Fic: Scorching Hot
Hey, guys, I managed to finish school (alive, even). So I spent my seven day summer vacation sleeping. No, really, that is about it for my holiday. And you know what? It felt GOOD.
Also, I bring tidings of porn.
Author: Stephanie
Pairing: Mark/Roger, straight up with no mess.
Title: Scorching Hot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3610
Summery: This is the best way to spend Pride, ever.
Note: For Krissy, without whom the joys of Mark's sex life would be far more joyless. And because I couldn't writing vikings. This fic made little or no attempt to be plotful. It's a guilt pleasure fic for a friend, not meant to represent the characters entirely correctly. Also, it's a PWP. You get the point, right?
Scorching Hot
God, it’s hot…
The most pathetic moan possible rumbles in Mark’s chest, barely making it out from his closed lips. He refuses to open them, or to move at all. He’s finally found a position that is at least less hot than the others, sprawled out on the couch, one leg and arm hanging over the side and dangling in front of the fan. If he doesn’t move, maybe his body temperature will start to drop and he start melting like a character by Dali.
June is a horrible month to be a starving artist. Right up there with July and all the winter months, and all those other months when you’re starving. There are some days, or nights really with friends and alcohol and causes that make it all worth it. Mark draws on those days and the images his camera collects, and he keeps himself up even in the worst of moments.
Then there are days spent passed out on the couch, wishing the loft was more like the artic tundra from a few months ago. These days, he wants to be a suburban kid with the air conditioning running full blast, up in his room jerking off to nearly but not really pornographic movie scenes and snacking on chips and soda. Although, the lack of pants is kind of nice.
Usually the sound of someone ripping open the door to the loft and slamming the metal back into the wall would make Mark jump to attention. Today, he just moans again and keeps on staying completely still. “Why the fuck would you pick the hottest fucking day of the year to crowd the goddamn streets when- Oh…”
Mark’s eyes flutter open, mostly out of protest to the rest of his body which is sticking with the whole not moving idea. Why does he even need to look up? He could recognize Roger’s footsteps, heavy boots padding across the floor to stand over the couch. He didn’t really need to open his eyes to know Roger would be standing there, smirking down at him.
His bleached and freshly cut hair, which means it looks like shit since he let April go at it, is smothered down with sweat, his eyeliner running and skin flushed. It’s his own damn fault for wearing a leather jacket outside in this weather. Mark is not going to feel sorry for him, and growls a bit when he steps between the fan and Mark’s limbs. “Collins, Maureen or Benny?”
“Mm?’ Mark asks, which is about the only thing you can say without opening your mouth. Roger laughs, and Mark kind of hates him. He’s sweating like hell in his jeans and a leather jacket, carrying around his giant fucking guitar and amp, and he still has the energy to laugh at Mark, while Mark can barely move. Fuck him.
Roger finally moves out of the fan’s way, dropping down to sit on the armrest near Mark’s head. “Well, someone did this to you, right?” He teases, eyes going straight to Mark’s waist. If he weren’t over heated, he would have rolled his eyes. Fuck, he can manage it for the sake of Roger being an idiot.
“Did it myself,” he insists, moving his hand that has been cooled by the fan to tug down the edge of his skirt from where it had drifted up his thigh, covering the least amount of skin possible. Like modest is a problem for the guy he shares a room with. Who occasionally has sex without caring that mark is sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Who dry humps his guitar when he’s on stage. Mark tugs it down anyway. Funny and goofy he can do, which is why he’s in the skirt in the first place, not to flash his roommate. “S’for pride.”
“I’m going to go with Collins or Maureen,” Roger says, reaching down and flipping some of Mark’s hair out of his eyes. Mark growls again, but doesn’t stop him. Roger is going to tease him anyway, might as well not waste precious energy on it. “Glitter?”
“Also from pride.” Roger knew that Collins, Maureen, and Mark were going down to the parade. He shouldn’t be surprised that they had a little fun. Pride Parade is one of the few things you can do in New York for free plus, well, Mark can’t help but think how pissed his dad would be if he knew.
“And the beads…” Roger reaches down, shaking the beads that Mark is wearing around his neck. “Did you flash someone.”
“Jerk,” Mark mutters, trying his best to twists his head back and glare, but not really. He doesn’t mind so much that Roger is acting like an asshole, knowing that he’s just joking around. Mark just isn’t in the best mood. It had been hot out there, and over heated, and his girlfriend had made out with a chick in front of a new crew. He knows Maureen was just trying to prove a point, the rebel in her rising up, and most guys would have thought it was hot that their girlfriend wanted to kiss other girls. It just let Mark with a very unease feeling, not helped by the fact that he was overheated and mildly nauseous.
