Здесь ссылки на англоязычные фики по TSN, которые мне понравились

[elinorwise]

Под катом - любимые цитаты, по одной на каждый фик (кроме первого).

Something opens, I hear it cringe slippery_fish
Фактически AU - фик о том, что было бы, если бы Вардо сумел осуществить свою угрозу: "Готовь адвокатов, сволочь, потому что я заберу у тебя не тридцать процентов - я заберу у тебя всю компанию".
Фактически джен - потому что "Он разбил мне сердце" можно трактовать по-разному; в данном случае я предпочитаю... в данном случае мне всё равно. Марк это сделал. Это канон )
Фик совсем короткий, и он очень... там каждое слово на месте. Всем, кто знает английский и кто знает канон - это мастрид.

Wear your History like a Map (& let the whipping boy ride) kissingcrime
Summary: For the prompt Eduardo/Mark, whipping/flogging, hurt/comfort at the tsn_kinkmeme. Slave!AU, college era. Eduardo takes the punishment for Mark's actions in Facemash.
Mark can't help it, when Eduardo is chained, physically attached to the whipping frame, he can't stand it. They can figure something out: he'll leave Harvard. He's never wanted something so much as he wants to prevent this from happening. He lurches forward, but one of the Certs standing behind him pulls him back, holds tightly to his forearms.
"Let go," he snaps, but the Cert doesn't move, just rubs a thumb up and down in a way that Mark supposes was meant to be reassuring.
Eduardo lifts his head, cranes his neck around to look at Mark. His eyes are wide and scared, in anticipation, and Mark has never felt emotion like this before, white hot rage and fear and pain for Eduardo.

You're scheming on a thing lawyerdown
Chris has to follow the coil of his body, and he can hear– he can hear the swathe of Eduardo’s tongue and the slick kisses he’s tracing out along the tendons, velvet-smooth, and the high, aborted pants stumbling from Mark’s mouth, and something wicked fists in his chest and clenches.
“Come on,” he bites out, “you’ve– do you want him to suck you off?”
Mark writhes his back into that, hissing through the grit of his teeth as he arches. “Yes.”
“Don’t tell me,” Chris chides softly, “tell Eduardo.”

Just between us snowblood7
"I can tell he's close and... shit... his mouth so red and swollen... mine..." Mark has no idea if Eduardo's doing this on purpose, his voice is husky and the way he's palming himself through the cloth is a bit too shaky to be entirely conscious. "I... I know he's not talking very much in class, but I know he'll sound so fucking beautiful when he..." he's sucking in the air, making Mark bite down on his wrist so he won't give himself away. "... coming just for me... looking at me under dark lashes with this ridiculously blue eyes, so damn innocent... like he does sometimes before he cast them down again..."

Something real, make it timeless trustingno1
Mark spins around in his office chair suddenly, and Eduardo yelps, yanking his hand out of his pants.
"Mark! What-" are you doing, he almost finishes, but that's probably a little rich, coming from him.
"OK, I've been wondering for a while," Mark says, rapidly, "Do you know that I can see you on the monitor?"

The Spaces In Between robpat
“You’ll be fine, Andrew. You’re kind of English and ridiculously charming. People love that.”
“Do you?” Andrew asks him. He’s joking, of course. Obviously. “Love it, I mean.”
“I prefer rude New Yorkers to charming dual citizens, actually.”
“You’re so stupid, Jess.”
“My parents will be pleased to hear that.”
“Jesse?” Andrew says then. He glances at his watch and notes the time. He’s five minutes late to breakfast, and he’s sure someone will be banging down his door in just a second. “Thank you. For—you know.”
There’s a short pause, one where Andrew can hear Jesse’s breathing, slow and steady and sure. “I miss you, too,” Jesse tells him.

All my bases are belong to you jeyhawk
"I think about you all the time," Jesse whispers, digging his fingers into Andrew's shoulder blades. "All the fucking time. In the shower when I… I think about you."
"Oh God," Andrew breathes, pulling Jesse into another kiss. "Me too, Jess. Me too."
It's embarrassing to think about how many times he's jerked off thinking about Jesse. Hundreds, maybe thousands.
"I think about your mouth," Jesse murmurs, pulling back to look at Andrew in the dim light falling in through the half-closed blinds. "And all the things I wish I was brave enough to do to it."
"Anything," Andrew says. "You can have anything."

