fic: tsn; sweet on you (NC-17) (2a/3)

[mooging]

Somehow, despite having a Spanish exam and my laptop power lead breaking, this got long enough that it had to be in THREE PARTS. OH MY GOD, WHAT EVEN IS MY LIFE? I AM SO SORRY, YOU GUYS, THIS IS RIDICULOUS.

Fact: 99 out of 100 fictional dentists say this is bad for your teeth. The other one is really bad at his job.

title: sweet on you (2/3)
: fandom: the social network
pairing: mark/eduardo
rating: R for content, but NC17 for FREQUENCY, maybe? Basically, NSFW at all.
word count: ~22,500 this part (I. DON'T. EVEN. KNOW.)
disclaimer: these are a) not based on the real people but their fictional counterparts from the 2010 film, and b) not my characters either.
summary: MORE BAKERY AU. Including feelings, feeling up, and Mark ruining Dustin's enjoyment of muffins forever.
a/n: HA HA HA, I cannot believe how long this is. Part three shouldn't take me as long, mostly because I have a big chunk of it already written from when I thought this would only be two parts long. WHAT IS MY LIFE, WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME, ETC ETC ETC. Also, I have a thread up at help_japan here, and bidding's still good there for a few more hours, if anyone's interested. ALSO EVERYONE SHOUD LOOK AT THIS: it is unbelievably good art of baker!Wardo and his SMILE and Mark by schythr, and EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS PERFECT AGSFHSDGHFJSGD. Also, thank you to Bear, who knows who she is, for listening to me panic down the phone at her about this. AND FINALLY, thank you so much to everyone who's commented on this so far, I am absolutely blown away by how wonderful everyone has been. <3333333






Mark has no idea how this normally happens, because, like, he's spent the whole day thinking about Eduardo's mouth and the curve of Eduardo's smile against Mark's ear and, well, just Eduardo in general, in between bursts of code, and now he's here and, just - okay, so, Mark refuses to believe that the rest of the world spend dates just sort of awkwardly edging around the fact that they want to get in each other's pants, because there is a limit to his suspension of disbelief, and that limit is standing opposite Eduardo in his little apartment kitchen and watching him turn onions golden in a pan on his stove when Mark couldn't really care a whole lot less about the fucking pasta sauce.

"Wardo," he says, and Eduardo turns to look at him over his shoulder, and smiles in a way that's entirely unwarranted by the two syllables Mark just said.

Mark can't quite stop just looking at him, all five o'clock shadow and messy, end of the day hair, and then - because he is allowed, because this is definitely a date, and because Eduardo likes him and smiles at him and fucking looks like that - Mark steps forward and kisses him. It's not a particularly elegant kiss, and it's lacking all sorts of finesse, Mark is sure, but that is not important right now. What is important is that Mark is kissing Eduardo, and Eduardo is making this ridiculous wanting sound into Mark's mouth and bringing his hands up to clutch at Mark's hips straight away, and he's opening his mouth under Mark's, for Mark, and pulling Mark in flush against him without even a flicker of hesitation.

Mark has heard all the jokes about how he is a robot, okay, and he doesn't really pay them much attention, but right now it legitimately feels like something in his brain is short-circuiting, like there's an actual fuse in there marked, like, Stuff You Can Cope With, and it has been dramatically overloaded. This is probably the reason that even though Mark is pushing Eduardo back against the counter and feeling Eduardo's breath pant out pleased against his mouth, there's this little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Chris being all think about what you're doing, Mark and think about other people's reactions, Mark, which, great, Mark is probably the only person in the world who gets cockblocked by his friends when they aren't even there.

As much as he's trying to ignore it, because he really doesn't want to be thinking about Chris right now, he can't stop it, this chiding little voice going on about acknowledging other people's feelings. Mark doesn't want this to go any further if there's even the slightest possibility Eduardo might not, and if he doesn't stop right fucking now then he's pretty sure it might be physically impossible for him to take his hands off Eduardo's ass, and so he pulls away and actually slightly staggers when he takes a step or two back, which is stupid, but not entirely inexplicable. Eduardo looks kind of dazed, his eyes wide and dark, his mouth kiss-swollen. Mark shoves his hands hard in his pockets, trying to ignore the pull of reoriented gravity suddenly pooling in his stomach, tugging him back towards Eduardo, and tears his gaze away before he does something entirely counterproductive.

