Eduardo had texted Mark to come home early today, and as expected, Mark does. They’ve been toying around with this dom-sub stuff for a bit, though Mark had to adjust to actually listen to Eduardo instead of attempting to defy him like he usually does, and Eduardo had to get used to telling Mark what to do without considering his feelings too much, aside from safeword stuff. Eduardo’s commands have been extremely hit and never miss so far, so Mark’s not worried at all.

Mark gets home and it’s pretty quiet at first. He thinks in the background he hears some noise, but maybe it’s just the neighbors, or a lawnmower, or something. “Wardo?” he calls, because Eduardo isn’t in the kitchen, nor is he in the foyer. Mark drops his bag off near the bottom of the staircase and climbs up, because if Eduardo isn’t anywhere on the first floor, he’s either in his bedroom or his office, and—well, lately, Mark’s only been going to both rooms for only one thing.

He realizes as he makes his way down the corridor that the noise he’d heard before is music, and it’s getting louder as Mark approaches. It’s definitely coming from the bedroom and the door to the office is left ajar, rather than the bedroom door which is suspiciously closed. Mark puts his hand on the doorknob and slowly inches his way in.

Eduardo is there, as expected. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed and rolling his neck around, to the beat of the song. Mark can recognize it as Beyonce’s voice. Eduardo is wearing his usual sleek dark button-up and ironed trousers. He opens his eyes when Mark cautiously walks over to him.

Eduardo’s face breaks out into a smile. “Hi,” he says, reaching out with one hand. Mark takes it, lets Eduardo pull him in between his spread legs, kissing him gently.

They break apart soon and Mark murmurs, “Hi,” between their mouths. Eduardo, with his forehead pressed against Mark’s, laughs. He kisses Mark again, all slow and soft and undemanding. Mark lets himself fall into it, the tenderness of Eduardo’s mouth against his, licking into Mark dirty and languid, flicking and giving a little but not too much. Mark makes a soft noise against; he can feel Eduardo’s smile.

Mark doesn’t really remember getting a stereo system in their bedroom, so as Eduardo slowly guides him up onto his lap and winds Mark’s legs around his waist—it looks uncomfortable, Eduardo’s legs dangling off the mattress with Mark sitting on him, but neither of them complain—Mark asks, “Did you do this?”

“The music?” Eduardo chuckles against him. “Yeah.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Mark’s mouth.

Mark listens to the song, though he doesn’t really listen to a lot of Eduardo’s music, just new stuff by bands he’s been following since he was fifteen, and the occasional top 40 hit these days. “Is this Beyonce?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo says again. He shifts them over so he’s not sitting at the edge of the bed anymore, and moves Mark’s body so his ass is basically in the middle of Eduardo’s lap, shifted to the side so Mark has to angle himself to face him. “I know you don’t mind Beyonce.”

“I don’t,” Mark agrees, and wraps his arms around Eduardo’s neck, kissing him again. Eduardo’s hands go to his waist, pressing against him, teasing along the hem of his shirt, his hands big and rough against the warmth of Mark’s belly.

Beyonce’s voice is faint in Mark’s ears (though he’s pretty sure he hears rocket till waterfalls , which, what the hell does that mean?) as he and Eduardo kiss, Eduardo’s hands moving deliberately under his hoodie and skating across his back, the rough of his nails sliding between Mark’s shoulderblades and running all the way down to the small of it. Mark shivers and presses himself more desperately into Eduardo. Eduardo doesn’t give, though, gets Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth, working it slow and letting go, pulling away so tantalizing that Mark opens his eyes to actually see it happen, see his lip between Eduardo’s teeth before letting it go.

He whines and twists himself in Eduardo’s lap. Eduardo’s erection is totally there , Mark can feel it, he wants to feel it—between his ass cheeks, through the layers of shorts and underwear and Eduardo’s trousers. But Eduardo’s hand goes to his middle and tightens, keeping him from movie.

“Calm down,” he says, voice low and steady. Mark whines again because where did Eduardo learn how to talk like that? But one of Eduardo’s hands goes to the small of his back again, rubbing in circles, big and warm and sensual. Mark keens, throwing his chin over Eduardo’s shoulder desperately.

Eduardo places him down with ease, resting Mark’s head on the pillow and straightening his legs from underneath him. The bass of the music pounds throughout the bedroom, bass vibrating through the floor and making the mattress quiver. Mark’s head is too far gone for him to actually listen to the words though; Eduardo comes back up and kisses Mark, tender and patient, cupping Mark’s face. Mark tilts his head up for more, but Eduardo puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder to keep him down still.

“Patient,” he murmurs, smiling.

Mark glares up at him, though it feels weak by how hazy his head is and how Eduardo is beaming down at him like Mark’s the best fucking thing in the world. “How the hell do you expect me to be patient like this?” he asks, squirming.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. But he does inch down, peeling Mark’s shorts off, and then his boxers. Mark thinks for one excited moment that Eduardo is going to blow him; but then Eduardo says, “Up,” and makes a motion with his hand. When Mark sits up just barely, Eduardo takes his shirt and hoodie off too, so Mark is naked and cool under him.