Change for a new direction lawyerdown
“It's not,” he begins, reserved, but Eduardo hangs on fruitlessly for several long moments, anticipating, while Mark's jaw hangs open around an unsaid continuation before he huffs, ragged, frustrated, and transfers his hand from his wrist to Eduardo’s cock in one sinuous sweep, fisting the base loosely.
Eduardo does jump at that, shuddering, and Mark bites at his own lip, soothes over the skin with the tip of his tongue, whispers, “Say no,” like it's easy, like he's expecting it, but he had to try anyway, subvert his own projected odds.
Eduardo parts his legs, just a fraction, feet repositioning, and he hears himself say “Yeah,” but it sounds distant, disconnected, and then Mark's pushing him back towards the wall, painfully gradual and stupidly delicate, and Eduardo moans as if he's breaking when the wings of his shoulder blades touch the cold tile and Mark keeps following after him, pushing against him, like he's going to walk right through, sliding their dicks together, his hand caught between them, knuckles scraping Eduardo's navel.
The glide is impossible, irredeemably smooth, slicked by the running water and sweat and residual soap, and Mark buries his face in Eduardo's throat, smoothing the skin there over with his tongue, wrist jerking, and it takes Eduardo a moment to catch it, half drowned by the abstract rush of the water and his heartbeat, Mark crushing jerky, hitching moans into his neck, panting, touch me touch me touchme.

We'll spend some time forever oflights
When it happens, Mark is 98% sure he had imagined it. He is sure that it is that stupid, irresponsible and immature little part of his brain that makes him hear the words, “I take thee Mark,” come out of Eduardo’s mouth as he stands in front of the rabbi, holding his future wife’s hands in his.
But that 2% of him that isn’t entirely sure manages to register the fact that Sean has fallen sideways out of his chair and he’s nearly seizing with laughter. Mark blinks and looks at Sean, then looks back up at Eduardo and Amy and then Dustin and Chris standing on Eduardo’s side. Dustin has a hand to his mouth and is clearly trying not to laugh, and Chris has a hand over his whole face and his head down, a very familiar pose for him.
“Oh my God,” Eduardo says, laughing high and nervous; Amy’s eyes are wide and her smile is completely frozen on her face. “I mean—Amy. I take thee Amy. Not Mark.”
Sean lets out a near howl of laughter, and Eduardo and Amy both give him such powerful looks of loathing, Mark is surprised he doesn’t melt into a puddle of douchebag on the floor. “Stop it, Sean, Jesus,” Mark whispers, grabbing him and hauling him up into his seat. His head is spinning and he is thinking fuck being mature because he is not going to look Eduardo in the eye right now, no way, not at all, because if he does and he sees…anything there, he cannot be held responsible for his actions.

And if I don't make it know therealw
"They got it all wrong, Wardo."
"It's the middle of the fucking night here, Mark."
"I know."
"Are you drunk?"
"Of course I'm drunk, why else would I be calling you? No, wait, there was another... ah. Yes. The movie! The movie they made about us!"
"It was more about you, really."
"Either way, they're wrong.
"Yeah, I know."
"They think Erica's Rosebud!”
“Rosebud?”
“I know, right? That's so... that's bullshit. She isn't, Wardo, she never was."
"Okay."
"If there was one fucking sled, it was you, okay? You. You were the sled."

In Every Line of Code lc2l
Mark glanced at his laptop to see that—yes—his program had finished running. "What are you?"
"Wardo," Wardo said absently, running his face with one hand. "Eduardo. I'm a robot, I'm—" he turned slowly to look at Mark. "I'm your robot."
"And," Dustin added, waving his laptop. "You're programmed to fall in love with him in six to eight weeks. I know love should be a surprise but I thought I'd tell you because it's Mark and no one should be forced into that without warning."
Wardo looked up at Mark. He had big brown eyes that logically hid cameras but all Mark could see in them was slight confusion and complete trust. Somewhere behind this face was the most powerful circuitboard in the world and all it wanted was to be here with Mark Zuckerberg.
"Yeah," Mark said, reaching out to pull the USB cord out from Wardo's neck and slide the flap closed over the control panel. "You're my robot."

Teeth in the Grass vaingirlfic - ссылка и рек здесь.

Boy Falls From the Sky lc2l - ссылка и рек здесь.

Tranquilize oflights - ссылка и рек здесь.
Сиквел - Human.

A Submission to Reason (And to You) thisissirius
He traces the knee of Wardo’s pants with his fingers and then sinks to his knees, almost immediately pressing his forehead to Eduardo’s leg. He hears Eduardo’s sharp intake of breath because Mark’s never done this of his own volition and they both know the significance of this. Mark gave in once already with his acquiescence in sex but this is different; this is a release of a different kind and it’s a lot like coming home.
He stays kneeling as Eduardo’s hand comes to his head and holds him there. He stays kneeling as Chris asks, “Is this what you both want?” He stays kneeling as Eduardo says yes and tells Mark to answer Chris. Mark does; affirmative and sure but he doesn’t move from position by Eduardo’s knee until Eduardo tells him he can. Even then, he grabs his laptop from his room, climbs back onto the couch and presses against Eduardo’s side. He waits with baited breath for the arm around his chest and when it comes he relaxes completely, face turning towards the back of the couch and it’s not until he hears them bickering that he remembers Chris and Dustin are still in the room; and that they don’t care.

