#tech nerd

he let out a dry chuckle, finding momentary pleasure in the tone of your fatigue. you were adorable when you were exhausted, all whiny and clingy. but he had to keep it professional, because right now he's editor mark, not friend mark. friend mark will come later, when he meets you the day after the video goes live; which will inevitably lead to him ordering pizza and staying for the night, making sure you don't overthink or stress over the statistics. he'll turn on a movie, but won't watch it; because he knows you well enough to sense your distractedness. he knows that when he'll bend over to pluck the popcorn from its bowl, he'll find you obsessing over the number of views while constantly refreshing your page on youtube. so instead, he'll do what every friend does: keep a running commentary during the movie, make fun of it, and keep you engaged. all the while staring at your beautiful eyes and wishing he could wipe the anxiety away from them with a tight hug, one that he'll never have to leave.

"stop worrying, i'll get right to it."

upon hearing your relaxed exhale, a feeling of contentedness settled deep in his chest. satisfaction in knowing only he can make you breathe like that, like the weight of the world just dropped off your shoulders, like you can finally expand your lungs without crushing your ribs. and he would carry every boulder on earth just to hear that sigh again and again.

cutting the call, he swung his chair over. squashing himself over the cushion, one hand went to his high-tech monitor while the other reached out towards the monster energy can out of muscle memory. clicking the .mp4 file attached to your mail, he sits back, relaxes, and lets the show begin.

your hand is in the frame, panning the camera to focus on the centre of the setup. it consists of a white wall, with a black dining table covering the lower half of the background. he knows by experience now that this was filmed in your garage. an amateur arrangement perhaps, but the beakers in frame were perfect implications of extraordinary chemist work about to take place.

finally, you entered in frame. donned in a pure white lab coat, gloves adorning your hands, hair tied back in two messily made french braids, and gloss carefully applied on your lips, catching the light every time you speak.

mark was in a trance.

the video continued. the aim of it was to create bromine, a highly reactive, volatile, and deadly gas in your flimsy garage. mark's heart jumped to his throat.

you explained the process of the tubing, how it was airtight so as to not let any of the gas escape, and how important it was to make sure to seal everything, going as far to seal even the addition funnel with sulphuric acid. your sweet voice cut through the haze of conscious dread building up in his muscles.

your latex laden fingertips grazed the tiny fan sitting next to your equipment, as you let out a hum and asked to no one in particular:

"is this tiny fan really enough to deal with a dose of 30 ppm?", you smiled, and shrugged towards the camera, "guess we'll find out. if things do turn sideways, at least the bromine will get to me before my editor does. sorry for giving you, like, a week of footage, mark!"

squinting, mark hovered his cursor above the video, and it showed the runtime to be 5 hours long. yikes. but that wasn't the big deal right now, it was how casually you were saying this stuff. as if joking about your life was normal. how little you took safety into consideration.

slamming the spacebar to pause, his arm extended past the monster of a pc next to his monitor, all the way to his phone. dialling your number, he realised his fingers were trembling. fuck.

"mark? is there a problem with the video?"

"what? no, there's a problem with you!"

"..huh?"

stressed, mark got up. pacing around his small apartment, he tried not to sound too panicked. not to raise his voice. to be calm and composed; but he couldn't. not when it came to you.

"first, are you okay? tell me properly; are you fully, physically and mentally, alright?"

a giggle wafted from the receiver. "ahh, that. don't worry markie, i'm completely fine. i was extra careful and i got checked by my family doctor afterwards. i'm okay."

a rush flooded mark's senses, overwhelming him with pure, unadulterated relief. thank the heavens and every god in power. his body physically melted back into his chair, his hand automatically running through his hair. but the stress was not gone, not at all.

he took your name, accusingly. "what are you doing? you're playing with your life like it's nothing! you didn't even tell me about this! you're treating safety like it's some joke!"

another giggle. curse those stupid giggles that made his heart throb.

