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mooging(masterpost // part one // part two)
disclaimer: really not true
double disclaimer: unresearched, unbeta'd, unapologetically ridiculous
~scenes from a nature preserve island~
aka
SWISS FAMILY HOMOSEXUAL
disclaimer: really not true
double disclaimer: unresearched, unbeta'd, unapologetically ridiculous. I JUST LIKE HAPPY ENDINGS, OKAY.
Look, the thing Eduardo needs to understand is that Mark's life so far has simply not equipped him for certain things in life. He has a certain skill set, and he's perfectly happy about that. Or at least, he was until it turned out that Eduardo is apparently brilliant at everything else.
"How are you doing this?" Mark yells, over the sound of the waves, as Eduardo emerges triumphant from the shallows with a fish impaled on the end of their makeshift spear. "When did you learn how to do this? You went to college in Boston!"
Eduardo shrugs cheerfully and lopes up the beach, shaking out his hair like a dog.
Mark splutters and shields his face.
It is possible that life on an island comprised solely of nature is not bringing out Mark's most dignified side.
"I spent a lot of time outside as a kid," Eduardo explains, flopping down in the shade next to Mark. "I learnt these things."
"You can't keep using that as a reason," Mark tells him, grumpily. "That is not a reason. I bet I could have found tons of outdoorsy people who couldn't impale fish."
"Everyone can use forks, Mark," Eduardo teases, and leans over to drip on Mark's bare stomach.
Mark yelps and squirms away. Eduardo laughs, and drags him down into the sand to kiss him.
//
Mark really, really hates sand.
Like, really.
Like, getting sand in places is causing him more grief than the entire rest of the zombie apocalypse.
"Stop scratching," Eduardo mumbles into Mark's shoulder, as Mark fidgets and pulls faces into their pillows and generally vehemently hates sand.
The pillows are lying on a billion layers of palm leaves but they are still covered in sand.
Mark revolutionised virtual social communication at the age of 19 and his ideas weren't half as pervasive as sand.
"I can't," Mark tells him, on the perilous edge of a whine. "I have sand everywhere."
Eduardo kisses the back of his neck. "I know," he says, patiently. "Go to sleep."
"That is not a solution," Mark complains.
Eduardo swats him the edge of the sleeping bags. It's colder on the beach at night that Mark was expecting, even under their handmade shelter.
Their second handmade shelter, that is. The one that Eduardo made when Mark's perfect shelter turned out to be slightly less than optimum at several unimportant aspects of being a shelter, like standing up. And sheltering them from things.
Whatever.
Mark's not bitter.
He's good at plenty of things.
Like hating sand.
//
"Get out of the sun," Eduardo calls, from halfway up a tree. "We don't have any sun block. You'll burn."
"You are up a tree," Mark shouts back. "You don't get to have opinions until you stop acting less like a primate."
"You'll regret it," Eduardo yells, shimmying further up. Mark is one hundred percent sure he does not possess the leg muscles that would allow him to do that.
"Shut up and get me some fruit," Mark yells up at him.
"Get out of the sun, Mark," Eduardo shouts down.
Mark scoots further away from the tree line. He's perfectly capable of judging when he's had enough sun. He's not a child. He's not the one in a tree right now. He clearly has the upper hand in this argument.
It's not even that hot out, anyway.
//
"Ow."
"Sorry."
"Ow!"
"Sorry!"
"Fucking ouch, Wardo, what the fuck are you doing?"
Eduardo leans back on his heels, exasperated. "Hey, Mark," he says, as Mark twitches and tries to make his face look less like he's sulking. "You know when I said get out of the sun; you'll burn? Guess what?"
"I see where this is going, Wardo, and it's not clever."
"You look like a lobster," Eduardo tells him, and slathers more aloe on Mark's back. Mark winces.
"That's cold," he says, and, okay, no, that is actually sulking.
There's sand sticking to the aloe on his knees.