“What—” Mark starts, but Eduardo successfully cuts him off with his mouth, which is unfair because Mark gives in immediately. Eduardo pushes in and pulls back at a rhythm that seems familiar, in sort of a way that Mark can predict. His hand rakes over Mark’s chest, two of his fingers catching on Mark’s nipple. He tugs lightly and Mark, oversensitive enough, whimpers into Eduardo’s mouth. Eduardo runs his fingernails over the tight nub, pinching with his knuckles, pulling gently. Mark gasps; his cock feels tortured and exposed in the air.

“Wardo,” he begs, but Eduardo just smiles and sits back on his heels, sliding his palm over the warmth of Mark’s chest. Mark shivers; Eduardo is still fully clothed and Mark imagines his dick straining against the fabric, hard for Mark naked like this. Mark doesn’t particularly he’s anything to look at when he’s not wearing clothes (and even when he is), but Eduardo’s reactions to him have always suggested otherwise.

It does not take long for Eduardo to finger him open, long and repeatedly enough with three fingers that Mark is crying out and arching his back against the bed. Eduardo doesn’t tell him to shut up, though he makes a point that Mark’s not allowed to come even if untouched, by when Mark says, “God, Wardo, I’m—I’m gonna,” Eduardo’s fingers just stop , right inside him, and he meets Mark’s eyes and says, “Don’t.”

“Jesus,” says Mark, and it takes all of his willpower but he doesn’t.

He’s also recognized at this point that the same song is cycling throughout the room, and it’s probably on repeat—this one song, because the rhythm and the melody don’t change and Mark keeps hearing Beyonce’s voice. She stops saying rocket till waterfalls , it sounds more like rock it till water falls , and Mark is—shit, Eduardo’s fingers press right there and a hard shudder rolls over his body.

“Relax,” Eduardo says, deep and cracked. Mark has been turned on by Eduardo’s voice before but not like this, when Eduardo takes his fingers out of him and Mark is raw and gaping and needs Eduardo in him, now. Preferably bare (they’ve been tested before), though if Eduardo isn’t feeling that right now, he’ll take whatever he can get.

“Please,” Mark begs.

It doesn’t take long for Eduardo to finally give, though by the way he unbuckles his belt torturously slow and takes in Mark’s body with his dark eyes, it doesn’t feel much like a victory to Mark. Mark doesn’t care; at the first press of Eduardo’s cock at the rim of his asshole, he pushes his body down and tries to get more.

Eduardo laughs, using one hand to push Mark’s body back up, keeping him at a distance. Mark makes a sound of annoyance, but Eduardo puts both Mark’s legs down with his hands, making the angle kind of weird. Mark spreads his legs but Eduardo doesn’t stop him then, so Mark figures it’s good.

“Is this one of your fantasies?” he asks, trying to keep his voice still as Eduardo, like, fucking rubs the tip of his dick at Mark’s rim. It’s torture . “Fuck to Beyonce?”

Eduardo hums and presses in a little more. It doesn’t feel like much, but god, it’s better than before. “They did that in Fifty Shades,” he says, and Mark laughs.

“ Why do you have to bring that movie up now,” he says.

Eduardo slides in a little more, making Mark’s hips rise involuntarily. Eduardo’s hands go to either side of Mark’s hips, pressing him down more firmly. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. He’s smiling, too.

Mark bites back moans and whimpers as Eduardo pushes into him with incredible patience that Mark could probably never manage even on his best days. He feels worn and aching from Eduardo fingering him earlier, but this is burning and better and Mark is so full with Eduardo’s cock. He tries to grind down, for friction, for anything .

Eduardo stays in, unmoving, and says, “Wait for it.”

“Wait for what?” Mark demands. “Wardo, I’m—this is probably the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Eduardo laughs and buckles over him, though he doesn’t really move his hips so much, in fact accidentally slides out a little as he bends over Mark. “I’ve done worse,” he says. “Remember the candles—”

“Don’t,” Mark says, but Eduardo grins and spreads his hands over the top of Mark’s chest, thumbs smoothing over the dents of his collarbone.

The song ends; and then it starts again. And at Beyonce’s voice saying, Let me sit this aaaassssss on you (and Mark had always thought of Beyonce as a classy singer, or something, so it comes as a surprise), Eduardo begins to move.

He fucks Mark slowly, and to the beat of the song, which is both hilarious and torturous in a multitude of ways. Mark claws at Eduardo’s back, trying to press him deeper. Eduardo isn’t fucking him with just his hips, but his whole body, sliding in balls deep and then slowly back, Mark full and empty and full again. Mark whines—“This was totally a fantasy you had,” he says, trying to glare when he is a red and shaky and sweaty mess under Eduardo.

Eduardo doesn’t front, smirks and says, “Yeah.” He kisses Mark like he fucks, all to the rhythm of the bass underneath them, shirt still on and pants open to the front, the cool metal of his belt buckle sometimes brushing up against Mark’s cock with every thrust. Mark groans into his mouth, splaying his fingers over Eduardo’s shoulders, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Eduardo doesn’t tell him to stop; Mark gets three buttons open, teases Eduardo’s skin with his fingers.

