And I want your shirt.”
“What?”
“Your shirt,” he repeats, pointing at Eduardo’s old baseball shirt that he sleeps in.
“Um…Why?” Eduardo asks.
“Because I can’t walk home like this,” he says, touching his bare chest, “and I can’t exactly wear that.” He points at the wine-stained t-shirt on the floor.
“Right,” Eduardo says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You, uh…you sure you don’t want a clean one?”
Mark pulls it out of Eduardo’s hand and puts it on, grinning. “No. This is fine.”
He looks Eduardo up and down once more, then, still smiling to himself, he turns and lets himself out, leaving Eduardo stood, dazed, in the middle of the room, until he can rouse himself enough to go and have a long, cold shower.