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Throw Your Back Into It

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There is a problem in Eduardo's pants and that problem's name is Mark.

See, the thing is, Eduardo has never had hate sex with anyone before. Eduardo's never hated anyone before aside from people who cut him off on the freeway because that is unforgivable, simply unforgivable. Mark is the first. To be brutally honest, Eduardo isn't sure he hates Mark either, but it's the sort of complicated mess that starts with too much alcohol at a benefit event where Eduardo tries to avoid Mark except for the way Mark keeps on looking at him, and ends with him taking Mark up to his hotel room and blowing him on the bed with Mark's knees spread and Mark gasping for air.

So, um, yeah. Complicated.

It doesn't get any less complicated at the next event where Mark still keeps on looking at Eduardo with that intensely blank stare like he's trying to figure out Eduardo's secret code. Eduardo doesn't know why it makes him so angry to see that look turned on him instead of Mark's computer, and he doesn't know why anger translates into getting hard immediately and sliding Mark a napkin with his hotel room number scrawled across it.

But Mark shows up, wearing sneakers with his tuxedo, and somehow that makes Eduardo so desperate for it that he doesn't even wait to drag Mark to the bed. He pulls Mark's pants off right against the door, and it's kind of disturbing how the best sex of Eduardo's life is with his backstabbing ex-best friend who also invented Facebook and is also sort of stupid.

"So what," Eduardo asks after the fifth time when they don't even pretend anymore; Eduardo just emails Mark his room number ahead of time. "So are you gay now?"

Mark's back is freckled, and Eduardo gets one last glimpse of it before Mark starts tugging his sweatshirt back on. "Well, it depends on what you believe, isn't it, about the origins of sexuality. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I chose to be gay. Maybe it's a particular combination of genetics and societal influences that made me wake up one day and want to suck your cock." He delivers this reply with deadpan accuracy, but he doesn't look at Eduardo. He's too busy fishing through his pockets for his phone. "Oh look, ten new text messages," he says, more to himself than anyone else.

"Don't mind me," Eduardo says bitterly, still lying on the bed with his cock flopping over his thigh. "You've got your adoring public to deal with first."

Mark snorts. Then he tosses his phone onto the dresser where it makes a hard thunk. Mark can be careless with tech other than his computer, which he guards with water guns and the suggestion of rigged explosives. "My assistant can deal with those," he says matter-of-factly. "That's what I pay her to do."

He crawls back onto the bed.

"What?" Eduardo asks.

Mark puts his hand on Eduardo's cock again. "So tell me, Wardo, does this mean you're gay now?" he asks. "And how many bodyguards will you have to hire when Christy finds out?"

"We broke up. Ages ago. I told you that." Eduardo sucks in a sharp breath as Mark starts moving his hand. He's not particularly practiced by any means, but what Mark lacks in natural skill, he makes up for in the sort of scientific inquiry that has him exploring Eduardo's body for hours.

"Interesting," Mark says, and there's the briefest flicker of a smile across his mouth before he lowers his head, and Eduardo groans.



The truth is, Eduardo has thought about this a lot. An embarrassingly large percentage of his thoughts over the years have involved Mark and Mark naked, starting from about five months after they met when he barged into Mark's room to find Mark on his bed jerking off. Eduardo had backtracked immediately, apologizing and trying to cover his eyes, but Mark had shrugged and just continued with it, like it didn't matter at all that Eduardo was in the room, which turned out to be incredibly hot but also infuriating at the same time. Which describes most things Mark, actually.

He didn't expect Mark to ever reciprocate the interest, because, well, it was Mark and Mark has the romantic awareness of the risen dead. Less, actually, because there have been some very touching love songs involving zombies.

But if there's one thing true about Mark, it's that he can be wildly curious when something unknown catches his interest, and so while Eduardo never expected the whole 'fucking on beds, fucking on chairs, fucking on all surfaces, not even the flat ones' thing, it's not number one on his list of all-time major surprises. Someone, maybe Dustin or Chris, probably dared Mark to do it. It's really easy to dare Mark into doing anything as long as you present it as a challenge, and what could be more challenging than getting into the pants of a guy who's supposed to hate you?

What does surprise Eduardo is how much Mark is into it.

Put delicately, Mark is a slut.

A total, wanton slut.

It's like he can't get enough of Eduardo in bed. It's flattering, sure, and Eduardo would be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy pinning Mark's wrists to the mattress and fucking all the cluelessness out of him, and when he and Mark are on the opposite ends of the country, he gets himself off on the memory of Mark's gasps and groans and his swearing at Eduardo, telling him to go faster, go deeper, to just man up and fuck him already. Mark makes Eduardo burn for it, and maybe that's why hate sex is so good. Eduardo doesn't have to be tender or pay attention to Mark's feelings. He can just screw him.

