"Won't you come a bit closer,
close enough so I can smell you.
I need you to feel this,
I can't stand to burn too long.
Released in this sodomy.
For one sweet moment I am whole."
---"Prison Sex", Tool
I.
Heat.
Pressing, searching. A sigh, a cry of agonizing pleasure. A hard body, a deep voice, those stunning eyes. Sweat, a grasping hand, thrusting, harder, faster...
"Oh God!"
Barely aware that he was awake. Barely aware. Feeling his body spasm, the spreading warmth that cooled so quickly on the sheets.
Another dream.
Another dream of him.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Enveloped in the thick air of July. Only a sweat soaked sheet between him and nudity. Only a thin wall between himself and the man of his dream.
The same man, now standing flustered and staring in his doorway. Walls thin enough to allow the frigid air of winter and the awful heat of summer seep through came with another price. The smallest sound could be heard throughout the entire apartment. Shivering in the aftereffects of his dreams, he had forgotten.
"Roger?"
How am I going to explain this? If I close my eyes, will he believe that I'm sleeping and just go away?
"God Roger, you're soaked. Are you sick?" Worry, tinged with fear, strained Mark's voice, making it higher and thinner than usual. Wordlessly, Roger clutched the sheets in tight fists, watching Mark start into the room. And just as quickly, back away, eyes over bright.
"I'll call for an ambulance." Mark said, when he didn't reply. The fear in his voice showing plainly in his eyes.
"And I'd likely die, while you waited for them to take you off hold." Roger could help but say. His voice, meant to be teasing, instead came out harsh and hoarse, even to his own ears. He regretted his words immediately, seeing Mark flinch and back up a step. Obviously intending to give it a try, even so.
"Mark! Mark, I'm kidding." He watched Mark study him, plainly not believing. "I'm fine. I just... It was just a dream."
"A dream."
"That's it. I'm not sick or anything. Breath, Mark, you look like you're gonna pass out."
Roger quirked a half smile as he spoke, and watched as Mark visibly relaxed.
"Christ Roger, you nearly gave me a heart attack." Even as he said it, Mark couldn't help but smile. Allowing himself to be relieved, even if he wasn't sure he believed it or not. Though he supposed that if anyone was allowed nightmares, it was Roger.
That thought alone was enough to keep him from asking what the dream had been about. He didn't want to bring it up, and throw his friend into another bout of depression. And, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he truly wanted to know. Roger wasn't the only one haunted by dreams.
Roger watched as Mark's smile faded, and his thoughts seemed to turn inward. He studied him, without even realizing it. Running his eyes over the planes of his face, studying his easily-read eyes. Watching as his mouth lifted once more into a light smile as he refocused on Roger once more.
"Look then, why don't you get up, grab a shower. I'll dig out the extra sheets." Mark said, and stepped forward to gather the top sheet from Roger's relaxed grip.
Immediately, Roger's fists clenched once more around the material, eyes widening slowly. "No!"
Startled, Mark jumped, staring down at the man. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I mean... It's just..." Roger could feel himself blushing, and hoped it wasn't noticeable in the dim light from the hallway. "I'm... Well, y'know." Rolling his own eyes at his stuttering, and smothering a smile at the absolute confusion on Mark's face, he gestured weakly. "It's hot. I don't have anything... I'm naked, all right?"
A bubble of laughter escaped before Mark could help himself. "You're kidding?"
Embarrassed, Roger shrugged briskly. "It was hot." He said, defensively.
Mark shook his head, and reached for the sheets again. "Roger, give me a break. It's not like I've never seen you naked before."
Roger knew that he was speaking of those mostly forgotten nights when he'd been too drunk and uncaring to take care of himself. That alone should have put a damper on his hormones. But the words, and the half-formed images that burst into mind, brought an immediate reaction, and he pulled the cloth away. Not wanting to risk his friend seeing the results of his previous dreams, and the words Mark had just spoken.
"I'm serious! Go look for the sheets, I'll take care of this."
His voice must have been just pleading enough. Mark nodded and walked out the door, still chuckling softly. As soon as Roger heard him start rummaging through the closet, he wrapped the damp sheets around him and scrambled for the bathroom. Cold shower. Gotta be a cold shower. Get a hold of yourself, Roger. You never reacted this way to Mimi.
The thought of Mimi brought a pause, hand before the shower tap. But not the expected stab of grief. Just a vague melancholy. A sense of loss of someone he loved and respected. Absently, Roger turned the water on, forgetting his vow of a cold shower as steam rose around him.
If she were still here, would I want him? Or is it because she's gone, and I don't have anyone else? Were there dreams before she left, or did it start there? Mind churning, he let his head rest against the wall, water sluicing over him.
Shaking his head, he turned his face into the spray. It didn't matter now, really. She was gone, and he'd somehow turned his sights to Mark. He didn't understand it, he'd never felt this way for a man before. And really, no other. Only Mark.
Who is making up your bed for you right now. Roger reminded himself. Giving his body a quick rub-down, determined to finish and dry off before the other man could begin to wonder what was taking so long. But his hand brushing over his penis drew a soft moan, and thrust all other thoughts from his mind.
Head falling backwards with a sigh, Roger stroked himself, leaning against the slick shower wall. Even after the results of his earlier dream, he knew it wouldn't take long. Just the thought that at any point Mark could walk into the bathroom to check on him, and catch him in the act was enough to send him over.
Roger's hips thrust forward, hand clutching at the wall. A single strangled word, half moan, half sob torn from his lips as he spasmed forcefully. "Mark!"
