The Social Network: the kink meme!

It's Complicated: But sexy!

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zuckonitkinkeme wrote in tsn_kinkmeme



IMPORTANT: please DO NOT post prompts about any non-public people as part of a prompt. for example: randi zuckerberg is fine as she is a public figure both on the internet and on facebook itself. priscilla chan is NOT as she is not a public figure.

if you're in doubt, please message the mod or leave a comment in the discussion post.

♥ post requests and responses in the comments to this post.
♥ be respectful.
♥ both a pairing/character AND a prompt/kink must be posted.
♥ one pairing/prompt per comment please.
♥ you are encouraged to try and write a prompt for every request you make.
♥ we are slash, femslash, het, three-and-moresomes etc. friendly. (we are even incest friendly what with some of our characters being twins and all...)
♥ no pairing bashing, OK? no need to wank over ships.
♥ long and short fics welcome. multiple responses encouraged!
♥ please try to refrain from saying 'seconded!' as much as possible.
♥ on RPF: Please disclaim that it is RPF, a work of fiction and in no way related to the actual actors/persons/etc. (i wouldn't even try and discourage RPF from this meme ;))


♥ alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark/Sean etc.)
♥ put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Andrew/Jesse)
♥ for crossover prompts: "[Crossover], The Social Network Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Eduardo/Columbus, [Zombieland])
♥ no "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark, FacebookCreator!Eduardo, CFO!Mark)
♥ anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Sean/Other)
♥ put [GEN] before GEN prompts.


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♥ fills can be posted anonymously or not.
♥ fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.
♥ all prompts are open to fills at all times, even if they have been filled in the past or are being currently filled by someone else. multiple fills are positively encouraged; if something appeals to you then do not be put off creating a new fill by the existence of a prior one.
NEW: ♥ PLEASE comment with the first of your fill to the PROMPT and then all future updates as a comment to the FIRST PART of the fill. this makes it easier for both the WIP spreadhseet and for archiving stuff on delicious. it also helps people who are trying to catch up on updates and don't have to look through every fill on the prompt (should it have more than one). thank you.






have fun!

THERE WILL BE UNMARKED SPOILERS. enter at your own risk! :D


i know you guys are enjoying this meme and i appreciate that but please can you put the SUBJECT HEADER on your prompt. you would REALLY be helping me out if you could do that. it just saves time for me when i'm trying to tag everything in delicious.

AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT repost prompts from parts one, two, three or four over here again. the delicious is around for people to find prompts they may not have already seen.



  • 1

Eduardo/Mark, public sex

When they get together in Harvard, Mark and Eduardo can't keep their hands off each other and have sex everywhere they can. People end up only finding out about their relationship by walking in on them (can be intimate moments like cuddling or kissing, too). It becomes a running theme.

After they start talking again post-depositions, the same thing happens. They just really like having public/semi-public sex and Mark thinks it's hilarious for people to find out about them that way until his mom catches him and Wardo fooling around, that is.

Untitled, 1a/?


The first time they get caught, it’s because Mark is watching a movie with Eduardo that is really fucking boring, and Eduardo has his brow furrowed in concentration and his button-down shirt open at the collar, and Mark wants to put his mouth in the dip of his throat. He’s never been all that good at denying himself the things he wants.

“Mark, what—” Eduardo says in this breathless little voice, the words vibrating against Mark’s lips, and his sentence breaks off when Mark bites him sharply.

“Keep watching if you want,” Mark murmurs, and Eduardo lets a strangled laugh; Mark supposes he might be sending some mixed messages considering that he’s undoing each button of Eduardo’s shirt and slipping it off his shoulders as he speaks.

“Your faith in my ability to multitask is—probably misplaced,” Eduardo says, shifting around as Mark rakes his teeth lightly over Eduardo’s collarbone. His shirt is caught around his wrists, and there’s a flush spreading down his chest, and he looks—fuck. Mark slides down to his knees in one move, pushing Eduardo’s legs apart and settling between them. “Mark,” Eduardo hisses, darting a look toward the door which they didn’t lock because they’d just been planning to watch a movie before Mark got distracted (really, it’s Eduardo’s fault for—for having that face), but Mark ignores him and pops the button on his pants and slides the zipper down.

Eduardo’s protests die out immediately as soon as Mark gets his mouth on Eduardo’s cock, and his thighs go tense under Mark’s hands. “Mark, Mark, fuck,” Eduardo says, voice wavering.

It’s about then that the door bangs open and an unsuspecting Chris walks inside.

“Whoa!” Chris gapes at them in utter shock for a moment. Mark pulls off of Eduardo’s cock because it’s polite, he supposes; but he stays where he is, knees on the floor and bracketed by Eduardo’s thighs, mouth only inches from Eduardo’s lap, eyeing Chris a little balefully. Chris shakes his head sharply. “That—oh my god, I did not need to see that,” he says in a kind of a yelp, shielding his eyes with one hand and darting inside. “Fuck, I need my binder, I’ll be out in a sec. I’m happy for you guys, really, but put a fucking sock on the doorknob!”

Eduardo makes a strangled noise of mortification and tries to push Mark away with one hand, but Mark can see his hips thrust up a little bit, his other hand tightening in the fabric of the couch. Hmmm. Interesting. Mark leans down to suck his cock back into his mouth again, and shivers a little at the ragged, gut-punched breath Eduardo lets out.

“Or really, just a sign that says ‘We’re fucking in here’ will do,” Chris calls out before he slams the door shut behind him and leaves them alone again.

“Mark, I can’t believe you,” Eduardo says, but his voice is wobbling all over the place, and his free hand is fisting in Mark’s hair now, and he has his head thrown back against the couch; basically, he looks anything but upset.

Untitled, 1b/?

Mark pulls off. He waits for Eduardo’s helplessly indignant noise before he starts jerking him off, and then he says, with his whole body thrumming with knowing he’s right, “Did you like getting caught, Wardo? Did you like Chris seeing me suck you off, the way you want it so much?” Eduardo makes a high, frantic noise. His eyes are trained on Mark and so, so dark. “I think you did. I know you did,” Mark says flatly, and Eduardo chokes on Mark’s name and comes all over his hand, trembling through it like Mark knocked all the control out of him. Jesus.

