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The Social Network: the kink meme!

It's Complicated: But sexy!

Mark Zuckerberg
The Sarcastic Kitty oresteia wrote in tsn_kinkmeme
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[PART NINE] & Some News
Okay, I'm a little new at this so sorry if I mess this up first go. Because it's been 5 months since the last round even though we haven't been busy. I figured I might as well earn my keep and try to get this place alive again...




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)
♥ Please do not repost prompts from earlier rounds
♥ put [GEN] before GEN prompts.


♥ please don't embed. link to images/videos.
♥ no locked material. this includes communities, even if membership is open.
♥ 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.

Hi, right now everyone is working on some changes so hold on new things are coming. In an effort to kick this place back into action, we're doing round 9. In a few days, we'll be setting up a fills post that hopefully will work directly for archiving and an overflow post. Also we'll be doing a friending meme at tsn_km_gather so be looking out for that. I know some of the other mods have plans of their own which will be coming soon.

If you have any questions or ideas that I can help you with, feel free to PM me. I'll be around.



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 three, four, five, six, seven, or eight. the delicious is around for people to find prompts they may not have already seen. We know there's been some issues but we're working on it with pinboard. No duplicates from this round either. THANK YOU.

Eduardo/Mark, AU where Sean is Mark's older brother

The best of the best of [insert career of you're choosing, though preferably business-oriented], Eduardo and Sean have been bitter rivals since the day they met, when Sean stole one of Eduardo's biggest clients right under his nose and Eduardo retaliated by getting Sean busted by the police. It's a mutual disdain that's singular and straightforward, with Sean constantly goading Eduardo and Eduardo just plain hating Sean's guts.

And then one day, Eduardo meets Mark, a blue-eyed tech-geek with the reddest lips he's ever seen and a sharp tongue to match. It's love at first insult and he's about to make a move...

...when he finds out that this Mark is actually Sean's younger brother, Mark; A.K.A. the person Sean loves most in the world and is notoriously protective of. Seriously, the amount of guys Sean has scared off or "taken care" of is legendary, because paranoia + older brother feelings = INSANE OVERPROTECTIVE FEELS.

So obviously, Eduardo shouldn't go there. He shouldn't even think about it.

...He really, really shouldn't.

Bonus points if Mark is actually a bit younger than both Sean and Eduardo. Like they're both in their late 20s and Mark just turned 21.

SUPER MEGA EXTRA BONUS POINTS if Mark actually doesn't like Eduardo when he finds out who he actually is. Because hello, this is the asshole responsible for almost sending Sean, the guy who's been Mark's hero since childhood (but sssshhh, SECRET. Like hell Mark would let Sean find out he never fully outgrew the hero-worship), to jail.

TL;DR: Eduardo hates Sean's stupid guts but then falls head over heels for his younger brother, Mark, who's actually not all that pleased with him, either.

Fill: 1/?

Logically speaking, Eduardo shouldn’t blame Sean Parker for the spontaneous failure of his laptop.

They’ve just been sniping at one another over e-mail -- barbed comments haphazardly disguised as professional concern -- but Sean can’t actually reach through the internet and break Eduardo’s things.

Nonetheless, as he stares in horror at his computer, which has just let out a horrible metallic whine, blue-screened, then shut off entirely, he can’t help but think Sean must have had something to do with it. After all, the computer had been working. Then Sean got involved, and it wasn’t anymore.

This is something of a trend.

Perhaps Sean’s sleaze slipped through his ethernet cable and gummed up the hardware.

Now that the light of his computer is gone, Eduardo is sitting in the pitch-dark. He’s still wearing the suit he’d come home in. There is a bowl of untouched ramen noodles at his side and a stack of folders he needs to deal with. He is rapidly developing a headache.

As his eyes adjust to the dim light outside his window -- streetlights and moon and stars -- he leaps into action. Frantically, he stabs at the power button. He flicks his fingers across the keyboard, hoping a random sequence of letters will accomplish something. He unplugs the power chord then shoves it in again.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of entirely pointless adjustments, he is forced to admit defeat. He has no idea how to troubleshoot a computer. He has just about enough technical know-how to work Netflix. Sean loves to point out that this is a serious handicap in modern business.

He groans and rubs at his face with clenched fists.

Eduardo looks to the blinking clock beside his desk. Red letters flash: 2:32 AM. Jesus. He runs his hands through his hair. It’s late, but not late enough that he can collapse into sleep without feeling guilty. Unfortunately, all of his work is on his laptop, so he can’t be productive either.