But meeting Mark's needy demands in bed also hurts Eduardo's back.

And his thighs. And his cock.

Mark hurts Eduardo's cock.

This...really should not be as surprising as it is.



So they're in San Francisco and they're supposed to be downstairs networking with the various tech magnates who have shown up for the party, but instead Eduardo is fucking Mark with short, sharp thrusts, watching the way Mark thrashes his head against the pillow. Mark's eyes are glazed and his mouth is open, so Eduardo leans in and kisses him.

Mark returns the kiss clumsily but eagerly, and one of his hands slides to Eduardo's back.

"Harder," he says.

Eduardo pushes harder. Mark is tight. Eduardo doesn't know if he's had other men fuck him before, and he doesn't want to know. Mark took something from him once. He wants to take something from Mark.

"Harder," Mark breathes.

"Jesus Christ," Eduardo says, his arms straining. "I'm not a machine."

"Oh wow, Wardo, I never realized that before," Mark says, an asshole even when he's being filled deep. "Here I was, mistaking you for one of my gadgets. I have my laptop, my iPhone, and my Eduardo Saverin Fucking Device." He grinds himself against Eduardo.

"Shut up," Eduardo says, biting Mark's collar bone.

Mark huffs in annoyance. Then he rakes his fingernails across Eduardo's back. "Fuck," Eduardo says, closing his eyes in shock. When he opens his eyes again, Mark is looking at him. Really looking at him, alert and all there. He's so tight and hot around Eduardo. It's incredible. Not just because Eduardo is fucking the youngest billionaire in the world, but because he's fucking Mark Zuckerberg, the way he should have been when they were still in school, before all of the betrayal and the lawsuits.

Mark arches his back and pushes down, sliding Eduardo even deeper into him. "You're making me do all the work," he accuses.

Eduardo is a nice guy. Everybody says so, and everybody's mother loves him. Mark's mom still invites Eduardo to dinner sometimes when Mark isn't around, and she makes him latkes as if in culinary apology for the backstabbing douchebag that is her son. But this time Eduardo bares his teeth, sweat stinging his hair and his eyes, and he proceeds to fuck Mrs. Zuckerberg's son into the goddamn mattress, because that's what he wants, that's what he's asking for.



But seriously though, having been introduced to the joys of gay sex, Mark is insatiable and Eduardo is...tired. Not of the sex, because come on, what red-blooded man is ever going to be tired of sex, and what man named Eduardo Saverin is ever going to get tired of the thrill of bending Mark over and doing filthy things to him. But Eduardo is getting tired of Mark's insanely high expectations. Eduardo may take good care of his hair and have an entire cabinet full of product in his bathroom, but he is not a porn star, okay.

It's when Eduardo takes up yoga so that he can stretch out the kinks in his body, and learn to bend his body in new ways to satisfy Mark, that he thinks this is too much. Exercising in reaction to and in preparation for sex is more than Eduardo is used to. Eduardo is a good Jewish boy with shares in one of the world's most profitable companies. He visits his mother once every two months and he visits Mark's mother every time he's in town. He never forgets birthdays, anniversaries, or to water his plants. Eduardo doesn't do sexercise.

And no matter what Mark and his yoga instructor think, he's never going to be that flexible. He's just not.

And after tying Mark up, fucking him with his fingers, sodomizing him with his cock, blindfolding him, doing him on the rug, doing him against the wall, renting a swing...Eduardo is running out of ideas. Google is failing him. His back is failing him, and his thighs are a whole different story entirely. He can barely walk after Mark leaves; he has no idea how Mark manages to do it. Mark is a robot, probably.

A robot that Eduardo needs to bring off to higher and higher heights, because that's the only way Mark likes it without being bored.



going to be in NYC next week. conference, says the text that shows up on Eduardo's phone.

"Hi," says the Mark that shows up on Eduardo's doorstep with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Eduardo grips the door frame. "What are you doing here?"

Mark pushes past Eduardo and heads inside. "I sent you that message. I told you I was going to be here."

"Yeah, but you didn't say you were going to be here. In my apartment." Eduardo closes the door behind him. "Why do you have your bags? Are you staying?" When Mark nods, Eduardo says, "What, you didn't have a hotel you could stay at? You fucked them over too?"

"There's only one thing I'm fucking these days," Mark replies. He wanders over to Eduardo's kitchen and immediately starts going through the fridge. Eduardo has to push down his annoyance because Mark never changes. Mark is the worst house guest in the world.