“Fuck,” Eduardo says weakly, after a minute. His breath is still audibly fast. “Get up here.” Mark needs no other persuasion to scramble into his lap and let Eduardo get some of his own back.

“I did like it,” Eduardo says later, much later, a whisper of a confession when they’re falling asleep and he probably thinks he can get away with pretending he believes Mark can’t hear him.

Mark hears him.


This starts a—well, a pattern, of sorts.


It’s Dustin, after that—who knows they’re sleeping together, thanks to Chris, but probably doesn’t expect to walk in and see this: Eduardo at Mark’s desk chair, legs sprawled out, Mark straddling him and doing his level best to make him come without getting his clothes off.

“I’d come over there and high-five you right now, Mark, but you look kind of busy,” Dustin says, grinning wildly. “You too, Wardo, way to go.”

Eduardo lets out a noise that might be a laugh or maybe a groan of distress, and hides his face in Mark’s neck. Mark holds him in with a hand on the back of his head, and shoots Dustin a pointed look. Eduardo’s face feels hot, probably from the blood rushing to it, but he keeps running his mouth over Mark’s skin, tongue flicking out to taste every now and again. Mark grits his teeth to hold in any sounds he might make (Dustin would never let him hear the end of it) and grinds down, working his hips against Eduardo’s as the chair creaks a little.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Dustin says, flapping a hand at them. “I know when I’m not wanted!”

“News to me,” Mark mutters, even as he’s running his nails roughly through Eduardo’s hair because he knows it’ll make him let out this low sound that cracks down the middle. Mark does it again just to hear it one more time. Dustin blows them a kiss and then flashes them a pair of thumbs up, and underneath Mark’s running thoughts of Dustin get the fuck out of here, Eduardo likes people walking in on us and maybe I do too, but I really don’t want you here when I’m about to come in my pants and make horrifying faces as I do, he’s maybe a little pleased that Dustin is pleased for them.

Mark,” Eduardo says desperately, both hands on Mark’s ass and pulling him down hard to grind their cocks together, and yeah, after that Mark’s too busy kissing Eduardo and coming to really notice whether or not Dustin actually leaves.


Really, the problem is that they’re just having so much sex. Which is—not much of a problem, actually. It’s not something Mark ever really expected to happen to him. But Eduardo and his stupid face and his long legs and his polite, soft voice that likes to scream Mark’s name—Mark can’t keep away from him, and his impulse control has always been limited at best, so they end up having sex everywhere.

Untitled, 1c/?

They end up getting caught more than half the time, but Mark doesn’t embarrass easily, and the way Eduardo makes noises of mortification but goes pink all over in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment, well—it’s not exactly a deterrent.


They’re under a tree one time. Mark didn’t know people even did that, but Eduardo is apparently all kinds of inspiring.

It starts out innocently enough. Eduardo has something to read for one of his classes and it’s actually nice out for once, and apparently Mark has been tipping toward the “death warmed over” end of the scale recently. Eduardo tells him very firmly, “You’re going outside with me,” and Mark says something along the lines of, “I have a project to work on, I don’t have time to frolic in the sunshine or whatever you’re planning,” and then Eduardo says even more firmly, “You’re going to come outside and take a nap, Mark.” And Mark goes. Because—whatever. Eduardo’s face.

So Eduardo finds a tree that is miraculously unoccupied, with not too many people around, and settles down with his book and his legs all stretched out, and then he looks at Mark and fucking pats his thigh. What. Mark glares at him but finds himself lying down with his head on Eduardo’s leg anyway. It’s kind of nice, actually, though Mark isn’t about to tell Eduardo that. Mark sleeps to recharge, mainly, he sleeps so he can get up and accomplish other things; he doesn’t really relax and enjoy taking a nap, and Eduardo’s hand is running through his hair carefully, and Eduardo’s leg is pretty comfortable under Mark’s head.

Maybe he’d even manage to fall asleep like this, the sound of Eduardo turning pages above his head, Eduardo’s hand resting warm against his face, except—he’s kind of distantly exhausted from doing too much on too little sleep, but not really tired. His mind won’t turn off and let him sleep, and also. They overslept and had to rush to get to class and didn’t have sex this morning. Mark is distinctly aware of that, especially when he can feel Eduardo’s thigh muscles flexing under his cheek.

Mark makes his mind up and scoots his head a little closer, turns a bit, presses his mouth to the crease between hip and thigh. Breathes out against the fabric, and then scoots up a little more until his mouth is over Eduardo’s cock.

Untitled, 1d/?

Eduardo locks up, goes absolutely still for a moment. Mark waits, tongues the line of the zipper on his jeans.

Fuck,” Eduardo says breathlessly, and drops his book, grabbing Mark by the hair in the same instant. “Mark, we can’t—”

“Is there anyone around?” Mark asks quietly, sliding a hand under Eduardo’s shirt to rest flat-palmed against his stomach.

“No,” Eduardo breathes.

“That’s a shame,” Mark says. Eduardo hisses a breath through his teeth, and Mark rises up until he’s kneeling next to Eduardo. He puts his mouth against Eduardo’s ear, and pops the button on his jeans, and he has his hand around Eduardo’s cock when he says, “This was a good idea, Wardo. Very relaxing.”

Eduardo laughs, a sound that stutters when Mark rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. “Asshole,” Eduardo says fondly, and tips his head back against the tree with his eyes falling shut.

Mark kisses the corner of his mouth, makes Eduardo turn his head to the side a little so he can kiss him fully while he jerks him off. Eduardo still has his eyes closed, but Mark doesn’t, so he sees the girl—short, blond, backpack slung over her shoulder and headphones on—starting to walk past them. He sees her catch sight of them and stop, mouth falling open for a moment; Mark just stares right back at her, and works his hand around Eduardo’s cock a couple more times.