It’s a stupid thought, but he knows there’s a computer repair shop about ten minutes away. He’s passed it by a couple times on his way to work, and he’s always thought it looked frighteningly sketchy, but it's always open at bizarre hours. There's a good chance it will be open now.

It's absurd. Still, it’s two in the morning and he’s too worked up about Sean to sleep anyway. There's a full moon out.

What the hell.

He pushes himself to his feet, puts his broken laptop into his briefcase, and heads for his car.

Re: Fill: 1/?


There’s something liberating about driving at two in the morning. The roads are practically clear, slick with orange streetlights, and the thought comes to him that he could speed up and race himself into the long darkness.

He has the giddy sense that he’s doing something new and rule-breaking, which is of course ridiculous, since there aren’t any laws stating that a twenty-eight year old man can’t drive his own car out to fix his own computer. It’s not as if personal autonomy disappears after midnight.

Still, when he reaches the repair shop, he considers continuing onwards. He doesn’t, because Eduardo might be whimsical and ridiculous but he isn’t impractical. He came to get the laptop fixed, so that’s precisely what he’s going to do.

It’s a tiny place in a strip mall, marked with a blue sign overtop with white letters that read Z ckon t Computers. Nearly all the letters have faded off, and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to say. He picks up his briefcase and climbs out of the car. The night air is biting.

Once he steps in, it’s even smaller. The blue-painted walls are lined with shelves, which are themselves cluttered with computer parts. To his untrained eyes, they look to him like something out of a sci-fi novel. They’re barely sorted, crushed together on the shelves as if they’d been thrown into place. Some of them are in bins labeled with pieces of cardboard and surprisingly tight, neat handwriting; most have simply been tossed raw into place.

There are ethernet cables taped to the bottoms of the walls, presumably to keep them from tangling on the floor.

Quite frankly, the mess is alarming.

Most worrisomely, though, the only employee is asleep.

It’s a skinny kid with a head of fluffy hair, and that’s all Eduardo can see of him because he’s collapsed over the desk at the back of the shop. His arms are stick out on front of him, pale wrists sticking out of a grey hoodie. His chest expands and contracts, slowly, and there’s a faint whine coming from him. It doesn’t sound human. It sounds like his computer, just before it collapsed.

Eduardo stares at him. He can’t help but be annoyed -- he’d come all the way out here, and the shop isn’t even functional. He bites his lip, then turns to go.

From behind him, something chokes. 

Eduardo spins around again. The kid is lifting his head from the table, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. After a second, he looks up and directly at Eduardo.

The first thing Eduardo thinks is, Jesus, those are the angriest eyes I have ever seen in my life. And it’s true -- you could light a bonfire with them.

The second is, I have never before seen a mouth that red.

It’s the latter that makes the heat rise in his face. He hopes to god he isn’t blushing, that he isn’t standing in front of some scrawny kid working the night-shift at a terrible computer shop. He’d like to retain some degree of self-respect.

There is something extremely familiar about him. Eduardo can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

The kid looks at him, then swipes the back of his hand across his cherry-red mouth. “What,” he says. You could compress his voice and use it to sandblast houses.

It isn’t fair, really it isn’t, that anyone could wake from a dead sleep with a voice like that.

“Um,” says Eduardo. “My computer died. Can you fix it?”

The kid looks at him, then shrugs. “Dunno. Let me see.”

Eduardo pulls his laptop out of his briefcase, then sets it in front of the guy.

Re: Fill: 3/?

“How did you break it?”

“I -- what, no. I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “I have no idea. I was just using it, just e-mailing this absolute ... that’s irrelevant. It bluescreened and stopped working.”

“Mm.” The kid pulls the laptop closer to himself, then opens it. He sets his shoulders, pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, then scrapes his chair backwards. He pulls a power chord from inside a drawer, plugs it into the laptop, then tossed the other end to Eduardo. Eduardo fumbles, but catches. “Do something with that.”

Eduardo stands up. He looks around. There are outlets on two of the walls, but they’re too far for the chord to reach. He looks back at the kid for guidance, but his face has gone so slack that he’s afraid to disturb him. Instead, on a hunch, he walks around the desk. The kid doesn’t so much as stir, which Eduardo takes as permission. Sure enough, there’s a power bar by the guy’s left foot. He’s wearing sneakers, Adidas, and his left toe is banged up. Eduardo kneels and plugs in the chord. 

“That’s not the problem, though,” Eduardo says, looking up. “It was plugged into the wall when it died.”

