[PART TWO] OVERFLOW POST

[zuckonitkinkeme.livejournal.com]

THE SOCIAL NETWORK PART TWO OVERFLOW POST


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PLEASE REPOST PROMPT AND IN A REPLY, A LINK TO PREVIOUS PARTS AND THEN CONTINUE ON. thank you.

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[RPF] Andrew/Jesse; through the emergency-exit glass. 1/4

[restlesspuppy.livejournal.com]

(prompt: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/390.html?thread=138630 I KNOW IT'S AN OLD PROMPT GAFASDAS couldn't help myself.)

Justin didn’t know who Andrew Garfield or Jesse Eisenberg even *were* before this movie. He met them at the first reading, and they didn’t seem to know anyone else, either. There was Jesse, who fell over his own words, fidgeted with his sleeves and stuttured like there was no tomorrow. Honestly. Justin felt as though he’d just stepped into a live-action version of ‘The King’s Speech.’ and then there was Andrew, who cracked odd jokes, had a rather charming smile and seemed to have no boundaries when it came to touching. They’d known each other for a day, and he was sitting right next to Jesse at the reading, their shoulders were pressed flush against one another, and Justin should have known something wasn’t quite right there.

Jesse drove Andrew to the set each morning. Justin always saw them arrive, he brought it up to Armie as the two made their way down to the coffee stand, and the both of them snickered over their latte’s, because they honestly couldn’t imagine Jesse and Andrew in any situation that wasn’t immensely awkward and filled to the brim with stutters and goofy laughter.

He didn’t quite realize how wrong he was until his character was finally introduced to set. Whenever the camera wasn’t rolling, Jesse seemed to gravitate to Andrew, and Andrew’s hand always seemed to find purchase somewhere on Jesse’s body, (his shoulder, his arm, even his hip) and Justin just watched them through narrowed eyes until Aaron thrust the script under his nose and asked if he knew the scene by heart yet. He’d pretend to be reading, but his gaze settled on Jesse and Andrew again, talking and laughing in their little corner of the set, Aaron reached Jesse’s side, and said something to him. Andrew was still looking at Jesse, and his hazel eyes darted down to the other man’s lips as he licked them in earnest, nodding to whatever Aaron had said.

That was Justin’s second clue.

Re: [RPF] Andrew/Jesse; through the emergency-exit glass. 2/4

[restlesspuppy.livejournal.com]

Then, they were shooting the nightclub scene, and Andrew wasn’t on film, but he was close by. It was late, just past midnight, and apparently, Justin wasn’t the only one who was spent. Jesse was sitting on the overstuffed leather sofa with Andrew, he was asleep - his head resting on Andrew’s shoulder, and those brown curls of his seemed to be unwinding at last. Andrew looked content, too. Tugging at the hem of Jesse’s oversized gray hoodie.

Admittedly, Justin’s third clue.

Then there were the interviews. The fucking interviews that Justin absolutely hated. Unscripted had grinded his nerves down to a pulp, as soon as Andrew said; “Right, I’m going to go off script here for a second.” he might as well have just stood up and walked away. He pretended he wasn’t listening, pretended to be distracted by something behind the camera, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. He tuned back in when he heard Andrew say “there was just something about your face…” he frowned slightly, none of his male friends had ever said anything like that to him… and Jesse’s use of the words; “Fallen in love with me - off camera!” had hindered his interest even more.

They weren’t clues anymore. Justin knew something was going on between his cast members.

Trouble is a Lonesome Town

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt is here: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=3381490#t3381490

"Sean wants Mark. But Mark is with Eduardo and happy with Eduardo. During the dilution fiasco, Sean offers Mark a deal. He'll let Eduardo have 15% of shares if Mark sleeps with him. Mark, wanting to keep Eduardo close, agrees. When Eduardo finds out Mark cheated on him, he leaves and Sean finally has Mark all to himself. Eventually Eduardo discovers the truth and comes back to save Mark Non con, h/c please.

TL;DR Sean tricks Mark into sleeping with him. Eduardo sees them together and leaves. He comes back after learning the truth and saves Mark from creeper/abuser Sean."

Staking a spot here, while I work on the next installment.

Re: Trouble is a Lonesome Town

[(Anonymous)]

has this been filled? if not, are you actually working on it?

Re: Trouble is a Lonesome Town

[slasher48.livejournal.com]

ALL I WANT IN LIFE IS YOUR RETURN AND FINISHING THIS FIC. :/

Trouble is a Lonesome Town (11a/?)

[(Anonymous)]

(A/N: I am so heinously sorry, but I had a divorce with this fic, and now I'm working on a reconciliation. That sounds like an incredibly twee reason... but that's the best I got. Finishing this now for my sake....)

--------------------------------

That status update alone flooded his inbox with gawking messages of varying degrees of shock and surprise, not to mention the dozen calls from his media acquaintances digging for a story. And that put paid to Facebook being more than a placeholder for them.

Eduardo was sure that was real irony, and not just the Alanis Morissette kind.

And that was fine. More than fine, because even at the best of times he would not have wanted to have this... whatever it was that they were having encased in a cyber display of blue and white, susceptible to comments and the stray ‘likes’ like their reconciliation was some kind of performance art for the world to consume.