He hears Beyonce sing, I’m proud of all this bass / when you put it in your face and snorts into Eduardo’s mouth. “We should try that,” he says, between kisses.

Eduardo’s eyes are unfocused and distracted as he looks at Mark. “What?”

“If I sat on your face,” Mark says simply.

Eduardo says, “Oh my god ,” and his thrust this time is sharper and deeper, catching Mark by surprise. Mark wriggles and tries to break him out of this fucking slow pace, but Eduardo seems to adjust himself and returns to fucking Mark to this stupid beat.

And then there’s the verse when Beyonce’s singing hard, rock, steady, rock and Eduardo is holding all of Mark, chest on chest and Mark’s legs bent back again because that’s really the only way Eduardo’s going to get a good angle like this, kissing each other filthy and rough. Eduardo punctuates each one of Beyonce’s words with a very pronounced thrust, and Mark chokes with how fucking deep he is and how his asshole is sore and used and says, “You are taking advantage of this song way too much.”

“Is that a complaint?” Eduardo asks, his lips around Mark’s bottom lip.

Mark doesn’t get to answer because Eduardo pistons his hips and catches Mark in a particularly sensitive spot and fuck . Mark needs to come, he has no blood in any other part of his body anymore, he does not know how Eduardo catches him by the hair and pulls him in for another dirty open-mouthed kiss and Mark somehow manages to respond.

He is crying and whimpering whenever he and Eduardo aren’t kissing, which proves to be harder the longer Eduardo fucks him, just keeps going, not letting either of them come even though this is taking so fucking long and Mark doesn’t know what Eduardo is waiting for. Upon reflection it probably hasn’t even been that long, since he doesn’t remember hearing the end of the song yet. Maybe Eduardo is waiting for that.

He struggles to listen to it, and is pretty sure he hears Beyonce actually utter the word daddy in a sex song. Mark stops his moaning and whining and looks up into Eduardo’s face. “Did she just say—”

“Mark.” Eduardo looks pained, though he definitely heard it too.

Mark smirks. “I’m pretty sure she just said—” he says, when Beyonce says it again.

“Don’t,” says Eduardo. He continues loyally fucking Mark.

“ Daddy ,” says Mark, and Eduardo says, “oh my god,” and puts his hand over Mark’s mouth. They both kind of discovered that they’re into that a while back though, and Mark slobbers all over Eduardo’s hand anyway to get him to move anyway. Eduardo pulls back, looking disgusted.

“Is that what you want me to call you?” Mark says, amused.

“Oh my god, do not ,” says Eduardo. His hips absently continue working to the beat.

Beyonce says, I’ve been a bad bad bad bad bad bad bad Mark doesn’t even know how many bads but—he’s gotten the point, Beyonce’s been a bad girl. “Have I been a bad girl?” he says to Eduardo seriously.

Eduardo’s cock shoves into him suddenly, breaking the rhythm. “Mark,” Eduardo says, brokenly.

Mark continues listening for the next words. “ Punish me, please ,” he says, the same time that Beyonce says it the second time.

Eduardo says, “Mark, I honestly hate you,” and his thrusts are rougher, Mark is so ready to orgasm, ready for this—whatever—to take him.

“Want me to call you daddy again?” Mark says.

Eduardo shuts him up by leaning over and crashing their mouths together, though he doesn’t fuck him any faster. In fact, he continues the pace from before more pointedly like it’s some sort of punishment for Mark, though when they reach the end of the song Eduardo breathes, “Go on,” and that command sends Mark over the edge.

His orgasm ripples through him, every nerve ending of his body, rushing up his spine and bursting into a moan out of his mouth. Mark comes all over Eduardo’s nice dark shirt and Eduardo goes, “ Shit ,” before he comes too, spilling inside Mark, hot and wet and filling. Mark trembles because this is the longest fucking orgasm he’s ever had, and his thighs are weak and shaking when he comes down, and he is boneless as Eduardo finishes, elbows tight on both sides of Mark, head ducked down against his chest, quivering against him.

Mark’s hand mindlessly goes into Eduardo’s hair, combing through and soothing him down. Eduardo stills eventually when he finishes, soft cock sliding out of Mark. The Beyonce song has started again; Eduardo is breathing heavily against his skin.

“You think we could fuck to techno?” Mark ponders, scratching his nails against Eduardo’s scalp.

Eduardo laughs against his chest.

Three weeks later, Dustin is blasting his music in the Facebook offices. Beyonce’s “Rocket” comes on, and Mark immediately gets hard in his pants.

“Shit,” he says without thinking, jerking up.

Dustin looks at him curiously. “What’s going on?”

Mark blushes, heat rushing up his neck to his cheeks. “Uh, nothing,” he says, bending down and scurrying out from the table. “Excuse me.” He rushes to the bathroom.

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rock right up to the side of my mountain

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu