daisysusan: (tsn: the secret weapon)
[personal profile] daisysusan
Title: Positive Reinforcement
Fandom: The Social Network
Genre: Romance
Paring: Mark/Chris
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,906
Summary: Mark's trying to get Chris to quit smoking.
Notes: One third because I needed to write something short to get my head working again, one third because [livejournal.com profile] hapakitsune wanted it, one third as a wedding present for [livejournal.com profile] indecentexposed!

Positive Reinforcement

“It’s fucking disgusting, Chris,” Mark says, slamming the top of his laptop down.

“You know what I really appreciate?” Chris says, letting every bit of his anger turn into the sarcasm dripping off his words. “I really appreciate how you didn’t use any tact whatsoever right there. It was incredibly thoughtful.”

Mark just rolls his eyes.

There’s a tense silence, during which Chris glares at the back of Mark’s head, unsure if he’s more pissed that Mark called him disgusting or that he won’t even fucking turn around and look him in the eye. Finally, Mark spins his chair around and stares him down.

“I wasn’t aiming for thoughtful,” he says, matching Chris’s sarcasm, “As you may have noticed with your not inconsiderable intelligence.”

“You’re never aiming for thoughtful,” Chris counters dryly.

“Be that as it may,” Mark continues, ignoring him, “Smoking is going to ruin your health, and your teeth, and your looks in general, not to mention it makes you smell fucking awful.”

Chris vaguely considers punching him, but decides it probably wouldn’t be all that effective. “Has it ever occurred to you that I do it because you’re a pain in the ass to deal with?”

Again, Mark rolls his eyes.

“Not good enough. Try again, Hughes.”

“Fuck you,” Chris says, and without further ado gets up and leaves the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. He needs a fucking cigarette.

“If you’re going to smoke,” Mark yells after him, “You better fucking do it outside. I don’t want my house smelling like that!”

A few minutes—and a calming smoke—later, Chris drags himself back into the house. He’s not inclined to yell anymore, which is probably a good thing, but he’s not exactly in a good mood either.

“Since when do you care so much?” he snaps at Mark, who’s opened his laptop back up and started working again.

Mark doesn’t answer.

“If you’re going to lecture me about my health,” Chris continues, “Which, I’d like to add, is rich coming from someone who considers red bull and dry ramen noodles a balanced diet, but if you insist on doing it, it would be nice if you would actually make eye contact while you do so.”

After a long moment, Mark’s chair swivels around and meet’s Chris’s eyes, his lips almost pursed.

“I just don’t want you giving everyone cancer,” he says, thoroughly unconvincing.”

“Please,” Chris says, “Like I was ever going to believe that. Try again, Zuckerberg.”

Mark seems decidedly exasperated, which Chris finds viscerally satisfying, given how much of a pain in the ass Mark has been about his smoking these days. There’s a kind of sick irony to the fact that every time Mark decides to go on a rant about Chris’s behavior, Chris decides he needs a smoke. It’s probably not the outcome that he’d been hoping for, but then Mark isn’t usually very good at predicting people’s behavior when the people in question aren’t online.

“What do you want me to say, Chris?” Mark says, snappish.

Chris doesn’t dignify that with a response, and Mark seethes in silence for a few minutes.

Then he squares his shoulders and crosses his arms, speaking without meeting Chris’s eyes. “They make your breath smell, okay?” Mark’s actually blushing, which Chris definitely doesn’t find endearing at all. He’s still pissed with Mark. Really. “They make your breath smell,” Mark repeats, before continuing, “Which makes the idea of kissing you a lot less appealing.”

Well, that’s just … Chris feels his mouth hanging open. It’s definitely not at all what he was expecting Mark to say. He’s not entirely sure what to do with the information that Mark thinks about kissing him; he’s not delusional enough to deny having considered it a handful of times, because Mark is just Mark and everything that entails.

Given that he’s pretty sure he can’t make his mouth close, Chris doesn’t bother trying to actually move—not that he has any ideas how he’d move if he could. There’s yet another awkward silence, during which Chris stares at Mark and Mark stares at the floor.

“Is that the only thing that’s been stopping you?” Chris hears himself say; well, shit, he thinks.

“Pretty much,” Mark says. “That, and I’m pretty sure someone at HR would eviscerate me in my sleep for making inappropriate advances on an employee.”

Chris is mildly impressed that Mark even considered that angle, but he resists the somewhat condescending urge to say so; they’ve only just managed to stop arguing and he’s not wild about starting up again. At least not right now—there’s a lot to be said for arguing with Mark, generally. He’s smart and quick on his feet and doesn’t back down and he’s good at it. Arguing with Mark Zuckerberg is a very satisfying experience, especially when you win.

He’s pretty sure he’s not winning this conversation, though, if for no other reason than that Mark has thrown him completely off-balance, and seems to be regaining confidence with every moment.

“So,” Mark says, his tone approaching slyness, “Does your lack of objection mean you’re okay with the principle of the thing?”

“What,” Chris says, still too busy trying to figure out what in the name of God is happening to really grasp the words leaving Mark’s mouth.