“You should have come to the practice,” Roger insists, dangling the beads over Mark’s nose now, occasionally hitting him with some of the bigger ones. It‘s annoying, and Mark tries the whole moaning thing again to make him stop. He doesn‘t. “You could have even worn your little skirt if you wanted.”
He better stop that. Mark narrows his eyes as the beads bouncing and hit at his nose. This is not how he wanted to spend his cool down period after getting back from the parade. Since the growling didn’t work, Mark bares his teeth, biting out at the beads.
Roger’s hand stops, the beads still shaking a little but at least not as annoying as before. “Hey,” he says, dropping the necklaces and looking down at Mark. “Don’t bite.”
Mark tips his head back, smiling a bit at Roger, mostly in victory. “Don’t shove balls in my face.”
Laughing, Roger catches himself on the armrest, cuffing Mark’s shoulder. “You don’t bite all balls shoved in your face, do you?”
“Try it,” Mark dares, showing off his less than sharp and sparkling teeth. Slowly he’s getting back into a good mood after coming home and collapsing in a pile of flesh and sweat on the couch. Maybe some of that is Roger, who can be an asshole when he’s in the mood and even worse when he’s with April and high, and Mark is just glad to see him like he should be, smiling and relaxed and all. Mostly it’s the fan.
“Don’t make me sit on your face,” Roger gaffs, holding his hand just above Mark’s mouth. Mark rolls his eyes, but nips at his palm just to be annoying. “Hey!” He pulls his hand back as Mark bites down at his hand. “Don’t bite the guitar player’s hand. I need that to play.”
“Don’t put your hand near my mouth!” Mark says, sticking his tongue out since he’s acting like a five year old, anyway.
Roger rubs at his hand, like Mark really hurt him at all. “You don’t have to bite everything that goes near your mouth,” he points out, shooting Mark a look that is supposed to be nasty. Only Roger looks more like a pouting kid, and Mark just smiles back at him.
“You taste weird.”
“Yeah?” Roger leans over the armrest, hair falling down and the bleached, uneven edges covering his eyes, and Mark has to wonder why he can never get a shot like that with his camera. “Like guitar strings?”
“I guess,” Mark mutters, shrugging. He liked the biting and playful name calling more than having Roger hover over him. “I don’t make it a habit to lick guitar strings.”
Mark has a few thoughts as he lays there with Roger leaning over him. One is to push him back and watch him stumble off the couch, but he decides against that. He’s overheated at the moment, and probably couldn’t take Roger when he retaliated. The other is drifting a little too close to Roger’s lips, and how he licks them and his tongue slides over his mouth leaving them all wet.
This thought isn’t helped by the fact that Mark just spent all day at a pride parade watching other guys kissing and thinking about how it looks, well, normal to him. It doesn’t help that he saw Maureen kissing a girl like she kisses him and all the other guys and brought up all those insecurities about how a girl like her shouldn’t be dating a guy who can’t spend time with her because he’s too busy obsessing over film.
Fuck it, Mark thinks, fuck it and just forget about everything else. Live in the moment. That would really piss dad off.
Mark leans up, and it’s really only a push away and he finds his lips almost against Roger’s. Enough that he can bite at his lower lip, nipping just enough that Roger can pull back. Which he doesn’t. “Mark, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” He asks, letting go of his lip, moving down to bite his neck instead. He would kind of like an answer to that, as well. What is he doing?
“Like you’re biting me,” Roger answers, and he doesn’t sound as shocked as he should. Maybe Roger is use to random people biting at him. It makes Mark’s heart go a little slower. Which doesn’t last long when Roger arches his neck back, inviting.
Mark reaches up, hands tangling in the chopped off, freshly bleached hair. It’s a weird angle, but he manages to pull up, lips and teeth brushing along his skin and lapping up the sweat and fuck, probably grime and who knows what else. And who the fuck cares? Not Mark, still running his mouth down Roger’s skin, sucking at the Adam’s apple until he hears Roger groan.
“Wait…” That isn’t what Mark wants to hear, sighing as he lets Roger out of his hands so someone will remind them they both have girlfriends and are just friends and, also, something about possibly being straight. That doesn’t happen. Instead Roger throws himself over the arm rest faster than Mark has ever seen someone move before, grabbing onto the lines of beads around Mark’s neck and yanking him up.