Point of Origin bloodygoodgirl
"Fuck off!" Eduardo yells. He's not falling for that again.
There's a second of silence before someone says, "I can respect that. And normally I wouldn't push the matter but there are a couple of zombies out here looking to eat me and I'd appreciate the help."
Eduardo bolts up, running to the door and throwing back the locks. A small curly haired figure runs past him, turning around to help Eduardo shut the door against the tide of zombies trying to get their way in. They manage to press their weight and lock the door before Eduardo realizes who's with him.
"Mark?"
Mark turns to look at him. He's dressed the same way, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. No flip-flops but Eduardo figures they're pretty impractical when running from zombies. Then again they were impractical when there was a foot of snow on the ground.
"Mark, what's going on?"
Mark looks at him again, confusion etched across a face that's more open than Mark's ever was. He extends an awkward hand and says, "Hi, I'm Columbus."

Perfect Situation oflights
It takes him a minute to register that Eduardo, Dustin and Chris are staring at him with varying degrees of tragedy in their faces, and he pauses in his diatribe on wining and dining to squint at them. “What?”
“You’re a—” Chris starts, and Wardo finishes it in a hushed, pitying voice. “—a virgin?” He makes it sound like a dying cancer patient?
Mark blinks. “Um. Did I say that?”
“Basically,” Dustin says, but he’s avoiding eye contact with just about everybody, shifting uncomfortably from his spot on the floor by the couch. Mark notes that and mentally hits ctrl+s to keep it in mind, and looks back at Eduardo and Chris and tries not to feel the stupid, irritating flush of embarrassment threatening to creep up the back of his neck.
He lifts his chin and narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. So what?”
Chris snorts into the neck of his beer bottle, looking more gleeful than possibly ever, but Eduardo still looks devastated. “But…how?” he asks, and it sounds more like a question to the universe than to Mark personally.
Chris snorts again. “Um, hello? It’s Mark. Honestly, would you go through all that just to hit it?”
Eduardo blushes scarlet, for some reason, probably because he’s drunk.

Line Boyfriends bloodygoodgirl - переведен здесь.

Soco Amaretto Lime lc2l - ссылка и рек здесь.

pieces from my heart indecentexposed
He wants to know everything, really—every single detail of what Eduardo’s done and where he’s gone and what he’s thought about for the past five years. There is not a lot Mark wouldn’t give to have Eduardo talk to him, to sit back and just listen.
Admittedly, he’s hoping they can hold off on that until he’s sober, which he is still not, although the drunkenness is slowly beginning to fade into a truly fucking horrific hangover.
In the meantime, Mark is busy noticing every smile, every grimace, every knit of Eduardo’s brow, every absent motion—a flick of the wrist, a stretch of the fingers, a shift in his seat. He stares so hard that Dustin finally kicks him lightly under the table, and Mark snaps out of it enough to look away, to try to look like he’s paying attention to whatever it is that Chris is saying.
When they break for lunch, Eduardo disappears through the glass doors immediately, cell phone pressed to his ear. Mark doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” he asks Dustin, a little anxiously.
“He’ll come back,” Dustin says, sounding certain but also sort of anxious, for reasons Mark is too tired and sick-feeling to possibly guess.
“Are you sure?” he asks instead.
“Positive.”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as you stopped looking at him, he started looking at you.”

Suitemates Poose (Крис/Марк)
"I don't wanna watch TV," Mark says, bringing the pipe to his lips once more. His cheeks hollow when he draws in smoke, and Chris would like to think that his stomach is going tight because they are getting high (it's good stuff, indoor from a Cali dispensary), but it is perhaps not just a side effect of the THC.
It is Mark's face, the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, the shape of his mouth around the stem of the pipe (purchased on a trip to Asheville in 10th grade, cleaned faithfully every month).
He hands it back and their fingers touch.
Mark leans back and looks up at him as he takes another hit.
"What should we do then?" he says, after a long held inhale.
Mark hits the pipe again and holds his own smoke in, letting it release in a slow hot stream.
"We could make out," Mark says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