Surprisingly, the girl just closes her mouth and looks kind of amused, before winking at him and continuing on her way. Huh. Okay, then.

Mark says, “Wardo. Open your eyes.”

Eduardo does, instantly. He sees the disappearing back of the girl, and Mark watches him realize—the direction she’d been coming from, she’d seen, she’d seen them

Eduardo falls apart under Mark’s hands, biting his own lip until it bleeds a little.

Mark says, afterward, “I made sure you didn’t come on your book.”

“How considerate of you,” Eduardo says, grinning a little. His lip is swollen. Mark has to kiss him for it.


AHHHHH THIS IS SO DELICIOUS AND HOT AND PERFECT. and that girl is my spirit animal i think. god this is hot. brb re-reading 80 times. unf unf unf.

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So entertaining. :)

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UNF! This is divine, anon. Can't wait for more!

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Untitled, 2a/?


Sometimes it’s Eduardo who starts it, too. Like when he waits for Mark outside his classroom, smiling at everyone who walks by like the polite, well-mannered person he is; and none of them know that in thirty seconds Eduardo will drag Mark into a deserted hallway, and shove him up against the wall, and kiss him so sloppily and hungrily that their mouths make wet smacking noises when they part. Having sex in a place that open would be too much for them, but Eduardo has no problem pressing Mark into the wall with the line of his body, and thrusting his cock against Mark’s hip, and sucking a vivid, throbbing bruise onto Mark’s throat.

Mark puts his hand at the base of Eduardo’s back and yanks him in closer, tugs on Eduardo’s hair with his free hand. Once in a while someone comes down that hallway, shooting them looks that vary from shock, to annoyance, to yeah, nice job man. Mark watches them go with his eyes half-lidded, and Eduardo keeps his face in Mark’s neck and pants hotly against his skin.

This public-sex thing they’re doing—they don’t really talk about it. It happens a lot, partly because Eduardo likes it so much he forgets about manners and appropriate behavior and all that other shit he’s had drilled into him, and Mark loves watching him fall apart, loves knowing he’s the one to do it and everyone else knows that too; but mainly it happens because, well. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Eduardo walks around looking like—like someone Mark never thought he’d get to have, and why would he wait an hour or two to get back to one of their rooms? Fuck, sometimes ten minutes is too long to wait, Mark needs to get his hands on him now, and Eduardo looks at him exactly the same way. They can’t exactly get wildly athletic in the places they duck into, so mostly it’s quick, fumbling handjobs and sloppy blowjobs where Mark tries to see how fast he can make Eduardo come down his throat, and whether or not his knees will give afterward (they do; Eduardo slides all wobbly to the floor, but Mark catches him, fully aware that he looks smug as fuck at the moment, but Eduardo doesn’t seem to mind).

They’ve also kind of got this thing for bathrooms.

Like this one time they’re all four of them out, and Eduardo just shoots Mark a look over the top of his fork, resting it against his lower lip and mouthing it slightly. Mark stares at his mouth intently, eyes narrowing a little. Dustin tells him sometimes that he gets this creepy-as-fuck reptilian look on his face when he’s concentrating on something, but whatever—that look always makes Eduardo go pink when he’s the subject of it, a slow flush spreading down his neck, eyes going dark. Like now.

“Bathroom,” Eduardo says by way of explanation when he gets up, and shoots Mark another hot-eyed look before walking away. Mark doesn’t even bother waiting for a minute and making some excuse, he knows they’re about the farthest thing possible from subtle.

Chris has his face in his hands. Dustin just grins at him. “Go on, Mark, you don’t want to be late for your bathroom tryst.”

“I don’t think the honeymoon period is supposed to last three months,” Chris mutters, and rolls his eyes a little when Mark just shrugs unapologetically. He does look kind of amused, though.

Mark walks into the bathroom to find Eduardo leaning against the counter.

“Hi,” Eduardo says, grinning a little.

“That was shockingly subtle, the way you left there,” Mark says, smirking.

“I try,” Eduardo says, and his eyes flare gratifyingly hot when Mark shoves a trashcan in front of the door and walks toward him. It probably won’t hold against anyone really determined to get inside, but maybe they’ll try it and think the door’s jammed and leave.

Untitled, 2b/?

Mark forgets, sometimes, that Eduardo is a lot taller than him and pretty strong too—he remembers it now, though, when Eduardo puts his hands under Mark’s thighs and lifts him up onto the counter. “Fuck, Wardo,” Mark says quietly, and he has never been more glad to be wearing sweatpants, because Eduardo just shoves them down with ease and gets a hand around his cock, and it’s fucking amazing. Eduardo jerks him off with single-minded intensity, and Mark tips his head back against the mirror, watches Eduardo’s hand work and his tongue flick out to wet his lips again and again.

Mark doesn’t know how long they’ve been in there, but he jolts a little when someone twists the doorknob and then bangs on the door. Eduardo’s eyes lock onto his for a frozen moment, and then he’s twisting his wrist, and leaning in to bite Mark’s nipple through his t-shirt, and Mark can’t stop himself from making this strangled sound that is so loud.

The banging stops.

It’s so incredibly obvious what they’re doing in here, everyone’s going to know when they walk out; everyone will see Eduardo and Mark, and they’ll know, they’ll know that Eduardo is with Mark—

Mark’s shirt is a lost cause when they’re finished.

“It’s more hole than shirt anyway,” Eduardo tells him, and balls it up and puts it in the trash. He gives his jacket to Mark instead, and Mark zips it up over his bare skin. It’s too long in the arms, too long everywhere, really, but it makes Eduardo stare at him kind of distractedly. It smells like Eduardo, and Mark shivers a little.

There’s a guy waiting a few feet away from the door when they exit. He kind of smirks at them both and tips his head toward them before going inside. With the number of times this has happened, Mark would think that by now Eduardo would get over his embarrassment, would stop flushing up and squirming a little. But he doesn’t. And it’s not that he’s ashamed, it’s that Eduardo believes in things like standards of behavior in public, things Mark doesn’t usually bother with, and when Eduardo forgets himself and just does what he wants, it’s probably a little—jarring. Like Mark is changing him a little, making him loosen up. Mark likes that idea. He bets Eduardo does too.