Mark has never felt so in favour of being counterproductive in his entire life.

"So," he says, and his voice comes out all chipped and hoarse, and he's never heard himself sound like that before, not even coming off thirty-six straight hours at the computer, shaking and exhausted. Right now, he feels more wrecked than coding has ever made him. It's pretty fucking great. "Um," he says, trying to clear his throat. "We can take this slow, if you want."

Eduardo gives him this look that Mark completely does not have the ability to interpret properly at this point, sort of half want, half uncertainty, and runs his hand through his hair. "Do you want to take it slow?"

Eduardo sounds just as ridiculous as Mark does, only - because life is massively unfair - when he does it, he also sounds really fucking hot. Whatever. Mark's maybe seconds away from getting his tongue back in Eduardo's mouth, so as far as he's concerned, what's fair and what's not can basically both go fuck themselves.

It's at this point that he realises he hasn't answered Eduardo yet. Eduardo has stopped looking quite so blown apart and started looking a little bit like he's about to start backtracking spectacularly. There is not even a single part of Mark that would be okay with that.

"What?" he says, fast, still in his new, Eduardo-induced voice. "Obviously not, Wardo, have you gone insane?"

"Not as far as I know," says Eduardo, and there, there's a laugh waiting in his voice, like he's keeping it back till he's absolutely sure.

And, okay, now Mark knows Eduardo wants this too, he's not going to - he's just - why the fuck are they still talking?

"Great," says Mark. "I can work with possible insanity," and he reaches out to pull Eduardo in by the apron strings at his waist. Eduardo clutches on to the sides of Mark's hoodie, gathering the fabric up in his fists and getting his hands on Mark's skin, and Mark actually moans just from that, from Eduardo's palms curved against his bare waist.

"Fuck," says Eduardo, and Mark can feel his ridiculous grin against his mouth, and he pulls back enough to look Mark in the eye. His smile is actually, like, blinding. Mark will forever blame the fact that there is currently zero blood left in his head for the fact that he is thinking things like that. Eduardo brings a hand up to cup the side of Mark's face, and Mark leans into it automatically, like leaning against Eduardo's hand on his shoulder when he was tired, like that's where he's meant to be.

This is making him stupid. Eduardo is making him stupid. Mark - really doesn't care, at this point.

"What," he says, getting his own hands on Eduardo's shirt, tugging the buttons undone. "Why're you stopping?"

"Nothing," says Eduardo, "I'm not, just - " He shakes his head a little, biting his lip, still smiling.

"Fuck," says Mark, watching him do it.

Eduardo says, "Okay," all fake-lecherous despite the cheerful curve of his mouth, and Mark rolls his eyes even as Eduardo pulls him down to the kitchen floor, says, "That was such an easy line, Wardo, you are so - " but then Eduardo is pressing down against him, a thigh firm between Mark's parted legs, and Mark has to stop talking and take a fast, surprised breath, letting his head tip back. Eduardo takes advantage immediately, getting his mouth hot and open on Mark's neck in a way that's going to be obvious later, and Mark is so turned on it feels like his brain is actually just disintegrating, which is new and unusual, but definitely good.

He is also having some difficulty reconciling the Eduardo who blushed when he offered Mark congratulations on the update with the Eduardo who is currently sucking hickeys in a line up Mark's throat, but then he remembers the way Eduardo had said I'm not always very nice, almost a promise, and he groans, and arches up, fumbling for the waistband of Eduardo's unnecessarily formal pants.

"Why do you wear these things?" he pants, working the button at the top of Eduardo's fly undone. "You're a baker."

Eduardo sounds gratifyingly short of breath when he answers. "I still have to wear clothes," he says. "Otherwise I think I'd get shut down."

The button is refusing to yield. Mark has maybe never hated an inanimate object quite so much in his life. "I wouldn't complain," he says, and goes hot, in case this is too much, even though he's actively trying to get his hand in Eduardo's pants. He doesn't know what he's allowed to say. Not that this has stopped him before, but. This is different, a bit.