stumbling towards serenity jeyhawk_fic
Andrew pulls into the parking lot of the first grocery store they come across and finds a parking space close to the doors. He slides his sunglasses off and puts them on the dashboard.
"You ready?" he asks.
"No… um… you go ahead," Jesse says. "I'll… uh… I'll stay here and watch the car."
Andrew looks around. The parking lot is almost empty and what cars there are definitely more desirable than the Garfield-Stone family SUV.
"I think the car'll be fine," he says.
"Yes… yes… but…" Jesse bites down on his lower lip. He shouldn't have worn a pair of his new pants, decidedly tighter than all of his old pants, because they don't leave enough to the imagination. "I don't… I don't want to… uh… traumatize any kids."
Andrew's face falls and he reaches out to cup Jesse's cheek. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "You're beautiful."
Jesse flushes and shifts and feels all kinds of miserable and happy all at once. "I didn't mean… uh… with my face," he mutters.
Andrew thumbs at Jesse's cheekbone and smiles. "That's good," he says softly. "Because it's such a lovely face."
"You're not… uh… helping with my problem, right now," Jesse manages, squirming unhappily.
Andrew drops his gaze. "Oh," he says. "Oh."
Jesse squirms some more and flushes crimson. Andrew lets his hand drop and sinks back fully into his seat.
"Great," he says. "Now I'm going to traumatize the kids too."
Jesse laughs, because it's better than crying, and after a moment Andrew joins in.
"This is ridiculous," he hiccups, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. "Jesus, Jess, the things you do to me."

Good As I Been to You ninhursag (Дастин/Эдуардо) - ссылка и рек здесь.

Something About Christmas Time harbingerofcake
“Teach me,” he demanded.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have six hundred million dollars? Hire Kurt Browning or something.”
Eduardo didn’t even blink. “You owe me.”
“Oh, did I forget the tip on that bill?” Mark asked sarcastically.
“You forgot the asshole tax,” Eduardo said flatly. “Teach me how to skate.”

Every King Has His Throne robpat
“Hi,” Eduardo says. The room is dark, and it smells like unkempt boy, like Mark hasn’t showered in days. “Have you showered?” he asks, because he has to know. He can’t imagine anyone not showering for days.
But then Mark’s snatching chicken soup from Eduardo and planting himself back in front of his laptop.
“No time,” Mark grunts out between mouthfuls. He makes a face, throwing Eduardo a flat look from over his shoulder. “This soup is disgusting.”
Eduardo stiffens, his heart pounding up into his throat. “Sorry,” he starts. He’s already gathering up the containers, thinking of something else to get Mark. “What else do you like? They had salad. Or I could get you cereal?” He can’t seem to keep still, feeling the familiar weight of failure bearing down on him. “I should have asked what you wanted,” Eduardo continues. “I’m so sorry.” He’s flustered and a disappointment and god, coming here was such a bad idea.
Mark makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “Eduardo, please stop talking.”
And Eduardo does. His fingers still their endless anxious rhythm and he waits for the reprimand, the rejection, for Mark to say that he should leave.
“It’s not your fault the food tastes like shit, don’t be ridiculous,” Mark says instead.
Eduardo shakes his head. It is his fault, he should have gotten something else, he should have asked, he should have—
“Jesus, sit down or something,” Mark snaps at him. “Don’t have an aneurysm over this. Or at least have the decency to do it out there with Chris and Dustin. Just sit down.”
And so Eduardo sits. Right by Mark’s feet. He presses his forehead to Mark’s leg for just a second, just one second, and suddenly he feels calmer. He looks up and whispers, “Is right here okay?”
That’s how it starts.

as brothers we will stand ymorton (Марк/Эдуардо/Дастин)
He comes back in half an hour later, and Eduardo's lying on his back on his bed, eyes wide open, hands on his stomach.
"Hey," Dustin says cautiously.
"I'm sorry for doing that," Eduardo says in response, voice carefully flat. "We shouldn't have- I'm sorry."
Dustin doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. Sometimes he feels like he doesn't know Eduardo at all.
"I thought that us fucking was the same thing as him being in love with me," Eduardo says, and laughs bitterly to himself. "It's really, really not."
"Mark's an idiot," Dustin says roughly. Mark doesn't deserve someone like Eduardo.
Eduardo just laughs again, choky-sounding, and Dustin crawls back into the bed. Eduardo clutches at him, more desperate than sexual, and Dustin puts his arms around Eduardo's shoulders.
"It's gonna be okay," Dustin says, and Eduardo nods against his shoulder.
"It's just the summer. Right? It's just the summer," Dustin asks, Eduardo or himself, he's not sure.