Once they’re back at their table, Eduardo puts his hand against the back of Mark’s neck and keeps running his thumb over it, again and again. Mark leans into the touch.

“I can’t decide if you two are adorable or revolting,” Chris says dryly, eyeing them sidelong.

Untitled, 2c/?

“Adoravolting?” Dustin suggests. “Redorable.”

“I just had sex and you two didn’t,” Mark says complacently. “I want another drink.”

Chris and Dustin both tease him a little more, but Mark just feels the way Eduardo knocks his forehead against Mark’s shoulder, laughing.

Mark puts his hand on Eduardo’s leg and keeps it there.


It’s not just—Mark likes touching Eduardo in all ways, really. Non-sexual ways too. Sometimes he gets distracted or lost in his coding, and he likes having Eduardo’s leg thrown over his own in a distant reminder in the back of his mind that Eduardo is still there. Like knowing he has something to return to.

Eduardo reads with his head on Mark’s lap, sometimes; jabs Mark’s hand with his chopsticks and grins at him with sauce on his chin, and then lets Mark lick it off a second later. When Mark has a class and Eduardo doesn’t, Eduardo will walk him there with a hand on his back, and Mark yanks his head down to kiss him thoroughly before he goes inside.

Mark gets intense headaches sometimes, and Eduardo will spend an hour in his bedroom with the lights off, rubbing gentle circles over his temples and kissing his hair. Sometimes Eduardo kisses his hair even when he doesn’t have a headache, in public, for no reason. People look at them. Mark likes it, with a deep possessive thrill; tips his chin up and thinks at all of them, He’s mine.

He just likes people looking. He likes seeing them want what they’re not going to have. Because Eduardo is Mark’s, and Eduardo wants people to watch him belonging to Mark.


And then Eduardo goes home over break.


It’s two weeks Mark spends without him, pretending that he is so much more functional than he really is. It’s two weeks that crawl, two weeks of jerking himself off and thinking about Eduardo, making do with phone calls that start to inexplicably decline.

It’s only two weeks, though, Mark tells himself. Eduardo will be back and everything will go back to normal.


Eduardo comes back. Things don’t go back to normal.


Mark doesn’t know it, but this is the beginning of the end.


Don’t worry, I’ll fix them! :D

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Untitled, 3a/?

GUYS. I am SO SORRY for how long this part’s taken me. I’ve been kind of under the weather for a little while, and writing this part was so hard for me. Trying to find a way to relatively amicably break up a happy Harvard-era Mark and Eduardo so they can still be friends and the rest of the movie can happen is…difficult. /: But, the next part should be coming MUCH sooner, and also with 150% more sex, so. XD


Eduardo comes back looking worn, stretched thin, uneasy around the eyes. He smiles at Mark, but it’s a strained smile. He kisses him but it’s hesitant.

The first time after Eduardo is back that Mark tries to have sex with Eduardo somewhere that isn’t the privacy of his room, Eduardo jerks his hand out of Mark’s grasp, and then looks immediately apologetic. He says carefully, “My—my father—” and then stops.

Mark looks at him, blank-faced. He knows Eduardo has not told his parents about Mark, beyond the fact that Mark is his friend. That’s all right. Mark hasn’t told his parents either, though not out of fear of their reaction or anything—no, they’re just nosy as hell, and they’d pester Eduardo to death if Mark said anything. He has a feeling his sister might suspect something, though. But Eduardo—Eduardo is afraid of his father’s words and disappointment, an ingrained lifelong fear he’s grown up with. He doesn’t talk about it much, but Mark can see it in the way he goes closed-off and straight-backed whenever he gets on the phone with his father.

Eduardo looks off-balance and ashamed of himself, like he knows how ridiculous it is to worry that somehow his dad is going to hear all the way in Florida that his son likes to fuck Mark Zuckerberg in bathrooms and hallways and all over the place, really. It’s completely irrational. But he still doesn’t look like he’s planning to follow Mark anytime soon.

“Okay,” Mark says flatly, and walks with him back to his room. It’s fine. Eduardo just needs some time to switch over from the persona he uses to deal with his father. To remember that he’s allowed to do what he wants here. It’ll be fine.


It is fine, for a while.

They just have sex in one of their rooms now, instead of wherever they can find enough time to get at each other. It’s not like Mark doesn’t like having sex in a bed. Having sex in a bed means that he gets to stretch Eduardo out, completely naked and golden all over, and he gets to slick his fingers and put them inside Eduardo one at a time, so slow, patient and steady until Eduardo is swearing at Mark in Portuguese and begging him to go faster. It means he can fuck Eduardo and make him cry out, and he can lie down with him afterward while they catch their breath. Mark likes having sex in beds.

But Eduardo still pulls back in public, just a little bit. Just enough for Mark to notice. He is not so easy with his affection; throws an arm around Mark still, but does not let his fingers linger against Mark’s jawline in a caress.

Mark wonders what Eduardo’s father could have said to him, what could have left such a mark that Eduardo is still carrying it around weeks afterward. Does he suspect that Eduardo likes guys? Does he suspect it’s Mark? Mark knows that Eduardo talks about him a lot, he’s heard him on the phone with his mother and recognizes his own name through the Portuguese. Mark doesn’t like what happens to Eduardo when he talks to his father. He can only imagine what their conversations must be like in person.

Untitled, 3b/?

Whatever it is that happened, Eduardo is still walking around looking a little shadowed, and he’s pulling away from Mark. Mark doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to say, and anyway, Eduardo should come to him first. Eduardo always wants to know everything that’s on Mark’s mind, he should know he can come to Mark.

He should know.