"I don't have an extra bed," he says.

"We're not going to need one," Mark says. He pulls out a Diet Coke and pops the tab open.

"I'm not sleeping with you," Eduardo argues.

"Um, yeah, you kind of are, Wardo."

"That was my last Diet Coke," Eduardo says.

"You're worth 1.5 billion dollars last I checked. Go cry some more." Mark finishes the Diet Coke and starts moving his bags into Eduardo's bedroom. Eduardo trails him helplessly and stands by the door as Mark pokes around to his satisfaction, and then sits down on the bed.

"Well?" Mark says.

"Well what?" Eduardo asks, still struggling with the weirdness of Mark in his apartment, which is eerily reminiscent of Mark in his dorm room, just like the old days.

"Are we going to have sex or not?" Mark asks impatiently.

"I, uh, I need to make a call first," Eduardo says.

Mark stares at him.

"Or not," Eduardo says. "I guess we could have sex instead."

"Good," says Mark, and he spreads his legs.



When the next day comes and Mark doesn't make any attempt to leave the bed, Eduardo calls Chris. "So what's this conference that Mark has to attend?" he asks, and Chris makes a humming noise as he tries to open a package of cheese on the other end.

"What conference?" Chris asks. "Mark's on vacation."

"What?" Eduardo asks.

"Why are you asking?" Chris says. "Are you suing him again?"

Eduardo hangs up. Oh my god, he thinks. I am Mark's cross-country booty call. He tries not to have a panic attack in the kitchen because the door to his bedroom is open and there's a good view from the bed to the kitchen. Mark is on the bed with his laptop, writing new code for Facebook. Eduardo goes to the bathroom instead. He looks in the mirror, at the circles underneath his eyes and thinks, Those are sleep deprivation circles caused by sex. He looks at his wrists, bruised where Mark was clutching them last night. Those are bruises caused by sex. He looks at his neck. That's a hickey caused by sex, and why is it so big? Mark's teeth aren't that big.

"Mark!" he yells, leaving the bathroom. He barges into the bedroom.

Mark looks up. "This seems familiar," he remarks. "Is it just me? Because you throwing doors open and storming up to me seems very familiar." He picks up his laptop and holds it against his chest. "Please don't break my laptop again. It's brand new."

"Mark, I am not your sex toy!" Eduardo says.

"Okay," Mark says.

"If you want to be fucked so much, go buy a dildo!" Eduardo says. "I am a person with my own interests and desires. I have work. I have dates. I'm not just available 24/7 as a convenient appendage!"

"Wait, you have dates?" Mark asks.

"Yes I do!" Eduardo says before he remembers that no, he doesn't. "Well, I did! Before we started this hate sex extravaganza thing!"

"Hate sex extravaganza thing," Mark repeats. He rolls his eyes. "Wardo, I told you you shouldn't have taken that poetry class. It's warped you." He puts down his laptop. "I'll give you a blowjob if it'll calm you down."

"That's not the point, Mark," Eduardo hisses.

Mark bites down on his lower lip. It's overly coy, somewhat mocking, and not sexy at all. Which is why Eduardo pops a boner.

"I hate you," Eduardo says as he sinks down on the bed.

"There there," Mark says tonelessly. He pats Eduardo's thigh and leans in.



Eduardo has to sneak out of the house on Wednesday. He meets his assistant at a Starbucks down the street, and she gives him a long, cutting look before she says, "Where have you been? I've been calling you like mad."

"Sorry, sorry," Eduardo says. "Someone hid my phone."

"Someone hid your phone," she says in disbelief. "Tell me who so I can cut them."

Eduardo wraps his hands around his latte. He's having a nervous breakdown, he thinks. This is what a nervous breakdown feels like. "Liz," he says, "I'm going to ask you a question and this isn't as your boss. This is just as me. A friend. A friend with a problem."

"Christ," she says. "You don't mind if I smoke then?"

"We're indoors," he says.

"Then let's go outside," Liz replies, and they do. He takes his latte and he walks down with Liz to the park, where she turns around and faces him after lighting up a cigarette. "Okay, so out with it. What's Zuckerberg done to you now?"

"I didn't say anything about Mark," Eduardo says.

"Please, you pay me to run your life, and you think I wouldn't notice your constant sneaking off to have sex with him? I take care of your laundry, Eduardo. You have no secrets from me."

Eduardo makes a sound like a wounded animal. "He's scaring me, Liz. He won't stop touching me. He won't let me get any work done. It's just sex, sex, sex all the time. He even passed up the chance to do more coding yesterday to have sex instead. I think he's been replaced by a pod person."