From: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>
To: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>

I really miss good cheap tacos. Still, the local hawker stuff here can’t be beat.

e.s.


From: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
To: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>

I haven’t asked, but I’m pretty sure Chris would take that as an opening about chilli crabs and how great they are. That goy.


From: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>
To: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>

Were you saying that with a cheeseburger in your mouth?

e.s


From: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
To: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>

No. I typed that with a meat lovers’ pizza in my hand.

They don’t call each other—they weren’t that kind of friends; not yet. But the textual exchanges were mostly trivial, the negotiation of their shared airspace built on random comments on the trivial observations of their life, the food, the weather, their mutual incomprehension of golf and F1 racing (well, the F1 racing was mutual once Eduardo explained what that was).

From: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
To: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>
Subj: Brazil?

The World... Cup...?

From: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>
To: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
Subj: Re: Brazil?

Sure?

e.s

From: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
To: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>

I don’t remember if you’re ever into soccer.

From: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>
To: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>

To be honest, I’m more of a fan of the atmosphere. Especially when my uncles were over. I guess you could say I’m a Brasil fan by default thanks to them.

From: “Mark Zuckerberg” <mark@...>
To: “Eduardo Saverin” <esaverin@...>

I don’t think I ever noticed. I don’t know why I asked.

+++++++++

[RPF] Andrew/Jesse - AU Notting Hill

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt here: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=3409394#t3409394

I re-watched the movie not long ago and OMG I want to read smth like that with Andrew and Jesse.
Jesse is a young single man working in a bookshop and living with his cats. He is draged from dinner to dinner by his two bestfriends Emma and Joe so he'll meet someone.
Andrew is an american 'super star'.
It's not obliged to be in Nothing Hill at London, can be in America and else, and it does not has to be the exact copy of the movie. It's the r/s star/commoner that I want in here.

Bonus Point if Jesse has a daughter.

[second fill] i don't want you to save me [previous parts]

[(Anonymous)]

part 1a: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=6079474#t6079474
and here 1b (and part 4): http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=6079730#t6079730

part 2: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=6508530#t6508530

part 3: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=8230898#t8230898

Because, sorry, I obviously don't know how to post in order ;_;

Eduardo/Mark Spy AU

[smiles.livejournal.com]

So after he signed the non-disclosure agreement Eduardo fell off the face of the earth. A clever, bilingual, wealthy, and very handsome young man. Known yet anonymous, cut off from all personal ties, lost without a sense of purpose. A man with little regard for his life.

In short, prize pickings for the CIA. Eduardo gets recruited in Singapore and becomes an spy. He thrives.

Until it emerges that the target of the grand-scale terrorist plot his team has been tracking is, of course, Facebook itself. And worse still, the terrorists have a mole on the inside.

So now Eduardo Saverin, Super Secret Agent Man must go undercover as Eduardo Saverin, Shareholder Scorned.

All this time he'd managed to convince himself he left the hurt of what happened in the past, but the second he sees Mark again the lie he built his new life on starts to crumble.

Aaaaaaaand GO!!!

You Only Live Twice (Unless You're Facebook. Then You Live Forever)

[smiles.livejournal.com]

Parts 1 - 36 here (http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=1826290#t1826290) (scroll down).

You Only Live Twice Extra 1a/1

[smiles.livejournal.com]

Um, so. Yeah, this isn't an update perse. I'm still working on that. But I kind of had the urge to write something from Mark's POV and then this happened. So yeah, I wrote a coda. And it feels very weirdly like I'm writing fanfic of my fanfic. Anyway, thank you all for reading and your patience and I LOVE YOU ALL I WANT TO HUG EVERYONE.

In the beginning, Mark is too busy to miss Eduardo (it’s totally not that he’s still upset. Because he’s not. He was never upset. Mark doesn’t feel that way about Eduardo, okay?). He signs the settlement papers with a quick stroke of his pen, a tradition of ink on parchment repeated for centuries, the irony not lost on him. He lives on the internet—the world lives on the internet—but Wardo is always pulling him back to Earth, to life, to circles of people who never welcomed him, to places he never belonged (but Wardo doesn’t belong there, either. Wardo doesn’t belong to frat parties or Wallstreet. And Wardo doesn’t belong to the internet and the new age of living. Wardo is a force all on his own, like the weather he loves to document, an autobiography, a prediction more accurate than any crystal ball. Wardo is that little piece of magic that reminds you there is power beyond yourself, power you can’t control despite all the walls you put up and all the enticements to bring a sunny day, give us a little rain, warm up, cool down, snow, don’t snow, I need you, please don’t tell him I said that, I won’t go back to that, why aren’t you here?).