And the thing is, Mark is under no illusion that he’s some kind of a catch. Well, he knows that he’s incredibly intelligent and quite frankly above the intellectual level of most people around him. But he’s aware that even if others see that, they usually find it outweighed by his lack of social awareness, his awkward way of going through life, and his, well, his brutal honesty. Eduardo seems to like him exactly as he is, and that makes Eduardo nothing more than the most baffling anomaly Mark has ever encountered.

So the fact is that Eduardo could do better for himself, or at least better by other people’s standards. By his father’s standards. It would be easier, no doubt. There are plenty of girls who stand around giggling inanely at Eduardo and watching him with nothing less than a predatory look in their eyes, and if Eduardo were to take up with one of them, that would set his father’s suspicions to rest. Any of them would be easier to be with than Mark, too; they wouldn’t say they’d meet him at one time and forget until it’s three hours too late. They would know the right things to say at all times. They’d be nice.

So what’s there to stop Eduardo? Mark doesn’t really know, and it’s—more frightening than he expects.

(He’s never reacted well to fear. Fear makes him defensive, angry; this kind of fear means that he’s handed too much of himself over to another person, given them the power to wound him. He’s never been comfortable with that.)

They don’t talk about it.

Mark falls asleep with Eduardo’s hand wrapped around his wrist, wakes with Eduardo curling fully into him like he doesn’t do much anymore, and they still don’t talk about it.


(Years later, Mark will wonder why they were both so fucking stupid. All it would have taken was a real conversation and they could have made it work. Instead, there was Mark waiting around for Eduardo to leave him, wanting to hurt before he got hurt; and then there was Eduardo, perpetually unsure of his place in Mark’s life, if it was just sex or if Mark wanted him around always. And between wobbling in his relationships with his father and Mark both, he drew back and chose his father, because he had eighteen years of learning how to stay in his father’s good graces, at least. He knew how to make his father proud of him. Mark was harder. Mark was uncertain.

Eduardo will tell Mark this and Mark will just gape at him, because—he’d spent all that time feeling like his feelings were written clear across his forehead, that his desperate possessiveness plainly translated to I want to keep you forever, and—he’d gotten used to Eduardo knowing him better than anyone else could.

Untitled, 3c/?

“I was really easy for you,” Eduardo will say, a little dry, a little vulnerable, “I didn’t—I didn’t know if that was why you wanted me. Because I was there and we were already friends and I would have done—anything.”

Then Mark will have to kiss him, and kiss him again, and mourn wasted time as he counts the beat of Eduardo’s pulse under his fingertips. “We were really stupid,” he says fervently. “Let’s not do that again.”

And Eduardo will laugh a little, bright and breathless, and christ they were stupid to let this fall apart, but somehow they made it here anyway; and Mark will give his all to make sure they stay this way for good.)


Only, that is yet to come.


Now it is a slow splintering apart, too much silence, an inability to work past fear of being laughed at; and Mark throws himself into his classes and his projects and spends less and less time with Eduardo, and Eduardo—lets him.

Eduardo’s going to leave him, of course he’s going to leave him, why would he stay with Mark who will make things so difficult for him with his father? Eduardo is going to leave him, and Mark will not let him say it first.

“I think we should stop. Sleeping together,” Mark says stiffly one day, and finds he can’t quite look Eduardo in the face while he’s saying it. “We haven’t been anyway, lately, and—if either of us wants someone else we should be free to do that.”

“Oh,” Eduardo says after a beat, very quietly. Mark looks up at Eduardo, but he’s looking down so Mark can’t really see his eyes. “You—okay, then.”

Okay then. That’s clear enough. If Eduardo had really wanted—

Anyway. It’s decidedly awkward for a while, and Chris and Dustin tiptoe around the pair of them with worried glances and sad eyes, and some part of Mark is afraid that he’s just lost all of Eduardo entirely, but—Eduardo doesn’t seem inclined to go anywhere. He wanders around shooting Mark slightly wary looks, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t leave. And the subset of people who actually like Mark is so small, he’d be a total moron to eliminate even one of them, so somehow they make the best friends thing work.

Even if it’s still awkward. Even if Mark catches Eduardo staring at his mouth sometimes, hot-eyed, before he jerks away guiltily and stammers something off-topic. Even if Mark sees people making out in hallways and has to set his shoulders against the burn of memory. Awkwardness fades, and so does memory, and they get past it all, eventually.


And then comes Erica (who is funny and smart and uncomplicated, until he goes and breaks that too).

And then Christy (who sets off all his frightening ever-present jealousy and possessiveness, because he is in a bathroom stall listening to Eduardo come from the other side of a wall, listening to him make noises that belong to Mark), and then thefacebook becomes just Facebook, because Sean fucking Parker, and everything is moving too fast and spiraling out of control and Mark can’t split his energy between two things and make them both mediocre, he has to pick one and make it fucking extraordinary, and. He picks Facebook.

He picks Facebook, and then Eduardo is smashing his laptop and walking away and facing him across a table with his hair slicked back and his armor up, staring at him with all that blind disbelieving hurt in his eyes and Mark’s hands are shaking but he hides them under the table, and he won’t ever get to push Eduardo against a wall and kiss him in front of everyone ever again. This is what it feels like when something is really broken.


Except, it’s just that—

Eduardo is the one thing that he cannot predict, cannot map, cannot make sense of, and when it turns out years later that broken can be mended with some effort, Mark’s never been more glad to be wrong in his life.


Re: Untitled, 3c/? (Anonymous) Expand
Re: Untitled, 3c/? (Anonymous) Expand

Re: Untitled, 3a/?

Aw, Eduardo. D: D: D:

(Welcome back, anon!)

Untitled, 4a/?