“There,” Roger says, lips brushes against Mark’s as he pulls him in, and he can see and feel the smirk pulling at his mouth. Well, yeah, Roger would like this, wouldn’t he? He has Mark pulled up against him, kneeling between his legs and with a good solid hold on the necklaces. Things are looking in favor of him.
Well, Mark can always reverse that later. He’s had to listen and watch Roger in bed too many times to count. He has the advantage here. All he really has to do is lean up, his breath against Roger’s ear and he feels him shudder a bit. See, Mark thinks as he smirks back, he knows his friend’s weak spot.
Mark’s tongue flicks out against his ear, teeth sliding down the curve and Roger starts to moan, his hand clenching up in the plastic beads. Licking at the skin, he moves closer in to bite down at the lobe, tugging it down with a mewl and Roger snaps one of the necklaces, hips arching up.
Smiling, Mark grabs onto his thighs, pushing him back to the ground and crawling into Roger’s lap as he teases and plays with him. He is definitely the one in power now, leaving Roger to restlessly shift beneath him, sighing and groaning. So Mark keeps pushing, pressing closer and biting down a little harder until he can feel Roger‘s groans rumble in his chest, making Mark shiver and moan.
“Jesus!” Mark jumps back, not far enough to slide off Roger’s lap, but more than he’s moved in a while since he got home. When did Roger even find time to get his hand under the back of the skirt? And the bastard has the nerve to be smirking again. “Roger…”
“Mm?” Roger slides his hand up further, fingers curling around Mark’s ass and pulling him back in. At least he isn’t spanking him again. Jesus, that stung, and Mark shifts around a bit, trying to get comfortable in Roger’s hand. “Don’t stop.”
“You hit me,” Mark grumbles, but he finds himself leaning back in anyway. God, it’s like he’s in heat, can’t stop kissing Roger, lips sliding down his neck. Fucking hormones, and fucking Roger for keeping his hand there still, rubbing and stroking Mark’s skin like that. It’s making his stomach twist up and, God, callused fingers just should not feel that good.
“Keep wiggling like that,” Roger teases, and Mark stops what he’s doing to his collar to glare up at him, still squirming in his hand. It’s unfair, because… Well, because he’s here in a skirt and shirtless and Roger isn’t and should be in Mark’s thinking. So he tries to even out their play field a bit, pulling at Roger’s shirt.
“Okay, okay. Fuck…” Roger whines when he lets Mark go, Leaning back to shake off his jacket, pulling the shirt off next and Mark beams up at him. There, now they’re closer to being even. “No idea you were so damn pushy,” Roger mutters, falling back on his elbows and Mark crawls up onto his chest, kissing down the curve of his neck.
This feels like wining to him, climbing onto Roger’s lap, licking his way down his chest. It feels more and more like that as Roger starts moaning again, twisting beneath Mark and arching his back up. And, right, Mark isn’t sure what pushed him up here but he’s soaking in it now.
Licking his lips, he nuzzles up to Roger’s warm skin before biting down on a nipple, hard enough to make Roger jump up. “What the fuck?”
“Pussy,” Mark purrs, smiling up at Roger as he laps at his teeth marks, and that gets Roger compliant against quickly, moaning as he head falls back.
“Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, and while Mark is busy with his mouth, Roger manages to sneak his hand back under the skirt, hand sprawled over Mark. He just keeps nipping at Roger’s skin, hardly thinking of the hand as it pushes back the thin fabric not really covering his ass so much, rough fingers rubbing up against him.
He mewls softly against Roger’s chest, cheeks flushing as the fingers keep ghosting over him. God, was it… Was it supposed to feel that good? Maureen’s fingers - smaller, smoother - never felt that good. “Fuck…” Whining, Mark scoots up Roger’s chest, away from his hand. Maureen never did that, and Mark is pretty sure Roger shouldn’t either. They’re just messing around, right, not anything that makes Mark’s stomach tumble like that.
It must be the goddamn heat and hormones messing with his brain.
Licking his lips, like he should be allowed to do that still, Roger smiles down at Mark, shifting to sit back up with Mark nearly balled up in his lap, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re wearing a skirt,” Roger purrs, arms wrapping around Mark as he stands, pulling Mark up with him. It must come from carrying his amp everywhere, but he actually manages to pick Mark up. “You’re just begging to be fucked.”
“No,” Mark argues, legs locking around Roger’s waist, grabbing hold of him to keep himself up as Roger stumbles his way towards their bedroom. “That’s just in your head.” That isn’t really a very solid argument, but then Mark isn’t really trying to argue.