So Mark doesn’t think about Eduardo at first because he’s too busy building the most life-changing phenomenon this world has ever seen. He’s too busy gaining three hundred million friends, too busy having dinner with diplomats and ambassadors and presidents and Bill Gates and Steve fucking Jobs. And when sometimes he does find he’s a little bit nostalgic, he hosts a hackathon or he lets Dustin off his leash and watches the fun (and chaos) that follows (Dustin insists fun and chaos are the same word anyway. He has an entire spiel that follows the etymology of fun down to cheat and on to chance and after about three minutes Mark stops listening because it’s all in Dustin-logic. And Dustin-logic also states that unicorns exist, or at least they did during the dinosaur age, and probably co-habitated with leprechauns or something equally ridiculous and magical and really, he has more important issues to deal with, like does Dustin ever really do any work and should they seek professional help to fix his brain?).

But sometimes (very rarely, of course), when it’s quiet at night and the latest update has been launched without a hitch, when the party is over and he’s sitting in his office illuminated only by the bluish glow of his laptop screen, he feels like he can’t breathe. He’s pulling in oxygen and exhaling it just fine, physically. He knows that. But that doesn’t stop the feeling that he can’t draw in a proper breath.

In-in-inhale.

He pulls up Eduardo’s Facebook page.

Hold. Hold. Hold.

He pulls up Eduardo’s Facebook page which hasn’t changed since even before the lawsuit, so it doesn’t do Mark any good anyway.

Hold. Hold. Hold. He can’t release, the oxygen is gone and he’s starting to suffocate in carbon dioxide.

His page is a skeleton at best and there are no new photos, no status updates, no events, nothing.

In-in-inhale, he needs more oxygen but there’s no more room for it. In-in-in—

So Mark does what any good, logical, not-missing-his-best-friend-ever CEO would do. He calls Chris.

He calls Chris because Chris went back to Harvard and yes, before anyone even dares to ask, it’s way different from when Eduardo wanted to stay at school. Chris is in public relations so it makes sense for him to finish his degree. Wardo should have been there because Wardo was his CFO (Wardo was his but he wasn’t there. Which meant Wardo wasn’t his.

CFO, that is).

So he calls Chris and demands a status update on Wardo. And maybe his course list.

And maybe the names of some of his new friends.

And Facebook pages.

And social security numbers.

You know, normal chit-chat type of questions.

[(Anonymous)]

im dyingggg

Errant coment fill - I'm dying. 1/~3

[(Anonymous)]

What do I do with the free afternoon I want to use to write a bit of TSN? Work on my WIP? Or one of the dozen other fics I was going to write? Mh, decisions deci - ooh, look, an errant comment! Typed in a rush, saved for a read-through to check for hints of salvageability, and declared good for posting 8 hours later without even looking at it (hello typos and embarrassing mistakes). I blame a friend's birthday and the tequila. Mostly the tequila. I can't be held responsible for this.

"I'm dying."

He's stating a fact. He's not panicking, just maybe a bit surprised.

There are people around him, hands on him, trying to pull him up and push him down (can't they make up their mind), and there's this pressure on his chest, this weight, and a man is kneeling down next to him and presses down (which is stupid, Mark is having trouble breathing already as it is).

The ground is cold against his back, rough. Or maybe it's just Mark who's cold, and the ground is fine. He's cold all over, with a hot heavy fire burning in his chest.

The man is wearing a white dress shirt, no jacket, and part of Mark's brain thinks that it's probably his balled-up jacket that he's pressing to the weight, to the fire, to the, the. Hole.

Another man, upset, trying to walk up to Mark. People are easily upset; Mark didn't bother to pay attention to some stranger yelling abuse at him, he's used to it and the man didn't look like he'd try to beat Mark up with lawyers flocking around Mark like sharks smelling blood.

Blood. Suit jackets can't be very good at this. A hoodie would probably work much better. More absorbent.

And Mark had had enough accusations for one day (week, month, enough to last a lifetime, and isn't that ironic) and just walked on.

Familiar faces he can't place and hands holding and patting and voices talking at him (as if that could do any good) but not to him, with him, and he tries again,

"I'm dying."

And then something at hit him on (in) the chest, and the world must have turned because suddenly Mark was staring up at it (must have fallen), and something sat on him heavily and he couldn't breathe (in and out, hissing and coppery in his mouth) and he was cold and there was a little fountain bubbling merrily and rhythmically and red and pressure and platitudes he can't hear and doesn't care about.

He doesn't even know who that man was.

"I'm dying."

He is, and no one is listening to him, can they even hear him, maybe there isn't enough breath left in his body to speak, but he knows he is, no one is listening to him, they all babble nonsensically how he's going to be okay and alright and the ambulance is almost there, and Mark feels like the calmest person around. He'd just like someone to listen to him and acknowledge that, yes, he is dying.

"You're not."

He is.

"You're not dying."

A touch to his face, warm, the only warmth he can feel aside from the heat in his chest, and that's enough to make him look up, screw his eyes up, and see someone finally talking with him, and he's so relieved at that he almost forgets it's to contradict him (he knows, if anyone should know it's Mark, he's the one lying there).

"Wardo."

And Mark is so relieved because Wardo will listen to him, Wardo will talk with him, Wardo'll agree that Mark is dying, because Wardo always listens to Mark, Wardo's the only one who listens, who sees.

"You're not dying. You are not dying Mark, do you hear me?"