"So tell him no," Liz says, sucking on her cigarette. "He's the fucking CEO of Facebook. He's got to understand that you have better things to do with your time."

"Um," says Eduardo.

She smirks at him. "Or do you just melt at the sound of his voice? Do your knees just start shaking whenever he looks at you with those cold, dead eyes?"

"You're fired," Eduardo says.

"I do your laundry, bitch. I know your secrets. You can't fire me, ever."

"Can you at least book me an appointment with a chiropractor?" Eduardo asks.



"I'm kind of wiped out tonight," Eduardo tells Mark. "How about we take it slow?"

"Sure," Mark says, except slow for him apparently means after the first time they come, he climbs back onto Eduardo and starts doing it all over again.

"Fuck," Eduardo says, letting his head hit the pillow.

"That's what I'm trying to do," Mark says, grinding shamelessly. "It's only eight o'clock. I messaged that opera date of yours over the site and told her you had herpes. We can stay in all night."

Eduardo doesn't quite weep manly tears of frustration, but it's a close thing.



Mark has never been overly athletic. He was captain of his high school fencing team, but at college he was only run of the mill, kept up in the matches by his wit. He doesn't dominate physically. If anything, in the years Eduardo has known him, Mark has demonstrated a careless lack of kinesthetic ability what with tripping over stairs, cats, and unconscious roommates. But there has to be some credit given for specialized exceptions, because in bed Mark has stamina that makes Eduardo want to shrivel up into a little ball and die. Meaning, Mark puts Eduardo to shame, and that's the crux of it, really. Mark wants it fast, hard, and good, and Eduardo can't keep up. Eduardo is only one man. He can't keep on hitting home runs. He can't be Mark's one stop spokesperson for all things queer. It's too much pressure to handle, and he's just waiting for the day when Mark decides that hey, he's learned everything he wants to from Eduardo. Better scoot back to California and find new things to entertain him.

To Mark, the only things Eduardo has ever been good at providing are cash, mathematical formulas, alcohol, and gay sex.

And everybody knows what happened with the first three.

And everybody knows that when Eduardo tells Mark "I hate you", it doesn't really mean that at all. Eduardo has never been capable of hating Mark, only the way Mark turns his back to him.

"I don't know why I do this to myself all the time," Eduardo says to the mirror. "I'm a fucking masochist."

"Wardo, stop talking to yourself!" Mark yells from the bedroom. "Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter is playing on TV so get your ass out and let's watch it."

Eduardo sincerely hopes that the movie does not give Mark any new kinks. That would be more than Eduardo can handle. That would be the icing on a very tall, very wobbly cake.



Mark leaves on a Sunday. "I guess I better head back to the offices," he says, tugging on his jacket. That he's even bothering to wear a jacket says something about the time that's passed since school. Eduardo watches him wordlessly. "Thanks for the good time," Mark smirks. "Sean's going to be all over me, asking about hookers and blow. I'll have to make up something to tell him."

It's the way he says it, the way his mouth (his mouth that has kissed up and down Eduardo's stomach, his mouth that has trailed over the hollow of Eduardo's hip) forms the words 'good' and 'time' and 'Sean' that makes Eduardo freeze.

No more, he thinks. I'm ending it now.

But Mark doesn't know that this is the end of their hate sex, because Mark doesn't care about beginnings or ends or relationships at all. "See you around," he says and Eduardo walks him out to the curb and hails him a taxi to the airport.



Over the next three weeks, he gets fifteen text messages from Mark and one missed call.

The fourth week, he gets nothing.

The fifth week, he gets a photo messaged to him that makes him throw his phone against the wall, because it's Mark in the photo, Mark with some guy Eduardo doesn't recognize, and they're both clearly naked and Mark is staring determinedly into the camera as he takes the shot.

Eduardo has to buy a new phone just so he can text Mark back.

good for you, you've found a new buddy.

Mark texts back almost instantaneously.

his dick is bigger than yours

Eduardo grinds his teeth. fuck you, he types back.

plus he's friendly to chickens, Mark writes.

Eduardo doesn't dignify that with a response.

Mark texts him again. i'm thinking about giving him shares to the company.

And that's when Eduardo texts: i don't care. don't fucking care anymore. i gave you every fucking thing you ever asked of me, and it's not enough for you, so fuck you and your new bf. i hope you have a happy life together.