He grunts as he hit’s the bed, Roger just dropping him there before opening the dresser next to him. Mark knows where this is going. Stop him, stop him, tell him no because it’s weird. He’s straight. He has a girlfriend, that is like as straight as you can get, right? Fucking woman.
Roger slicks up his hands, slips on a condom, and leans back over Mark, locking eyes as he pushes open his skirt. Mark stays where he is on the bed, Roger leaning over him, skirt pushed up around his waist and pale skin turning an awful shade of red. He isn’t yelling out the things going on in his head because… Well, he really doesn’t want to.
Maureen can kiss a girl and still be his girlfriend, right? Then Mark is allowed to do this. Besides, Roger’s fingers sliding against his skin feel really fucking good and, God, he is too overheated to find the energy to push him off, right?
He does find the energy to moan as he pushes his legs apart for Roger, hips arching off the bed as his hands go higher. And then Roger is leaning over and, fuck, that kiss is going to leave his lips bruised, and Mark still doesn’t say anything. It isn’t that he wants to be hurt but, fuck… Whining, he strains up against the finger sliding into him, slow and careful and, yeah, it stings like hell but every inch of skin Roger touches is filled with nerves Mark didn’t even know where there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he has lost control of this. He is melting under Roger, panting into the rough kiss as he rocks back against the hand between his legs. Hurts, hurts but, God, don’t stop. He tries to get that out but Roger is possessing his fucking mouth with this kiss and Mark is gasping for a good breath as he pushes down against Roger’s hand.
“Fuck!” Mark pulls back, body tensing up and bucking back. He’s pretty sure, yeah, those are tears and his fingers might be ripping up the sheets. There is no way that can feel good to anyone and why is Roger doing this to him?
Roger brings him back into the kiss, his finger curling up and, oh God. Oh God, oh God, Oh… Oh fuck. “Roger, Roger….” Mark moans, twisting beneath Roger as he rubs his fingers back against him. Mark sees sparks behind his eyelids, the heat flooding his stomach. So much better than earlier, he didn’t want to cool down now. God, don’t let him stop.
God, he’ll go back to temple. Whatever it takes. Don’t let Roger stop that, not even when it starts to hurt again. Mark grabs fistful of the bleached out hair, forcing Roger back down against him. He isn’t about to just let him go.
“God, fuck,” Mark hisses through clenched teeth as Roger presses a second finger inside him, stretching him out. At the same time he’s near sobbing, he wraps his legs around Roger’s waist, skirt falling back against his stomach. “Jesus… Roger…”
“Mmm…” Roger’s mouth is hot against Mark’s ear, nuzzling up to him as he slides his fingers out. Fuck, Mark knows what comes next, trying to shut his eyes and block it out. Don’t think, don’t think about how much it hurts as Roger shifts, cock pressed up against Mark and … God, God, oh God…
Roger is going to wake up tomorrow with claw marks down his back as Mark clings to him, nails digging into his skin. “Oh, oh God…” Mark isn’t even sure who is moaning by this point, both bodies slamming against each other, swallowing in each other’s moans and breaths as Mark finds Roger’s kiss again, whimpering against him. God, please, more… It burns, but Roger needs to move faster, give him more.
“Fuck!” Roger yells that as the bed bangs against the wall, the frame shaking under them. Mark just pulls him closer, moaning against his ear and that gets Roger rocking harder now, slamming back against him. His lungs are burning, gasping for a good breath, wanting to hold on and snap fuck, Mark is pretty sure he’s crying now from how it hurts.
Those rough fingers, God, he loves them and Mark wonders how he didn’t notice before, they curl around his cock, stroking with the same hurried, uneven thrusts as Roger’s body over him. Mark is in love with those fucking hands and if Roger would keep going, just a little more, rub against that spot just once more….
Roger’s callused thumb rubs over the head of his cock, and Mark shouts out. If the whole damn building didn’t know what they were doing, they would have at that point. And Mark doesn’t even care by now because… because…
“Did I pass out?” Mark can’t quite keep his eyes to open. He feels dizzy, fucking beautifully dizzy and so hot he could die, and Mark doesn’t mind one bit.
Roger smiles, slipping off the condom and tossing it away. Mark isn’t sure when he got so far away. Maybe he really did pass out. “Nah,” he says, falling back against the bed. Sweat is falling off him, and Mark gets the feeling that is from him and not the day. “Great way to spend Pride, huh?”
Mark laughs, or at least tries. He’s back to laying there, trying his hardest not to move. Maybe if he doesn’t move, he’ll cool off again, and maybe it won’t sink in that he just fucked his best friend. Or Roger fucked him. “Next time, you get to wear the skirt,” he mutters, closing his eyes again and hoping this whole day washes away, and maybe happens again tomorrow.