And he remembers, Wardo doesn't listen, not anymore, didn't listen, and now Wardo disagrees when Mark says the sky is blue, now all Wardo does is disagree, all they do is fight anymore, across tables and with accusations of who started it, like children in a sandbox, and maybe Mark had gone too far, but he didn't start it, and he'll die before he gives in.

And.

Oh.

Mark is dying.

"Wardo."

"No, no, you're not, you'll be fine, you'll be fine, Mark, I won't let you, you're not, not here, not like, like, not with us –"

"Wardo."

Eduardo/Mark, Groundhog Day AU

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

Groundhog day fic, where both of them are stuck in the time loop, preferably post-movie, and have to work together to fix it.

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't)

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

part 1- 11 (http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=1983474#t1983474) just scroll down a bit

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't) 13a/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

AN: I'm trying very hard to get to the point where Mark's motives become clear

By the time Eduardo hits the interstate the rain is so heavy that he can't see anymore than five feet ahead of him, despite the speed of his windshield wipers. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel and his teeth ache from clenching them so hard. He thinks he hears them crack, but it's only the sound of hail smacking the windshield. The sound makes him flinch and jerk his foot on the brake. The car lurches before Eduardo rights it and returns his foot to the gas.

Eduardo slowly applies more pressure to the pedal, accelerating into the blindness, feeling careless in a way that he has taught himself not to be. Because, somewhere in coming to the realization that the universe is contriving to drive him, in the form of high waters, back to Mark and keep him there, Eduardo found his reckless streak.

When he finally turns off the road it is too fast and too sudden of a stop. He isn't wearing a seat belt like it is in an act of rebellion. He's almost disappointed when he barely gets whiplash and the car doesn't flip. Wanting to feel something beyond his rage, Eduardo slaps a hand down on the dashboard. Pain vibrates up his arm and still Eduardo clenches his teeth harder.

The rain roars outside the window and lightening flashes in the sky.

Eduardo hopes that some unlucky bastard isn't out on the road in this.

He isn't even halfway to San Francisco.

Eduardo slaps the dashboard again. His heart aches and his limbs feel out of place. It's as if he is a ball of rage and not even running until he collapses sounds cathartic, he slaps the dashboard wishing that the plastic could feel it. He is so angry that he wants to hurt the car, wants it to cry in pain. He wants it to be obliterated beneath his touch.

On the passenger seat his phone is buzzing with in-coming calls. There were already fifteen new text messages on the phone by the time Eduardo had gotten out of the neighborhood. Dustin has called at least twice already but Eduardo is done caring. Mark can take his site and his coding and his emotionally-stunted brain and shove them up his ass, as far as Eduardo is concerned. Eduardo wants to wash his hands of it.

Except, tomorrow is going to start all over again and he has absolutely no choice.

“Fuck!” Eduardo screams, throwing himself back in the seat and stomping at the floor. His clothes are too tight and in his mind's eye Eduardo is watching Mark across the deposition table shrugging. Shrugging and murmuring a mocking 'oops' to Eduardo's disbelief.
Eduardo is too angry to look beyond how much he hates Mark's face to think about why he's so upset.

When he cools down enough that his punching and slapping of the car's interior changes to shaking, Eduardo thinks that, all this hate is because once again he had thought Mark was offering him everything. And Eduardo was fooled again. He can't touch and he can't have, they aren't even friends. And Eduardo is angry again because there are tears burning his eyes and he feels so stupid for forgetting it was all just an (awful) attempt at a truce.

Eduardo clambers into the back of the car as he starts to cry. He curls in on himself in between stray pieces of Sean's clothing, back pressed to the door and his neck being chilled by the window. Holding tight to his knees Eduardo begs for the rain to end.

--

When he wakes up, neck stiff and sprawled over the backseat, it is still raining.

Eduardo looks out at it as he rubs the dry sticky lines of tears from his cheeks. He feels bone tired and his joints are stiff from the position he has been in. The choice, Eduardo thinks as he stares out at the veil of falling water, is either to turn around and go back or to go forward. There be monsters, Eduardo thinks in regards to both directions. He tucks his hands beneath his arms and mulls on that for a moment before letting his mind go blissfully blank.

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't) 14/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

For two weeks worth of days Eduardo wakes up on the plane to SFO, drives to Mark's house, has Dustin hack the Art Gallery's building plans from an online archive, and studies the plans until he can draw the floor plan freehand. Everyday Dustin gives him a confused look before saying, “okee dokee.”

The first four days, Dustin would also look to Mark, who had hovered for hours after Eduardo returned to the house. If Mark was known to act fretful, Eduardo would think that was what he was doing. He would follow Eduardo from room to room and when he would sit down to code it was as if Mark was too distracted to do more than hunt and peck.

By the fifth day, though Mark had disappeared into his room, leaving Eduardo to make and remake flashcards as he pleased. Eduardo doesn't give the odd behavior, or it's disappearance, much concern until the third weeks worth of the same day.

Eduardo is in the living room, sitting cross-legged and leaned over the coffee table. He is drawing the blue prints from memory while he goes through the steps to securely shut down security under his breath. Dustin is in the far corner spinning in his desk chair while he waits for code to compile. He is also loudly humming Suga Suga while he waits. When Dustin spontaneously breaks out in the chorus Eduardo looks up with a laugh.