Okay, so, it’s not like Mark makes it a habit to regularly stalk Eduardo’s Facebook page or anything. For one thing, it’s been a few years and Mark doesn’t actually spend all his time thinking about Eduardo. He’s even dated a little, and it’s been—nice. For another, Eduardo’s Facebook page is pretty minimal at best. Anyone visiting it would walk away with only the barest idea of who he is, the outer meaningless shell; they wouldn’t know that behind all of Eduardo’s carefully cultivated refinement lurks someone who is as dorky as Dustin on his best day. They wouldn’t know what Eduardo looks like when he’s fallen asleep on top of his notebook and wakes up with ink smeared on his cheek. They wouldn’t know one tenth of what makes him up. Mark knows all of these things already, and he wants to know everything he’s missed in the years that have passed, everything he wasn’t there to witness firsthand, but he’s not going to find that on Eduardo’s Facebook page.

He still checks it once in a while, though, when he’s drunk or nostalgic (or lonely).

He doesn’t usually find much, so when he’s poking around this time, it takes him almost a full minute to realize what he’s looking at: a new picture that’s been uploaded, of Eduardo with his arm around a shorter, blond man. They’re both smiling kind of shyly at the camera, and Mark feels his breath catch against an unexpected block in his throat. That is not—that is not a platonic kind of half-embrace; that is the look of shared intimacy. Mark has known the weight of that arm curled around his shoulders, fingers on his skin.

Mark stares and stares and breathes.

Fuck. Where is all of Eduardo’s hesitance now? Where is his fear of his father, why is he defying him with this guy, why didn’t he with Mark?.

Mark closes the page and codes for the rest of the day, typing until his fingers ache and his shoulders are too tight and his eyes burn a little with the strain. Dustin and Chris shoot him slightly worried looks over the next few days, so presumably they saw Eduardo’s page at some point. Mark just ignores it, though, for the most part—ignoring things is something of a specialty of his, pushing them into some corner of his mind until the time when he absolutely has to deal with it.

And it’s not—there’s a part of him that is happy for Eduardo, because Mark’s seen first-hand the shadows that have been left behind by buckling under his father’s rules, and if this means that Eduardo has moved past needing approval and is living for himself, Mark is happy. He wants him to do well.

There’s also the ugly, jealous part of him that snarls at the sight of Eduardo’s hands on someone that isn’t him; the part of him that fucked Eduardo loudly in bathrooms and sucked bruises into his neck and made him walk with his collar open to let everyone see; the part that thinks mine, mine, mine, that has never learned to share or to be gracious in defeat. Mark knows that part of himself, accepts it, has no illusions about who he is; he is thoroughly familiar with his worst self.

But he’s trying—trying to act in ways that don’t get him on academic probation or dumped in bars or left with the broken pieces of a laptop in front of him, ways that used to make Eduardo beam at him proudly, like he’s getting closer to becoming a functional human being. It’s an ongoing process. So he holds on to the part of himself that is happy for Eduardo; he gets drunk at home but he doesn’t write scathing diatribes for everyone to see; only once does he give in to the urge to look up the other guy in the picture (Jeremy Wright, 27, graduated with a degree in mathematics, has a younger brother, likes foreign movies, he and Eduardo probably have intelligent mathematical conversations and then watch Portuguese movies together and then have incredibly athletic sex, fuck).

And then Mark just pushes it all to the back of his mind and keeps going.

This is something like progress.


Untitled, 4b/?


There’s a shareholders’ meeting a few months later, and Mark’s been very careful to avoid Eduardo’s Facebook page all that time, so it’s a little bit of a shock to see Eduardo right there in front of him. It’s always a bit of a shock seeing Eduardo in person, though they never really interact beyond a few carefully bland civilities (civilities that gut Mark deeper than anger ever would), but even more so this time. Eduardo comes to the meeting as impeccably dressed as usual, smiles at people and holds the door open, gaze skating over Mark without a stutter. Mark stares at Eduardo surreptitiously through the entire meeting, trying to see if there is anything visibly different about him; if somehow his confidence sits in the line of his shoulders, if there is contentment in the languid movements of his wrists as he writes. Mark remembers the words People don’t walk around with a sign saying—, and he looks at Eduardo and wonders are you happy?.

Part of him hopes he is. The other part wants, viciously, for Eduardo to be miserable with anyone who isn’t him; he wants Eduardo to miss Mark like a hole’s been carved out of him, he wants Eduardo to come back to him. Mark wants a lot of things he can’t have, because Mark does not have it in him to make the first move, to put himself out there so he can be wounded. That is why he turned away from Erica’s table and didn’t apologize right there years ago, why he’s spent the past few years letting Eduardo smile at him politely and blankly at events like they don’t even know each other, instead of saying I’m sorry, come back, I need you. He said I need you once and it went unheard; he won’t do it again. He can’t. That is Mark, and he can’t change.

Mark blinks and realizes the room is almost empty. The meeting must have ended while he was stuck in his thoughts, and the last couple of people leave while Mark turns back to his laptop. He’s only been working for another few minutes or so before the door opens again, and Mark somehow knows, he knows without even looking up who it is; so when he finally does look up and sees Eduardo standing in the middle of the room, it’s not as big of a shock as it could be. It’s not a shock, but something still jolts inside him, because it’s just the two of them there and Mark has no words.

“Left my jacket behind,” Eduardo says, grabbing it and shaking it a little in an unnecessary gesture of see?. Mark nods, bites his lip hard.

Eduardo stares at him for a moment with his face unreadable, turns as if to leave and makes Mark’s fingers stutter against his keyboard, but then he just—stops. Mark looks at the tense line of his back and thinks turn around, turn around, say something, you know I’ve never been able to do this part.

Like he heard him, Eduardo spins around, still clutching his jacket in one hand, and he says, words coming fast, “Why were you staring at me?”

“What?” Mark says, tendrils of slight panic shooting through him.

“You were staring at me through the whole meeting,” Eduardo says, face working kind of uncertainly like he can’t decide between looking angry and confused.

So much for Mark’s supposed surreptitiousness.

“I was—sorry,” Mark says, half-shrugging, and he sees Eduardo apparently settle on anger at Mark’s non-answer; and because Mark can’t stop thinking about it, and he’s a little tired and is currently lacking his verbal filter, and Eduardo initiated contact, he says stiffly, “How’s your boyfriend?” It’s possible he maybe spits the last word out like he doesn’t want it in his mouth.