The smooth, cooling aloe.
The aloe that looks surprisingly like it could be --
"I have just had the best idea," Mark says, and yanks Eduardo down on top of him.
//
Turns out, there are certain things Mark is willing to get sand all over him for.
Unsurprisingly, sex is one of them.
//
"Wardo."
The sunburn on Mark's back hurts.
"Wardo."
There's sand up his nose.
"Hey, Wardo."
There's some kind of insect making some kind of insect noise at a ridiculous decibel in the forest behind their shelter.
"Wardo?"
Mark's back really does hurt quite a lot, now that he thinks about it properly.
"Wardo?"
"Oh my god." Eduardo rolls over, puts his face in the crook of Mark's neck. Mark can feel him pulling faces against his skin. "What, Mark? What is it?"
"My back hurts," Mark tells him. He did ask.
Eduardo groans. "I'd feel vindicated," he says, "but this is actually worse than being wrong."
"You're not the one with sunburn," Mark points out. "You just tan. Explain to me how this is fair."
"You can't code away sunburn," Eduardo says, still flopped half over Mark's side. "I'm tan. You're pasty. Nature isn't fair."
"Nature's a bitch," Mark says.
Eduardo shifts in closer. It rubs the burn on Mark's chest, but he doesn't really mind. He can cope with that one, if it means Eduardo is going to keep his arm over him like that. There are certain things Mark has gotten used to since accepting that he is fated to live out the rest of his life waging a one-sided and inevitably unsuccessful war against sand, and Eduardo being handsy in his sleep is one of them.
"Yes," Eduardo agrees. "Now go to sleep."
He kisses Mark's neck. Mark feels the sweep of Eduardo's eyelashes when Eduardo closes his eyes again. The glow of the dying fire lies golden across Eduardo's back, shadows the lines of his muscles.
Mark supposes there are some plus sides to the end of the world.
//
"No," Eduardo says, and wades around Mark to correct his grip on the fishing spear. "Like this."
Mark shifts back against him, deliberately. "Like this?" he says.
Eduardo makes a really gratifyingly dirty sound, right behind Mark's ear.
"That's really not going to catch you any fish," Eduardo says, in this incredibly uneven voice.
Mark smirks. "What does it matter?" he says. "You can do that."
Eduardo laughs and dips a kiss to the peeling burn on Mark's shoulder. "You would be so lost without me," he says, lightly.
"Yes," Mark says, as simple as that. "I would."
//
It turns out, fish tastes incalculably better when you get to brag about catching it.
//
"I think there's a twig in my hair," Mark says, mournfully. "And I think I have termites in my shorts."
"Palm tree termites?" Eduardo asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks like he's trying not to laugh.
Mark eyes him, suspicious. "You don't know," Mark says. "I could have. You're not a tree expert."
"I can climb them, though," says Eduardo. "Which is more than you can say."
"Hey!" Mark protests. "I got off the ground. That definitely counts."
"Oh, yeah," says Eduardo, grinning. "Definitely."
Mark has got tree burn on the insides of his thighs.
"Shut up," he says.
"Okay," says Eduardo, affably. "But only because I know you know I'm right."
"I hate you," Mark tells him.
"I hate you too," Eduardo says, but it sounds like something completely different.
//
Eduardo is sprawled on his back on the beach under the late evening sun when Mark sits down next to him, shakes him awake to let him know the fish is ready. He likes to watch Eduardo wake up, here; likes to watch for the moment when Eduardo realises they're safe.
"Nnngh," says Eduardo, which is just-woken-up-Eduardo for hello, what's going on? Mark knows that, just like he knows that Eduardo checks for his gun before they go to sleep, even though they don't need it here. He knows things about Eduardo, now.
He thinks maybe Eduardo always knew things about him.
Whatever.
They've got time for Mark to catch up.