Aftershocks were still flowing through him, making his body shudder, when the door to the bathroom opened. The slightest chill from the air that was only marginally cooler than the water was a pleasant feeling. He had time to be thankful that the water had washed away any evidence of his activity, when Mark spoke.
"Rog, you need to get dried off and come to bed."
Roger knew that if he looked out at Mark, his eyes would be full of concern and worry and warmth. All the things that made him Mark. All the things that before, Roger had managed to overlook. And he didn't know if he could look into those eyes and stop himself from confessing what it was that was wrong. So instead, he let his weary eyes close, head still leaning back against the wall, shivering. Letting Mark's voice flow over him as he spoke softly, turning the water off and wrapping a towel around the larger man.
"Look, let me call the doctor, all right?" Mark pleaded, finally, drawing Roger out of the bathroom. Those words broke through, and Roger opened his eyes, shaking his head.
"No, I'm fine! I told you I'm fine. I just need to sleep." The words came out harsher than he'd intended, and he grabbed Mark's arm. "I promise, I'm not sick. I'm just tired, I haven't been sleeping well." He watched Mark open his mouth to start in again and he shook his head. "It's too hot. I'm okay."
He could tell that Mark didn't truly believe him. Mark's eyes flitted to the window though, and he nodded hesitantly. He knew that Roger hated the hospital. He could usually be persuaded to go to the doctor when it was absolutely necessary. But it very early morning, and the only option would be the hospital.
"If you're sure..."
"I'm sure." Realizing that he was still gripping Mark's arm, Roger let his hand drop. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet his roommate's eyes, so instead, he turned and started for his bedroom. "Good night, Mark."
Closing the door carefully, he looked at the freshly made bed and took a shaky breath. This had to stop. He wasn't going to destroy a lifetime's friendship just because he couldn't control his hormones. No more. I'll make him go clubbing with me tomorrow night. Maybe we can both find someone.
Feeling better at the thought, Roger dropped into bed. Knowing that Mark would be awake, checking in on him, worrying. But too tired to do anything about it. Everything will be all right. He told himself, before falling headlong into sleep once more.
II.
Roger woke with a soft gasp some hours later, to the feel of a cool hand on his forehead. Without opening his eyes, he murmered, "How is it that your hands are so cold, when it's so ungodly hot in here?"
He heard Mark chuckle, and felt a surge of happiness at the sound. Mark didn't laugh enough, but when he did, it was a low rumble, nearly a purr. So much different from his speaking voice.
The bed shifted slightly as Mark perched on the edge. Roger still didn't feel like truly waking up, and said nothing. For a long moment, the silence stretched, until Mark sighed. "What happened last night, Rog?"
There was a depth of such honest concern in his voice that Roger turned to face him, cracking his eyes and looking up into Mark's. Studying the warmth and caring there, he could almost allow himself to hope that what he was feeling was reciprocated.
Well, it's not, and you know better. Get a grip on yourself. He berated himself, tamping down the sudden hope. Giving a sullen shrug, he turned his eyes away, studying the designs his finger traced on the sheets.
"Nothings wrong. It was a dream, I told you that all ready." Roger tried to inject impatience into his voice, to make the questions end. Instead, it came out sounding plaintive.
"Roger, you were drenched." Mark pressed, voice rising to make the statement a question.
Rolling his eyes slightly, he sighed. "It's nearly a hundred degrees in here. Not all of us have ice water for blood." Flinching inwardly at how badly that came out, he raised his eyes with a wan smile to take the edge off.
Mark's expression didn't change. Roger was relieved that he hadn't taken offense to what he'd said, even if in a way he wished he would. This wasn't going the way that he'd expected.
"I heard you call my name, from the shower." He said softly, voice still gentle. As though speaking to a child. Normally, this was the point where Roger bristled at being treated like a fool.
This time was no exception. A part of him knew that Mark was only doing this because he was concerned about him. But he wasn't an invalid damn it! If he was sick, he'd go to the doctor himself, he didn't need his roommate to play nursemaid. Ignoring the tiny voice at the back of his mind that snorted at the thought that he'd take himself to the doctor, he sat up, turning on Mark.
"Christ Mark! I wanted to see if you were finished with the bed. That's it! I'm not a child, and you're not my mother, so lay off!" Ignoring the spark of hurt in Mark's eyes, he pushed himself out of bed and roamed around the room, looking for clothes that were at least vaguely clean.
Still sitting on the edge of his bed, watching his angry movements, Mark made an obvious effort not to react the same. "Look, I just wanted to help. If you were sick, we could catch it early, and it wouldn't be as bad as it always is because you refuse to go to the doctor until it's far too late." Frowning, he watched as Roger yanked on a pair of old, tattered jeans. "Why should it make you mad that I care whether you're sick or not?"
Roger paused in reaching for a shirt, lowering his eyes. Asking himself the same question. Why should he be getting angry at Mark? It wasn't his fault that Roger felt this way about him. That just being near him made him want to be closer. Roger certainly couldn't tell him... Wouldn't tell him. Yet he was lashing out his frustration at the man for not being able to read his mind and respond in kind.
"I..." Sighing, he returned to the bed, sitting on the opposite side. "I guess I don't like to think about it, when I'm not sick. You know?" He looked up at Mark, hoping to read instant understand, and sighing at the confusion in his eyes.
"I don't want to think about what could happen. About being sick and what happens when the time comes that there's nothing that can be done about it." The words came slowly, as he tried to piece together for himself as well as for Mark why he had gotten so angry so suddenly. Other than absolute frustration, tension, lust, and unrequited love? That's not enough for you?