“Yeah,” says the kid, looking down. “Last week, someone came in with a tower they swore up and down was fine, no issues, they’d treated it like an idol for all the years they had it in their house. And when I opened it up, it was crawling with ants. There was an ant’s nest inside. A whole colony, looking like the whole computer had rotted and come alive. I had to call my brother to help me kill them. So yeah. Excuse me if I don’t trust customers to have common sense.”

They sit in silence for a few seconds. 

Eduardo, never having been fond of quiet, breaks it by informing him, “Last week, one of my coworkers showed up to work baked.” 


He nods.

“Is there, like ... a story to go along with that, or is that the whole thing?” 

Eduardo shrugs.

“Actually, yes. That’s it. It was completely irresponsible of him, but apparently he exists in a world outside of consequence, so nothing went wrong." Then, after a brief pause, "I’m Eduardo.” 

“Yeah? Mark.” The kid, Mark, turns the laptop around and fiddles with something at the back. The blue screen turns on again, lighting up his face. It looks sallow, but it makes his blue eyes so bright that Eduardo’s breath catches.

It’s at that moment that Mark looks up, and he must misunderstand the expression on Eduardo’s face because he rolls his eyes.

“Calm down. The computer’s still broken.” He turns back to the screen, then makes a clucking noise, deep in his throat. A glottal stop.

"I’m not going to stop you from sticking around, but this is going to take me a couple hours and I don’t talk when I’m working. You could come back tomorrow. Whatever.”

He’s already standing up. “I’m going to get some stuff.”

Eduardo watches him go.

He reaches down and fiddles with the power chord.

It’s tempting to stay and watch him work for a couple of hours, but it is nearly the three in the morning and he needs to sleep at some point, or he’ll be a zombie at work tomorrow.

He bites his lip, then reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a pen and pad of paper. On it, he scribbles his number, then writes his name and puts a smiley face beside it. Easy enough to brush off as a business thing, he figures.

It’s stupid, really it is, but he puts it on the table anyway, then walks out before he can loose his nerve.

Re: Fill: 4/?


As he drives back to his house and his bed, it strikes him that there’s something extremely familiar about the way Mark tells stories. It had been steamroller fast, this long unbreathing stream. It was -- well, it hadn’t been unpleasent, Eduardo had liked it, but it reminds him of something that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

It hits him like a truck.

Eduardo’s eyes go wide. He tightens his grip on the wheel.

No. It couldn’t be.

They have the same curly hair, the same blue eyes, and the same snide sense of humour. Most importantly, he knows Sean has a younger brother named Mark. He knows this because one of the interns in their company had once made a comment about the guy’s manner of speaking. Sean had taken him aside, very politely, with none of his usual dramatics. He’d been smiling. No one had heard what he said, but when the intern in question came back, his face was white as a sheet and he didn’t have any more to say about Mark.

Jesus, he thinks. I’ve just left my computer with the brother of a psychopath.

Then, slower, and with a deeper panic: he’s got my number.

Re: Fill: 4/?

YOU ARE A WONDERFUL PERSON. just, yesss, omg, so happy to see this filled, and so well! very, very excited for more, thank you!!

Re: Fill: 4/? - xbriyeon, 2012-04-23 02:57 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - slasher48, 2012-04-23 03:10 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-08 09:37 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-23 03:27 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-23 04:29 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - skyearth85, 2012-04-23 05:46 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 4/? - papaya_37, 2012-04-23 12:09 pm (UTC)(Expand)

Re: Fill: 5/?

Thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading this and for commenting. :D


When Sean gets home at nine, Mark is curled up on the couch. He’s got his laptop on his knees, and he’s typing at warp speed. Although he’s paying it no attention whatsoever, The Beverly Hillbillies is on the television. When Mark moved in, he brought his collection of old TV shows with him.

The apartment isn’t big enough for two, but that’s okay. It accommodates overcrowding. All the rooms have doors, which makes everything feel claustrophobic, but also means it’s easy to find privacy, and every wall is a variant shade of yellow, which is supposed to be calming. Sean would do something about the latter issue if he weren’t contractually obliged not to paint anything.

“A guy gave me his number today,” Mark says, without looking up.

“Did he?” Sean looks at him.

There are two kinds of people who typically gravitate towards Mark.

First, people drawn in by the thrill of taming something furious. They want to pick out all his sharp pieces. Sean hates that. If you whittle Mark down to something that says please and thank you and is consistently pleasant to be around, you’d be stealing something essential.