Before he’s even finished that thought properly, Mark’s standing up, crossing the few feet between his chair and where Chris is standing, and leaning up—just a little bit—to kiss him.


Chris doesn’t react at all, which he feels vaguely bad about, but it’s just—Mark’s kissing him. It’s nothing more than a lingering press of mouth to mouth, no tongue, but it’s still definitely, well, a kiss. And really, there was never any question that Chris would kiss him back. Before he can open his mouth to deepen the kiss, though, Mark pulls back and presses a string of quick kisses to the line of his jaw, which is nice but, seriously, Chris is getting kind of invested in the idea of having his tongue down Mark’s throat.

He makes a move to press their mouths back together but Mark leans back slightly, making a face of vague distaste that’s about the most purely Mark expression Chris has ever seen on him. His nose is slightly wrinkled and he’s somehow managing to make a sneer look adorable.

“You just smoked,” he says, slightly petulant. “Can’t you go brush your teeth or something?”

“Jesus Christ, Mark,” Chris says, trying not to be offended. “That was polite.”

“Since when am I polite?” Mark counters, pushing Chris toward his bathroom. “You can even use my toothbrush.”

“I should hope so,” Chris calls as he walks away. “It’s not like I’m going to have any other options.”

He grumbles a little to him as he brushes his teeth, but of all the somewhat offensive Mark-like things that could have happened, it’s really not so bad. And there will—hopefully—be clear benefits soon.

When he opens the door to Mark’s bedroom, Mark has settled back down at his laptop, not that Chris is particularly surprised to see it. He doesn’t handle idleness well. Chris takes the opportunity to sneak up behind him and rest a hand lightly on the back of his neck. Mark, at the touch, turns away from his computer. “Well?” he says, expectant.

Chris drops to his knees and presses a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to Mark’s lips. “Happy?” he says when he pulls back.

“It’ll do for now,” Mark says, dragging Chris’s head forward to kiss him again. This time the kiss really does linger, and Chris finally gets to explore Mark’s mouth properly. He can feel that Mark has a hand in his hair, almost pulling but not quite, and the one of his hands that isn’t against Mark’s neck has reached for his waist, rucking his t-shirt up just enough to rest on bare skin.

It’s a little heady.

Mark breaks the kiss and promptly attaches his mouth to Chris’s neck, more sucking than kissing—he’s going to have a hickey; not that he’s complaining or anything. Chris mostly takes the opportunity to catch his breath and press Mark’s shirt up a little higher so that he can run a palm up his spine and feel him arch into the touch a little bit. In response, Mark tries to slip off the chair so that he’ll be on his knees opposite Chris, but the maneuver goes a little awry and they end up overbalancing, Chris sprawled on his back with Mark strewed messily on top of him.

Not that having Mark on top of him is entirely unappealing.

There’s a brief moment where they stare at each other, and then Chris lets his eyes trace over Mark’s face, says “fuck it” softly, and pulls Mark’s mouth back down to his.

He can feel Mark licking at his mouth, trying to slide his tongue between his lips, which would be really enough for Chris to try and wrap his head around, but Mark is also sliding a hand up his side under his shirt and letting his nails drag softly against Chris’s ribs. Chris feels himself shiver a little at the touch, and can tell that Mark is grinning against his mouth.

Well, if nothing else, turnabout is fair play. Chris grabs Mark’s hips and holds on, flipping them over so that Mark is the on with is back pressed into the carpet. Before Mark even has a chance to protest, Chris is kissing him again, hard and thorough and comparatively short.

He pulls away before he gets too taught up in the whole thing—it would be easy to just kiss Mark for hours, or possibly defile him on the floor—and stands up to crawl onto the bed. Mark looks up at him and blinks slowly, evidently not putting it together than Chris wants to be joined.

“C’mon,” Chris says, “Get up here.”

“Oh, right,” Mark says. When he finally does climb onto the bed, Chris sees that his pupils are as wide as he’s ever seen them. His lips are red and swollen and just looking at them makes Chris want to kiss him even more.

As Mark crawls toward him, a little hesitant, an image pops unbidden into Chris’s head of Mark on his knees in front of him, his—still red, still swollen—mouth around Chris’s dick. He hears himself make a soft, slightly choked noise, and reaches to drag Mark forward. The kiss this time approaches crushing, a messy press of lips and tongues. Chris runs a hand down Mark’s chest and, when he lets his finger brush against one of Mark’s nipples, Mark groans into the kiss.

It turns out that noise was pretty much all Chris needed to hear for him to start inching towards desperate with disconcerting speed. Within moments, both of his hands are under Mark’s shirt, one trailing down his spine towards his ass. Mark, for his part, is squirming in a deeply satisfying way, like he wants to press his back harder into Chris’s touch without losing any other contact between them.

When Chris finally trails his finger below the waist of Mark’s sweatpants and slides it between his cheeks, Mark bites at his lip before pulling back just slightly from the kiss.