Eyes widening slightly, he had to look away once more, hiding his eyes and his feelings from Mark. He hadn't faced the thought of love, before this, and didn't want to face it now. Love was too deep, too hard to put aside. Easier to believe that it was the amount of time spent locking himself up into the apartment with one person, and lack of sex. Not love. Lust is simple. That's all it is.
Pulling himself from his thoughts, he took a shaky breath and stood suddenly, "Look, we've been cooped up in this place for way too long. I don't know about you, but I'm going stir crazy. Let's go out tonight, hit some clubs. Okay?"
"What? Oh. Um, yeah, I guess."
Roger had to laugh at the slightly dazed look on Mark's face. He had to admit that it wasn't often that he was open about what he was thinking. He'd never been very good at talking about feelings. He left that to Mark.
But if it stuns him enough to get him to agree to actual social interaction, maybe I should do it more often. Smirking, he raised a brow at the man and strolled out of the room towards the kitchen. Wonder what I have to say to get him to leave the camera behind?
Thoughts on the nights upcoming events, Roger scrounged about for something to eat. Putting other issues aside for the moment. And pushing pings of jealousy aside, at the idea that Mark might find someone else this night to turn that all encompassing focused attention on. That was the point, wasn't it? To find an outlet, to turn these thoughts and feelings to another person.
Yeah, sure. Sure it is.
III.
Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea. Roger thought, searching the press of bodies and trying to locate Mark. Saturday night at Club Eclecticist, and there was barely room to breath. With music so loud that you couldn't think, much less hold a conversation, bodies impacting and rebounding all over what passed for the dance floor, Roger was in his element.
Which could only mean that Mark was at the least uncomfortable. At the very worst, he'd found his way to an exit and headed home after losing Roger in the flow. And how do I think I'm going to find him in all of this? Roger thought, frowning anxiously.
Letting the crush of bodies carry him towards the bar, he raked his eyes over the crowded row of stools. Releasing the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he saw Mark perched on a small stool in the very corner. The edge of the bar sheltering him from the worst of the mass of bodies.
It took several minutes to make his way over to the man. Grinning, damp hair hanging into his eyes, flushed with exertion and alcohol, he rested against the wall beside Mark and leaned in close. "Having a good time?" He shouted over the roar of music and laughter.
"Wonderful." Mark replied with an obviously strained smile. Roger didn't quite catch it, but got the idea.
"Great!" He crowed happily. Choosing to ignore the sarcasm in his friends face. Roger was determined to make sure that Mark had a good time. Whether he liked it or not. "C'mon, you gotta come out and dance!"
The utter horror in Mark's face said more than words possibly could. Unable to contain an outburst of laughter, Roger grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the bar. "Can't have fun if you're hiding in a corner!" He called back over his shoulder, not pausing to see if the other man had heard him.
Once they'd made their way from the raised area down into the dance pit, it was impossible to speak. Roger could feel his eardrums vibrating, and his very heartbeat seemed to pound out the rhythm of the music. Pleased with himself for thinking of this in the first place, he turned to Mark.
A tiny, miserable space of stillness in an ocean of shifting bodies. While the enthusiasm and sheer chaos of the entire club only fed Roger's excitement, Mark was terrified. Curling in on himself as much as he possibly could while standing upright, he looked at Roger pleadingly.
Okay, so this was a very bad idea. Roger thought, sighing. The sound lost even as it left his mouth. He should have known better. Be that as it may, he absolutely refused to leave until Mark danced, at least once. With him. Say goodbye to plans of finding someone else. I can't leave him like this.
A small voice chimed inside his head. Can't, or won't? Shaking it off, he stepped forward towards the frightened man. Ignoring everyone around them, and phasing out the music the best he could with it screaming straight through his entire body, he focused on Mark.
As if in response, the chaotic music ended, flowing easily into a throbbing rhythm. Pulsing almost like the beat of a heart. The opening of 'The End' by the Doors.
Jim Morrison. Perfect. A smile flitted across Rogers face, watching Mark frown slightly. Watching the mass of dancers slow almost to a halt, their bodies weaving sinuously. Clearly he didn't understand how anyone could dance to this particular song. Undulating to the bass, Roger tapped Mark's chin with a finger, dropping his arms to rest against his hips.
Hesitant, painfully shy, gaze flitting to the people nearby, seeming to float to the hypnotic voice. Fixing his eyes on Roger, he allowed himself to be shown, following the motions the best that he could. Drawn by the look in Roger's eyes.
Stunned by how perfectly this had worked, Roger returned the gaze, even flirted gently. Sure that his friend wouldn't notice. He couldn't help himself. This couldn't have worked better if he had planned it. One of the Doors' longer songs, the ending would drive the floor into a frenzy once more. Being the kind of friend he was, he would rescue Mark from the dance floor, and whisk him away.
Yeah, you're some white knight.
All other thoughts were pushed aside by the sheer pleasure of the moment. While he knew that this was most likely meaningless to his friend, he committed each moment to memory. Every movement, every expression. Every second that he had left until they no longer danced, until the stunning intimacy was torn apart.
Morrison's smoky voice brought him from his reverie, chanting, "Father?"
Not much time left. He mused, and pressed closer. Looking down at Mark for less than a second, his heart in his eyes, before slipping his arm around the smaller man's waist. Not taking the time to explain, he slipped them between bodies, now picking up speed around them. Raising their arms, heads thrown back. Ready.