/really end/
(now CLEANSE THIS FROM YOUR MIND and go look at the AMAZING ART by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aqualined)
disclaimer: really not true
double disclaimer: unresearched, unbeta'd, unapologetically ridiculous
~scenes from a nature preserve island~
aka
SWISS FAMILY HOMOSEXUAL
disclaimer: really not true
double disclaimer: unresearched, unbeta'd, unapologetically ridiculous. I JUST LIKE HAPPY ENDINGS, OKAY.
Look, the thing Eduardo needs to understand is that Mark's life so far has simply not equipped him for certain things in life. He has a certain skill set, and he's perfectly happy about that. Or at least, he was until it turned out that Eduardo is apparently brilliant at everything else.
"How are you doing this?" Mark yells, over the sound of the waves, as Eduardo emerges triumphant from the shallows with a fish impaled on the end of their makeshift spear. "When did you learn how to do this? You went to college in Boston!"
Eduardo shrugs cheerfully and lopes up the beach, shaking out his hair like a dog.
Mark splutters and shields his face.
It is possible that life on an island comprised solely of nature is not bringing out Mark's most dignified side.
"I spent a lot of time outside as a kid," Eduardo explains, flopping down in the shade next to Mark. "I learnt these things."
"You can't keep using that as a reason," Mark tells him, grumpily. "That is not a reason. I bet I could have found tons of outdoorsy people who couldn't impale fish."
"Everyone can use forks, Mark," Eduardo teases, and leans over to drip on Mark's bare stomach.
Mark yelps and squirms away. Eduardo laughs, and drags him down into the sand to kiss him.
//
Mark really, really hates sand.
Like, really.
Like, getting sand in places is causing him more grief than the entire rest of the zombie apocalypse.
"Stop scratching," Eduardo mumbles into Mark's shoulder, as Mark fidgets and pulls faces into their pillows and generally vehemently hates sand.
The pillows are lying on a billion layers of palm leaves but they are still covered in sand.
Mark revolutionised virtual social communication at the age of 19 and his ideas weren't half as pervasive as sand.
"I can't," Mark tells him, on the perilous edge of a whine. "I have sand everywhere."
Eduardo kisses the back of his neck. "I know," he says, patiently. "Go to sleep."
"That is not a solution," Mark complains.
Eduardo swats him the edge of the sleeping bags. It's colder on the beach at night that Mark was expecting, even under their handmade shelter.
Their second handmade shelter, that is. The one that Eduardo made when Mark's perfect shelter turned out to be slightly less than optimum at several unimportant aspects of being a shelter, like standing up. And sheltering them from things.
Whatever.
Mark's not bitter.
He's good at plenty of things.
Like hating sand.
//
"Get out of the sun," Eduardo calls, from halfway up a tree. "We don't have any sun block. You'll burn."
"You are up a tree," Mark shouts back. "You don't get to have opinions until you stop acting less like a primate."
"You'll regret it," Eduardo yells, shimmying further up. Mark is one hundred percent sure he does not possess the leg muscles that would allow him to do that.
"Shut up and get me some fruit," Mark yells up at him.
"Get out of the sun, Mark," Eduardo shouts down.
Mark scoots further away from the tree line. He's perfectly capable of judging when he's had enough sun. He's not a child. He's not the one in a tree right now. He clearly has the upper hand in this argument.
It's not even that hot out, anyway.
//
"Ow."
"Sorry."
"Ow!"
"Sorry!"
"Fucking ouch, Wardo, what the fuck are you doing?"
Eduardo leans back on his heels, exasperated. "Hey, Mark," he says, as Mark twitches and tries to make his face look less like he's sulking. "You know when I said get out of the sun; you'll burn? Guess what?"
"I see where this is going, Wardo, and it's not clever."
"You look like a lobster," Eduardo tells him, and slathers more aloe on Mark's back. Mark winces.
"That's cold," he says, and, okay, no, that is actually sulking.
There's sand sticking to the aloe on his knees.
The smooth, cooling aloe.