“Are we doing this?” he says, out of breath and hoarse. His voice is pitched lower than usual and Chris is finding it difficult to focus on his words instead of how much he wants to still be kissing him.

“Uh, yeah,” he answers. He’s pretty sure he’s a little hoarse too, but can’t really bring himself to care. “If you want to, I mean.”

Mark doesn’t dignify that with a response, just pulls his shirt off and reaches to divest Chris of his own as well. Chris finds himself laughing a little; it’s such a perfectly pragmatic response, and thus so incredibly Mark that he’s kind of charmed.

They reach for each other at the same time and end up sprawled haphazardly on the bed, Chris mostly on top of Mark. They’re kissing again, though, skin on skin from the waist up, and Chris isn’t sure he ever wants to stop. And then Mark starts working at the button of Chris’s jeans, and all of a sudden, kissing isn’t close to enough. He scrabbles a little uselessly at Mark’s pants, trying to shove them down without actually having to climb off him.

Logically, Chris knows that it probably won’t work; he’s just not sure he cares enough about logic, not when Mark starts to roll his hips a little bit and manages to get Chris’s pants undone enough to shove them down to his thighs. Mark reaches down and strokes Chris once through his briefs—and then, taking vicious advantage of Chris’s momentary and completely understandable moment of disconnect from reality, he flips them so that Chris is lying on his back and Mark is straddling his thighs.

Mark leans forward like he’s going to kiss him again, but at the last second he changes the angle of his head and takes one of Chris’s nipples into his mouth. He sucks at it briefly and then starts working his way down Chris’s chest, leaving soft marks and generally making Chris squirm for more contact.

And then, because he’s Mark and Chris really shouldn’t be surprised when he just gets to the point, he shoves Chris’s briefs down and blows on the tip of his dick. Chris feels his eyes roll back a little and his hips move involuntarily. Without any further ado, Mark runs his tongue around the tip once and then sucks him into his mouth.

Chris groans more loudly that he wants to admit, but Mark clearly knows what he’s doing. He’s swirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks and all the sensations are kind of overwhelming. Before he can think better of it, Chris has threaded a hand through Mark’s hair and pressed him down, just a little bit. Instead of gagging or resisting, though, Mark just moans a little and takes Chris’s cock farther into his mouth.

Oh—okay then. Chris feels like his brain is disconnected from his body, because his hips are moving up before he can stop them and it’s like everything he’s feeling isn’t quite making it through into logical thought, just drifting around his body and turning him on even more. Okay, that was a stupid thought, but he’s pretty sure there’s no blood left in his brain anyway.

Mark is still going at it, sighing a little when Chris’s hand tightens in his hair, licking up the underside and swallowing around him. Absently, Chris realizes that Mark is still wearing his pants, and the thought causes him to glance down and see him rubbing himself off against the bed; just as he sees it, Mark takes him in all the way and swallows once, twice, and then all of a sudden Chris feels the world go white around him.

When he’s aware of his surroundings again, he glances down to see Mark straddling his legs, licking his lips, and jerking himself off slowly. Chris swallows hard and squirms a little, trying to dislodge him.

“Let me give you a hand with that,” he says—and okay, wow, his voice sounds fucked.

Nodding once, Mark slips to the side of his legs, allowing him to scramble to something resembling a seated position and curl a hand loosely around Mark’s dick. As soon as Chris touches him, the rhythm of Mark’s hand falters, but Chris just seizes the opportunity to tighten his grip a bit and twist his hand just slightly.

“God, Chris,” Mark says, his voice almost as shot as Chris’s. His breathing his quick and shallow, and his pupils are wide and dark. He’s not going to last much longer, Chris can tell, but the sight is still incredibly appealing.

Unwilling to resist temptation, he leans forward to kiss Mark, not letting the movement of his hand slow or lapse. Mark’s lips are bitten—and kissed—almost raw, but he presses forward into Chris’s mouth nonetheless, biting at his lip when Chris tightens his hand again and jerks roughly. He can tell that the movement of Mark’s hips isn’t voluntary, and it’s not really a surprise when Mark stiffens suddenly and Chris feels warm stickiness coat his hand.

He kisses Mark loosely through his orgasm, feeling him shake slightly as he comes down from it and then relishing the instant when he starts kissing back.

After a lingering, slow kiss, Chris pulls back a minute amount. “Hey,” he says, wiping his hand on the covers. (Which is kind of gross, but he doesn’t really care at the moment.)

Mark smiles at him, lazy and a little blissed out. Chris feels his eyelids drooping slightly, and he tugs Mark down with him when he flops onto his back.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Mark says. “I’ll be right back.”

“‘M not moving,” Chris says drowsily. “‘M going to sleep.”

He does blearily open one eye as Mark moves around the room, and he’s pretty sure he sees Mark rustle around with his clothes and then throw something out before he climbs back onto the bed.

“By the way,” Mark says, curling into Chris and pressing his face into Chris’s neck, “I threw out your cigarettes.”

“Whatever,” Chris says, and kisses the top of his head before falling asleep.
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April 2013

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