Cutting Edge abriata и Troitzky versus Vogt economic - ссылка и рек здесь.

the fairytale of silicon valley thisissirius
It still felt like static even after the video had finished and Chris was pressing Eduardo’s head down between his legs, rubbing circles against the top of his spine. Eduardo could feel himself hyperventilating, panicking beyond reason and rubbing his fingers along his knees. He was dimly aware of Chris telling him to stop, that he would hurt himself, and pressing Eduardo’s hands to the desk. Eduardo was barely aware of what was happening. He could only on Mark’s face, bloodied, bruised and pained.
Defeated. Mark looked defeated.
Eventually, colour and sound seeped back into Eduardo’s world and he made a soft noise. Chris was kneeling on the floor next to him, forehead pressed to Eduardo’s temple and he both of them were shaking - trembling, or maybe only Eduardo was. He didn’t know.
“Dustin’s coding,” Chris said. “I had to go throw up in the bathroom.”
Eduardo was grateful. They all lost it however they lost it and it was comforting to know he wasn’t the only one losing the threads of his sanity. When he was sure he could speak without sounding broken, Eduardo closed his eyes. “We have to get him out, Chris.”
“We’ll pay,” Chris promised. “We can get the money together.”
Eduardo was glad he didn’t fight him on it. Eduardo couldn’t leave Mark anywhere where that was happening to him, even if, if they - “We need to bring him home.”
Chris nodded, shifting against Eduardo’s face. “We will.”

unblock this misery forsanethaec
And Mark writes back, characteristically curt but not dismissive, and without even understanding why he’s doing it Eduardo does too, and within a few weeks they’re corresponding every day. There’s something disarmingly personal about these short little missives – perhaps the way they have to tailor them to tiptoe around one another, which Eduardo doesn’t mean to do precisely but finds himself unable to prevent – that makes them feel just like dispatches from their estranged lives, something that makes Eduardo want to do it, that makes it feel – good, as though he’s accomplishing something.
Mark’s letters have an air of concession about them, like they’re an olive branch in a fight Eduardo hadn’t really realized was still in progress. Only they’re not talking about anything real; they’re just talking, writing, and Eduardo isn’t really sure what this is yet. He doesn’t want to call it something he never even thought he wanted, something he never thought they’d ever be capable of. It’s just – he wants to talk to Mark. It feels so good to talk to him. Eduardo had no idea it could ever feel so good.
They catch up on each other’s lives as though all that’s happened is they’ve lost touch. The emails get longer, gradually, and Eduardo starts to catch himself smiling as he reads them. Eventually he stops stopping himself.
You know, I don’t forgive you, he writes one day, apropos of nothing, because it’s starting to get scary how easy this is.
I know. I’m not asking you to, Mark writes back later that day. It’s not like I’ve apologized.
Eduardo laughs out loud when he reads it, only half as bitter as he should be.

and notes do increase insunshine
Eduardo turns back around. He has a hard time speaking to people when he can’t face them. “I’m being a dick? I haven’t punched you in the mouth yet,” he adds, shrugging. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well, so far.”
Mark sneers; an ugly twist of his lips that exposes his teeth in something that is definitely not a smile. “I didn’t see you pushing me away,” he says, all confident, no tremor in his voice at all.
Eduardo closes his eyes, pinching at the skin between his nose, and that’s when Mark kisses him again. He has a clear advantage, and this next pass is better. Their mouths align, but their teeth clack together, and Eduardo opens his eyes to find Mark looking right back at him.
He pulls back with a gasp, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, not half as calm as he wants be. His heart is jackhammering in his chest.
“I wanted to see what you would do.” Mark speaks easily, hands hanging by his sides, his fingers tapping a soundless rhythm against his thighs.
“You wanted—” Eduardo parrots the words back on a gasp, so ready to do something drastic; to punch Mark or at least to shake him, to get him as confused as he is. “Get out,” he manages, finally. “Seriously, Mark, I’m fucking wrecked. Get out and I’ll see you during finals.”
Mark blinks at him and says, “Fine. Whatever, Wardo.”
Eduardo wishes he’d punched him.

I'm Gonna Leave My Bones salvadore_hart (Крис/Марк)
Chris cups Mark's cheek for a moment, pleased by the way Mark immediately leans into the touch, his other hand coming up to cup Chris' shoulder as he arches his hips toward Chris. And then Chris runs his fingers up, combing through Mark's curls to cup the back of Mark's head and tugging him forward. The moment his lips should touch Mark's lips, Mark turns his head just a fraction. Enough that Chris kisses the corner of Mark's mouth, but mostly Mark's cheek.
Chris rears back and stares for a moment. He watches as Mark's lips droop from his smile to a frown. Mark's eyes narrow and -- Chris wants to scream because it's confusion that is making Mark's eyes flick back and forth as he scrutinizes Chris back. He doesn't know what he is hoping for but it isn't confusion. Or Mark's fingers wrapping tight around his wrist as he tries to pull away.
Chris just tugs and murmurs, “Let me go, Mark.”
But Mark doesn't and Chris can't make a proper getaway, he has to turn around a look at Mark. And he looks at Mark and thinks about the way Mark looks at Eduardo; how Eduardo looks like puppy when he is around Mark and all of it, every single moment since Eduardo sauntered in and replaced Chris on Mark's bed makes Chris feel like an idiot. All of the feelings he has been holding deep beneath the surface because this wasn't supposed to be serious; despite what he said to Dustin about how it wasn't an affair, it was definitely meant to be a fling. Mark's clear disinterest in kissing Chris was point enough.
“We're not going to do this anymore,” Chris says, and he wishes his voice didn't sound so meek. He tugs his hand from Mark's loosening grip and pivots, to hide in his bed anyway.
“Why?”
And Chris takes a leaf from Mark's book and just, shrugs.

Share Function BlackEyedGirl
Mark can't fix that problem, so he's doing this instead. He has Eduardo sitting in the middle of the sitting room of his large house and he is slowly walking away.
He is talking to Eduardo on the phone the whole time, and by the time he gets to the front gate, Eduardo is cursing at him. It hurts, and it started hurting with Mark halfway down the driveway (it started hurting before he opened the front door) but Mark is not content to know that. He needs to know how much hurt Eduardo can take.
“Mark, fucking asshole, bastard, if you don't-,” What, Eduardo doesn't know. But he wants to throw up and he can't move to get to the bathroom or even the wastepaper basket because they are both farther away from Mark and that is a step he cannot voluntarily take. But Mark can, and that is maybe what angers Eduardo the most.
“What?” Mark asks, sounding not concerned at all. He sounds, in fact, the way he always sounded on a coding tear, barely responding to outside stimuli.
Eduardo hates himself but says it anyway: “Come back.”
Mark walks back in slowly. He sits down beside Eduardo on the couch. “Okay, now we know that.” He’s so calm.
Eduardo wants to reach across and punch him, to wrap his hands around Mark’s throat, anything to satiate this urge to touch him.

the time is come when the day is done moogle62 - ссылка и рек здесь.

Superconnected oflights
“I’m sorry, Wardo,” Chris says, and he really sounds sorry. He says other things, too, like it’ll be okay, you’re fine, don’t worry, we’ll figure this out, but none of them are as honest as that apology. Inside, distantly, Eduardo can hear Dustin talking to Mark in the same kind of way, and he can hear Mark snapping back at him. He remembers that vividly, being in Dustin’s place, coaxing Mark into taking care of himself or comforting him for whatever reason, and feeling that hurt whenever Mark lashed out in response. Dustin, though, seems to let it roll off him and keeps going, and maybe that means he’s used to it, now. Maybe he’s more used to it than Eduardo ever got the chance to be, and that idea sort of shocks him a bit—now, Dustin and Mark have been friends longer than Eduardo and Mark ever were.
“How is this going to work?” Eduardo asks in a shaky voice. Chris sighs next to him, rubbing his back idly.
“I don’t know. I do know that we have to get you inside before this—this thing makes you pass out again. I know it’s hard, Wardo, believe me, I understand. Sometimes I can’t stand to be in the same room as Mark, and I don’t have nearly as many issues with him as you do. But right now I think you just have to decide what hurts more.”
That’s an easy one—the headache is nothing, really, compared to remembering the dilution, the depositions, or even everything that came before it. But what hurts the most is that Mark is in there suffering just as badly as Eduardo, and Eduardo is letting his stupid, silly issues get in the way of fixing that.
“Let’s go inside,” Eduardo says, muffled into his knees. Chris nods and helps him up, shuffling him back into where Dustin has Mark lying horizontally on a couch, arm thrown over his eyes.
“Thank God,” he says without moving his arm. Eduardo sinks weakly into a chair, the ache gone like magic, and is suddenly so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open.

Mulligan oflights
He emails Mark exactly as he had said he would, and then he does it again, with a few more question marks and I know you’re probably busy, but and such, when Mark doesn’t answer him in the next few days. Eduardo forces himself to go back to New York at that point, but emails Mark again, deciding to take the Dustin approach and add some sad emoticons in.
There is no response, and Eduardo starts to get really, really discouraged. He thinks of a time when Mark and the Irish or Scottish guy wouldn’t be together and tries calling him at noon on a Wednesday, but Mark doesn’t answer. Calling too much would be weird and he hears Christy’s voice in his head, telling him to go for 47 texts, like a little devil on his shoulder. He ignores her and sends one text: this is eduardo, btw and there is no answer.
For a while, he thinks about giving up. He goes out and he has sex with a guy, bottoms for the first time in a long time, and wonders if he could do this with Mark, let go like this with Mark, and realizes how much he wants to. He is drunk and after it’s over he texts Mark want u to fuck me and then passes out.
When he wakes up the guy is burning eggs at the stove in his studio, and it makes Eduardo’s stomach turn. Vomiting all over the guy’s floor makes leaving him that much more awkward, and by the time he is back out on the shiny New York concrete, he is smelly and tired and it is not the time to remember what he had texted Mark. So of course he does, then, and immediately wants to vomit again.
i’m sorry, he texts him over and over, creeping dangerously into Christy territory.

the fuse is burning longtime_lurker
He snakes a hand underneath them to tweak one of Mark’s nipples, and the harder he pinches the harder Mark rocks back against him, and Eduardo wants inside so bad. Mark’s been fingerfucked wide open (tonguefucked, God, Eduardo can’t believe they did that) and it would be so easy to push forward a little further and breach him - But instead he just lets the swollen head of his cock rub right up against Mark’s asshole, getting off on the not-quiteness of it almost as much as he would on actual penetration, shaking sweaty hair out of his eyes and grinning a little when Mark tosses his head back, lips pressed tight like he’s swallowing back the pleas that threaten to burst from behind them.
He curves his head over Mark’s bare shoulder, chin nesting into Mark’s neck, and Mark moves against him and with him and oh, God, Eduardo is so damn close, stupid with it. He can’t figure out whether he’s getting off on denying Mark or denying himself - or both - but it’s too hot for him to care.
He puts his lips right up against Mark’s ear and whispers, like a secret: "I do like to give you things."
Mark jerks, the muscles of his ass flexing around Eduardo’s cock, and spits out, "Then why don't you shut your fucking mouth and fucking fuck m-"
"No," says Eduardo, soft, clear.
Mark’s eyes widen and he makes a strangled noise as he comes, one more time, totally dry now, rocking back on his hands and knees for a last grind onto Eduardo’s dick, and Eduardo ruts into him and follows, all over the place, on Mark’s ass and probably a little bit in it too.

if this was the cold war (we could keep each other warm) oflights
“Eduardo,” Chris says, and his voice has softened into that this is how I approach all crazy people way he used to use to reason with Mark. “Who—who are you talking to?” Dustin looks truly frightened, and his face is crumpling, like he’s not going to be able to handle Mark in the hospital and Eduardo going loony tunes at the same time.
“You,” Eduardo tries, one last stab at deflecting. “I’m talking to you, why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’re not standing over—” Chris starts reasonably, but Dustin cuts in, voice wobbly but determined, like he’s desperate to salvage this conversation.
“We weren’t sure where you guys stood, if you weren’t still mad,” he says, reaching over to put a soothing hand on Eduardo’s arm. “We figured we’d—we’d only tell you if the worst happened.”
“When the worst happens,” Mark corrects, and Eduardo has to grit his teeth together to keep from snapping at him again.
“We certainly didn’t expect this,” Chris says, gesturing in a way that Eduardo takes to mean all this crazy going on.
“Yeah, well, neither did I,” Eduardo sighs, blissfully remembering the simple days when his apartment was free of coma ghosts. Then he thinks of the fact that he was going about his days all normal and free and without worries for two weeks while Mark was in the hospital, and the anger burns up again.
“Eduardo,” Chris says, and Eduardo looks at him, the tired lines of his grief-filled face, and knows he’s not going to be able to dodge this one. He readies himself.
Mark says, “Don’t do it, Wardo, you’ll wind up sharing my hospital room,” but he ignores him and spits it out.
“Yeah, so, Mark is here. Mark says hi.”
“Fuck you, I do not,” says Mark. “Virtual Mark says don’t fuck up his company, bitches.”
“He says he loves you both,” Eduardo says flatly, and Mark pretends to gag.

Relationship Status: It was always about you jeyhawk
He doesn't know how long he's been out of it, but the coffee shop is considerably less crowded when someone taps his shoulder, forcing him to look up from the screen. A guy is standing next to the table, tall and whipcord lean with a black apron tied around his slim waist. His mouth is moving, but Mark can't make out his words over the music and he reluctantly pushes the headphones down to hug his neck.
"I said," the guys says, as if he's already on his seventh repeat. "It's considered common courtesy to order something if you're going to take up a table for hours at a time."
"Oh." Mark looks down on the screen again, fingers already poised to type; after a moment, he puts the headphones back on.
The guy sighs and throws his hands up. Mark doesn't look after him as he leaves.
--
A cup lands on Mark's table, put down with enough force to make something that looks like coffee slosh over the edges. It's the guy again, bringing Mark a drink he didn't order. Mark looks at the cup and then up at the guy. He has ridiculous hair, Mark notices, and brown eyes under bushy eyebrows. He seems to be waiting for something.
Mark takes a hesitant sip from the cup; it's coffee, dark and bitter. He puts the cup down again.
"Not enough sugar," he says.