The second kind behaves as if a monotone means he hasn’t got any emotions.

It’s not fair to judge this guy before he’s even met him, but come on. He’s not an idiot. He can do pattern recognition. Mark attracts sleaze-bags. That’s just the way it is.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asks. Mark shrugs, which is as good as a no. “Fine. I’ll make pasta.” He thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers. “No, currie. With lassis. I’m fucking dying for a lassi. I would lick Manningham’s ass for a lassi. I would sell my organs for a lassi, although not my stomach, because I need that to put the lassi in.” 


He looks at his brother for a moment longer. Mark keeps typing, shoulders hunched around his shoulders, chewing on the end of his hoodie string. Sean’s not sure what he’s working on now. Mark has become touchy about projects he’s not sure will pan out.

He smiles and heads into the kitchen, pausing along the way to put his hand on Mark’s head and ruffle his fuzzy hair. Mark smacks his hand away.

Like most rooms in their house, the kitchen is claustrophobic. The rectangular window set high up in the all barely lets in any light, which makes the mustard yellow walls look like a deep yellow-brown. The drawers are all battered and the stovetop is burnt in several places. It’s still Sean’s favorite place in the house. He likes being able to feed people.

He’s sautéing the the onions when Mark wanders in. His jaw is set, which means that he’s feeling guilty and squirmy and doesn’t want to apologize. Sean turns to him.

Re: Fill: 6/?


“I’ll be done in about twenty minutes.”

“You don’t need to make food for me,” Mark says. He’s staring somewhere just to the left of Sean’s shoulders. His tongue works at the pouch of his cheek. 

Sean holds up one finger. “I’m listening to you, but I’m going to finish this while I do it.” He turns back to the stove. “Okay, first of all, you have no idea how to cook. If I left you alone, you’d basically water-packed tuna forever.” Last year, when he’d gone to pick Mark up from Harvard, the room had been piled with old tuna cans and empty Beck’s Lights. He doesn’t point out that, left to his own devices, Mark wouldn’t eat at all.

It wouldn’t be intentional. Mark isn’t trying to starve himself. He just forgets.

Sean walks away from the stove and picks up the bowl of red peppers he’d chopped up earlier. They’re bright red, their veiny interiors vaguely disconcerting. He dumps them into the pan, talking as he does so.

“Second, if you did have any idea how to cook, you would know that it’s difficult to make food for two people instead of one. I mean, I could come home and carefully measure out exactly one portion for myself, then force you to eat cereal or something, but that would be way more complicated and we wouldn’t get brother-brother bonding time over dinner. Which is absolutely my favorite time of day. So, you shut up and stop worrying, okay?”

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackle of frying vegetables. At last, Sean turns back. Mark has stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets, and is staring at the ground. “I could totally use help with the lassis, though,” he says. “Do you know how ... ?”

“It’s a milkshake. I know how to make a milkshake.” Mark walks over to the fridge and starts pulling things out. Sean turns back to his currie.

The lassis are probably going to be fucked.

Mark is a genius, an actual literal break-your-heart-he’s-so-smart genius, but he cooks like a drunken ape.

That’s okay. Family is thicker than yoghurt.

Fill: 7/?


They eat at the kitchen table. Mark mostly stares into his food while Sean chatters on. He tells Mark about his day -- long hour chatting up clients in swanky restaurants, short minutes chatting up receptionists in the firm. He tells him about Eddie Saverin, who’d shown up red-eyes and exhausted today, then managed to slop coffee all down his front on his way to a meeting.

Mark looks up from his curry to smirk at that. He’s got a vindictive streak a mile long, which is one one of his many delightful qualities.

Finally, as they’re finishing off, he gets around to the thing he’d wanted to talk about. “So this guy,” he says. Mark’s shoulders hunch. He doesn’t like Sean prying in his life, but as far as Sean’s concerned, that’s part of the package. “How’d you meet?”

Mark shrugs, then looks out the window. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not important. I’m not going to call him back.” 

“Cool,” Sean nods, then sees Mark’s eyes flicker to him and then away. “Mark,” he groans. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying --”

“No, you’re pretending you’re not going to do anything so you can slip away as soon as we’re done eating, agonize for hours over whether or not to call this random person, then dial the number all in a rush so that you can trick yourself into thinking it just happened, oh whoops, didn’t see that one coming.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously,” he says. “You told me you were going to take some time off, like, people, and it was a good idea.