Eduardo freezes with a strange look on his face. “My—boyfriend?” he says slowly. “You mean Jeremy?”

Mark kind of hopes that Eduardo is not running around with an abundance of boyfriends, so, yeah. He nods jerkily.

Untitled, 4c/?

“We broke up,” Eduardo says, still in that strange, slow way. “It was—amicable.” Of course it was. This is Eduardo, who might be the only person in the world who could make the words I want to stay friends actually work; the two of them were so fucking amicable, weren’t they? They did it so civilly, got over their awkwardness so well that Mark remembers thinking we can get through anything. Except they couldn’t.

“You put the pictures up online,” Mark says in this voice that sounds curiously detached to his own ears. “I can’t imagine your father was too pleased by that.”

“I don’t know that anything I could do would please him. I just stopped trying,” Eduardo says, and Mark is listening hard, so he can hear the sudden absence of—something in his voice. An edge, maybe, that had been there before. This isn’t angry-Eduardo, or stingingly-polite-Eduardo; this is an Eduardo who sounds like he’s talking to Mark, almost like they had before.

Mark is listening but he is determinedly not looking at Eduardo, because he has the sudden feeling that everything is written all over his face—his helpless jealousy, the fear of breathing wrong and scattering this delicate communication that is more than they’ve had in years. But his mouth, he’s got about as much chance of stopping it as he does an oncoming train, and it opens up against his will and the words spill out, “Took you long enough, didn’t it. Was he that special, then?” His hands are curled into fists on top of the desk, knuckles white; his voice is calm and shakes only a little, but that little bit is more than enough for Eduardo to latch onto.

Eduardo exhales, a sound that slices through the air. “It wasn’t him,” Eduardo says very quietly, and against his will Mark looks up, loses himself in the intensity of Eduardo’s gaze. “I just—grew up.” Mark swallows, and Eduardo looks at him, looks into him, like he’s seeing something he never expected. He sinks into a chair right in front of Mark.“Mark, you—back at Harvard. Why did you say we should stop sleeping together?” Eduardo asks, and his voice is hesitant, and Mark can’t breathe.

Mark coughs to unblock his throat, and says flatly, “I told you. It wasn’t working, and we—if one of us wanted someone else—”

“Yeah, but was that meant for me, or for you?” Eduardo interrupts, leaning in like he knows he’s on the right track, like Mark has a secret and Eduardo wants to hold it in his hands. “You started dating Erica pretty soon afterward.”

Mark frowns. “I didn’t want to—we’d stopped sleeping together at that point and Erica was nice, so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t date her. But I didn’t leave you with the intention of getting with anyone else.”

“But you thought I wanted to,” Eduardo says, voice ringing with certainty. His eyes are very, very intent.

“Of course I thought you wanted to,” Mark spits out, suddenly so tired of this conversation. His skin feels too tight and his head is throbbing, and he can’t handle this right now. “You wanted to make your father proud, and he wanted you to date girls. He wanted you to find a vapid little wife and carry on the name and forget that you like to fuck guys. Of course you would want someone else. I just—ended it so it wouldn’t drag on forever.”

Eduardo doesn’t look away from Mark’s eyes even once. Mark can feel his face start to burn at the close scrutiny, at everything he’s no doubt broadcasting. “And Facebook?” Eduardo says carefully. “Why did you push me out, Mark?”

“I thought I had to choose between you and Facebook,” Mark says wearily. “And I chose Facebook, because with Facebook I came first.”

There is a beat of silence, and then Eduardo leans back in his seat and covers his face with one hand. Mark blindly hits a few keys on his laptop to avoid looking at him. The air is too thick around them.

“You thought I wanted to date other people, and I thought you didn’t really—care,” Eduardo says with a little laugh that sounds more pained than amused. “Clearly, neither of us can think at all.”

(Deleted comment)

Untitled, 4d/?

Mark looks at him sharply, something that tastes uncomfortably like hope rising in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, because at this point it’s all that remains to be said, and he’s already laid himself open for Eduardo to see everything inside him. “That it—that it happened this way.”

Eduardo just looks at him for a moment, before rising to his feet. “I need you to stand up, Mark,” he says, and Mark’s getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He wonders for a moment, half-hysterically, if Eduardo’s going to punch him.

Instead, Eduardo reaches out and yanks Mark toward his chest, wrapping one arm around his back, his free hand coming up to cradle Mark’s head. Mark freezes in place, caught completely off-guard, and it isn’t until Eduardo runs a thumb behind his ear that all the tension melts out of Mark in one giant wave. He lets himself mold to the line of Eduardo’s body, lets Eduardo tighten his arm around him, and when he puts his nose against his shirt and inhales Eduardo’s distinctive scent, Mark will deny to his dying day that his eyes start to burn a little bit.

“I’m sorry too,” Eduardo whispers into his ear, and Mark shivers a little at the vibration. “I was a coward, and then after that I never really listened to what you were trying to tell me.”

Some part of Mark is aware that they’re hugging extremely closely in the middle of an office full of people who take nosiness to a new level; the rest of him tells that part to go fuck itself.

“You know, when you came here today, I really just expected to stare at you a little and then maybe have Chris subtly grill you about your love life,” Mark says, the words muffled against Eduardo’s chest, and he can feel the vibration of the laugh Eduardo lets out in response.

“Disappointed?” Eduardo says dryly, finally letting Mark out of the circle of his arms, and Mark ignores the urge to just stay there all day.

He has a feeling that he and Eduardo can’t rely on believing that certain things are implicit, obvious; look where that got them. So he grabs for Eduardo’s hand and says quietly, “Anything but,” and watches the slow, perfect dawn of a smile on Eduardo’s face.


They reconnect hesitantly, hanging out at Mark’s place whenever Eduardo flies in (Eduardo starts flying in more and more often; Mark picks him up at the airport every time). It’s slow-going; tentative, awkward, and Mark is so fucking glad it’s happening at all. He wants more than they have right now, he wants everything, but he’s willing to wait for them to rebuild themselves from the ground-up, stronger than before.