say goodbye (to the world you thought you lived in) hitlikehammers - отзыв здесь.

a thousand years of waiting grim_lupine
Taken all together, with Eduardo pulling back time and again and holding back, with Eduardo using what he knows, it means Mark is left shaking, hands curled in the sheets. He looks feverish, a little like he’s about to burst out of his skin. “You—” Mark starts, and his voice, fuck, it’s cracked and gone, and he has to pause and swallow and wet his lips before he can continue, “please.”
And if that isn’t a moment of triumph, Eduardo doesn’t know what is. Mark, Mark, who thinks social niceties pointless if he ever bothers to reflect upon them; who walks through held-open doors without a thank-you like he just expects it to happen for him; who thinks politeness is for people who have something to hide, Mark is saying please.
I want to give you everything, Eduardo thinks, but what he says is , “You have to wait,” and what is so breathtakingly dizzyingly amazing is that Mark does, he does...

Harbors of My Own abriata
Mark says, "Because nothing shows we care about the third world like selling people in their honor."
"Charity auctions are not like slavery, Mark, and if you even suggest something like that tomorrow night I will kill you," Chris says.
"Yeah," Dustin says. "Nothing's like slavery except slavery, Mark. This is just like prostitution."
Chris makes a despairing noise.
"Thank you," Mark says, "for supporting my point."
Dustin salutes him with his drink.
"No, shut up," Chris says. "You are doing this. You will auction off one date, and you will go on one date, and all the hurt feelings your comment inspired will be smoothed over."
"Hurt feelings," Mark says, "because we're in kindergarten."
"Are we sure anyone will want Mark?" Dustin asks, grinning. "I mean, if the night ends and nobody's bought him, won't that look bad?"
"Thanks," Mark repeats, sourly.
"Someone will buy him," Chris says. "He is still a billionaire. That'll attract people. Besides, even if he didn't get bought, the public humiliation would probably appease everyone."

postscript thisissirius
Writing to Chris was not a mistake.
Writing to Chris meant that he at least knew that Eduardo had read the book and that he was watching. Eduardo would spend his time combing every last interview and public appearance for any signs that Mark was out of sorts. He had left – maybe he shouldn’t have – but he had left them with one thing to do. As much as Eduardo could tell himself he didn’t care, as much as he wished he could just walk away and never think of Mark Zuckerberg again, he couldn’t. They were intertwined, the two of them, probably forever. He would never escape the legacy Facebook would leave in its wake and Mark would never escape the knowledge that the public knew he had treated his best friend badly and the fact that most of it was undisclosed only served to fuel the fire; people wanted to know and they would never drop it while the possibility of discovering the truth lingered.
Eduardo could almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.

Touch a_jejune_star
When Eduardo returns, Mark’s just sitting there, rigid and uncertain.
There’s blood in the water.
Some old.
Some new.
Eduardo kneels at the side of the tub, shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows. He reaches for the nearby washcloth he’d left for him and softly asks, “Can I…?”
Mark starts crying again. He covers his eyes with a palm and nods, but secretly hopes Eduardo won’t call attention to it.
He feels so fucking stupid.
Eduardo doesn’t wash him good enough to get the blood off. He’s too gentle. He never scrubs. If it weren’t for the fact that Mark experienced the same polarity, he’d be totally unable to reconcile the person who fucked him raw with this other, tender, soft-eyed person.
Mark chokes, “You bruised my rib,” but tries to make it more of a laugh than a sob.
Eduardo forces a smile that’s all wrong. “You broke my nose.”
“You broke my ass.”
Eduardo counters so quietly Mark can hardly hear it, “You broke my heart.”

Tête à Tête nowadventuring - здесь.

Split the Bill waferkya
"Mark," Eduardo breathes, and he's not really over the shock yet. He has this feeling he might never recover. "What—Jesus, what do you want?"
"Red Vines," Mark tells him, honestly, without missing a beat. "I finished my last packet. Do you have any?"
It's a perfectly good excuse for a two-hours walk across the city on a Thursday morning, really. It's not like he asked if Wardo had any sugar to spare, that would've been insane.
"No," Eduardo says, and he's closing the door. Because he doesn't have time for this bullshit, and Mark screwed him over, betrayed his trust, took his money, hurt his pride, whatever.
"Are you sure? You always keep some."
Eduardo thinks, I always kept some for you, asshole. Mark thinks, Facebook should have a face recognition function.
Eduardo, exhausted, pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
"Mark, is this the best you can do? Really?"
Mark shrughs. Wardo knows it really, really is.
"It's working, Wardo. You're talking to me, and you haven't hit me or my laptop." He hasn't given him any Red Vines yet, either, but it's okay, they're still… not okay.

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