“Don't front,” Dustin says with a grin. “You love that song.”

Eduardo opens his mouth to respond when he's interrupted by the sound of a crash. It's coming from one of the bedrooms in the back, but it's still early and the majority of the programmers are at work in the dining room. Sean comes out of the kitchen, looking tired and cupping a mug of coffee. There is a second crash and Dustin, Sean, and Eduardo just stare blankly at the hallway door. There is a third crash and then an outraged yell and suddenly all three are in motion.

Dustin's chair hits the wall as he shoves out of it and makes a run for the door. Eduardo is tripping over his feet as Dustin leaps over the coffee table and slides knees first into the door. Sean's slower, setting his coffee down as he goes. A frown is screwing up his mouth and Eduardo would think that the only thing going through Sean's mind is that there's something wrong with his “golden-ticket.” Except, if Sean wasn't moving calmly he wouldn't have been able to slide between Dustin and Eduardo and open the door. In their frantic states, neither Eduardo nor Dustin could seem to figure out how to make the handle work.

When they get into Mark's room his head jerks up from where he had it cradled in his hands. They probably scared the shit out of him, bursting into his room like they did. Dustin moves to his side first, he reaches out to touch Mark who flinches away. His eyes are nearly as hard set as his frown. But his eyes look wet and his cheeks are flushed. Mark's hair looks like he was pulling on it.

And then there is the state of his laptop which is smashed to pieces mostly in the corner of the room. There are dents in the walls, as if Mark threw the laptop against them.

“What the fuck, Mark?”

Eduardo isn't sure who it is that spoke until Mark's steely gaze swings toward Sean.

“It's none of your fucking business, Sean.”

He shoves past all of them, out the door and further out of the hallway. Dustin is the first one to move, already out of the hallway by the time the sound of the front door closing – clicking in a controlled action instead of slamming – echoes back to them. Eduardo follows more slowly, his stomach twisted. He feels like he should understand, this is so far out of Mark usual behavior. Even when he's angry, Eduardo has only ever heard him yell at him once. He head out onto the porch with Sean shuffling even more slowly behind him. Sean hovers in the front door, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed tight across his chest and licking his lips nervously while Eduardo stands in the middle of the porch, dumbfounded. And watching Dustin curl an arm over Mark's shoulders, pulling the curled form up against his side and whispering something against Mark's ear. Eduardo feels cold, and jealous in a way that makes him hate himself.

And Mark doesn't react. Just digs his fingers deeper into his hair.

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't) 15/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

This part is a bit of filler, the next part is going to be potentially triggery in the same way the events of the original film with Bill Murray was~ there will be a full warning/author note posted with it


Sean and Eduardo go back into the house after a while, it becomes clear that they aren't necessary and standing around watching Dustin rub Mark's shoulders is all that there is for them to do. Inside the house, Eduardo goes back to his blue prints and his note cards, but he has a hard time focusing on them. Eduardo runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at it and digging his nails into his scalp. Neither does much to focus Eduardo's attention.

He might as well give it for a lost cause, he decides, when the quiet sound of the front door opening and closing draws his attention immediately. Dustin smiles at Eduardo from over Mark's shoulder. It's a sad, tight-lipped smile. Then Dustin moves slowly around Mark and moves towards his forgotten desktop.

Mark stands stock still, his hands clenching at his sides. It's a full beat of Mark staring ahead of him unseeing and opening and closing his hands. His body is tense.

Eduardo doesn't know what's worse, how high strung Mark looks or the fact that he notices it instantly.

Eduardo swallows hard and turns back to the surface of the coffee table and his sketch of the art museum. It doesn't keep him from noticing when Mark trudges out of the room and through the hallway doorway.

It only takes a moment for Eduardo to find his feet and follow.

--

“Mark,” Eduardo calls. He knocks on the door of one of the guest/intern bedrooms as he speaks. Mark wasn't in his bedroom, or any of the other rooms, so by process of elimination this is the only room left. Like every time Eduardo knocked, though there isn't a response. So Eduardo slowly eases the door open. Mark turns his head minutely, enough for Eduardo to push the door open and step inside.

“Hey,” Eduardo says. Mark gives a small nod before facing the bedroom wall opposite from the door. He is standing in front of the bed and still opening his hands with little idea of what to do with himself.

“Are you alright?”

Mark shrugs. Then he tenses nearly simultaneously with Eduardo's own coiling muscles.

“Fine, Eduardo.”

“You can,” Eduardo starts. The sentence falls dead in the air between them.

When Mark speaks again there is an edge to his voice. “I am fine Eduardo.”

Eduardo leaves the room as quietly as he came in, face flushed with embarrassment and anger.

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't) 16a/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

Notes&Warnings below.

It bounces around in Eduardo's head the next time he wakes up on the flight to SFO.
You can tell me. I'm the guy who wants to help.
Eduardo scrunches his eyes shut and tightens his fingers around the arms rests.
If there's something wrong, if there's ever anything wrong, you can tell me. I'm the guy that wants to help.

