The way things look when they’re broken down to their bones and pieces, so he can see how they fit, and put them back together. Either in the way that you’re supposed to or in the way that he wants, but you have to get them down to their material, pull them apart layer by layer, brick by brick, like dismantling a pen or tearing a blade of grass into as many small pieces as you can until they’re like tiny green grains of rice in your palm, like Mark used to do when he was little.

Mark likes taking things apart, examining and pushing the potential out of all of them. He likes taking Eduardo apart, a finger inside his hole, awed at all the noises Eduardo is making, at all the ways Eduardo is twisting and writhing in his bed.

“Mark,” Eduardo is babbling. “Mark, shit.”

Mark hasn’t even started yet, just has his middle finger lubed up, inched into Eduardo at the knuckle, pulling out again and stroking at the rim, watching the way Eduardo tries to surge his hips downward, to get Mark into him again. Mark presses his finger in again, achingly slow, as Eduardo lets out all these desperate whines with every millimeter of Mark’s finger.

Mark just watches, carefully curling and looking for that sweet spot inside Eduardo. Eduardo’s already crumbling, though, at just Mark touching him, at just the littlest bit of Mark making its home inside one of Eduardo’s orifices.

The thought is actually so hot that Mark’s brain goes blindingly numb, slamming him back into the present when Eduardo says, “Jesus fucking Christ,” and his legs spread even further.

Eduardo’s whole body is beautiful, objectively. There’s a mess of hair on his thighs and legs and that trail down from his bellybutton to his cock, which is so dark and leaking that it makes Mark’s mouth water. Mark wants to blow him, but he also just wants to tear Eduardo apart like this, just with his fingers, no touching or anything else. Just him inside Eduardo—just Eduardo’s desperate, twisting body, clenching around Mark’s fingers.

“Mark,” Eduardo pleads, because Mark isn’t moving his finger much, just stroking gentle circles inside Eduardo, seeing what he’ll ease out. Eduardo is grinding his hips down onto the bed, and they’re really lucky that Chris and Dustin are out now, with the noises that Eduardo keeps making.

“You sound like a whore,” Mark says conversationally, curling his finger in deep like he’s actually digging into the tight velvet of Eduardo’s heat. Eduardo moans, and then glares at him, which is an impressive expressive switch.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Eduardo says sarcastically.

Mark withdraws his hand. “Did you just refer to yourself as a girl?” he says, as Eduardo thrusts down at the loss. He coats the rest of his fingers with lube—just in case.

“It’s an expression,” says Eduardo, watching him.

He won’t beg for it—not yet, anyway, as far as Mark knows. It’s still new to them, which really means that every time Eduardo comes over he drags Mark to his bed without pretense anymore, and they make out and rut against each other until Mark wins and remembers that he has problem sets to work on. Eduardo stresses about homework all the time, too, but he’s actually not around that often so he probably gets them done. Mark is better at procrastinating, which means that Eduardo’s presence usually reminds him that he has homework to do in the first place, except that’s when Eduardo’s tongue is halfway down his throat.

But it’s just after spring break, which means either they’ve finished their homework (Eduardo) or it’s too late for them to bother starting on it anyway (Mark), so Mark can stick two fingers up Eduardo’s ass, guilt-free.

Eduardo seriously does make noises like a whore, and he hasn’t broken apart yet but Mark knows that they’ll get there. He’s moving the two fingers in Eduardo at a steady pace, the squelch of the skin and lube echoing around the room. Eduardo’s sounds drown them out, because Mark knows he’s hitting Eduardo’s prostate with each push, coaxing the first piece to break away, to help Eduardo come undone.

“More,” Eduardo gasps, so pitched and desperate that Mark isn’t sure if he heard it at first. Eduardo’s fingers tighten in Mark’s bedsheets, and he says again, “More.”

“You want more of me inside of you?” Mark says. Eduardo’s head shakes violently against Mark’s pillow as he nods, one hand going over to palm at his leaking dick. He’s a golden, flushed sight, sprawled so open and needy on Mark’s bed. If homework didn’t exist, Mark would just keep him here, for Mark to take apart and put back together, to his liking, over and over again.

Eduardo won’t let himself come, not yet, Mark knows. Eduardo likes Mark’s hand on his ass, his fingers inside of him, taking him in, being taken apart by Mark’s fingers. Mark wriggles, sinks a third finger into Eduardo’s body, stretching him open in a thick, mind-boggling heat.

It’s hard not to imagine his own cock in there, taking Eduardo apart with it. But neither of them want that right now. Right now—Mark wants to see if he can get Eduardo over the edge with just his fingers, drag it out with each press and push, like creating a program, like compiling code. Eduardo is so needy for his fingers, every motion of them, and Mark can give it to him.

“Ah, Mark,” Eduardo moans, throwing back his long neck and arching, as if they were making a porno out of this. He gets Mark’s fingers in deeper, fucking himself down at the same pace as Mark’s progressively sore wrist, so sweet that Mark bends his head down, kisses the inside of Eduardo’s thigh. He knows that the skin is sensitive there, that—“Mark,” Eduardo whines desperately.

“You keep saying my name,” Mark says, casual like they’re having a conversation, regardless of his rock-hard dick in his shorts. “You want it, you want me that badly.”

His fingers are working harder now, faster, nailing into Eduardo without abandon, and Eduardo’s hips are rocking back, meeting him thrust by thrust. “Fuck, just, fucking,” Eduardo says, and Mark presses over him, hitching one of Eduardo’s long legs over his shoulder and spreading him wide, fingers breaching every inch as he fucks Eduardo with his fingers all on his own. They twist in him, long and delicate, prising and flurrying like playing a piano, or typing in code, or taking something apart piece by piece.

Eduardo’s body goes taut, and his hips thrash as he comes, arcing onto his chest in thick pearly drops. Mark watches with fascination and pride as he comes undone completely, broken apart on his Kirkland bed, falling away until he’s nothing but a mess of tired limbs and the rise and fall of his chest, the thump-thump of his heartbeat. Mark fingers him through it, too, feeling how worn and loose Eduardo’s hole is, gleaming wet and red from the pressure before. Eduardo sighs and groans, “Mark.” Mark half-wonders if he could finger Eduardo into a dry orgasm.

But that’s something to be tried later. Reluctantly, he drags his fingers out, eyeing them and wondering if he should wash his hands or jerk off first.

He gets his answer when Eduardo drags him onto his body, an impressive feat considering how worn out he looks. “Hey,” Eduardo mumbles, kissing Mark’s face sweetly, then slowly, lazily with the slick pressure of their mouths. Mark kisses back, sliding their tongues together—he’s here to put Eduardo back together, with Eduardo’s tired smile pressed against his own, hand slipping down to help him out of his shorts.

And barely years later, Mark discovers, with a shattered laptop at his feet, that he could break Eduardo beyond repair.

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dismantle (redux)

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu