Fandom: The Social Network, Mark/Eduardo
Notes: Written for this prompt over at the kink meme. As a committed tattoo junkie myself, I couldn't let Eduardo have just one =P And of course there's porn. Because, porn.
Mark’s fingers are clumsy, fumbling over the buttons on Eduardo’s shirt and getting nowhere – expensive shirt, tiny buttons, what is this nonsense is it actually a cufflink – when Eduardo, laughing, pushes Mark back, saying, “I’ll do it, Jesus, you’re a mess.” He has his shirt off in record time and puts his hands on either side of Mark’s face to bring him back down, eyes serious, but Mark isn’t satisfied and moves to pull off Eduardo’s white undershirt as well.
Wardo stills. “Wait, I’d – can we not? Yet?”
Mark furrows his brow in confusion. They’ve never done this before, and he’s never done it with a guy at all, but he’s relatively certain that taking shirts off at this stage is in no way unusual. Anyway, he wants to see. He wants to see all that gorgeous skin that, by some bizarre stroke of luck, Eduardo is letting him touch. So he pulls off his own t-shirt, figuring that puts them on an equal footing, and goes for Wardo’s again. Eduardo sighs, rolls his eyes, and raises his arms, saying, “I tried to stop you. Don’t blame me if you see something you don’t expect.”
Mark gets the shirt off and goes dumb. There, on Eduardo’s right pec, is a tattoo: in block letters, about an inch and a half high, MCLS.
Eduardo blushes and shrugs self-consciously. “It’s my grandmother’s initials. Maria Carolina Lima Saverin. I got it when she died – I was 16. I was blitzed out of my mind and no self-respecting tattoo artist should have worked on me, but what can you do? The work is good anyway, which is kind of a shock given what I paid for it…”
He trails off because Mark is staring, transfixed, and clearly tuned out. Suddenly his head snaps up, and he asks, “Is it sensitive?”
Eduardo laughs. “God no. Most of the time I forget it’s even – ”
The sentence dies abruptly when Mark ducks his head and licks a stripe up Wardo’s chest, circling the tattoo, and Wardo’s head thunks back against the arm of the couch (rather hard, and he’d be yelping if he wasn’t more concerned with the mouth on his chest). Mark’s hands press down on Eduardo’s shoulders, anchoring him to the couch, and he whispers dryly, “I had no idea you had such a wild past.”
Eduardo barks out a laugh, saying shakily, “It was hardly wild, Mark. An underage tattoo isn’t exactly possession with intent.”
Mark looks up across Wardo’s chest and oh god, his eyes are burning. “Do you have any more?”
Eduardo’s eyes widen and he realizes that his breathing is getting faster. He nods jerkily and bucks his hips up, trying to dislodge Mark. Their cocks bump, surprising gasps out of both of them – Eduardo hadn’t realized Mark was hard yet (which, he realized later, should have been obvious, but it’s not like higher-order thinking skills were something he had much of at that moment) – but Mark doesn’t move, instead grinding down with his forehead braced on Eduardo’s chest.
Nothing is going to get accomplished that way, and Wardo gasps out, “Mark. Mark.” Mark looks up, lust written all over his face. Eduardo’s brain briefly goes offline, but he forges on, asking, “Do you want to see or don’t you?”
Mark practically pulls something in his efforts to get off Eduardo, and, chuckling, Wardo rolls over, exposing his back for Mark’s perusal. This time Mark straight-up gasps. “Jesus, Wardo,” he breathes, and Eduardo feels warm fingers trace familiar paths on his skin. Mark’s shock isn’t unexpected; most people react similarly when they see his back for the first time. This is because it is covered in ink.
“When?” Mark whispers, running his fingers down Eduardo’s spine.
“Last summer,” comes the reply. “When you make $300,000 on weather patterns, of all things, it feels like a good time to take care of things you might not have a chance to do later.”
Mark’s fingers haven’t stopped moving, tracing tattoos. There’s a line of text written in cursive down Eduardo’s spine: “you can crawl / you can fly too / it’s down to you / it all comes down to you”. The text is bracketed by two gigantic, furled wings running the length of Eduardo’s back, tips disappearing below his waistband. Across the small of his back, between the two wingtips, is more cursive text: “coming down is the hardest thing”.
“What do they mean?” he asks eventually, fingers teasing the tips of the wings (and the top of Wardo’s ass).
Eduardo’s breathing went heavy around the same time Mark’s fingers went south, but he manages, “It’s about staying grounded. The line in the middle is to remind me that I control my destiny. The wings are ... well, kind of the opposite of staying grounded,” he acknowledges with a quiet laugh, “but they’re to remind me to always aspire to greatness. The line on the bottom is to remind me of what happens when I forget to take care.”
He isn’t any more ready for Mark’s tongue this time than he was last time, gasping as it runs down his spine and across the text at the bottom. Mark’s hands curl around the knobs of his shoulder blades, where the wings “connect,” and he says, voice low, “If I don’t hold you down, will you fly away?”
Eduardo arches into the touch and reaches back blindly, grabbing Mark’s head and hauling him forward to kiss desperately, messily. “If I did,” he says, pausing from running the tip of his tongue over Mark’s lips, “I’d take you with me.”