Also, I bring tidings of porn.
Author: Stephanie
Pairing: Mark/Roger, straight up with no mess.
Title: Scorching Hot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3610
Summery: This is the best way to spend Pride, ever.
Note: For Krissy, without whom the joys of Mark's sex life would be far more joyless. And because I couldn't writing vikings. This fic made little or no attempt to be plotful. It's a guilt pleasure fic for a friend, not meant to represent the characters entirely correctly. Also, it's a PWP. You get the point, right?
Scorching Hot
God, it’s hot…
The most pathetic moan possible rumbles in Mark’s chest, barely making it out from his closed lips. He refuses to open them, or to move at all. He’s finally found a position that is at least less hot than the others, sprawled out on the couch, one leg and arm hanging over the side and dangling in front of the fan. If he doesn’t move, maybe his body temperature will start to drop and he start melting like a character by Dali.
June is a horrible month to be a starving artist. Right up there with July and all the winter months, and all those other months when you’re starving. There are some days, or nights really with friends and alcohol and causes that make it all worth it. Mark draws on those days and the images his camera collects, and he keeps himself up even in the worst of moments.
Then there are days spent passed out on the couch, wishing the loft was more like the artic tundra from a few months ago. These days, he wants to be a suburban kid with the air conditioning running full blast, up in his room jerking off to nearly but not really pornographic movie scenes and snacking on chips and soda. Although, the lack of pants is kind of nice.
Usually the sound of someone ripping open the door to the loft and slamming the metal back into the wall would make Mark jump to attention. Today, he just moans again and keeps on staying completely still. “Why the fuck would you pick the hottest fucking day of the year to crowd the goddamn streets when- Oh…”
Mark’s eyes flutter open, mostly out of protest to the rest of his body which is sticking with the whole not moving idea. Why does he even need to look up? He could recognize Roger’s footsteps, heavy boots padding across the floor to stand over the couch. He didn’t really need to open his eyes to know Roger would be standing there, smirking down at him.
His bleached and freshly cut hair, which means it looks like shit since he let April go at it, is smothered down with sweat, his eyeliner running and skin flushed. It’s his own damn fault for wearing a leather jacket outside in this weather. Mark is not going to feel sorry for him, and growls a bit when he steps between the fan and Mark’s limbs. “Collins, Maureen or Benny?”
“Mm?’ Mark asks, which is about the only thing you can say without opening your mouth. Roger laughs, and Mark kind of hates him. He’s sweating like hell in his jeans and a leather jacket, carrying around his giant fucking guitar and amp, and he still has the energy to laugh at Mark, while Mark can barely move. Fuck him.
Roger finally moves out of the fan’s way, dropping down to sit on the armrest near Mark’s head. “Well, someone did this to you, right?” He teases, eyes going straight to Mark’s waist. If he weren’t over heated, he would have rolled his eyes. Fuck, he can manage it for the sake of Roger being an idiot.
“Did it myself,” he insists, moving his hand that has been cooled by the fan to tug down the edge of his skirt from where it had drifted up his thigh, covering the least amount of skin possible. Like modest is a problem for the guy he shares a room with. Who occasionally has sex without caring that mark is sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Who dry humps his guitar when he’s on stage. Mark tugs it down anyway. Funny and goofy he can do, which is why he’s in the skirt in the first place, not to flash his roommate. “S’for pride.”
“I’m going to go with Collins or Maureen,” Roger says, reaching down and flipping some of Mark’s hair out of his eyes. Mark growls again, but doesn’t stop him. Roger is going to tease him anyway, might as well not waste precious energy on it. “Glitter?”
“Also from pride.” Roger knew that Collins, Maureen, and Mark were going down to the parade. He shouldn’t be surprised that they had a little fun. Pride Parade is one of the few things you can do in New York for free plus, well, Mark can’t help but think how pissed his dad would be if he knew.
“And the beads…” Roger reaches down, shaking the beads that Mark is wearing around his neck. “Did you flash someone.”
“Jerk,” Mark mutters, trying his best to twists his head back and glare, but not really. He doesn’t mind so much that Roger is acting like an asshole, knowing that he’s just joking around. Mark just isn’t in the best mood. It had been hot out there, and over heated, and his girlfriend had made out with a chick in front of a new crew. He knows Maureen was just trying to prove a point, the rebel in her rising up, and most guys would have thought it was hot that their girlfriend wanted to kiss other girls. It just let Mark with a very unease feeling, not helped by the fact that he was overheated and mildly nauseous.
