Fic: Mucho Masturbation 3 (Mark/Roger)
Thank you everyone for being so patient with me in getting this up. I wanted to have it posted by Christmas, but I'm a little late. So, to all the Jewish Rentfans out there, happy second day of Hanukah! To all the rest of you out there, you're going to either have to accept it as late or convert to Judaism.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairing: Rent, Mark/Roger
Series, Chapter: Mucho Masturbation, Chapter Three: Mutual
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,100
Part 1: Mark
Part 2: Roger
Additional Notes: How I ever got talked into doing a third chapter, I don’t even know.
Since this has (without my permission) morphed into some weird sex-chapter story, I just want to clear up a few things.
(A) I planned none of this. The first two parts were inspired by the line “Mucho Masturbation” and nothing more. These next few chapters have not been thought through. Any twist, turn, or plot is just as shocking to me as it is to you.
(B) I usually disagree with fics that move this fast. Let’s just accept, for the record, that Mark has been lusting over Roger for a while now. Let’s also assume that Roger has been lusting back. Let’s accept that the boys are bi and that, before this story, there was lots of angsting and uncertainty. Let’s say this went on for... Oh... Ten chapter sound good to everyone? Right then. Ten chapters it is.
(C) No, really. I have no idea in all of hell what I am doing. I’m just writing with the intention of ending somewhere. Probably in a pile of sin and decay. So all those questions you probably have like “What happened to Mimi?” and “When does this take place?” and “Hey, shouldn’t AIDs be brought up at some point?” and “Seriously, have you ever heard of characterization? Maybe in passing?” the answer is that is was meant as a smut-fantasy fix. So now I’m just bullshitting it. Thank you for being understanding.
Mainly this disclaimer is to point out that I know this isn’t a deep, characterized piece of work. I am working on one of those right now, so I know what they look like and I can assure you that this isn’t it. I know it’s not perfectly in character. I know it’s unrealistic. I know every chapter is rating R or Nc-17, and plot-wise there is something wrong with at least half of every part being dedicated to smut. It’s chapter porn, and no one is trying to pretend otherwise.
Mucho Masturbation
Chapter Three: Mutual
"Roger, what the hell are you-"
There are about three seconds that stretch into eternity while Roger is staring into Mark's eyes. Mark's room is completely dark; the only light is coming from behind Roger, making him into a silhouette. Still, Mark swears he can actually see Roger's eyes flash.
Then the door is slammed shut.
"Shit," Daniel mutters, breaking the awkward silence after the echoes have faded away. "I told you he'd be angry."
Shit. Shit is right. Shit and fuck and all those other words Mark's mother would slap him for using. "Shit." Mark's head is spinning as he shoves Daniel off of him and goes to find Roger. He nearly falls over when Roger's door slams shut and it feels like the whole loft shakes. This isn't how it is suppose to go. Mark had just been drunk and horny and not thinking straight.
"Roger!" Mark knocks at Roger's door, trying to sound as calm as possible while his voice is trembling. He doesn't know what he is going to say when Roger answers, doesn't even know what exactly he's done wrong, but he knows he has to get Roger to talk with him. "Roger, open up!"
"I should go," Daniel says, zipping up his jeans and hurrying to the front door, apparently desperate to get out before Roger decides to be a little less closed off and a lot more violent. Mark ignores him. He has his ear pressed to the cold metal door, listening for some sign of life. He remembers the one of the last times he had been this desperate for Roger to answer him, so afraid he was locked in there with a needle held to his arm.
"Roger, can you hear me?" It's a stupid thing to yell, but Mark isn't thinking clearly. He's just saying anything that might get Roger to talk back. "Roger?"
There's still nothing. Daniel is gone, and Mark is left all alone trying to coax Roger out of his room. "Roger, listen, I know.... I just, fuck, open the door!" What's he going to say? That he was just screwing around with Dan to make Roger jealous? That after a year of jerking off to fantasies about Roger he felt like he was going to explode? That he was drunk and Daniel is cute and Roger left him so hard he didn't think he had any other choice? Which one of those excuses sounded the best? Which one is Roger the least likely to beat the shit out of Mark for?