"markie, relax.. i know what i'm doing, i'm a professional."

"i can't. i can't relax knowing you treat yourself as if you're worth less than a fly. tell me honestly, would you have let me in your garage during your experiment?"

"well, no-"

his voice comes out rushed, broken.

"exactly. i know you don't care about living safely, i know you like the adrenaline rush, i know you like danger, but i care. i care about you. so please, just, i don't know- just tell me. please. beforehand."

"so you can talk me out of it?" he could tell you were smiling.

"well, maybe, but i can't stop you from making decisions you want to. but i can try to herd off some of the more reckless ones", his voice wavered at the end, clearly losing steam and progressing into awkwardness. in reality, he would really rather you didn't do any dangerous stuff, but he knew that wasn't who you were.

a beat of silence passed.

"markie..."

"yes?"

"are you that worried about me?" there's a clear teasing lilt in your voice, but underneath it, he can sense the sincerity of the question. the genuine doubt.

"if you're gonna tease me about this, you can just die."

he grins as the sound of your laughter rings in his ears. you know the answer, and he knows you know.

"ha, mark, i love you. you're such a great friend."

a pang pushes through his heart. friend. how he wishes that you'd left it at those three magical words he's been dying to hear for months.

"i love you too."

but that's okay, he'll stay friends with you. as long as he gets to help you and listen to you talk, he could live like this forever. existing as a whipped, hopeless man in love with a girl who doesn't even know it.

"i'm sorry mark, from now on i swear ill tell you my shenanigans in advance."

mark smiled. "that's all i need."

lowering his phone after the call ended, he caught himself in the mirror, blushing and grinning sheepishly like a fool. he said i love you. to you. finally. all his friends can suck it.

sure, you don't know how he means it. but he still said it, and that has to count for something. maybe one day he'll finally get the courage to say it to your face, underneath the stars, with his jacket around your shoulders and your eyes boring straight into his. and maybe that day he'll finally get to see the same blush he's been suffering with for months creep onto your face too.

sighing, he jumped back into his gaming chair and loaded up the footage. dragging it to adobe premiere pro, he cracked his knuckles, gulped down a big sip of the can beside him and began his craft. your art was over, and now it was time for his skill to work its magic.

the next few hours consisted of the most tedious cropping, refining and speeding until the perfect length of video emerged: not too short to leave out anything important, but not too long to lose the audience. then came the graphics, colour grading, audio refining, and by the time he was done, it was 2 in the morning. but mark was nothing if not a perfectionist. so he sat down again, scrubbed through the timeline frame by frame, hushed down the background noise to a lull. switching back to davinci resolve, he deepened the shadows and softened the highlights until raw footage transformed into a masterpiece.

his masterpiece. starring you.

what a perfect, pathetic metaphor of his life. his life that was centred around you. his life that he would sacrifice for yours. if only you realised this. if only you'd stop treating yours as if it were disposable, would you realise how much he worshipped you. how much he'd give for you.

how much he loved you.

he shook himself firmly. glancing at the clock, he realised now was not the time to indulge himself in his mindless self-pity of pining after you. stretching himself with a yawn, he decided to start downloading linux so it could complete by the time he woke up again. because he really needed to sleep.

just before he could do so, his cursor instinctively pressed on the gmail hyperlink. blinking sleep out of his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw the top unread email, from your address.

need help with an outfit- ok so maxie. i need help. mark was really sweet .. 3:47

mark knew he shouldn't read it. it clearly wasn't for him. it was for maxine, your long distance best friend, and what kind of a weirdo goes through friends' private chats? but the mention of his name drew him in, and the combination of you calling him sweet was like honey to a bee. the ellipsis just beside the timestamp stared at him, teasing him, before he finally gave in and clicked.