As howls erupted from the people around them as Morrison's short monologue ended in a scream of his own, Roger felt Mark flinch, pressing closer. Hating himself for loving the feeling, but unable to help it. Slipping slightly in front of the man, his arm still connecting them, he opened a space between dancers, and took them up the stairs.
Grinning like a fool, he grabbed Mark's hand without thinking and steered him towards the exit. Looking back over his shoulder and laughing aloud at the utter relief he found. Never thought I'd say it, but... I wish I had a camera. He thought, and laughed harder, sliding through the doors and into the humid night.
"Wasn't that great?" Roger said, whirling to face Mark. Seeing the look on his friends face, he tried to force his features into a more serious expression. "I mean... Er..." With a hopeful smile, he tried a different tactic. "Wanna come back next Friday?"
"Never. Again." Mark said through gritted teeth, and pulled his hand from Roger's.
"Awww, Markie!" Roger whined, with an impish smile, falling into step beside Mark as they made their way in the general direction of the loft. "How was I supposed to know it was going to be so packed?"
Adding a pleading lilt to his voice, he tugged on Mark's arm, going out of his way to be annoying. "We can't go home. It's not even tomorrow yet." With one last tug, he turned them both in the opposite direction. "C'mon, I know a better place."
"No! No way, I'm not going to another club. Home, Roger. I'm going home." Mark argued, but couldn't keep his lips from twitching at Roger's antics.
Roger held on tighter, shaking his head. "Nope. Okay, no dance clubs." After a moments thought he shrugged. "We can just go to the Life, if you want."
He could hear the disappointment in his own voice, but was glad he'd made the suggestion when Mark relaxed and smiled, nodding. "But, you're gonna match me shot for shot, or I chose the next place."
"If I match you shot for shot," Mark said with a laugh, "then there will be no next place. You'll be carrying me home." Grinning, he added, "You can let me go now. I'll go with you."
"Oh. Yeah." Dropping Mark's arm a flush rising into his cheeks. Shrugging it off, he turned down the street and set the pace. A wicked, ugly plan forming in the back of his mind.
You can't do that, he's your best friend.
He's driving me crazy!
Mark doesn't know that. How's he supposed to know?
He would, if he were really my friend!
Mind doing battle with itself, Roger tried to focus on Mark's chatter. And push the babble in his head aside. He couldn't hurt his friend. Wouldn't.
Would I?
IV.
Roger guided Mark out of the Life, hand steady on his elbow. Mark had matched him shot for shot, as promised. But was decidedly worse for the experience.
Roger had always been able to hold his alcohol. Able to outdrink most of his friends, with a pleasant buzz but no real stupor, he'd eventually moved on to heavier narcotics. Eventually leading to his herion addiction.
Even now, years clean, and not drinking nearly as often, he was sober enough to watch out for his friend as they made their way back to the apartment. Though drunk enough to find his stumbling and slurred words highly amusing.
"C'mon kiddo, let's get you upstairs into bed." Roger laughed, turning Mark towards the stairs to the apartment.
"M'not a kid. I'm only 3 months younger'n you. 'N I'm not drunk!" Mark said decisively.
"Oh?" Roger grinned wickedly and let go of Mark's arm, snorting when the younger man sat down on the steps with a thud and a hazy look of surprise.
"Ooops." Mark muttered, and rather than try to get up, simply lounged back on his elbows and peered up at Roger. "You are way too tall." He stated blearily.
"And you," Roger started to reply scathingly, and then softened with a small smile. "And you are absolutely adorable when you're drunk. C'mon, let's get you upstairs."
It took a lot of jostling, a watchful eye, and nearly fifteen minutes to make it up to the loft in one piece. Letting Mark flop down onto the couch, Roger followed just behind with a groan. "Christ, I never realized how long those damn stairs are."
For some reason, this struck Mark as exceedingly funny, and he stretched out on the couch, resting his head on Roger's leg as he giggled.
Moments later, Roger looked down and realized that he was stroking Mark's hair. Mark's eyes were closed, and he had a half smile on his face. Content. It was the perfect word to describe how the man looked. Utterly content.
"I had fun tonight." Mark murmered, shifting slightly to fall into a more comfortable position. His voice barely above a whisper.
"So did I." Roger whispered back. He let his hand stray for a moment, his knuckle running softly over Mark's cheek. Reminding himself forcefully what he had set out to do, he carefully shifted Mark's head from his leg, ignoring the man's half-formed protest at the movement.
For several seconds, Roger simply knelt beside the couch, watching Mark breath. He looked so peaceful and at ease, sprawled out over the couch. Now or never. You'll never have another chance like this. Take it!
Responding to the urgings of his inner voice, Roger leaned forward and pressed his mouth softly to Mark's. Delighted by the soft sigh and gentle response the action brought on, he cupped Mark's cheek with one hand, letting the other drift down his side, to the curve of his hip and rest there.
Reluctantly pulling his mouth away, Roger lowered his head and nuzzled Mark's neck. Dipping down to flick his tongue against the slight indent of his throat, against the flutter of his pulse. The unique MarkTaste sending a pulse of heat through him.
"Mark." He sighed softly, lips barely touching the sensitive area just below the man's ear. when Mark barely twitched in response, Roger sat back and looked down at the man. Listening to his steady breathing, and knowing that he was asleep.
Jaw clenched in frustration, Roger knelt once more beside the couch, his head lowering to rest against Mark's ribs. Even as they'd walked towards The Life Cafe earlier that evening, Roger had been planning. Planning on playing the game of shots with Mark, but watching for that perfect moment. The moment of alcoholic haze, where inhibitions are cast away.