Mark shrugs. He picks up his fork, then bites at the tines. Sean hid the last green dart to his stupid dart board three weeks ago, because he got tired of Mark puncturing holes in all the walls anytime he got it onto his head to use the stupid thing. Mark has the hand-eye coordination of a naked mole rat.

“It’s been a year,” Mark says, quietly.

At that, Sean freezes.

He looks at his little brother.

Has it been that long, really? He’d lost track of the time. Mark is staring at the space just beside his head, looking as if he’d like to murder someone, so Sean straightens his back and smiles at him. He can feel the worry tangled up in his chest.

"You know what? Forget me. I’m being an idiot. You totally should.”

Mark looks up. “Do you actually think that, or --”

“Or what? Why would I lie? Seriously, I want the best for you, little brother.” He shoves the jug of lassi towards his Mark. “In other news, this is seriously foul. I don’t know how you managed to screw up ‘mix yoghurt, milk and mangos together’, but you always manage to surpass my expectations. “

With a little jerk of his shoulders, Mark pours himself another glass, then scraps his chair away from the table. “Yeah, whatever.” He picks up the glass and turns away. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Wait, where are you going?”

Mark looks back over his shoulder. “To agonize.” 

Sean grins at him, shoving down his concern so it won’t show up on his face. He lifts his glass and Mark walks away, back into the living room where his computer waits, leaving him to clear away the dishes.

Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-23 01:09 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-23 02:50 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-23 04:55 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - skyearth85, 2012-04-23 05:01 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-23 06:52 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-23 11:06 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - oflights, 2012-04-23 11:20 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - slasher48, 2012-04-23 11:54 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-08 09:40 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - slasher48, 2012-05-09 02:31 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - celestialteap0t, 2012-04-24 02:15 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-24 10:15 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - doodlelover, 2012-04-28 10:51 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - smoretirades, 2012-04-29 09:27 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-04 10:17 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-07 09:59 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-07 10:26 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - oflights, 2012-05-07 01:25 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-07 10:04 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-07 10:05 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 7/? - oflights, 2012-05-07 11:59 pm (UTC)(Expand)

Re: Fill: 8/?

Thank you so much for your kind comments. :D You make me very happy. Sorry this took so long.

When he gets the call, Eduardo is lying on his bed in the dark with his knuckles pressed against his temples.

He has not yet gone to pick up the laptop. He tells himself that it would be irresponsible to drive with a headache, as it could potentially blossom into a migraine, but he’s not delusional enough to believe himself. His motives are less virtuous. First, refusing to get the thing means he won’t be able to work properly, and will therefore be forced to take a rest after a gruelling day. Second, he’ll be able to avoid Sean’s little brother.

All the phones in his apartment go off at once. It’s a jangling cacophony, four different tones for the phones in four different rooms -- he keeps meaning to get them organized, but there never seems to be much point. The only call he can regularly expect is the once-a-month check-in with his father.

He grits his teeth against his headache, then hauls himself to his feet. The sheets tangle around his legs and drag off the bed as he moves. He snatches the receiver from the hook. The ringing stops, leaving him with a pounding head that feels full of static.

“Alô?” he says, expecting his father.

“You’re French?” says the voice on his end. It’s definitely not his father’s. It’s raspy, as if the speaker just woken from a dead sleep, except that no one on Earth talks that quickly until they’re fully conscious.

Although he’s only heard it once before, Eduardo places it immediately. He’s been fretting about it all day.

“Mark,” he says. His voice sounds strangled. A moment later, the processes the actual words. “What? No. Why would I be —“

“It’s a common French-Canadian greeting, used in both English and French” says Mark, all in a rush, “and you have an accent, which I’ve been trying to place.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m not very good at accents.” The postscript has a note of irritation in it, as if Mark can’t figure out why he wouldn’t be good at something.

Reflecting that he should probably be put off by this degree of arrogance, Eduardo sits back down and slides under the covers. He rubs the back of his neck. Maybe it’s that this boy has apparently been thinking about his voice long enough to grow frustrated, or maybe it’s just the memory of those inordinately red lips, but he wishes that Sean weren’t here to complicate this.

“Brazilian,” he says. “I’ve never been to Québec.”

Re: Fill: 9/?

It isn’t as if he wants to marry the guy. He’d just like to kiss him, to take him out for dinner and maybe even bring him to bed. He likes Mark’s harshness and his lips. It isn’t worth ruining his life over.

On the other hand, if Sean finds out he’s thinking that way, he’ll probably work his freaky charm to ensure that Eduardo never works with a powerful client again.