need help with an outfit

ok so maxie. i need help. mark was really sweet and caring to me, and i feel like we don't hang out often enough as friends and not as coworkers. so i thought id take him to the beach this weekend, but i have fucking nothing to wear. so i found this bikini i bought last summer stashed away because it was a tad risky. but now i think it's cute :/ what do you think? too much?

bikini.mp4

click.

the video started almost identically as your previous one. your hand in the frame, panning the camera to focus on the centre of the setup. but this time, the setting is glaringly different. instead of looking like an amateur meth lab, the background is cosier. the wall is pink instead of white. there's no black table. your bed peeks through in the corner, soft and inviting. sunlight streams through the open window, bathing your bedroom in a soft glow.

and then you walk in.

and mark doesn't think he'll ever recover.

your footsteps are soft, and a shy smile plays on your lips. your hair is radiant in the sunlight, framing your face in delicious locks.

mark's breath audibly hitches as his eyes travel lower.

a white bikini top with pretty frills hugs your tits, pushing them together in a mouthwatering display of cleavage. mark slams pause. his face looms a mere inches away from his screen, eyes glued to your chest. the front string reaches till your belly, the end dipping into your navel. he can make out the hardened peaks of your nipples from the cotton, and his cock twitches.

with a trembling finger, he presses the spacebar again to resume the video. you giggle softly, almost non-audibly as if your laughter is carried away by the wind. but mark heard it. he always does.

you turn around and he fucking whimpers.

the matching panties are tight against your flesh, the frilly edge cutting into your skin. the curve of your ass sways from side to side, as if you're performing, for him and only him.

his dick is already rock hard. the ache is becoming unbearable, and his hands itch to give him some friction, any kind, but he can't. he can't blur that invisible boundary. you're his friend. what would you think if you walked in right now, to find his cock straining against his sweatpants, his hips desperately rolling against the air for any relief, all while moaning at the sight of your pretty ass on display for him?

the thought itself makes him groan and shut his eyes, fighting for control. precum is soaking through his pants. he opens his eyes to find his arms clutching the desk with the last embers of his sanity.

and then disaster strikes.

you turn around and place your dainty finger in between those plush, perfectly soft lips and bite. and the last of his restraint, taut and straining, finally snaps.

a broken "fuck", rushes out of him before his hand flies to undo his drawstring. pushing his boxers down, he finally grabs his cock in his hand. the thick veins on its surface are bulging and the tip is angry and flushed, as if it's been waiting for this moment for eternity.

he rewinds back to the frame where your boobs are squished together, stiff peaks visible through the thin material. testing the waters, he strokes once, long and slow, and it's heaven. his cock is already slick from the months of pent up frustration from every time you came over in those tiny shorts and sat right next to him on the couch, almost on his lap. his hips buck into the air as he imagines it, you straddling him with your panties pushed to the side while he ruts against you frantically, his tongue on those cute little nipples making you squirm in delight.

"fuck, baby-ngh- you're going to ruin me in that tiny little bikini-"

his free hand curls into a fist, and he bites it, muffled grunts and moans of your name slipping through as he reimagines the position - you, on your back, your eyebrows furrowed together and lips caught mid-moan as he ruthlessly thrusts his dick between your boobs, the bikini top barely holding on by a single, flimsy string. the fabric is soaked, and is wrapped against your tits so tight he can see its soft jiggles every time he shoves his dick between that delicious valley.

he's so close. he goes back to the timeframe of you teasingly biting your nail, glossy lips shining in the light.

he imagines you right there, on your knees in front of his gaming chair. those perfect, plump lips wrapped around his cock, your tongue teasing the sensitive underside until he can't take it anymore and grabs your hair, guiding you slowly and savoring the warmth that shoots up his spine. your eyes are staring up into his, tears dotting your eyelashes, as your nails rake against his thighs, gagging on the sheer length-

he cums with your name on his lips, his seed spilling over his fist and falling to the floor in fat globs.

his phone pings. a notification from you shines on his lockscreen.

hey, u wanna go to the beach this weekend?