The memory makes Eduardo's heart hurt, though not in the usual way. It is a sympathetic pang. He misses being that boy, the one so willing to give, even if that boy's naivete was his Achilles heel. No matter what, Eduardo was bound to be stomped on by the world for wearing his heart on his sleeve. Not that he thinks Mark did him any favors by beating the world to the punch.

“Are you alright, sir?” the flight attendant asks of Eduardo.

Slowly opening his eyes Eduardo swallows and says, “I'm not fond of flying.”

It's not exactly a lie, there are only so many times that he can wake up to the shake of turbulence without being utterly over air travel. The attendant smiles at him, saying something useless and sympathizing before she removes her hand from Eduardo's shoulder and passes on. Eduardo tilts his head further against his seat and closes his eyes again. The plane shakes underfoot as Eduardo drifts.

He drifts as he steps off the plane, feeling less like himself as he moves through the airport at a snail's pace. His feet are leaden with memories and his head feels heavy on his shoulders. There is no way for Eduardo to know how much time he has already spent in this bubble in time. It could be a year as far as he could know. And maybe, that's what had left Mark broken the day before, coaxed out of his bedroom only by Dustin. And even then, only for an hour before he had snuck back into the hallway and hidden away until the sun had set and the day began again.

Eduardo's shoes making soft clacking sounds on the airport floor as he moves from baggage claim with his computer bag slung over one shoulder. With one hand tucked into his pocket, Eduardo heads for the pick-up bay, having become accustomed to finding his own transportation back to the house in Palo Alto. It is raining outside of the automatic doors and something about the sight causes Eduardo to falter.

He turns around and goes back for his forgotten duffel bag. Security jostles him, having nothing better to do in the mostly dead building. It takes twenty-minutes to get back to the conveyer belt where Eduardo's duffel is going around in a solitary loop. He heaves it up and onto his other shoulder, then walks just as slowly back through the building as he had the first time.

When Eduardo gets back to the pick-up/drop-off zone it is nearly forty-minutes since he exited the plane. He waited longer for Mark to stand him up. A taxi pulls up to the curb and the driver opens his door, stepping halfway out before Eduardo can tell him that, 'no, I'll just take my bags into the backseat.' The driver twists back into his seat, flipping on the meter as he goes. The click-click of the older meter running up numbers is a soothing sound. Eduardo lets it soothe him as he continues to drift, resting his head against the rain streaked window because it feels too heavy to be supported by bone and muscle.

Eduardo makes plan as he stares at the rain making tangled paths on the glass. Tomorrow, he plots, he will convince Mark into Sean's car. Then Eduardo can see if the horrid weather is trying to keep him near Mark or inside the summer rental. If they, Mark and he and whoever else wants to go, can make it out of the city without the obstruction of a hailstorm then Eduardo can go to the art museum and see the security with his eyes.

Eduardo closes his eyes and shuffles closer to the door. If tomorrow goes to plan, he could be one step closer to having stolen something, and closer to making this loop worthwhile. He smiles and tucks his arms around his body, and under his coat.

“Sir,” the driver calls. And Eduardo hums in response, not bothering to open his eyes, but he does turn his head in the man's direction. “Are you sure this is the right address,” the driver asks in a worried tone. Eduardo frowns. He opens his eyes to the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights.

If I could take it all back then I would (but I won't) 17/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

Hey! So I am definitely still working on this, doing an edit and finishing it up as we speak! So please, please bear with me! :)



Eduardo moves slowly, afraid to startle Mark, and wraps his arms around Mark's waist. Mark shudders at the sudden feeling of Eduardo's slightly soggy sleeves pressing wet and soaking the front of his thin shirt. But, he doesn't pull away. So Eduardo moves slowly closer, draping himself over Mark's body. The smell of Mark; a detergent that Eduardo doesn't remember Mark using, the smell of sweat on Mark's skin which Eduardo is familiar with, and the smell of someone else's shampoo. Presumably.

Mark snorts as he sinks back into Eduardo.

“I'm not fragile,” he murmurs. His lips shake a little after the words, giving away just how long he must have been standing out here in the pool with the early morning breeze chilling his bare skin. There isn't enough of Eduardo in that moment to hold Mark tight and to make Mark warm. Something like a growl, a sound Eduardo has never heard himself make, bubbles up from his throat and his arms go tight around Mark. The sharpness of Mark's hipbones bite into the slim muscles of Eduardo's forearms. And it isn't enough.

“I wasn't trying cut you out of the company. Not this time. Not again,” Mark says, then. The words come fast and abrupt the lack of warning and context was something Eduardo used to be familiar with. He anticipated it, even relished the challenge of keeping up with Mark. But this time he doesn't need to make large mental leaps to figure out what Mark means. Eduardo sighs into the soft skin of Mark's neck.

“I know. I -” he heaves a sigh into the soft hairs beneath his nose. Mark shudders again and Eduardo digs his fingers into the muscle of Mark's sides. Eduardo doesn't try to come up with the words. He is too tired for a fight, and he doesn't see a way to start this conversation without at least throwing one gauntlet.

“Can we talk about this a hundred Thursdays from now?”