But Eduardo huffs this little laugh into the dips of Mark's collarbones so it must be okay, and he slides a hand up underneath Mark's hoodie, under his t-shirt, and Mark finally defeats the stupid button on Eduardo's trousers, and Eduardo swears on a long breath out when Mark curls his hand around him. The angle's awkward as all hell, and Mark is so hard that he's restless with it, shifting against the linoleum floor, but Eduardo moves over slightly so that when he flexes his thigh Mark makes this helpless, involuntary little noise, his toes curling up, and that's good, that's really, really good.

Mark says, in this choked, turned-on voice, "I mean, you're practically wearing a suit," and Eduardo says, "I know," and moves again, and Mark's hips buck up of their own accord and he says, high-pitched, "It seems a bit impractical," twisting his wrist, trying to keep some sort of rhythm, and Eduardo doesn't say anything to that, because he's groaning against Mark's skin, pressing his mouth against Mark's, sloppily, like he's too far gone for precision.

Mark thinks about Eduardo licking frosting off his fingers, and then thinks about how Eduardo is now licking into his mouth instead. Jesus.

"Fuck," he hisses, when Eduardo breaks off to take an unsteady breath in, because this is about to be incredibly embarrassing, because Eduardo hasn't even undone his jeans yet, Jesus fucking Christ, and Eduardo gets a hand down between them and palms Mark straight through the denim. "Fuck," Mark manages, "Wardo - you - you have to - " and he speeds his hand up until Eduardo tenses all over, and Mark can't, he really fucking can't, so he just pulls himself up to get his mouth back on Eduardo's, and when Eduardo comes, he moans into Mark's mouth, and fuck, okay, that's fucking it.

Eduardo has basically his full weight against Mark now, breathing heavily into the side of Mark's neck, and Mark is still shuddering, and what the hell even was that. They're both still fully clothed. Mark is sticky under his jeans, in his boxers, and his hand is wet with Eduardo's come, and neither of them has so much as taken off a shirt. Eduardo's shirt isn't even fully unbuttoned.

"This counts as a second date, right?" Mark says, when he's relatively sure his voice will work. "Because I don't want to give the wrong impression."

Eduardo snorts with laughter. "I hope so," he says, his mouth still pressed against Mark's throat. "I don't want to impugn your virtue or anything."

"I resent that," Mark says, as dryly as he can manage when his skin is still prickling with the comedown. "What about your virtue? Why am I the girl? You work in a bakery."

"Yeah," says Eduardo, "but I'm also on top of you."

"I could take you," says Mark, who definitely couldn't, and then, "Plus that doesn't mean anything to the modern woman. They are sexually liberated these days, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah," says Mark, light-headed, happy, "they've achieved sexual emancipation."

Eduardo bursts into laugher, open-mouthed and delighted against the pulse in Mark's throat. It makes Mark grin.

"I cannot believe the things you say," Eduardo tells the side of Mark's neck.

"Of course," says Mark, instantly. "I forget you're just a baker."

Eduardo is still laughing, warm and fond like when Mark would say something appalling after a customer had left, right back when they'd first met and Mark hadn't understood how Eduardo could laugh like they'd known each other for years but had still liked to hear it, and now Mark can feel him shaking with it all along his body. He brings a hand up, the clean one, and, tentative, puts it on the small of Eduardo's back. He feels Eduardo's mouth curve into a smile again, warm against his skin, and he smiles too, flushing up at the ceiling.

Lying there and coming back to himself slightly more, his head clearing, Mark is suddenly and unpleasantly accosted by the smell of extremely burnt onions and an extremely ruined pan, neither of which is an unfamiliar olfactory experience due to the fact that, again, he's lived with Dustin.

"Um," says Eduardo, rolling ungracefully off Mark and onto to his side, propping his head up on his arm in a way that should just look awkward and gangly but is instead irritatingly endearing - and how is it that Mark can just have wanted to get on his knees for Eduardo and now he's using adjectives like endearing to describe his general being? Eduardo grins, glancing down, a quick flutter of eyelashes against cheekbone, and Mark flushes hotter, instantly. Eduardo does confusing things to Mark's feelings by virtue of being too many things at once.

"I'm sorry to say it," Eduardo continues, not sounding even remotely sorry, "but I think dinner's off the table."

"It was never on the table," Mark says, facetiously. "It never made it out of the pan."