He'd hoped that he could get Mark just drunk enough that he'd respond to a careful seduction. Now he wasn't sure if it'd been accidental or deliberate, but he'd gotten caught up in the moment and had forgotten. Or perhaps pushed the thoughts aside at a surge of guilt.
Eyes pressed tightly shut, he tried to sort out his jumbled emotions toward his roommate. Just now a red cloak of desire covered all else. But running beneath was a deep affection, tempered with protectiveness and even a bit of awe. And yet, shot through it all was the rare but near overpowering urge to reach out and strangle him.
Above it all, though, overpowering the wanting and the need was something more. Something deeper. Something that Roger wasn't quite ready to face or put a word to.
Mind circling and churning, disappointment chewing at him, Roger couldn't bring himself to move. Instead, he pressed a bit closer and let weariness take over. Time enough to think tomorrow. Half hoping that Mark would forget his advances, half dreading it, Roger fell into sleep, still kneeling at the edge of the couch. Hand still draped possessively over Mark's stomach.
V.
Waking was less like coming back to reality than swimming murkily towards consciousness. Mark felt a vague, drained sort of nausea, and a weight against him, holding him down. Briefly, he tried to make sense of it, but even thinking was painful, and he put off trying to remember what had happened the night before and focused on where he was.
Shifting slightly, he felt sharp springs dig into his back, solving one problem. His bed was more a simple collection of blankets on a broken down mattress, and Roger had less than that. Narrowing it down to the couch. Which left the disturbing weight against his stomach and side.
Opening his eyes, Mark took in at a glance the scene before him, before his lids slammed shut once more in protest. Biting back a groan of pain, eyes burning still from daggers of late morning light spearing into them. Mind churning sluggishly. He was indeed on the couch. With Roger's arm curled around his waist, and head resting against his chest. What the hell happened last night?
He remained still though, and made no protest to the touch. Though the weight on his stomach made him that much more aware of how queasy he was feeling. Slowly, he reopened his eyes, squinting against the persistant light shining through the grungy window. His eyes and head protested, but he ignored them, instead focussing his attention on Roger. Trying not to move too quickly and wake him.
Somehow, Roger had managed to fall asleep, his upper body sprawled over Marks'. And remained on his knees beside the couch in the process. Just seeing Roger there, even with hair and clothes rumpled and looking remarkably innocent as he slept, brought back the night before for Mark. From stepping into the crowded club and ending up on the floor dancing to a mesmorizing song with Roger to drinking shots until he couldn't see straight, much less walk upright without help.
Which brought his mind to the kiss.
Cheeks burning, he turned his eyes away from the sleeping Roger and tried not to remember. Remember what must have been a drunken spur of the moment action on the part of his friend. Remember how he'd responded, balanced on the edge of blackness, before allowing his eyes to close. Remember the soft sigh that had followed him into sleep. Trying not to wonder if the sigh had been his own.
It was a lark. A mistake. It wouldn't have happened if he was sober. If you were sober. He told himself, but somehow that made it worse. Shifting restlessly, he stared up at the ceiling.
What's wrong with you? He's your friend. Chewing his lip, he could only hope that Roger wouldn't recall what had happened.
Is that what you really want?
Unconsciously groaning aloud at the mental question, Mark was startled when Roger lifted his head, blinking blearily in the light, but focussing immediately on Mark. "Hey." He muttered, blinking and glancing around the room as though unsure as to where exactly he was and why. Wincing as he moved his numb legs and they were lanced with pain. "You all right?"
"Considering I'm experiencing my first hangover in over a year, yeah, I'm doing fine." Mark replied, fighting back a grin at the look of discomfort on the face of his friend. "You're not looking all that well yourself, though."
Roger raised a brow, then smiled, though a bit tightly as he uncurled himself. Looking suprisingly unselfconscious about the arm that remained draped over Mark's waist. "I don't get hangovers, remember?" He said, legs finally stretched in front of him. "I just don't think that I changed position all night."
Groaning once more at the reminder that Roger could drift through life hangover free, Mark covered his eyes with a hand. Peeking between his fingers to ask hopefully, "Would it be asking too much for you to kill me now and put me out of my misery?"
"Yep!" Roger nearly chirped, grinning as Mark winced and snuggled back down into their broken down couch. He glanced at the arm still resting on Mark's side, and felt a moment of uneasiness. Mark hadn't protested, but... He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, laughing at the unsteadiness as feeling slowly returned. "I won't kill you. I will make you some tea, though."
With a wan smile, Mark peeped up at him once more. "My hero. I'd kiss you, if I didn't feel as awful as I do just now." Mentally moaning at his choice of words, though trying not to let it show. Settling on grinning up at Roger before averting his eyes.
Though it was said with a cheeky grin, and was obvious that Mark was teasing, Roger felt the words slam into his brain and burst through his system. Don't worry, you don't have to move, I'll come down to you. The words trembled on his lips, and he bit them back with difficulty.
It was harder today to act normally, to say nothing. To not just blurt out his feelings and have done with it. Though it wasn't something that he'd considered before. But the dreams were becoming more vivid every night. As was the desire to just grab Mark and shake him. Wondering how it was possible that he didn't see. Not that he wasn't normally blissfully oblivious to the feelings of those around him.