The chuckle that Mark emits is forced and not at all amused, but Eduardo takes it. He takes it and uses it as a logical reason to drag Mark bodily from the pool.

(It's scary to Eduardo how easily Mark let's Eduardo drag him inside.)

--

“Do you remember, back at Harvard, when the Winklevosses -?” Eduardo starts to ask when they are back beneath the covers. They are curled on their sides facing each other, and later Eduardo is going to make Sean drive them somewhere to get breakfast, but for now Mark is close enough that Eduardo can feel Mark's breath on his face.

Mark interrupts Eduardo's nostalgic question, “The Winklevii.”

Eduardo chuckles. “When the Winklevii chased you across campus, so you hid in my dorm three days?”

“They rowed crew, Wardo. There was some threat there.”

“Yeah,” Eduardo agrees. He runs his thumb over Mark's cheekbone, staring openly at Mark and the way Mark's skin looks against his own. It makes Eduardo's throat feel stuck, he wants to lean closer, feel Mark's obviously chapped lips under his own.

“Wardo,” Mark murmurs. He shifts over, using his hip and shoulder to get closer to Eduardo. They are pressed hip to hip and Eduardo can feel the heat of Mark through their sweats and t-shirts. Everything Eduardo is wearing and the blankets and sheets all smell of Mark. Eduardo is surrounded and swallowed by Mark, that when Mark kisses him Eduardo can't help opening his lips to Mark.

It's a soft kiss, Eduardo keeps his thumb beneath the knobbly hinge of Mark's jaw.

"I'm planning a heist," Eduardo says against Mark's jaw bone.

"Sounds illegal, Wardo," Mark whispers, sounding happy as he speaks.

"It is. You should help me."

If I could take it all back 18/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

Oh god, hi guys, so here is another small portion to tide you over. I'm trying to prep for a repost to my journal.


Eduardo wakes up three hours later cradled in Mark's arms. His head is tucked under Mark's chin and he has his lips to Mark's throat. It's nice, warm in a non-stifling sort of way. Wiggling closer and tightening his arms around Mark's waist, Eduardo pulls himself closer to Mark's thin chest and he waits, listening to Mark's soft breathing with just the edge of a whistle through his nose until Mark's grip on his hips eases.

Mark snuffles and slides down in the bed as he stretches his toes out and his neck back as far as it will go. Then he opens his eyes and looks down at Eduardo who stares back at him, biting back a smile as he watches Mark blink rapidly.

“Hey, so I was thinking that we should get Sean to take us for breakfast.”

Mark blinks at him again, but there is a twist of a grin on his lips. Eduardo notices it with perfect clarity and then feels a jolt of surprise. He feels, in that moment, that he is reading Mark perfectly and a warmth settles in his stomach. Mark is looking at him with less of a grin and a bit more concern so Eduardo can only assume that the pure glee is showing on his face, but he doesn't care.

After kissing Mark on the chin, Eduardo adds, “I'm thinking we can go in our pajamas because I don't feel like getting dressed.”

“Don't you have some sort of rule that dictates you always wear a suit?” Mark asks in a deadpan.

Eduardo laughs, full and with his head tipping back. Then he drags Mark up from the bed, kissing his nose and his cheekbones even as Mark splutters. The stumble over the covers for a second and it just causes more laughter to escape Eduardo, snorting as he holds onto Mark's shoulders for stability while Mark chuckles into his ear. Tossing a pair sweatpants at Mark, Eduardo searches the floor for a pair of his own, finding only a pair of sleep pants with basketballs and soccer balls that he shrugs at before pulling them on. They falls several inches short of his ankles and Mark is visibly amused by them but they're warm and so is Mark's stomach when Eduardo hikes Mark's shirt up to run his hands over Mark's skin.

Sean actually laughs when he sees them, snorting into his coffee after he looks up to find Eduardo and Mark standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Eduardo ignores the mess and the bowl of cereal Sean is halfway through. He tosses Sean his keys, saying, “You are taking us for breakfast,” as Sean fumbles the keys.

If I could take it all back then I would 19a/?

[salvadore-hart.livejournal.com]

Sean drives them to an iHop and Eduardo has no doubt that it is an attempt, on Sean's part, to infringe on Eduardo's supposed 'sensibilities' and the whole thing makes Eduardo want to roll his eyes. Sean has met Mark, and Eduardo doesn't doubt that at some point in his absence that Sean has watched Mark eat tuna straight from the can. If Eduardo can handle being best friend's with a boy who would gladly subsist on redvines and redbull, not to mention putting up with campus food when Mark would refuse to let Eduardo buy him a nicer meal than iHop isn't going to send him running in the opposite direction. Eduardo unbuckles and shoves the passenger door open.

When he rounds the car with Mark following him, Eduardo catches Sean smiling, not smirking, as he shakes his head and walks toward the front entrance.

At the table, after the waiter gets their orders and leaves them so he can take care of the smattering of other customers, Eduardo unwraps the napkin from around his utensils and uncaps the pen he had stolen from the pocket of the waiter's apron. Sean and Mark stare at him in shock and Eduardo grins up at them for a moment before looking back down at the sketch he is making on the thin paper surface, twirling the pen between his fingers.