Eduardo laughs, and lies back down, and they both sort of lie there and look at the ceiling for a minute. It's sort of nice. It's just as easy to be with Eduardo now as before the sex, which Mark thinks is probably something. Mark doesn't know what Eduardo is thinking right now, but he is thinking about Eduardo smiling at him over the counter the second time they met, Mark's head still swimming with leftover code-based adrenaline, the colour rising in Eduardo's cheeks when he asked Mark out for a drink, Eduardo watching Mark's taxi pull away from the bar, and even apart from all the orgasm endorphins rocketing around in Mark's body, he's just - he's - he's just so happy that it's practically sickening.

He is also just really ridiculous, apparently, and he has to turn slightly away from Eduardo, just for a second, just to tamp everything down. He is so out of his depth.

"I think there's some cheesecake that needs eating," Eduardo says, either oblivious to or tactfully not commenting on Mark's sudden, unexpected, stupid feeling-eruption, but Eduardo seems like if he were a superhero, his nickname would be Captain Empathy, so Mark's betting it's the latter. "We could have that instead of pasta."

"What kind?" Mark asks, feigning petulance, and Eduardo rubs his knuckles along Mark's spine, intimate, affectionate. Mark shivers, and Eduardo must notice, but he doesn't say anything about that either.

"Lemon and lime," he says. "It's citrus-y."

"No, really?" Mark says. "With lemon and lime? I wouldn't have guessed."

"You don't have to have any," says Eduardo. "I on the other hand don't joke about cheesecake, and therefore can have as much as I want."

"I don't want my freedom of speech restricted by cheesecake," Mark says. "What kind of dictatorial bakery are you running?"

"A citrus-friendly one," Eduardo says, grinning again, and then he's getting to his feet and padding into the bathroom. Mark stays there, on his back, turning his head to watch Eduardo go.

Eduardo comes back after a minute and hands him a towel, and Mark sits up and turns away to wipe himself down, wipe his hand clean.

"You can use the shower, if you'd like," Eduardo says, and he's eying Mark like he might want to get in there with him, and Mark fervently hopes this will happen, but then Eduardo says, "I'll go get the cheesecake," and, okay, evidently the universe only wants Mark to have good things in small doses. Fuck you, universe, Mark thinks, irrationally, and gets up to kiss Eduardo again, because he can now, and he doesn't have to make himself stop wanting it.

Eventually, Eduardo pokes him in the direction of the shower, and Mark stands under the water and tries very hard not to think about Eduardo standing in the same place naked every morning, because he has to go back out in a minute and converse like a real human and not just smear cheesecake all over Eduardo's stomach and lick it messily off. There is a very real possibility that sex might have melted Mark's brain. As long as it solidifies by the time he goes back to work in the morning, Mark really doesn't mind too much.

When he steps out of the bathroom with damp hair and pink skin, Eduardo is sitting at the table, and they eat cheesecake for dinner like children, and Eduardo grins and leans across the table to kiss away crumbs that get left on Mark's upper lip, because he is apparently a person that does that, and Mark is now dating him, and oh god, he cannot tell Dustin anything.

//

"Tell me everything!" Dustin demands, nanoseconds after he gets into work the next day and foolishly tries to bypass Dustin's desk. "Every single thing, Mark Zuckerberg, don't you dare hold out on me.

"If I say no," Mark says, prevaricating futilely, "what are the chances that you'll actually go away?"

"Slim to none," says Dustin.

"Great," says Mark. "Good to know."

"Okay," says Dustin, insinuating himself between Mark and his laptop, so he has no means of ignoring him. "Start with when you left here last night. And don't think I didn't see you checking your watch every five minutes till you left. Because I did. Because you are not subtle and also I have eyes everywhere."

"Everywhere?" says Mark, needlessly.

Dustin leans in. "Everywhere."

Well, that's alarming. Luckily Mark happens to know that Dustin is basically the least observant person on the planet - unless, of course, you don't want him to notice something, and then he is like a fucking hawk.

"Right," says Dustin, clapping his hands together, eyes narrowing, avian. "So, okay, you went to Eduardo's - oh my god."

"What?" asks Mark, alarmed. Dustin has clapped his hands over his mouth in apparent delight. Mark eyes him warily. "What?"

"I said Eduardo's name," says Dustin, in a little squeak of a voice, "and your face went all soft."

"No, it didn't," says Mark, going red.

"And now you're blushing!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh my god, Mark, you are so precious."

"I am not precious!" says Mark, horrified. "Please go away now."