“You should have come to the practice,” Roger insists, dangling the beads over Mark’s nose now, occasionally hitting him with some of the bigger ones. It‘s annoying, and Mark tries the whole moaning thing again to make him stop. He doesn‘t. “You could have even worn your little skirt if you wanted.”
He better stop that. Mark narrows his eyes as the beads bouncing and hit at his nose. This is not how he wanted to spend his cool down period after getting back from the parade. Since the growling didn’t work, Mark bares his teeth, biting out at the beads.
Roger’s hand stops, the beads still shaking a little but at least not as annoying as before. “Hey,” he says, dropping the necklaces and looking down at Mark. “Don’t bite.”
Mark tips his head back, smiling a bit at Roger, mostly in victory. “Don’t shove balls in my face.”
Laughing, Roger catches himself on the armrest, cuffing Mark’s shoulder. “You don’t bite all balls shoved in your face, do you?”
“Try it,” Mark dares, showing off his less than sharp and sparkling teeth. Slowly he’s getting back into a good mood after coming home and collapsing in a pile of flesh and sweat on the couch. Maybe some of that is Roger, who can be an asshole when he’s in the mood and even worse when he’s with April and high, and Mark is just glad to see him like he should be, smiling and relaxed and all. Mostly it’s the fan.
“Don’t make me sit on your face,” Roger gaffs, holding his hand just above Mark’s mouth. Mark rolls his eyes, but nips at his palm just to be annoying. “Hey!” He pulls his hand back as Mark bites down at his hand. “Don’t bite the guitar player’s hand. I need that to play.”
“Don’t put your hand near my mouth!” Mark says, sticking his tongue out since he’s acting like a five year old, anyway.
Roger rubs at his hand, like Mark really hurt him at all. “You don’t have to bite everything that goes near your mouth,” he points out, shooting Mark a look that is supposed to be nasty. Only Roger looks more like a pouting kid, and Mark just smiles back at him.
“You taste weird.”
“Yeah?” Roger leans over the armrest, hair falling down and the bleached, uneven edges covering his eyes, and Mark has to wonder why he can never get a shot like that with his camera. “Like guitar strings?”
“I guess,” Mark mutters, shrugging. He liked the biting and playful name calling more than having Roger hover over him. “I don’t make it a habit to lick guitar strings.”
Mark has a few thoughts as he lays there with Roger leaning over him. One is to push him back and watch him stumble off the couch, but he decides against that. He’s overheated at the moment, and probably couldn’t take Roger when he retaliated. The other is drifting a little too close to Roger’s lips, and how he licks them and his tongue slides over his mouth leaving them all wet.
This thought isn’t helped by the fact that Mark just spent all day at a pride parade watching other guys kissing and thinking about how it looks, well, normal to him. It doesn’t help that he saw Maureen kissing a girl like she kisses him and all the other guys and brought up all those insecurities about how a girl like her shouldn’t be dating a guy who can’t spend time with her because he’s too busy obsessing over film.
Fuck it, Mark thinks, fuck it and just forget about everything else. Live in the moment. That would really piss dad off.
Mark leans up, and it’s really only a push away and he finds his lips almost against Roger’s. Enough that he can bite at his lower lip, nipping just enough that Roger can pull back. Which he doesn’t. “Mark, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” He asks, letting go of his lip, moving down to bite his neck instead. He would kind of like an answer to that, as well. What is he doing?
“Like you’re biting me,” Roger answers, and he doesn’t sound as shocked as he should. Maybe Roger is use to random people biting at him. It makes Mark’s heart go a little slower. Which doesn’t last long when Roger arches his neck back, inviting.
Mark reaches up, hands tangling in the chopped off, freshly bleached hair. It’s a weird angle, but he manages to pull up, lips and teeth brushing along his skin and lapping up the sweat and fuck, probably grime and who knows what else. And who the fuck cares? Not Mark, still running his mouth down Roger’s skin, sucking at the Adam’s apple until he hears Roger groan.
“Wait…” That isn’t what Mark wants to hear, sighing as he lets Roger out of his hands so someone will remind them they both have girlfriends and are just friends and, also, something about possibly being straight. That doesn’t happen. Instead Roger throws himself over the arm rest faster than Mark has ever seen someone move before, grabbing onto the lines of beads around Mark’s neck and yanking him up.
“There,” Roger says, lips brushes against Mark’s as he pulls him in, and he can see and feel the smirk pulling at his mouth. Well, yeah, Roger would like this, wouldn’t he? He has Mark pulled up against him, kneeling between his legs and with a good solid hold on the necklaces. Things are looking in favor of him.