Mark’s breathing is heavy. There’s a high-pitched wheeze woven into it. Maybe he has asthma. “Yeah, that makes sense.” Then, “I still have your computer.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Eduardo digs the heel of his hand into his temple. It’s ten o’clock at night — obviously that’s not the reason Mark called, or at least it’s not the only reason. “Yeah, I couldn’t — it just wasn’t feasible to get it tonight. What time do you open? I could swing by on my way to work.”

“Six,” Mark says. “I mean, it actually opens at seven, but whatever, I’m there at six and if all you’re going to do is pick up a laptop, then whatever, I can give it to you then. It’s not a big deal.”

Sean and Mark are definitely related. Neither of them show any indication of understanding silence, or pauses for breath.

Eduardo nods into the phone. “Great. Thanks.”

An idea strikes him.

It isn’t a very good one, really. It’s possibly on the wrong side of manipulative, and it’s definitely childish. He imagines his mother dropping her head in her hands, groaning — just talk to him, Eduardo. Use your words. It would avoid a great deal of conflict, however, and Eduardo is fond of that.

Some people sell well on dates. Eduardo has never been one of them. He has never before considered this an asset.

If Mark decides that Eduardo is boring, then no harm done. Mark will stop calling. Sean will never find out. Life will go back to normal.

He wraps the chord around his wrist. “And I was thinking,” he says. “Maybe afterwards — well, I have to go to work afterwards, but when we’re both off — we could go out to dinner somewhere.”

Normally, he wouldn’t be so open early on. He afraid it comes off a touch possessive. In this situation, that’s fine.

On the other end of the line, there’s a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay,” says Mark, slowly. “The store closes at five, so.”

“Great,” says Eduardo. Then, frowning. “It was open at three yesterday.”

Mark’s voice comes back sharp, almost defensive. “If I’m there, I might as well keep it open. So sometimes I leave the lights on. Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

Eduardo runs his hand along a fold of his sheets. That sounds like territory better left untouched. “Works for me,” he says. “How about six o’clock Thursday, at the Thirsty Scholar?”

“Cool,” says Mark.

“Great,” says Eduardo. “Um. I actually have an awful headache, so —“

“Yeah, okay. I’ll, yeah, I’ll let you go.”


He takes the phone away from his ear to hang it up, and almost misses Mark saying, all quick and breathless, as if it were the answer to a test he’d crammed for the night before, “And get well soon, okay?”

Despite himself, Eduardo smiles. “Thanks. Yeah. I will. Bye, Mark.”

“Bye. Eduardo.”

Eduardo hangs up the phone.

The flat is suddenly quiet again. He falls backwards, shutting his eyes.

He barely sleeps that night, but he tries, his dreams strung through with images of redred lips and a voice like the stutter of a hard drive.

Re: Fill: 9/? - nowadventuring, 2012-05-08 03:18 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-08 03:53 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - popsongnation, 2012-05-08 04:20 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - luannab, 2012-05-08 10:38 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-08 11:14 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - skyearth85, 2012-05-09 02:28 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - oflights, 2012-05-09 02:32 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-10 12:03 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-12 04:26 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-15 04:42 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - oflights, 2012-05-22 11:57 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-28 07:33 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-05-29 03:05 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-06-18 06:14 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-07-27 12:38 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-07-27 04:54 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-08-29 01:32 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Fill: 9/? - (Anonymous), 2012-10-11 12:18 pm (UTC)(Expand)
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Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - oflights, 2012-04-23 02:47 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-24 06:47 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-23 02:51 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-23 04:34 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - slasher48, 2012-04-23 03:05 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - xbriyeon, 2012-04-23 03:12 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 1b/? - skyearth85, 2012-04-23 05:48 am (UTC)(Expand)
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Re: your perfect chaos, 2b/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-24 02:24 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 2b/? - slasher48, 2012-04-24 02:35 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 2b/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-24 06:41 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 2b/? - skyearth85, 2012-04-24 08:37 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 2b/? - lnotation, 2012-04-24 12:37 pm (UTC)(Expand)
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Re: your perfect chaos, 3b/? - (Anonymous), 2012-04-28 03:24 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 3b/? - skyearth85, 2012-04-28 03:41 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 3b/? - dreamerforever, 2012-04-28 05:42 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 3b/? - xbriyeon, 2012-04-28 02:50 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 3b/? - reject36, 2012-05-07 11:14 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: your perfect chaos, 3a/? - (Anonymous), 2012-07-27 12:36 am (UTC)(Expand)