"Only if you tell me about last night," Dustin says, folding his arms. Mark weighs up the chances of Dustin leaving without any information against the likelihood of the world just coming to an end in the next five minutes, and the apocalypse is the clear victor. Mark sighs.

"We had cheesecake," he says, grudgingly.

"Cheesecake?" Dustin says, in a worrying leer/eyebrow combination and Mark groans, and elbows him out of the way.

"I'm working now," he says. "Begone."

"Going," Dustin says, heading for the door. "I'll leave you and your dairy-based dessert fantasies in peace."

"Begone faster."

Dustin laughs, and Mark stares at the loading screen of his computer like if he wills it hard enough, he can just disappear into it, and live in streams of code instead of this flesh and blood reality where Dustin is real and Mark has a bruise on his hip from Eduardo's uncomfortable kitchen floor.

Except - except, Mark keeps touching his fingers to it, just enough that it hurts, and thinking about Eduardo pressing him down between cold kitchen tile and Eduardo's warm mouth, and thinks maybe there's something to be said for a non-virtual reality after all.

//

Mark goes back to Eduardo's after work, not sure whether he should or not, because he doesn't know the rules of dating or whatever but he does want to see Eduardo again, and he's used to doing what he wants. When he pushes open the door, just as Eduardo is packing away the cakes from the display, Eduardo looks up to see him walking in and beams, and something warm spreads out in Mark's chest.

"Hello," he says, suddenly stupid with it, and Eduardo smiles wider, eyes crinkling up, and says, "Hi."

Thankfully for Mark's remaining sense of masculinity, this insipid beginning leads to Eduardo pulling him upstairs by the wrist and pushing him back onto his bed, and then kneeling between Mark's thighs and blowing him while Mark tips his head back into the pillows and tries to keep his eyes open, to watch.

Eventually, Mark's so close he can't stop his hips from coming up off the bed of their own accord, helpless. His chest is tight, and he curls his fingers in Eduardo's duvet and just looks down at Eduardo looking up at him from between his legs, and holy fucking shit.

Eduardo says, like they're having a perfectly ordinary conversation and his pupils aren't blown wide with want, "Next time, you can fuck me, if you'd like," all magnificently fake innocence, and Mark says, ruined, "If I'd like - fuck - Wardo - fuck - " and he's coming before Eduardo even closes his mouth back around him, gasping and overwhelmed, and he throws his arm over his eyes, and tries not to feel like an idiot.

Eduardo kisses him between hip and thigh, gentle, and Mark squeezes his eyes more tightly closed and groans, because he can't cope with any of this, with Eduardo touching him, with Eduardo smiling at him, with Eduardo, and why was everything so much easier when it was just him, his laptop and a revolutionary idea?

Mark feels Eduardo smile against the top of his thigh, and then Eduardo says, sort of pleased, definitely rhetorically, "That was okay, then?"

Mark groans again, and reaches down to drag Eduardo up to kiss him, even though Eduardo is still wiping his mouth with his hand, and then he flips them over so that Eduardo makes a satisfied, anticipatory sound, and then he shows him just how fucking okay it was.

//

Mark doesn't know what he was expecting, but aside from the fact that he now gets to have regular sex, which is a bonus in anyone's book, not a lot changes. He's still at Eduardo's every morning, only sometimes he stays over the night before, and comes down the stairs from the apartment to the bakery mid-morning to find Eduardo serving customers, and Mark's coffee waiting for him in a takeaway cup on the end of the counter. Eduardo wakes up first if they're both asleep, because he gets up at a time that Mark would consider an early bedtime just so he can offer freshly baked things every day. Mark would be a terrible baker, mostly because kitchen appliances just break preemptively when they see him coming so they're not subjected to his increasingly angry attempts to make them work, but also because if he had to get up at the time Eduardo does every day, he would eventually just be shut down or arrested for standing in the middle of his shop wild-eyed and holding a gun after just not sleeping for weeks, and then blood would be shed and people would die and cookies would crumble, and all in all, it's really for the best that Mark goes to bed late and Eduardo's the one that gets up early.

Sometimes, though, if Mark's stayed over and he's still awake when Eduardo stumbles bleary-eyed from bed to shower and then somehow emerges looking cheerful and fresh and heads down to the bakery kitchen, Mark puts his laptop aside and rubs his eyes and follows him. Eduardo makes him coffee and doesn't talk to him, because it's early and Mark needs caffeine before any attempts at conversation can be made, and rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and lets Mark lean against the big table in the middle of the room and watch as he starts up the oven, rummages for bowls and baking trays. He still hums while he works, but now Mark gets to watch him go from counter to counter, cupboard to mixing bowl, and gets to raise a sleepy eyebrow when Eduardo starts mixing things together in time to a tune in his head. At some point, Mark makes the mistake of mentioning that he ends up singing whatever nonsense Eduardo has filled his head with that morning, and Eduardo raises an eyebrow like oh really? and then apparently begins a campaign to embarrass Mark as much as possible at work.

One day, Mark finds himself singing the entire Rocky Horror show to his laptop in the middle of tweaking the inevitable refinements to the last profile update. It's not his finest moment.

Another day, Eduardo is making chocolate frosting in vast, terrifying quantities, to smooth over the top of what Mark can only describe as Brownies of Instant Diabetes, and he sings Sympathy for the Devil at the top of his lungs, wiggling energetically around the kitchen, using the wooden spoon as a microphone. Mark cringes against the door and makes vague, morning complaints, but Eduardo is having none of it, and grabs him by the wrist and twirls him around the kitchen despite Mark's vehement, dance-hating protestations until they're both pink-cheeked and dizzy and laughing. This is Mark's life now: he dances in kitchens. He hums the song subconsciously that afternoon as he walks past Dustin, and Dustin elbows Chris, perched precariously on the desk, so hard that he almost falls off. They both gape after him. Mark gives them the finger.

Other times, Eduardo tells him what he's making, a continuous commentary that Mark can just let wash over him as the sun rises in the windows over the sink. Eduardo tells him about the first time he made cupcakes, wearing his mother's apron, pushing up his sleeves and folding flour into the bowl. Mark has never baked anything in his life, but Eduardo talks about it like Mark remembers the first program he built, dizzy and awed, thinking I made that, tense with possibility, the first glimpse of adulthood, and Mark leans back against the white-washed kitchen walls, and drinks his coffee, and listens.

And then as well as all that, there's the incredible amounts of sex.

//

Okay, but seriously, about the sex - Mark doesn't know what he was expecting there either, apart from obviously deeply looking forward to being able to touch Eduardo as much as he'd been wanting to since Mark had said I don't want to be an exception and Eduardo had not even missed a beat in getting it, in saying sure you do. Generally speaking, Mark's - not competitive, not exactly, but he does have this pulse-deep need to be the best at whatever he does - because he can be, and because what's the point of doing something if you don't do it better than anyone else? If someone else can do something better, why even bother? Go do something you can beat them at instead. The reason this is important is because the sex turns out not only to be, like, the best thing in Mark's life after being the CEO of his own mega-company in his mid-twenties, but also to be this sort of battle of wills, a turn-taking, one-upmanship that involves Eduardo being irritatingly but understandably smug about his ability to reduce Mark to a sweating needing wreck of a person and a series of completely undignified noises, and then Mark being beyond determined to retaliate. Sometimes it's the other way round, and Eduardo is the one bearing Mark down as Mark grins, self-satisfied, up at him, but they're both really stubborn, and the end result is basically orgasms all round, so Mark doesn't really mind who comes first.

The whole thing is essentially the hottest thing ever. Mark is aware that he's started walking around with this apparently vaguely alarming omnipresent hint of a shit-eating grin on his face, because the interns look worried and Dustin keeps giving him the thumbs-up every time he sees him, but he doesn't really mind about that either. Seriously, there's so much sex. It's like they're trying to make up for the couple of months they spent gazing at each other over the pastries (Dustin's description of August through September, and not one that Mark advocates or lets him get away with unscathed), and sometimes when Mark looks up from his keyboard to reach for a Red Bull, he sees his own fingers curl around the can and thinks about them pressing inside of Eduardo, and Eduardo telling him breathlessly to just fucking get on with it, you fucking teasing bastard while Mark smirks and deliberately slows down, and it's amazing.

And, okay, Mark thinks he's pretty hard to surprise, but Eduardo is really good at that too. Like, this one time, Mark is coding in the corner of the bakery just after the lunch rush, and Eduardo is cutting a chocolate cake into generous portions at the counter, and he cuts the last sliver into smaller pieces, and sets them out on the display case as tasters.