A few months after they’ve started hanging out again, Eduardo walks into Mark’s office and plants his hands on Mark’s desk and says without preamble, “So I know you told me to come over and watch a movie with you tonight, but would you be terribly disappointed if I came over and we had sex instead?”

Mark knocks over a paperweight.

It hits the ground with a thud, and Mark stares stupidly at it for a second before jerking his head up to stare stupidly at Eduardo instead. Eduardo looks a little smug that he’s apparently killed Mark’s brain, but his ears are also going a little pink.

“I—frankly, I thought I’d have to do some more groveling before we got around to that,” Mark says honestly, and Eduardo’s eyes go a little sad.

“Actually, I think it’s my turn for the groveling this time,” Eduardo says a little quietly, biting his lip.

Mark wets his lips unconsciously, and feels his skin prickle at the way Eduardo watches his tongue move. “Or we could just agree that our respective guilts cancel each other out and get to the sex part?” Mark suggests, and watches Eduardo’s mouth curve in a warm smile in answer.

“I like that idea,” Eduardo agrees. “You—when are you done here?” His eyes are going kind of dark, and Mark—Mark hasn’t seen him like this in so long. He hasn’t been allowed, and now he is, and he’d probably go home with Eduardo right now even if he had the most important meeting of his life scheduled. As it is, it’s an easy day, and Mark needs to suck Eduardo off as of yesterday, so.

Untitled, 4e/?

“Now,” Mark says decisively, shutting things down and gathering his stuff together. Eduardo gapes at him a little, probably understandably—it is only three in the afternoon, and Mark takes the term ‘workaholic’ to a frightening new level—but he seems to be underestimating his own considerable lure.

“Really?” Eduardo says, sounding kind of shyly pleased, and Mark is taking a step forward to kiss him before he even realizes it. He stops himself in time, though—he still doesn’t know how sure Eduardo is about this, and kissing him in the Facebook offices is asking this to go public fast. He doesn’t—he doesn’t want to fuck this up again.

“Let’s go?” Mark offers, and pretends his aborted move was just a step toward the door, nothing else. Eduardo eyes him with an assessing look, though, and Mark has forgotten what it feels like to be known this instinctively, this thoroughly. It scares him.

“Yeah,” is all Eduardo says, but then he puts his hand on Mark’s lower back, a searing touch even through Mark’s shirt, and propels Mark forward, and forward, and through the door, and then stops him when they’re right out in the open in front of a score of unabashedly curious, interested eyes.

“Wardo, what,” Mark starts, except that is when Eduardo cups his face in one hand and tips it upward a little, stroking a thumb down Mark’s cheek, and Mark’s heart is already pounding by the time their mouths meet. Eduardo still wears the same cologne is Mark’s first thought, because the warm, familiar smell of it is right there and it makes a wave of heat roll down Mark’s body. Eduardo keeps it slow, doesn’t let it turn desperate like it could, but he’s so fucking thorough that Mark doesn’t realize he’s fisted his hands in Eduardo’s shirt and gone up onto his toes to kiss him harder until they finally pull apart.

Someone shouts “About damn time!” and Mark is entirely unsurprised when he turns around to see that it’s Dustin, who is grinning at them wildly and possibly looking a little teary-eyed. Mark supposes he could cut back on his frequent grumbling threats to fire Dustin for a couple of weeks or so, at least.

Everyone else is staring at them with varying degrees of amusement, although a few of the interns are eyeing him warily like they think he’s been replaced by his evil twin or something. Or, well, his PDA-friendly twin, he supposes. Whatever. It’s good to know he can inspire a healthy sense of fear in someone.

(Deleted comment)

Untitled, 4f/?

Mark looks up and sees that Eduardo’s ears have gone pink, and he’s got that look of squirming, pleased embarrassment that Mark remembers so well, but he also looks completely resolute. “This won’t be like last time,” he says very seriously, for Mark’s ears alone. “It took me a while, but I know there has to be a point where I stop letting my father dictate what I can and can’t do, and I—I want this too much to let it go again. I want you, and I’m sorry I ever tried to hide it.”

Mark stares at him for a moment before wrapping his fingers around Eduardo’s wrist and dragging him out the door. He has no problem with people knowing how he feels about Eduardo, and it’s not like it wasn’t blatantly obvious from him practically climbing Eduardo like a tree out there that he’s more than a little invested in him, but there are certain things he’s not about to say with Dustin leering at them and presumably taking notes to share with Chris later.

Except: “Mark?” Eduardo says, sounding a little uncertain, and okay, that’s pretty much the last thing Mark wanted. They are neither one of them all that good at communicating things (that might actually be the understatement of the century), but this—Mark will learn, to keep this.

So he stops in his tracks, not quite out of the building but away from everyone else. And the words are there on the tip of his tongue with no reason not to say them and every reason to; because he doesn’t have to be scared of opening himself up, because he does not lose a single thing by saying it, because he will gain everything important. Because it’s unexpectedly easy.

He says, “I love you, Wardo. It wasn’t just sex back at Harvard and it isn’t now. Although the sex was a definite plus.” Okay, so he’s only got so much romance within him. Eduardo knew that already.

Eduardo’s smiling, though, so wide his eyes crinkle with it, and he leans in to kiss Mark again: two short, smacking kisses, one right after the other like he can’t pull away from Mark for too long. “We should probably make sure it’s still good before we go any further, then,” Eduardo says, looking at Mark through sly, half-lidded eyes.

“What, are you going to change your mind if it sucks?” Mark says dryly, and then groans when he realizes the opening he’s left. “No—”

“I was hoping for some sucking, actually,” Eduardo says at once, grinning around the words, and Mark makes a face and shoves him forward to start walking again.

“Please stop hanging out with Dustin immediately,” Mark says flatly.

Eduardo just laughs, clear and delighted, and that is the sound Mark has missed most of all.


Re: Untitled, 4f/? (Anonymous) Expand
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