Well, Mark can always reverse that later. He’s had to listen and watch Roger in bed too many times to count. He has the advantage here. All he really has to do is lean up, his breath against Roger’s ear and he feels him shudder a bit. See, Mark thinks as he smirks back, he knows his friend’s weak spot.
Mark’s tongue flicks out against his ear, teeth sliding down the curve and Roger starts to moan, his hand clenching up in the plastic beads. Licking at the skin, he moves closer in to bite down at the lobe, tugging it down with a mewl and Roger snaps one of the necklaces, hips arching up.
Smiling, Mark grabs onto his thighs, pushing him back to the ground and crawling into Roger’s lap as he teases and plays with him. He is definitely the one in power now, leaving Roger to restlessly shift beneath him, sighing and groaning. So Mark keeps pushing, pressing closer and biting down a little harder until he can feel Roger‘s groans rumble in his chest, making Mark shiver and moan.
“Jesus!” Mark jumps back, not far enough to slide off Roger’s lap, but more than he’s moved in a while since he got home. When did Roger even find time to get his hand under the back of the skirt? And the bastard has the nerve to be smirking again. “Roger…”
“Mm?” Roger slides his hand up further, fingers curling around Mark’s ass and pulling him back in. At least he isn’t spanking him again. Jesus, that stung, and Mark shifts around a bit, trying to get comfortable in Roger’s hand. “Don’t stop.”
“You hit me,” Mark grumbles, but he finds himself leaning back in anyway. God, it’s like he’s in heat, can’t stop kissing Roger, lips sliding down his neck. Fucking hormones, and fucking Roger for keeping his hand there still, rubbing and stroking Mark’s skin like that. It’s making his stomach twist up and, God, callused fingers just should not feel that good.
“Keep wiggling like that,” Roger teases, and Mark stops what he’s doing to his collar to glare up at him, still squirming in his hand. It’s unfair, because… Well, because he’s here in a skirt and shirtless and Roger isn’t and should be in Mark’s thinking. So he tries to even out their play field a bit, pulling at Roger’s shirt.
“Okay, okay. Fuck…” Roger whines when he lets Mark go, Leaning back to shake off his jacket, pulling the shirt off next and Mark beams up at him. There, now they’re closer to being even. “No idea you were so damn pushy,” Roger mutters, falling back on his elbows and Mark crawls up onto his chest, kissing down the curve of his neck.
This feels like wining to him, climbing onto Roger’s lap, licking his way down his chest. It feels more and more like that as Roger starts moaning again, twisting beneath Mark and arching his back up. And, right, Mark isn’t sure what pushed him up here but he’s soaking in it now.
Licking his lips, he nuzzles up to Roger’s warm skin before biting down on a nipple, hard enough to make Roger jump up. “What the fuck?”
“Pussy,” Mark purrs, smiling up at Roger as he laps at his teeth marks, and that gets Roger compliant against quickly, moaning as he head falls back.
“Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, and while Mark is busy with his mouth, Roger manages to sneak his hand back under the skirt, hand sprawled over Mark. He just keeps nipping at Roger’s skin, hardly thinking of the hand as it pushes back the thin fabric not really covering his ass so much, rough fingers rubbing up against him.
He mewls softly against Roger’s chest, cheeks flushing as the fingers keep ghosting over him. God, was it… Was it supposed to feel that good? Maureen’s fingers - smaller, smoother - never felt that good. “Fuck…” Whining, Mark scoots up Roger’s chest, away from his hand. Maureen never did that, and Mark is pretty sure Roger shouldn’t either. They’re just messing around, right, not anything that makes Mark’s stomach tumble like that.
It must be the goddamn heat and hormones messing with his brain.
Licking his lips, like he should be allowed to do that still, Roger smiles down at Mark, shifting to sit back up with Mark nearly balled up in his lap, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re wearing a skirt,” Roger purrs, arms wrapping around Mark as he stands, pulling Mark up with him. It must come from carrying his amp everywhere, but he actually manages to pick Mark up. “You’re just begging to be fucked.”
“No,” Mark argues, legs locking around Roger’s waist, grabbing hold of him to keep himself up as Roger stumbles his way towards their bedroom. “That’s just in your head.” That isn’t really a very solid argument, but then Mark isn’t really trying to argue.
He grunts as he hit’s the bed, Roger just dropping him there before opening the dresser next to him. Mark knows where this is going. Stop him, stop him, tell him no because it’s weird. He’s straight. He has a girlfriend, that is like as straight as you can get, right? Fucking woman.