Mark looks up.

Mark has actually been looking up surreptitiously for the last ten minutes, because Eduardo has been making these little noises in concentration and it is fucking with Mark's, but whatever. The point is: he catches Eduardo's eye.

"Hi," says Eduardo, grinning. "Surfaced, have you?"

"Just because I have superior concentration doesn't mean you need to be jealous," says Mark. "I'm sure you're good at other things."

"Yeah?" says Eduardo, and Mark tries not to shiver visibly, because Eduardo can be pleased with himself enough without Mark giving him extra ammunition.

Instead, he shrugs. "I suppose there's probably something."

Eduardo runs his finger around the chocolate frosting left in the cake pan, and sucks on the tip deliberately, eying Mark, wicked. Mark has gone wickedly red.

"Yeah?" says Eduardo again, his mouth curving like he's trying not to laugh, which isn't helping matters at all. "Like what?"

Mark changes topics completely, because Eduardo cannot win all the time, it is just unfair. Mark is not a person who loses well. "Isn't that a bit cliché?" he asks, purposefully obnoxious, pointing to the cake in the display, strawberries pushed into the thick frosting. "I mean, strawberries and chocolate cake? Hardly original, Wardo."

Eduardo has raised one amused eyebrow, like he knows exactly what Mark is doing and has no intention of letting him get away with it. Mark's heart is pounding relentlessly hard.

"Are you casting aspersions on my creativity?"

Mark forces himself to look away from Eduardo's mouth. "I would be if I'd seen any evidence of it."

"I will not stand for this blasphemy," Eduardo says, grinning. He crooks a finger at Mark, an actual come-here-I-am-the-child-catcher finger crook, except with less terror and perversion. "Come here."

Mark's finished his coffee and it's the middle of the day and he really should be getting back to the office, not least because he doesn't doubt that Dustin might actually be keeping a log of how long he's gone when and/or take bets on whether he'll come back with a hickey, because apparently he has that little to do, but instead of making his excuses or saying he'll come by later just to see what Eduardo would do, he lets Eduardo smile his big, warm smile at him and lets himself feel the heat that spreads over his face, and lets himself get up and go over to the counter.

Eduardo grabs his wrist and tugs him round the counter to the other side, Eduardo's side, and backs him up against it.

Mark looks over his shoulder at the open door; Eduardo takes his chin in his hand and gently turns him back.

"Try this," he instructs, firmly, holding a strawberry point-up to Mark's lips, and this is the most ridiculous, most movie-moment thing that has ever happened in Mark's life. He feels like he should be someone else for this, someone taller with better hair and a catchphrase, but Eduardo is still smiling at him and Mark can smell cupcakes baking in the kitchen, and Eduardo has a leg between Mark's legs, and Mark just opens his mouth and lets Eduardo feed him a damn strawberry. Eduardo can win this one, he supposes. It can't hurt.

"Good," Eduardo actually says, when Mark takes a bite, and Mark goes even redder than the strawberry stain on the tips of Eduardo's fingers. "Don't swallow it," Eduardo tells him, and Mark shudders, hard in his jeans. Eduardo keeps smiling, and it is doing stupid things to Mark's insides, and then he takes one of the sample pieces of chocolate cake from the plate on the counter and holds that to Mark's mouth, brushing it against his lips. When Mark opens his mouth and takes it from him, he brushes his tongue over Eduardo's fingertips just to watch his pupils dilate.

"Good?" Eduardo says, again, only it's a question this time, and Mark closes his eyes to genuinely consider it. It's strawberry and chocolate, and the whole world and every lame guy in it knows that's a good combination if you're out to get into someone's pants, but it's not just that. It's sweet fruit and rich, dark cocoa, it's berry and cake, it's the smooth glass counter at Mark's back and Eduardo's strong thigh between his legs, it's the sun falling on Mark's shoulders and Eduardo moving in to kiss him, and yeah, it's more than good, it's so good, it's fucking great.

Mark swallows, and nods. "Yeah," he says, and his voice comes out all shaken and rough but he can't do anything to make it sound different. "Good."

"Good," says Eduardo, looking pleased, and then he drops to his knees and undoes Mark's jeans.