Eduardo has officially become a character from a telenovela. After he hits send, he regrets it, but there's no take backs, so he turns his phone off and goes to bed. Except his bed smells like Mark, and his skin still carries traces of Mark, and Eduardo is so furious, he can't even speak. Mark does this to him always, and Eduardo wishes he knew a way to hurt Mark back.



Mark shows up at Eduardo's apartment. Again.

Eduardo shuts the door in his face.

Unfortunately he gave Mark a spare key the last time Mark was over, so Mark just lets himself in and stands there with his arms crossed, staring. "I don't get you, Wardo," he says. "I don't get you at all."

"You don't understand anything that has a pulse and isn't made of silicone," Eduardo snaps. Mark's hair is rumpled and he looks exactly the way he would look if he suddenly jumped on a plane and took a five and a half hour flight from California to New York. He doesn't even have luggage with him, what the hell. He's carrying just his backpack.

"Was the sex that bad?" Mark asks. "Because you know, I researched it ahead of time. I asked Sean. I gathered all the pertinent data and asked all your ex-girlfriends, so you really shouldn't have any reason to complain. You know it's not often that I study for anything. You should be flattered by it."

"What?" Eduardo stares at him. "You did what?"

"It turned out I shouldn't have worried," Mark says. "You're really easy to please, Wardo. Actually, you're kind of a ho."

Eduardo loses it. "I'm a ho? You're the one that's a fucking nymphomaniac! It's always sex here, sex now, sex all the time. It's fucking exhausting! And I'm not the one with the crazy high standards that makes everybody else lose their minds trying to keep up! Because it's always been like that, all the fucking time. You get to be brilliant and demanding, and the rest of us just scramble around trying to be good enough."

Well, he's done it. He's actually made Mark Zuckerberg speechless. It should feel like a victory, but it doesn't.

Then Mark reaches into his backpack. "Your assistant warned me this might happen," he mutters, and Eduardo is expecting any number of things to emerge from that backpack. A gun, another lawsuit, a message from his mother. But Mark pulls out two things. A copy of GQ and a copy of their Harvard yearbook.

"I've taken the liberty of going through both of these and circling all the men who are more attractive than you are," Mark says.

"Mark, get out of my apartment," Eduardo says.

"You'll notice that I've circled a large number, which is admittedly expected for the GQ magazine because they're male models, but there's also a large number of very attractive males in our school yearbook," Mark continues. "Now, I've done the calculations and I've estimated, based on data provided to me by an undisclosed source, that at least 2.5% of these males would potentially sleep with me if I asked. Or sent my assistant to ask. Whichever works."

"How thrilling," Eduardo says. "Now seriously, get out."

"As Sean tells me, being a billionaire does have a certain sheen to it," Mark says. "So my point is, I could be having a lot of sex with people who aren't you. People who don't hate me."

He looks at Eduardo.

"But I don't," Mark says. "I don't want to."

Eduardo feels like he's falling apart. He feels like he did that day when Mark betrayed him, when he went to sign the documents that would push him out of his own company. His hands are shaking and his voice is missing, and it's almost too much. Fucking Mark. He's the one person who can get under Eduardo's skin like this; he's the one person it's been a mistake to sleep with because he's the one person who can destroy Eduardo, turn him into a fucking helpless mess of want and anger. Mark never gets it. He never gets any of it, except right now, standing in Eduardo's front hall after a five and a half hour flight, telling him about the 2.5% percent that he could be pulling. Which is true. Mark's an asshole but he's a mercurial, brilliant asshole, and Eduardo of all people knows how tempting that can be.

"Come on," Mark says quietly. "I'm starving. How about you buy me a sandwich?"

"Buy your own sandwich," Eduardo says, but he nods slowly. "Just let me get my jacket first."

"Okay," Mark replies.

Eduardo watches him warily.

"I'm not going to bend you over the restaurant table," Mark says. "Don't worry. And hell, you are so transparent, Wardo, with your dewy eyes and your pouty mouth. You can't hide a thing."

"What do my eyes and my mouth have to do with anything?"

"They're just very dewy and pouty, that's all. And they made Facebook crash for three hours last night." Mark frowns. "I wasn't happy about that. Don't do it again."

"You're not making any sense. And also? I can't hide anything? You'd be surprised," Eduardo says.

Mark leans back on his heels with his hands in his pockets and his brows creased together in a clear sign of challenge. "Then surprise me."

Eduardo smiles.



Mark is gifted with an abundance of imagination. It's what makes him so good and it accounts for a large part of his success. But even he doesn't anticipate Eduardo giving him a handjob under the restaurant table.

"Mark, stop trembling," Eduardo murmurs. "You're making the silverware shake."

"Who the fuck cares," Mark says, and comes.