No, that's not true. Roger had to admit. It was just that Roger was usually better at hiding this particular desire. And Mark never seemed to believe that anyone around him truly wanted to be with him. Even if he had any kind of idea what Roger was thinking, he would have dismissed it as just something that his own mind was tossing up. As he smiled distractedly at Mark and headed for the kitchen to make the promised tea, inwardly he cursed Maureen. The Drama Queen, and whoever had come before her to damage Mark's self image so badly.
But when have you ever given him any indication that you'd feel that way? Roger thought, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. He could remember when Collins had come out to the little group of roommates, back when Benny'd been living with them. Mark had been the most surprised. The rest had mostly taken it as a confirmation of what they'd already pretty well known. Roger noticed Mark glancing over at him fairly often as the night wore on, and he'd finally pulled him to the side to ask what was wrong. He'd been surprised himself, to hear Mark ask if he was upset. The man had somehow thought that of all of them, Roger was the most likely to be homophobic.
Now just the thought made him chuckle inwardly and shake his head. Finding it more than a little amusing that the one Mark thought was going to come unhinged and bash Collins was the same person who was trying to find a way to get into his roommates' bed. Go figure.
While his mind was churning, his hands were busy with Mark's tea. Roger didn't have to ask how he took it. Though recent circumstances made such things as cream and sugar sometime luxuries. They'd gotten together with Collins earlier that week. While they could have simply hit the ATM at the Food Emporium, they'd decided to have some fun instead. Going in armed with empty bags, a stapler, and old receipts. And coming out with more food than they'd seen in some time. So he steeped the tea, added a dash of cream and far too much sugar to be healthy. Before considering that Mark may have preferred slightly bland and bitter to sickly sweet, considering the state he was in.
Shrugging, he returned to the living room, tea in hand. If it wouldn't do, he could make more. Or he can haul himself up and make it himself. He was pleased to see, however, the grateful look Mark shot him after taking a sip. How that concoction could settle the mans stomach, Roger didn't know, but Mark's color returned after a bit. And when he returned the cup, his fingers as they brushed Rogers were freezing. So he figured that all was well.
"Sure you don't want to go back to the club again tonight? We could have fun." Roger wheedled, knowing that it would get him nowhere.
"I think I'll stay home tonight, if it's all the same." Mark replied dryly. Before turning on his own wheedling tone. "You could stay in too. We could watch a movie." Trying not to grin and failing.
I refuse to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' when it's this hot out. It's just... Not right." Roger refused, but couldn't held the laugh that escaped at the thought.
"How about... 'Cats'?" Mark tried, ducking automatically under the slap he assumed was heading in his direction. "All right, that's a no. Rocky Horror?"
"I'm not sure I want to know why the sudden fascination with musicals." He muttered, but caved easily enough. A night spent fighting over couch space with Mark seemed more appealing, somehow, than a night spent drinking and dancing with strangers. "All right, we'll watch Rocky. But I will not Time Warp."
Mark laughed and made no protest when Roger picked up his legs. Sitting down, he resettled them in his lap. He rested an elbow on Mark's knee, chin in palm, and turned to just look at him in silence. Now that the joking was done, and Mark didn't look like he was going to spend the day hugging the toilet, he had time to consider last night. Not just 'The Kiss', which was how Roger was starting to think of it already. Though that was on his mind, and he wondered if Mark remembered it at all. Beyond that, though, was his own desperation. He'd honestly considered trying to get Mark drunk and, cheesy as it sounded, take advantage of him.
At the time, the entire plan had sounded wonderful to him. Looking at it now, though, as he looked at Mark, he was horrified with himself. What kind of a person planned something like that? Sure, he hadn't done it. In fact, at some point during their shots, he'd known that the man had gone beyond pleasantly drunk, and moved to the 'stumbling and passing out' stage. It hadn't been conscious, the idea to just keep on at the Life instead of stopping early and going home, though. The other had been. A conscious plan. Something he would have carried through, if Mark had remained awake after 'The Kiss'.
When he blinked himself back to reality, he found Mark staring back at him. Half amused, half self-conscious. "Is my face turning green or something?" He asked with the hint of a smile. And was as surprised as Roger at the reply.
"No, you're beautiful."
The two men both sat in silence after that. Mark gaping, Roger simply stunned. He hadn't meant for that to come out. Though it was true enough, in it's own way. Mark wasn't really rugged enough to be considered handsome. Yet he was attractive, and combined with his personality it made him something beyond boyish, or even pretty. Considering it, beautiful fit.
By the looks of it, Mark didn't know whether to thank him or get up and run. Roger solved half of the problem by leaning his arms gently across Marks legs in his lap. Effectively keeping him from hopping up and bolting. "Breath, Mark."
Mark's mouth closed with an almost audible snap of his teeth, and he lowered his head. Retreating his gaze, if he couldn't his body.
"Hey, I didn't mean..." Roger started, then backtracked when he felt Mark tensing slightly. "I mean, I did mean it. I just didn't mean... I didn't want... Shit." Disgusted with himself, he released his hold on Mark and started to rise himself. If anyone truly wanted to leave this situation, it was him. But he couldn't slip out from beneath Mark's legs without sending him to the floor. And as humiliated as he felt, he couldn't do that.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything he'd ever done to hurt Mark came flying back to him. From laughing when the kids at school teased him, to hurling words designed to hurt just before leaving for Santa Fe. Roger didn't think he'd ever forget seeing Mark cringe away from the words as if they were blows. Ducking his head to hide tears finally, ones that Roger hadn't been able to help seeing anyway. Before he turned to run then, as well. Of course, he hadn't gotten away, had run straight into Mimi. But the pain of that conversation had been an echo of what he'd felt after flaying Mark. Which answered the question he'd asked himself earlier about when exactly this infatuation had started.