Mark is about to say, "What the hell are you doing?" because anyone could walk past or come in but Eduardo's mouth is on him before he can get the words out, and he groans, and shoots a hand out to steady himself against the counter and gets a hand in Eduardo's stupid, perfect hair.

"The door's open," Mark hisses. "Wardo - fuck - someone could come in."

Eduardo pulls off, and he's on his knees looking up at Mark, and his mouth is all red from eating strawberries and also from being around Mark's cock, and Mark is so attracted to him that he almost can't let himself look. Eduardo says, "You'd better hurry up, then," and then goes at it again. Mark wants to stop him, because seriously, anyone could walk in and this is not the sort of publicity Facebook or Eduardo’s needs, but instead he tries not to pull Eduardo's hair too hard when his hand clenches into a fist, and tries not to let his knees buckle when Eduardo does something potentially illegal with his tongue. Eduardo strokes the crease between Mark's hip and his thigh, holds him steady, and it's practically in public, and Mark is so into this it's embarrassing. Eduardo is rubbing little circles into Mark's right hip with his thumb, and Mark's mouth tastes like fruit and chocolate, and he comes down Eduardo's throat without warning, buckling over at the waist.

//

"Oh my god, Mark, you totally just got laid!"

"Shut up, Dustin."

//

from: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
to: chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: hypothetically

Out of curiosity, what would be the potential ramifications if the CEO of an internationally successful internet company was caught being blown in a local bakery?


from: chris.hughes@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
subj: not enough alcohol in the world to rid me of these mental images

DO NOT EVEN JOKE, MARK. WHY WOULD YOU EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT?


from: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
to: chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: dustin would say chillax

Relax, no-one saw.


from: chris.hughes@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
subj: (no subject because you have destroyed my soul)

Please stop talking about this or I will sue you for emotional abuse.


from: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
to: chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: (no subject because I am CEO and don't need one)

I think I can afford better lawyers than you can.


from: chris.hughes@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com; dustinohyeahitsdustin@facebook.com
subj: (no subject because my soul is still recovering)

Are you at least going to introduce me to Eduardo? I've never met him but everyone who has (Dustin) seems highly enamored, and if there's a possibility that I'm going to see his name alongside yours on a rap sheet for public indecency, I think it might be nice if I had a face to go with it.


from: dustinohyeahitsdustin@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com; chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: PARTAY

DUDE Chris has the best ideas, we should totally have a party and invite Eduardo. IT IS PRACTICALLY STILL FALL AS MARK SAID THAT ONE TIME IN A NON PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE WAY. LET'S HAVE A SEASONAL OFFICE PARTY. WHO DOESN'T LOVE FALL THERE ARE FALLING LEAVES AND EVERYTHING, THIS IS GOING TO BE GREAT.

AND EDUARDO CAN BAKE US STUFF FOR IT

IT'S A WIN-WIN


from: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
to: chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: BETRAYAL

Why do you do these things to me. Why do you give Dustin these ideas. Where is the correlation between you meeting Wardo and us having an office party. Why must we have a party. I can't even punctuate these questions, Chris, look what you have done.


from: chris.hughes@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
subj: TASTE MY BETRAYAL, ZUCKERBERG, IT TASTES LIKE THE FRAGMENTS OF MY SOUL DID

VENGEANCE IS SWEET

and it will be all the sweeter if Eduardo bakes stuff for the party. seriously, ask him if he wants to cater it or something.


from: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
to: chris.hughes@facebook.com
subj: re: BETRAYAL

you realise this party is not actually going to happen, right?


from: chris.hughes@facebook.com
to: mark.zuckerberg@facebook.com
subj: re: BETRAYAL

guess again, mon brave

//


(continued here)

Comments

[mikhale.livejournal.com]

TWENTY-TWO THOUSAND WORDS OF MORE BAKERY AU. i have seen the light and it is eduardo baking brownies. i have not yet read this but i will be merrily squeeing all the way.

(just so you know, i have been obsessively refreshing your journal in hopes that i can force MOAR bakery au to come out).

[moogle62.livejournal.com]

i have seen the light and it is eduardo baking brownies - BEST. where is this happening and where can I get one.

I hope you enjoy it! <333

(jhGSDJHDSG I do that all the time with other people's journals.)

(kajsfhjdsgfhjs SOME MORE, oh god, look at your iconnnnn.)