“It's just something I've been practicing,” Eduardo admits as he draws the first floor of the art gallery.

“You've just casually been practicing pickpocketing?” Sean asks. The grin is wide and Eduardo can anticipate Sean's next words even before he says them. “Well shit, Saverin.”

Eduardo explains his plan to Mark, using his fork to show the paths he's been looking into, tracing the maze he's drawn from memory in faint blue lines. Mark quickly leans over the table to scrutinize blueprint, his fingers running the same paths as his eyes flicker back and forth. And to Eduardo a heat and a joy make his stomach heavy as he watches Mark become as engaged in the plot as he is when he is coding for Facebook. Blue eyes narrow and his tongue runs along his lower lip in a way that is almost too entrancing.

Eduardo ducks his head.

“Have you figured out how to disable the security cameras and trip wires?” Mark asks, chewing on his lower lip.

Squished in the corner of the booth, Sean has his fingers buried in his hair and he is starting to look shiftily about the more Eduardo explains his ideas. Ignoring the way Sean has gone from murmuring to himself and has started tearing open packets of sugar to put his nervous energy to use, Eduardo tells Mark about the security system the way Dustin had described it to Eduardo in as close to verbatim as he can. Mark nods along, fingers tapping against the surface of the table while he seems to process the information.

The waiter returns with their breakfasts and Sean says, 'thank god,' as he reaches for his Belgian waffles. Mark just nods his thanks as he lets the waiter set the omelet in front of him. He steals toast from Eduardo while he traces and retraces the lines of Eduardo's map until the napkin is nearly in shreds. Eduardo has no doubt that by the end of breakfast Mark has the map memorized. There are schematics back at the house and from the testy way that Mark is still tapping his fingers Eduardo knows that Mark will consume those too. It's crazy, the very idea that they are planning a heist without jest, but it's making Eduardo giddy.

Mark gets syrup and powdered sugar on his lips from his side-order of pancakes and Eduardo wants nothing more than to lean over the table and kiss Mark. He refrains, sitting on his hands while Sean, now calmed down and drinking a third cup of coffee, rolls his eyes at Eduardo.

Eduardo/Mark (Trigger Warning) Eating Disorder

[larface.livejournal.com]

"Only teenage girls get eating disorders."
"So what do you have?"
"An over concerned Wardo."
Orginal prompt here: http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1522.html?thread=2250226#t2250226

FILL: An Over Concerned Wardo 1/?

[larface.livejournal.com]

Also posted on my livejournal here: http://larface.livejournal.com/1763.html?view=1507#t1507
Mark's eyes had glazed over hours ago. His eyes weren't seeing any longer. The code was in his head and his long fingers flew over keys trying to keep up with the speed at which he thought. About fifty lines before a casual glance towards the window had shown the sky to now be a dark blue. The sun would be up in less than an hour. The clock in the corner of the screen told him it was 5:17.
Suddenly Mark's view of his keyboard was obscured by pack of Redvines dropping in front of him.

Mark's hand was lifted off of his mouse and a bottle of water was placed in his hand. Mark followed the line of Wardo's arm up to look into his face. Wardo's mouth was set with a concerned frown. "I was afraid you'd still be awake. I'm about to go for a run." he said. "There is a muffin on the coffee table. Eat it. And then go to sleep. Your mother will be angry with me if you die of starvation and sleep deprivation."

Wardo glanced down at his watch. "Shit. I've gotta go if I'm going to have time to shower before my meeting with the other officers of Investor's club. I'll be back after my 8 o'clock class. If you're not asleep then I'll lock you in my room without any computers. See you later."

Mark smiled as he watched Eduardo walk out of the room. He was wearing his morning running gear, a sports tank top and mesh shorts with runner's leggings underneath he carried with him a bright orange sweatshirt. Mark marveled at his friend's ability to be so awake and motivated before sunrise.

Yawning, Mark opened the locked bottom drawer of his desk. Inside was the box his printer came in. Mark opened it and placed the bag at the bottom of a pile of packaged food. A 100 calorie pack of cookies was opened. Mark grabbed two wafer thin cookies and let them melt on his tongue. Before he had the chance to eat anything more, he closed the box and relocked the drawer.

He plucked the muffin Wardo had left for him off the table and had a small bite. He swallowed reluctantly and then took a much larger bite. It tasted good, it reminded Mark of the carrot cake his mother used to make for birthdays. This time Mark grabbed a napkin. He spat out the half chewed food into it and deposited the whole thing into his trash can.
There. Thought Mark. That should be enough for Wardo. He placed the remaining half of the muffin on his bedside table so it would look like he intended to finish it later. After brushing his teeth and downing the water bottle Wardo brought him, Mark sat down on his bed.

He could go back to his laptop. He had sat down at his computer on Friday night. He had gotten up several times to drink with Chris and Dustin or to give his eyes a rest when Wardo he complained. Today was...mark wasn't entirely sure what day today was. Mark was fairly certain he hadn't slept in at least 3 days. He flopped down on his bed. Wardo was probably right. He did need some rest.

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