The aloe that looks surprisingly like it could be --
"I have just had the best idea," Mark says, and yanks Eduardo down on top of him.
//
Turns out, there are certain things Mark is willing to get sand all over him for.
Unsurprisingly, sex is one of them.
//
"Wardo."
The sunburn on Mark's back hurts.
"Wardo."
There's sand up his nose.
"Hey, Wardo."
There's some kind of insect making some kind of insect noise at a ridiculous decibel in the forest behind their shelter.
"Wardo?"
Mark's back really does hurt quite a lot, now that he thinks about it properly.
"Wardo?"
"Oh my god." Eduardo rolls over, puts his face in the crook of Mark's neck. Mark can feel him pulling faces against his skin. "What, Mark? What is it?"
"My back hurts," Mark tells him. He did ask.
Eduardo groans. "I'd feel vindicated," he says, "but this is actually worse than being wrong."
"You're not the one with sunburn," Mark points out. "You just tan. Explain to me how this is fair."
"You can't code away sunburn," Eduardo says, still flopped half over Mark's side. "I'm tan. You're pasty. Nature isn't fair."
"Nature's a bitch," Mark says.
Eduardo shifts in closer. It rubs the burn on Mark's chest, but he doesn't really mind. He can cope with that one, if it means Eduardo is going to keep his arm over him like that. There are certain things Mark has gotten used to since accepting that he is fated to live out the rest of his life waging a one-sided and inevitably unsuccessful war against sand, and Eduardo being handsy in his sleep is one of them.
"Yes," Eduardo agrees. "Now go to sleep."
He kisses Mark's neck. Mark feels the sweep of Eduardo's eyelashes when Eduardo closes his eyes again. The glow of the dying fire lies golden across Eduardo's back, shadows the lines of his muscles.
Mark supposes there are some plus sides to the end of the world.
//
"No," Eduardo says, and wades around Mark to correct his grip on the fishing spear. "Like this."
Mark shifts back against him, deliberately. "Like this?" he says.
Eduardo makes a really gratifyingly dirty sound, right behind Mark's ear.
"That's really not going to catch you any fish," Eduardo says, in this incredibly uneven voice.
Mark smirks. "What does it matter?" he says. "You can do that."
Eduardo laughs and dips a kiss to the peeling burn on Mark's shoulder. "You would be so lost without me," he says, lightly.
"Yes," Mark says, as simple as that. "I would."
//
It turns out, fish tastes incalculably better when you get to brag about catching it.
//
"I think there's a twig in my hair," Mark says, mournfully. "And I think I have termites in my shorts."
"Palm tree termites?" Eduardo asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks like he's trying not to laugh.
Mark eyes him, suspicious. "You don't know," Mark says. "I could have. You're not a tree expert."
"I can climb them, though," says Eduardo. "Which is more than you can say."
"Hey!" Mark protests. "I got off the ground. That definitely counts."
"Oh, yeah," says Eduardo, grinning. "Definitely."
Mark has got tree burn on the insides of his thighs.
"Shut up," he says.
"Okay," says Eduardo, affably. "But only because I know you know I'm right."
"I hate you," Mark tells him.
"I hate you too," Eduardo says, but it sounds like something completely different.
//
Eduardo is sprawled on his back on the beach under the late evening sun when Mark sits down next to him, shakes him awake to let him know the fish is ready. He likes to watch Eduardo wake up, here; likes to watch for the moment when Eduardo realises they're safe.
"Nnngh," says Eduardo, which is just-woken-up-Eduardo for hello, what's going on? Mark knows that, just like he knows that Eduardo checks for his gun before they go to sleep, even though they don't need it here. He knows things about Eduardo, now.
He thinks maybe Eduardo always knew things about him.
Whatever.
They've got time for Mark to catch up.
/really end/
(now CLEANSE THIS FROM YOUR MIND and go look at the AMAZING ART by
aqualined)
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-19 06:16 pm (UTC)