Mark kisses back almost savagely, and he’s humping his dick on Eduardo’s ass shamelessly. “Wardo,” he gasps, “I want – ” But words leave him, caught up in the feel of skin on skin and, whenever he glances down, the sight of all that gorgeous ink on Eduardo’s back. It’s a secret, he knows, something Eduardo only shares with select individuals, and while that certainly makes him feel – well, feel something, his fascination is less with the secretiveness than with the fact that this is Wardo, perfectly polite son of Brazilian elites, never seen in off-label clothes, always smells like something expensive that comes out of a bottle, the prototypical guy you’d take home to meet your parents, and he has apparently been walking around with several hundred (thousand? Mark has no idea) dollars’ worth of fucking tattoos on his body and just never bothered to mention it to anyone. It’s totally contradictory to his image, and something in Mark practically growls with arousal at this new side of Eduardo.
“What?” Wardo is whispering. “What do you want?”
Mark pulls back slightly and just looks at him. “I want to fuck you,” he says, not meeting Eduardo’s eyes. “But I don’t – I’m not sure – ”
Wardo laughs softly and runs a hand through Mark’s hair. “I can tell you how to do it,” he says, smiling, “but that’s sort of a big step for the first time.”
Mark shrugs. “Go big or go home, right?” he says, totally serious.
Eduardo laughs again, shakes his head. “Can you actually do what I tell you and not ask a lot of stupid questions? I know you’re a genius, but getting this wrong is something we will both regret spectacularly. You have to listen to me – “ – he shakes Mark lightly – “ – and not complain.”
Mark nods. He feels like he could do anything Wardo asked if he meant he’d be able to get his dick in him.
The next few minutes are a blur of explanations, after which Mark (who can barely see straight he’s so hard) says, “Maybe I’d understand this better if I just…” at which he reaches forward, pulls down Eduardo’s pants and boxer-briefs, and runs his tongue (Mark is apparently very tongue-centric) from the base to the tip of Eduardo’s cock. Wardo moans and his hips jerk, and he laughs breathily. “Jesus, Mark.”
Mark looks up from between Eduardo’s legs and says only, “Roll over.”
Eduardo does, which traps his dick between the couch and his body. Not the most comfortable position, but worth it because oh jesus god Mark has lubed up one finger and is sliding it in.
“Okay?” comes the voice from behind him. Eduardo looks over his shoulder and Mark’s brow is knitted in concentration.
“More than,” he says, arching up into the touch and actually moaning when Mark, moving as instructed, presses on his prostate. “Oh God,” he whispers thickly, and starts rocking a little faster. Mark sticks with one finger for a while, then quickly pulls out. Wardo moans a little at the loss, but it turns into a moan of yes when Mark adds a second finger.
Eduardo is incredibly hot, Mark realizes as he works his fingers inside. Not like – well, like that for sure, but he’s amazed at the temperature inside another person. He rubs his fingers over the bump of Eduardo’s prostate, wringing gasps and moans out of him and watching his gorgeous, gorgeous back ripple. The wings practically look like they’re in flight. He slowly adds a third finger (and by now there is lube everywhere, he has no idea if it stains but if it does this couch is done for) and Eduardo’s moan gets more guttural.
“You’re okay,” Mark says. It’s not a question.
Eduardo looks over his shoulder. The wings seem to fold up a little as his back twists. “Mark, if you don’t get your dick in me right the fuck now I swear to God I will come without it.”
Mark wastes no time. He pulls his fingers out of Wardo’s ass (Wardo moans quietly and ineffectually rocks back and forth, looking for fullness that isn’t there), adds yet more lube to his dick, presses against Wardo’s hole and starts to go in.
The hiss he hears stops him in his tracks, as does the tensing of that back (Mark has never been more attuned to the movements of another person’s body in his life). He freezes as Eduardo grits out, “Just. Hold. Still.” His breathing is incredibly rapid, but it slowly calms down, and finally he says, “Okay. Go. Just be slow.”
Mark presses in as slowly as he can, clutching Wardo’s hips in a death grip to keep himself from slamming all the way in and breaking the man under him in half. Finally he’s all the way in, and Eduardo whispers, “Okay. Okay. Now just … you can go. Just slowly.”
Mark doesn’t thrust at this point, just sort of rocks back and forth. When he’s comfortable with the pace, he lets go of Eduardo’s hips and starts running his hands over his back. Once again, they find Wardo’s shoulder blades, and he grabs the knobs, feeling like he’s holding Wardo’s secret in his hands. “Wardo,” he gasps, brokenly, and Eduardo moans in response. He pushes back on Mark’s cock and, looking over his shoulder (the wings fold in again), gasps, “Please.”
Mark stops trying to be gentle as Eduardo fucks him back, and it isn’t long before Eduardo is moaning, “Mark – Mark, please, I’m gonna – ” Mark can tell by the rapid movement of his shoulder (and yes, the wing looks like it’s flying) that he’s jerking himself, and a second later he’s crying out and jesus christ clenching around Mark’s dick again and again, which finishes Mark off immediately. He comes with Wardo’s name in his mouth.
He pulls out, gets rid of the condom, and collapses back on top of Wardo’s back. “What do you think?” he asks. “Do I take instruction well?”
Eduardo chuckles, head turned sideways to look at Mark, whose chin is resting on his shoulder. “Normally it’s humping, hand jobs, blow jobs, blow jobs, yet more blow jobs, penetration. Leave it to you to jump right to the championship round.”
Mark smiles. “I saw no reason to waste time with everything else when all I wanted was to bury my dick in your ass and watch your back move.”
Wardo rolls his eyes. “Not everyone thinks the rest of those things are wastes of time, Mark,” but he pulls him down for a kiss anyway.
Later, when they’re in bed, Mark finds himself tracing the text down Wardo’s spine lightly, over and over. He needs to find what both pieces of text are from when he wakes up. He’s never wanted to look up something about a person before. He feels sort of good about it.
A/N: The first tattoo is from Down to You, by Joni Mitchell. The third is from Learning to Fly by Tom Petty.