And now you've done it again. You make it so casual and easy, hurting him. Just the flick of your wrist, just a simple sentence. Falling back onto the cushion, Roger sighed and turned away. Fingers pressed into his eyes, if only to close out the sight of the room around him. "I'm sorry." He whispered, voice thick with tears of his own that he steadfastly refused to shed.
When he could bring himself to glance at Mark, his heart clenched. The man's face was expressionless, but his eyes... He could never hide anything from Roger, his eyes always gave it away. And they were bleak and mournful. Roger couldn't imagine how three small words could have brought on such a look. Couldn't have fathomed that it wasn't the 'You're beautiful.'
It was the 'I'm sorry.'
VI.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Roger, usually the more collected of the two, found that it was him squirming in his seat as Mark sat unmoving. Until he slipped from under Marks legs finally and stood. Glancing wordlessly down at his friends bent head. Feeling that he should apologize somehow, though he wasn't sure for exactly what. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed and started towards the door. Very conscious of the fact that he was running away. Again. But he couldn't sit here, enveloped in Mark's hurt silence and averted eyes.
"Why'd you say it, if you didn't mean it?" The voice quiet enough that he almost thought he'd imaged it. Until he turned his head and found his eyes meeting Marks. The hurt was still there, but beneath it was something darker. Something deeper than pain, that he'd once seen in his own eyes. For several seconds, he couldn't move or speak. He'd never wanted to see hopelessness in that gaze, and it horrified him that he was to blame.
On top of that, Roger wasn't sure how to answer. Speaking truthfully to begin with had gotten them to this point. Mark's gaze began to drop once more, though, and he didn't have time then to think and consider. Because if he let Mark draw back into himself now... He shuddered to think of the end result of that. "I did mean it."
His voice didn't sound like his own, to his ears. Sounding choked and small and scared.
Mark waved the words away with an abrupt gesture. "Bullshit. If you meant them, you wouldn't be sorry about them." His voice wasn't cold, but it was getting there. Hardening in a way Roger hadn't heard before. And he could have kicked himself for being such an idiot.
He knew that what he was doing went against his 'get mad and then leave' characteristics. Even as he walked back to the couch and knelt beside it he knew. This wasn't something Roger would have done for Mimi. If she'd said something like that he would have blown up at her for assuming she knew what he was thinking. Meeting Marks eyes with his own, he finally realized why. Mimi wasn't Mark. It was that simple in the end. Even not knowing it consciously, a part of him had realized that though he loved her, he wasn't truly in love with her. And he felt a sudden sorrow for the woman, and hoped that she'd never known. Or if she did, she never blamed herself.
Forcing thoughts of Mimi from his mind, he focused entirely on Mark. "You are beautiful. I did mean it. I just never wanted you to be upset." Though he wanted to drop his eyes, feeling he was baring too much of himself, he wouln't allow himself to. If his heart wasn't safe with Mark, it would never be safe. "I didn't want to hurt you, or the friendship we have. You know you're my best friend. I couldn't stand it if I lost that."
The expression on Marks face would have been funny under any other circumstances. Going from confusion to understanding and back before settling for staring blankly at the man before him.
Knowing he was taking a chance, Roger leaned forward to close the gap between the two. It was almost a relief to press his lips once more to Marks'. This time with his friend fully conscious and aware. Though it was also frightening, it was arousing and exhilerating as well. Mark didn't pull away from him, but he remained unresponsive for so long that Roger almost pulled back himself. Before he could do so, Mark finally began to return the kiss.
Roger wanted to lean in and devour the man. He'd been waiting longer than he himself knew for this moment. But he was afraid to frighten his friend. So he remained gentle. Nibbling almost playfully at Marks' lower lip, before sweeping his tongue over it. Asking wordlessly for entrance. Again there was a slight pause, before acceptance. Marks mouth opening beneath his. When their tongues brushed, Roger moaned low in his throat, reaching to cup Mark's thin, cool cheeks in his palms.
When the kiss finally ended, both men were left breathless. Roger found himself kneeling up, once more leaning over Mark on the couch. This time h is forehead resting on Marks, their eyes focused on one anothers. Roger was painfully har, and very aware of his body pressed against the cushions of the couch. Though it all seemed secondary to the look in his friends' eyes.
At first he didn't trust his own senses. His sight demanding that the pain in Marks eyes was melting away. Replaced with emotions so much easier to take, to look upon. Happiness, desire, trust. Love? It was hard to believe. Yet beneath it all was fear with a tinge of disbelief. As though Mark, as well, couldn't quite grasp what was happening.
The fear was easy to understand. There were so many reasons why they shouldn't be together. Reasons that went racing through his mind all at once, setting him back on his heels, stunned. A small yet insistant voice in the back of his mind whispering that he was being selfish. Thoughts that were all thrust aside when a small, cold hand settled on his cheek. "Roger?"
Lifting his eyes once more, Roger watched Marks gaze become concerned and slowly relaxed. There was nothing to worry about. Mostly because Mark wouldn't let anything happen to him. Also, the man did enough worrying for both of them. Slowly, his lips curved into a smile, and he reached to rest his hand over Marks on his cheek. "I guess I should have known you wouldn't freak out and throw me out or anything." He said, a bit ruefully. "But your mind can do some pretty strange things to reason when you let it."