Roger slicks up his hands, slips on a condom, and leans back over Mark, locking eyes as he pushes open his skirt. Mark stays where he is on the bed, Roger leaning over him, skirt pushed up around his waist and pale skin turning an awful shade of red. He isn’t yelling out the things going on in his head because… Well, he really doesn’t want to.
Maureen can kiss a girl and still be his girlfriend, right? Then Mark is allowed to do this. Besides, Roger’s fingers sliding against his skin feel really fucking good and, God, he is too overheated to find the energy to push him off, right?
He does find the energy to moan as he pushes his legs apart for Roger, hips arching off the bed as his hands go higher. And then Roger is leaning over and, fuck, that kiss is going to leave his lips bruised, and Mark still doesn’t say anything. It isn’t that he wants to be hurt but, fuck… Whining, he strains up against the finger sliding into him, slow and careful and, yeah, it stings like hell but every inch of skin Roger touches is filled with nerves Mark didn’t even know where there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he has lost control of this. He is melting under Roger, panting into the rough kiss as he rocks back against the hand between his legs. Hurts, hurts but, God, don’t stop. He tries to get that out but Roger is possessing his fucking mouth with this kiss and Mark is gasping for a good breath as he pushes down against Roger’s hand.
“Fuck!” Mark pulls back, body tensing up and bucking back. He’s pretty sure, yeah, those are tears and his fingers might be ripping up the sheets. There is no way that can feel good to anyone and why is Roger doing this to him?
Roger brings him back into the kiss, his finger curling up and, oh God. Oh God, oh God, Oh… Oh fuck. “Roger, Roger….” Mark moans, twisting beneath Roger as he rubs his fingers back against him. Mark sees sparks behind his eyelids, the heat flooding his stomach. So much better than earlier, he didn’t want to cool down now. God, don’t let him stop.
God, he’ll go back to temple. Whatever it takes. Don’t let Roger stop that, not even when it starts to hurt again. Mark grabs fistful of the bleached out hair, forcing Roger back down against him. He isn’t about to just let him go.
“God, fuck,” Mark hisses through clenched teeth as Roger presses a second finger inside him, stretching him out. At the same time he’s near sobbing, he wraps his legs around Roger’s waist, skirt falling back against his stomach. “Jesus… Roger…”
“Mmm…” Roger’s mouth is hot against Mark’s ear, nuzzling up to him as he slides his fingers out. Fuck, Mark knows what comes next, trying to shut his eyes and block it out. Don’t think, don’t think about how much it hurts as Roger shifts, cock pressed up against Mark and … God, God, oh God…
Roger is going to wake up tomorrow with claw marks down his back as Mark clings to him, nails digging into his skin. “Oh, oh God…” Mark isn’t even sure who is moaning by this point, both bodies slamming against each other, swallowing in each other’s moans and breaths as Mark finds Roger’s kiss again, whimpering against him. God, please, more… It burns, but Roger needs to move faster, give him more.
“Fuck!” Roger yells that as the bed bangs against the wall, the frame shaking under them. Mark just pulls him closer, moaning against his ear and that gets Roger rocking harder now, slamming back against him. His lungs are burning, gasping for a good breath, wanting to hold on and snap fuck, Mark is pretty sure he’s crying now from how it hurts.
Those rough fingers, God, he loves them and Mark wonders how he didn’t notice before, they curl around his cock, stroking with the same hurried, uneven thrusts as Roger’s body over him. Mark is in love with those fucking hands and if Roger would keep going, just a little more, rub against that spot just once more….
Roger’s callused thumb rubs over the head of his cock, and Mark shouts out. If the whole damn building didn’t know what they were doing, they would have at that point. And Mark doesn’t even care by now because… because…
“Did I pass out?” Mark can’t quite keep his eyes to open. He feels dizzy, fucking beautifully dizzy and so hot he could die, and Mark doesn’t mind one bit.
Roger smiles, slipping off the condom and tossing it away. Mark isn’t sure when he got so far away. Maybe he really did pass out. “Nah,” he says, falling back against the bed. Sweat is falling off him, and Mark gets the feeling that is from him and not the day. “Great way to spend Pride, huh?”
Mark laughs, or at least tries. He’s back to laying there, trying his hardest not to move. Maybe if he doesn’t move, he’ll cool off again, and maybe it won’t sink in that he just fucked his best friend. Or Roger fucked him. “Next time, you get to wear the skirt,” he mutters, closing his eyes again and hoping this whole day washes away, and maybe happens again tomorrow.