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Mark always knew it was not forgiveness that brought Eduardo back. It was kindness, nostalgia, time, maturity, and love—too much of it, burying the pain, dulling it until it was easy to say ‘that was a long time ago’ and mean it.

But Mark has never asked to be forgiven, just in the same way how Eduardo had never asked for an apology. They both know it’d dredge up more suffering than it’s worth, hearing something that just isn’t true.

Instead, they lay themselves bare without words, in bruising kisses and teeth marks, half-bent and tied up and safeword buried deep. Eduardo fucks into him, always harder than he needs to, crescent moons and resentment pressed along his hipbone. Mark moans for it anyway, meeting each thrust, too accustomed to an Eduardo who isn’t afraid to use him too. It’s better this way, overwhelmed by the whiplash of Eduardo’s emotions all while attempting to convince himself that he deserves it. Some of that’s true, anyway.

“M-Mark,” Eduardo stutters by the base of his neck, his breath traveling all the way down Mark’s spine. It’s too raw not to be real, Mark knows that—just how much capacity to feel Eduardo has, how perhaps all he’s ever wanted from Mark was for him to feel something too.  

It’s never quite enough for Eduardo most days, but he gets his fill whenever he angles his cock just right, fucking Mark into the mattress until he’s forced to sob for it like clockwork. “Please,” Mark gasps, his eyes watering as his cock throbs helplessly in Eduardo’s hand, “Wardo, please, please—”

Repeating two words in whichever order usually gets them there. Mark comes moaning the shape of Eduardo’s name, shaking as Eduardo fills him up, forever chasing something buried too deep for either of them to reach.