Reflecting over that sentence, he realized it didn't make sense, and likely wouldn't to anyone but himself. But to his surprise, Mark laughed softly and nodded. "I suppose it does." He said thoughtfully. Gaze turning inward. Secretive and a little sad. "Your mind can churn out some truly terrible thoughts, when you let it." The words were spoken softly, and Roger had the feeling that Mark had forgotten for a moment that he wasthere. It was a disquiting feeling, and though it lasted only a few moments before the man shook himself out of it, Roger wondered what he'd been missing, while his mind had been all wrapped up in his own problems.
Mark shifted under Rogers suddenly sharp gaze, picking at a small hole in the thigh of his corderoys. Looking both shy and sheepish as he spoke, not quite able to meet Rogers eyes. "Could we... I mean..." Blushing brightly, he cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses fussily until Roger reached out and moved his hands away. Slipping his glasses from his face and moving them to the relative safety of the chair nearby.
"What do you need, Mark?"
His voice was husky, and Mark shivered slightly at the sound of it. It would be so easy to simply say, 'You'. Even if it did sound like a cheesy romance novel. Instead, he tilted his head back and smiled slightly. "Kiss me again?"
The response to his request was immediate. With a low sound, nearly a growl, in the back of his throat, Roger leaned forward. This kiss was nowhere near as gentle as before. This was hard and full of desire. His tongue carressing Marks urgently, even as his hand began to roam over his friends' body. Drinking in every muffled moan, every response as they grew less hesitant, Mark following his lead.
Rogers hand moved slowly down Marks chest. The other still resting against his cheek. Half dazed himself by the thought that, finally, this was actually happening. When his roaming hand slid farther and brushed against the hardness trapped beneath Marks corderoys, everything changed. He could feel Mark go tense and still under his touch. Fingers that had been caressing his shoulders suddenly digging into the muscles. And the lips that had been responding to his agressive touch so sweetly were drawn away as Mark pressed his face into Rogers shoulder and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Mark whispered, the words stumbling over themselves as he gasped for breath. Not realizing that his hands were shaking until Roger gripped on in his own. Trying to warm it, trying to halt the trembling. "I'm sorry." He repeated miserably into the silence.
"Shh." Roger murmured, forehead creased with concern. He began to pull away so that he could look down at the man, see his face, his eyes. But the soft, keening denial and grasping hands changed his mind, and he shifted carefully so that Mark could curl towards him, face hidden. "It's all right. I won't let you go."
He didn't know what had happened, exactly. Mark hadn't been upset, hadn't resisted. The slightest indication that he hadn't wanted Roger, and he would have stopped imediately. But... He'd asked Roger to kiss him. The fact that it'd gone just slightly farther... Well, Mark hadn't asked for that, but he'd been aroused, the evidence of that had momentarily been warm beneath Roger's hand. Was I wrong? What did I do?
Still, Mark continued his breathless apologies, one hand gripping Roger's shirt tightly, the other still holding his shoulder in a bruising grip. Not seeming to hear the words Roger whispered to him. His panting breaths warm against Roger's neck.
"Don't be sorry, Mark. It's my fault, I shouldn't have... I went to fast." The words were spoken a bit louder, trying to break through whatever was happening in his friends head. The tone mournful, but being overridden by concern. "Mark, stop, it's all right."
The words tappered off, finally, to the musician's relief. He found himself brushing through the soft hair at the back of Mark's head, and forced his hand away. Moving it to rub his back comfortingly. Feeling the rapid beating of his heart, and the sweat that dampened the cloth. What is he afraid of? He wondered, and almost asked Mark aloud, before catching himself. Not wanting to send the man into another bout of trembling.
When the shaking subsided and heartrate began to slow once more, Roger tried pulling away gently once more. For a moment Mark's grip tightened, before his arms dropped to the couch once more. When Roger looked down, his gaze was averted, shame and the remnants of fear covering it. "Mark?"
"I'm..." He started, then caught his lower lip in his teeth, silencing himself. Flicking his eyes towards Roger briefly, then away once more. Hands reaching to tug at his shirt, aware that it was lighter than what he normally wore. But it'd been too hot to consider the normal sweater. Now, though, he didn't feel the heat of the summer day, though the strong light from the window suggested that it would be another scorcher, if it wasn't already. Instead, he felt chilled, and crossed his arms over his chest, hands gripping his elbows.
"Mark." Roger repeated, levering himself up so that he was sitting at the edge of the couch. He reached out to brush the mans hair back from his forehead, stopping short at the sudden panic in his eyes. Wounded more than he would let on by the thought that Mark would be afraid of him, he pulled back abruptly. Looking down at him for several moments longer before standing and turning away. Always running away. Even now, after you've done this to him, you're running away.
That there was truth in the thought didn't stop him from grabbing the mug from where it sat on the floor and stalking towards the kitchen. He wasn't angry with Mark, though it might have looked that way. He was angry with himself. His actions, his inability to simply ask what was wrong. Or apologize if he had indeed gone to far. The sudden concern for his friend had overridden the overpowering lust that had washed through him just moments ago, leaving behind the slow burn that seemed always to be there now. His mind still hadn't quite wrapped around the sudden change... One moment hot, the other ice cold. Once he caught up with himself, maybe he could face it.
Until then, it was better not to be in the same room. Roger felt more and more as though he wasn't in control of himself. Though how he could have known that Mark would react that way was beyond him. So he simply didn't think of it. Moving back through the living room with barely a glance towards the couch, he walked to his own room, closing the door behind him. The gentle click seeming to echo through the room as though he'd slammed it.