"Come on, Roger," Mark yells, hoping Roger will give in and at least scream back. "Don't you think you're over reacting?" Instead of Roger yelling, he gets the sound of something hitting the ground. Mark winces, hoping it isn't Roger's amp. He always regrets that sort of thing later.
Mark groans, turning around to lean against the door. "Roger?" No answer. "Roger?" Nothing. Mark slides down, plopping onto the floor. He pulls his legs to his chest, waiting for his head to stop spinning and a clear idea of what to do to magically appear in his jumbled mind.
"Roger, I'm sorry," he says, but it's pretty clear Roger isn't listening.
*
Mark is woken up when his head comes crashing to the floor.
"Fuck hell urg what shit?" Mark's head hurts, and not just from the falling. The light streaming in from the skylight is killing his eyes, and he's pretty sure that he'd be throwing up if he had any food in his stomach. He groans, moving only as much as he has to so that he can move his hand under his head, massaging the bump that is starting to form on his scalp.
When he finally manages to open his eyes without feeling like they're ready to bleed he spots a blurry figure that looks suspiciously like Roger. As the image becomes clearer Mark determines that it is definitely Roger standing over him, struggling to keep a blank face even if Mark can see he's fighting back that worry and amusement. "You hit your head."
"Thanks," Mark says, grunting in pain while he tries to get to his feet. He manages to get himself propped onto his elbow before giving up. "You're out of your room."
"Yeah, well." Roger leaves Mark to crawl up the wall and try to keep himself from falling back down again all on his own. Well, that was clearly the wrong thing to say. What is wrong with him? Can't he do anything right when it comes to Roger?
While Roger fixes coffee, Mark hobbles across the room to collapse on the couch. He shouldn't have had that much to drink. He shouldn't have called Daniel over here. He shouldn't have fallen in love with Roger. He shouldn't have ever left Scarsdale in the first place.
For some reason, maybe it's just the blinding pain throbbing in his head or the fact that his best friend hates him at the moment, but Mark can't help but laugh. Definitely a mistaken when his head feels like it's trying to explode, but the pain doesn't make the situation any less hilarious.
Roger walks over his coffee in hand, sitting down on the coffee table and watches Mark laugh and sob. "What's so funny?"
"Can you believe," Mark shakes his head, not entirely sure if he should be smiling or crying. "I actually thought about going back to Scarsdale."
As funny as Mark find this, Roger is not amused. He takes a sip from his mug and continues staring at Mark, which manages to destroy any humor left in the situation. Mark has never liked people staring at him. Maureen never really did. She was always looking around, always out and about and wild. It's what made Mark love her. Roger, he's completely different. He has this way of just looking at Mark that makes him want to shrink away. Makes him want to get his camera so that it can be him watching Roger and not the other way around.
Roger waits until Mark isn't smiling anymore to ask, "Why do you want to go back?" He has this calm, professional tone that reminds Mark of this psychiatrist his mom once made him go to. Mark had never noticed Dr. Rindwood looking so nervous over what he was going to answer. It's nice to know that even if Roger is mad at him, he doesn't want Mark skipping town.
Mark shrugs, groaning when he tries to sit up and eventually just giving up on the idea. "Not really. Just sometimes things just get so fucked up." There are so many ways in which Mark has managed to screw up his life. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd stayed home. Maybe if he'd done what his father wanted, gone to Brown and become an accountant, maybe Mark wouldn't be secretly lusting after his best friend. Maybe it would have been easier that way, but it's not what Mark wants. Mark wants Roger, and there is nothing that can change that.
Before either of them can say anything else, the phone rings. "Speak!"
"Mark? Mark? It's Cindy."
Mark groans, hitting his head against the armrest of the couch. "Fuck," he mutters, rubbing the now bruising bump on the back of his head. "Turn it off."
Roger stares at the answering machine, taking another sip of coffee. He must really hate Mark not to offer him any. "Why don't you ever pick up? Are you just never home? What about that roommate of yours? I know he doesn't have a job. Are you ignoring me?"
"Yes," Mark says, covering his eyes with his hand to block out some of the light. "Please go away." It's not that Mark doesn't love his older sister. She had helped hold back Mom when Mark announced he was heading to New York to become a filmmaker. Sure, her husband is sort of creepy and her kids are demon spawn, but Cindy isn't all that bad. Recently, though, her husband got a job in the city and moved the family to the New York suburbs. Cindy apparently saw this as a sign to call Mark with news of the cutest girl she'd just met up at the synagogue. Mark always knew when it is Saturday because that's when Cindy called.
"You remember that girl I was telling you about? Bessie. Well, I sat next to her today and we started talking."
Roger taps Mark in the shoulder, so Mark moves his arm back enough that he can see Roger out of the corner of one barely opened eye. Roger mouths the word, "Bessie?" Sure, now he thinks something is funny.
Mark groans and covers his face again, trying to ignore Roger's snickering. On the answering machine, Cindy keeps talking, unaware that the last of Mark's dignity is being destroyed. "Turns out she's an ART student at NYU," Cindy emphasizes the word art as if Mark would jump the phone now that he's found out this Bessie girl isn't just Jewish, but also into art. She's always tried to understand her brother's obsession with camera, maybe a little too much. "She's back with her parents for the summer. Turns out she's a little younger than I thought, but there's a four year difference between me and Max and we get along great, don't we snookims?"
Whatever else Cindy says before the beep cuts her off is hard to hear above Roger's laughter. Behind his arm, Mark rolls his eyes. "Bessie?" Roger pokes Mark in the side, knowing that Mark hates that and it makes him yelp, or as Collins puts it "squeal like a naked girl when he parents walk in the room". Mark jumps away, taking a light hit at Roger. He misses by a long shot. "Snookims? Is your entire family screwed up?"
"Now you know why I was laughing at my momentary lapse in sanity," Mark grumbles, rubbing his side. He pulls himself up so that he can stretch his back out over the armrest, trying to work out some of the ache in what felt like every last one of his muscles. Sleeping curled up against a door isn't nearly as comfortable as it sounds and, admittedly, it doesn't sound comfy at all.
After rolling around his shoulders enough that his back feels like goo, Mark collapses back on the couch. He looks over at Roger to say something about his hangover, but that gets forgotten when he notices that Roger is staring. He shifts uncomfortable, brushing his hands over his chin to see if maybe he'd drooled in his sleep and then wondering if it's his hair instead. Maureen always said he had scary morning hair. "What?" Roger quickly looks towards the skylight.
"Nothing," he mutters, picking up his coffee and walking towards the kitchen. This only makes Mark more suspicious. If he looked funny, Roger would have told him instead of acting all nervous.
"Look, is this about last night?" Mark asks. They're going to have to fight about it some time. Might as well get it over with before these awkward silences and half-hearted conversations become habit. Mark walks over to the kitchen, leaning on one of the counters when he figures out that walking is not the best idea. "You know I-"
"Whatever," Roger says, shrugging his shoulders to show that it's no big deal. Mark might believe that if it weren't for the fact that Roger refuses to look at him. "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" This resolve to silence lasts about ten seconds before Roger slams the mug onto the counter. Mark jumps back, barely escaping the splash of hot coffee. "How could you do that?" It's somewhere between screaming and growling. Mark winces, wondering if maybe he could get a cup of coffee before Roger starts yelling at him. "I mean, I don't care who you fuck but-"
"Obviously you do." Definitely wrong thing to say. Mark knows he's screwed up even before Roger turns his back to him. The sullen attitude and avoiding eye contact-Mark knows these signs and they are never good. "What's the big deal, Roger? Me and Danny were just screwing around."
Roger snorts, storming out of the kitchen. Mark watches him, but doesn't follow. He's seen Roger like this before. He knows Roger is just trying to get some distance between them. "That's all, huh? Just screwing around. God, Mark, don't you think you're better than that?"
Maybe it's just the Maureen in him, but Mark can't imagine anyone being better than casual sex. Especially not a guy who gets off to images of his best friend cuffing him to the bedpost. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex, Roger?" This gets Roger to stop pacing for a while and actually look at Mark. "Since Maureen!" During Maureen, actually. At the very end of their relationship Mark had been too wrapped up in Roger, and at the same time Maureen was figuring out that Mark - and boys in general - were just not her taste. "And that's was... What... two years ago?"
Roger looks too shocked to speak. Mark can't blame him. Looking back, he's amazed he's hasn't done something more drastic. Running a hand through his hair, he tries to massage away some of the throbbing pain in his temple. "Look, I'm going to my room," Mark says trying to sound as patient as possible while Roger continues to just stare at him. He was wrong. They should wait until after the explosive pain that is filling his head is gone to have this argument. "Whatever the hell we're fighting about, can we do it later?"
Mark doesn't wait for Roger to answer - he's pretty sure Roger doesn't even try - just turns around and heads back into his bedroom. All the lights are still off from last night, so all Mark has to do is climb into bed. He groans, resting his back against the cold back wall. That went well. In the same way that Mark's love life is going well.
It's only a few minutes before the door to Mark's room is barely cracked open, Roger sliding inside as if he's not sure he's allowed to be there. "Can I come in?" Roger sounds surprising meek. Mark knows that voice. It's Roger's apology voice, for when he can't quite say it. It doesn't matter. Mark always forgives him.
Mark sighs, at least trying to act put out. It turns out sounding a lot more like surrender. "Sure." Roger takes careful footsteps into Mark's room, shutting the door nearly soundlessly behind him. He hops onto Mark's bed, scooting over until they're barely touching. It feels nice to be so close to Roger. Nice enough that Mark wants to snuggle against the warm body next to his.
Those types of thoughts are not helping him get over Roger. Mark tries to think about girls. Naked girls. Really pretty naked girls. But not Maureen. Shit, now all he can think about is Maureen. She was suppose to call yesterday and he forgot to tell her that he wouldn't be here because of Roger's gig. She is going to be so pissed next time they talk. If she had any idea what he went through... Well that probably wouldn't matter to Maureen. Still, it gives him a reason not to call her for a while. He has to deal with Roger first, although Roger doesn't seem too angry with him anymore. It's nice, having Roger next to him like this.
After a few minutes of silence where Mark looses out to his own mind, Roger starts to fidget. If staring makes Mark nervous, than silence does it for Roger. "You have a headache?"
Mark shrugs, which actually makes his headache that much worse. This, he imagines, is what it feels like to be dying. Of course, he always thinks that after he wakes up from a night of drinking and he always survives to make the same mistakes again. "Kinda."
"Here." Mark feels more than sees Roger's hesitant movements before fingers twist into his hair. Mark almost jumps at the contact, barely keeping in check as Roger starts massaging his scalp. The touch is timid, to light to make any of the pounding in Mark's skull go away, but it's the thought that counts. At least Roger is trying to apologize for their fight, or possibly just avoid talking about it.
Hell, what is he thinking? He is in pain right now and Roger owes him. "I lied," he says, tilting his head so that Roger's fingers are right over the pain. "It hurts like hell. What the fuck was I thinking?" With Roger trying so hard to say he's sorry, it's only fair for Mark to apologize as well.
Roger smiles and applies a little more pressure. Mark pushes away from the wall, wiggling around until he gets Roger's hands right above his ears, and maybe he's pressed a little too close to Roger but the other boy doesn't move away so it must be safe. "April used to do this after I got back from a show," Roger says, and Mark swears he can feel Roger's words rumble through him. He doesn't try to answer. He's pretty sure if he opens his mouth right now he's going to moan.
The sane, reasonable part of Mark that took a vacation last night says that maybe this isn't the best idea, leading Roger on like this. His friend is just trying to apologize for a fight, probably didn't expect little Mark to hard and panting. He's using an unknowing Roger, and shouldn't he at least feel guilty about this if he doesn't outright stop it?
Fuck you, Mark tells sanity and goes back to concentrating on how good Roger's hands feel as they knead circles into his temple.
After a while Roger's touches become lighter again, somewhere between massaging and petting as they work through Mark's hair. It relaxing and exciting, light brushes and just enough pressure not to be teasing. Roger starts downwards, rubbing small circles in Mark's neck with one hand while the other brushes hair behind his ear. Somehow Mark ends up resting against the other boy, head in the crook of Roger's neck as his hands fall to Mark's shoulders. Mark's jeans are starting to get a little to snug and there is a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach that isn't left over from drinking. These warning signs are ignored for the feeling of Roger's fingers against his skin.
With his ear pressed against Roger's neck he can hear the other boy's heartbeat race against his own. He closes his eyes so that everything is Roger against him and touching him and breathing against his cheek, and it's like being stuck between reality and one of his fantasies. The musician's fingers slid under his shirt, callused pads pressing against his bare skin. Mark's too out of it to try and hold back a low, throaty moan.
When Roger doesn't stop, Mark's moan turns into a whimper, arching off the bed and back into Roger as his cock rocks against the rough fabric of his pants looking for some sort of contact. "Shit." Roger's hands stop, and for a few seconds the room is completely still and silence expect for his panting and Roger's nervous swallows. "We should-"
"Stop," Mark mutters. Because sleeping with your best friend never turns out well. If Roger leaves right now Mark's not sure he'll be able to keep from collapsing. It seems like all that's keeping him from melting is Roger's hands on his skin.
"Yeah." Roger swallows, hands shaking as he pulls them away, and Mark doesn't collapse but it feels like he should. "Yeah, I should... Umm..."
Mark struggles to scoot down the bed and way from Roger. "Yeah," Mark says, wincing when he curls up his legs in hopes that maybe Roger hasn't noticed the very obvious bulge in his jeans just yet. "You should probably go back to...."
"My room." Roger backs away from the bed, his eyes going between Mark and the door. He keeps running his hand through his hair, small movements that catch Mark's attention as he tries to look anywhere but Roger. "Yeah, I guess I'll..."
"Later," Mark says, struggling to sound casual. Because this isn't one hundred different types of awkward.
"Yeah," Roger says, slipping out of the door almost as quietly as he'd come in. "Later."
*
Strong hands with callused fingers pressed against the base of his cock, squeezing his balls just a little too tight and Mark isn't sure wither he's suppose to come or scream or both.
On his hands and knees with Roger's cock digging against his ass but not in him, just teasing. Finger brush the underside of his balls, the hand around the base of his erection tightening when Mark whimpers and rocks his hips back. Torturing Mark with pressure and promises that lead nowhere. Roger leans in, breath against Mark's neck and even turned away with his eyes closed Mark can see his smirk. "Ma-ark," Sing-song and sweet-Roger wants him to know he's just toying with him. Mark whines, pressing back and spreading his legs out, begging Roger to just fuck him already.
A hand slides up his stomach, twisting a hard nipple a little too sharply. Mark's yelp turns into a groan when the pinching become light touches. Between rough and gentle strokes. The feeling of hands massaging and twisting through his hair become ghost touches against his skin. Long fingers wrap around his cock, stopping him from coming as a thumb brushes over the head, dragging a line of wetness up his stomach, whispering horrible things in his ear.
Roger with his skin glistening as he starts getting fed up with the teasing. Hands all over Mark's body, licking the bite marks he's left on his shoulder. Sexy, confidant Roger with his rough hands and gorgeous eyes and hard cock rocking against Mark. Trying to act like he's in total control even while he's loosing it, is dying to just give in and push Mark to the bed and fuck him hard and fast and just like Mark wants it.
His Roger, who tries to act so cut off from life even when Mark knows he's so passionate and emotional it scares him.
Right now all that passion is concentrated on Mark. He's trembling on the edge of release. His thrusting speeds up, unable to hold back any longer. In his mind, Roger has him on his back. His hands are tangled in bleached-out hair, eyes barely open as he watches his friend's head between his legs. Beautiful, bruised lips stretched over his cock as he takes Mark in. Licking down one side, the back of his throat constricting around the head. Mark's hands twist in the sheets and Roger's hair, pumping his cock as Roger hollows his cheeks and hums around the sensitive flesh.
Mark comes so hard he ends up sobbing when he tries to hold back his scream. He collapses against the wall, sweating and panting and still shaking as the after shock of his orgasm passes through him.
All Roger has to do is rub his shoulders, and it's the best "sex" Mark has had in a long time. He needs to meet someone really badly.
In the other room, the answering machine picks up the phone after one ring. Mark lies back in bed, eyelids feeling to heavy to keep open. He snuggles against his blankets, feeling like a good nap is in order.
"Mark? It's Maureen." Shit. Mark groans, rolling onto his back and blinking at the ceiling, trying to find the strength in him to get out of bed. It's not there. Maybe she's just calling to remind them to buy groceries or that Joanne's birthday is in a week. Maybe she doesn't even want to talk to him.
"Are you there? Mark, I really need to talk to you." Mark pauses midway getting out of bed. It sounds like Maureen is crying. Maybe not full out hysterics, but she's definitely upset. While Maureen might over react to a whole lot, Mark knows her well enough to know that she doesn't cry. Bitch, whine, moan, complain, and place blame were more her thing. "Look, if you're not there I just-"
Maureen is definitely crying. Mark is across the loft in a second, picking up the phone before she can hang up. "Maureen?" He runs a hand through his hair, an old nervous gesture. "Maureen? Are you there?"
On the other end of the line, Maureen sobs. "Pookie?"
Mark sighs, realizing he managed to catch her and a little wary of the nickname. Pookie never boded well. "Yes, Maureen. I'm here. Sorry I was just..." Mark slips the phone between his ear and shoulder, zipping up his jeans. "Umm... In the shower."
He doesn't sound at all convincing, but Maureen is too busy sniveling to notice. Mark can't help but be a little relieved. "Thank God you're there," Maureen cries, and Mark can almost picture the overdramatic pout she's working. "I... I need to talk with to you."
"Sure, of course!" Mark answers. He never has any choice but to help Maureen. Like Roger, she's managed to get under his skin and stay there. Not that Mark minds. After all, once upon a time she was his Maureen. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm at SBNY, on West 17th and 5th avenue " Maureen sobs. "Can you come over here, Pookie? Joanne is probably looking for me and I..." Here Maureen breaks down into unintelligible tears, and Mark is practically out the door.
"I'll be there in a second," Mark promises, running of to his room to change before he remembers the phone is attached to the wall. Sighing, Mark hurries back to the cradle. Maureen is still sobbing and Mark can't quite make out her words, but they sound important. "I promise, Maureen, just give me a-"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Someone is at the door," Mark says. When the hell had he and Roger become so popular?
"It's Joanne!" Maureen squeals. "Oh my God, Mark, you can't tell her where I am. Promise, baby?"
Mark rubs his forehead, wondering if this damn headache is ever going to go away. He can tell this thing with Maureen is going to be a headache in itself and someone is still pounding at the door loud enough to wake the dead and Roger is still locked away in his room. What Mark wouldn't give to still be in his arms, hands tangled in his hair and fingers pressing into his skin.
Think about girls. Beautiful, naked girls. On second thought, not helping. Think about Mom. Think about dead puppies. Think about that guy on the third floor who never bathes and smells like fish and beer. "Look, Maureen, I'm going to hang up so I can go, okay?"
"I realize that," Maureen says, and even though Mark can't see her he knows exactly how she looks when she rolls her eyes. "Listen, just... Hurry, okay?"
"I promise," Mark says. "Be there in a bit."
"Maureen? Mark? Roger? Anyone there?"
Desperately trying to straight out his day old clothes as if that will get rid of the smell, Mark hurries over to door before Joanne can make his headache any worse. He puts on what he hopes is a decent smile before opening the door.
"Hey, Joanne."
Joanne looks over Mark's shoulder, as if Maureen would be hiding right there on the couch. "Is she here?"
"Who?" Joanne glares, walking around Mark and into the loft. Mark sighs, gently closing the door behind her. So maybe acting totally oblivious isn't going to save him time. "No, she's not here," He says, leaning against the kitchen counter as Joanne peaks into his room.
"Do you know where she is?" Mark freezes up a little when Joanne moves towards the answering machine, staring at the little red beep that is Maureen's message. "She ran out and, well, she always comes here or calls you." She gives Mark a look somewhere between suspicious and annoyed. "I guess she trusts you enough to talk about her problems. More than she does for me."
Mark shakes his head. "It's not like that. Maureen, she just likes getting under your skin. Likes making you angry. Proves that you still like her." Mark had seen it a thousand times when he was with Maureen. Every time she went out and slept with someone, she'd be sure to let Mark find out. Just Maureen's way of testing him, to make sure he still wanted to stick around. He always did.
"I wish she'd let me show her how much I love her without these games." Mark is pretty sure he must visibly relax when Joanne walks away from the machine and towards the door. "I guess I should go look at the Clit Club."
For a second, Mark wants to break down and tell her. Joanne looks so worried, and Mark knows how it is, loving Maureen. He could save Joanne a lot of stress, hell he could save himself a bundle, if he just tells her where Maureen is and let them work out whatever problem they're having now by themselves.
Mark gives a halfhearted wave as Joanne fixes her coat. "Good luck with that."
*
The second Mark finds the SBNY club he knows something is off. It's not exactly a hard thing to figure out. In fact, there are plenty of signs. Big, glowing pink neon signs. With rainbow flags hanging off the sides.
"Jesus Christ." It's not hard to find Maureen through the crowd of men. She's the only girl at that bar, leaning over and giggling at something with her hand on some guy's thigh. Leave it to Maureen to find someone to flirt with.
Playing the part of the older brother, Mark places a hand on Maureen's shoulder, glaring at the man she's sitting with. She's drunk and upset, can't they see that? Where are the morals of some people? "Pookie!" Maureen laughs, throwing herself into Mark's arms. Over her shoulder, Mark tries to keep up his protective stance. It's hard to do when the guy is smirking at him like that.
Mark turns them around so that he's facing away from the stranger. "Maureen, what are you doing here?" He asks when he manages to pry the girl off him. Maureen laughs, reaching for her drink.
"I'm hiding," she explains as if that should be obvious.
"Here?" Mark asks, waving around at the club filled with men, most shirtless and on the dance floor, grinding and sweaty and...
Mark's thinking about road kill. He's thinking about last Hanukah he spent with his family. He's thinking about his grandmother with food dribbling down her chin at the dinner table.
Maureen shrugged, sliding into one of the stools at the bar. "I figured Joanne wouldn't look here." Mark can see the logic in that. This is the last place he'd expect to find Maureen. Hell, this is the last place he'd expect to find any of his friends, even Collins. After all, Collins probably has more taste than to go to some smoke-filled bar with dancers who could bend like that.
"Mark!" Mark jumps back when Maureen waves a hand in his front of his face.
"What?" Mark yelps, stumbling forward after he manages to bump into some unsuspected guy grabbing a beer. He turns around, offering a pathetic smile. "Sorry about that I just-"
The guy rolls his eyes, taking his drink. "Whatever," he says, linking his arm with another man's and walking off. Great, he probably thought that had been Mark's lame attempt at flirting.
"Gee, Mark, you think you'd never seen guys dancing before," Maureen comments, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her beer.
Mark bites on his lip, sitting down with his lap facing away from Maureen. Had he seen guys dancing before? Sure, he knew gay people and Collins had lived with them for a few years and The Well Hungarians had plenty of male fans who would have loved to jump into Roger's bed, but Mark had never really been surrounded by it. Mark is starting to figure a few things out just being here. First is that his attraction to guys is definitely not limited to Roger and Daniel. Second is that he is still horny as all hell.
"Stop staring," Maureen snaps her fingers in Mark's face. She gets bossy when she's drunk. Actually, Maureen almost always bossy. That's another thing Mark had fallen in love with.
He pushes her hand away, narrowing his eyes to show he's serious and not going to take her attitude. Like he has a choice. "I wasn't staring," he says. Well, not this time anyway. This time he'd been more focused on making sure Maureen notices exactly what effect the earlier staring is having on him. The last thing he needs is for his ex-girlfriend to find out he likes guys. She'll be all over that, probably take credit for it. "Why are we here, Maureen?"
Maureen rolls her eyes over the top of her beer. "I told you, hiding." She answers, fluffing out her blonde hair. She recently had it bleached a brilliant blonde. Mark liked her stringy, brown hair a lot more but would never tell her that. As tough as she tries to act, everyone knows Maureen needs other people's attention and approval.
Write that down as another thing that drives Mark and Joanne nuts that they couldn't live without.
"Hiding from Joanne?" Mark asks. Still drinking, Maureen nods. Mark puts his hand gentle over hers, slowly lowering the mug. "Maybe you need to stop and explain." It's his patient voice, the trying-to-understand-if-you'll-just-let-me tone that Roger and Maureen have helped him perfect.
It takes all of three seconds for Maureen's eyes to tear up. "She's leaving me, Mark." She holds up a hand, pressing it against Mark's half open mouth. "Don't' say I'm over reacting, either! I'm serious this time."
Mark sighs, pushing Maureen hand away from his lips. "What do you mean she's leaving you?"
Maureen sniffles, choking on something that sounds a lot like actual tears instead of her usual drama. "She... She was all night talking with this girl. Claudia." Maureen rolls her eyes when she says the name, and there isn't a person in the world who couldn't hear the spite in her voice. "What kind of name is that, anyway? Claudia? I mean, who looks at their precious baby girl and says, 'You know what name fits? Claudia?' I mean, it's not even a hot name!"
Mark's headache is never going to go away. Rubbing his temple, he tries to take a few deep breaths before interrupting Maureen. Another advantage to the bar is that Mark can't just yell at her and walk away. Not unless he wants Maureen climbing onto the bar and making a spectacle of herself. Let it never be said that the girl couldn't work things to her advantage. "So she was talking with some girl? I mean, you talk with girls all the time." And boys, and anything with two legs that shows even a mild interest in her. That's one of those qualities Mark never quite learned to love.
"But this is different!" Maureen says, hands waving wildly enough that Mark has to scoot back a little to avoid being hit. "I mean, this wasn't just friendly, idle chat. They were talking, Mark. Really talking. I mean," she leans in, as if about to divulge a huge secret and Mark can't help it. He lets himself get sucked in. "I heard Joanne say the word 'making love'!" Maureen honestly looks indignant when she pulls back. "I mean, friends don't just idly talk about that sort of stuff. How many times have you and Roger talked like that?"
For a second, Mark tries to think of all the times him and Roger have discussed sex before coming to his senses. "I'm sure Joanne has a good reason," Mark says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. Passing strangers kept looking over at the pair and Mark is pretty sure they weren't checking either one of them out. It's not hard to see Maureen is approaching hysterical. "Have you tried talking to her yet?"
Before she answers Mark can tell she hasn't. "Of course I have!" Maureen pouts (and Joanne is right about that pout), crossing her arms over her chest so that she looks like a ten year old who didn't get her way. "She denied it, of course! I mean, what did you think she was going to do? Admit that she was cheating on me?"
"Maybe she isn't cheating on you," Mark says. He'd seen Joanne earlier and he knows she isn't cheating on Maureen. He knows this because he has been in her shoes (minus the chunky heels) and he's seen that expression in the mirror way to many times to count. "Maybe you're just blowing this out of proportion. I mean, why would Joanne even cheat on you?"
This time there is no drama, no make up and acting classes and imaginary violins in the background. Mark has only seen this look once before, this crushed and heartbroken and real Maureen that cried over Angel's grave even while trying to fake a smile. "Because," she whispers, just loud enough that Mark can here over the pop music and yelling and laughing all around them. "Because she's so wonderful. She's smart and she's feisty and she's in control and I'm none of those things." Maureen sniffles, giving a sort of shrug. "Well, I mean, other than feisty. But Joanne she's just amazing and she could have anyone she wants and this Claudia girl... She's a lawyer." Maureen slams her hand down on the bar, tears clinging to her lashes. "And what am I, Mark? Just some out of work actress? I mean, it's not even a contest."
Sitting in the middle of a crowded nightclub with Maureen in tears, this has to be the most awkward night of Mark's life. He places a hand on Maureen's shoulder, as comforting as he can be while some guys start stripping and making out behind them. The part of him that still loves Maureen, that knows she would never break down this far from him, that part just has to grit it's teeth and swallow it's pride. "You could kick her ass."
Maureen laughs, or possibly sobs. It's difficult to tell with this lighting and music. She does manage to smile for Mark. "Really?"
Mark nods. "Trust me. I've seen you angry. Claudia can't hold a candle."
Maureen's smile is starting to beat out her tears now. She brushes away some of the wet streaks down her cheeks, careful not to smear her mascara. "I just... I feel like I'm in that movie, right? The one with the girl and the dog. And Joanne is the beautiful, glowing fairy thing that everyone loves and I'm just some evil, green witch." Maureen sniffles, but most of the signs of her break down are gone. "I mean, I know I'm not the best girlfriend in the world but I really love her. I just..."
"I don't think you're a witch," Mark says, patting Maureen on the shoulder. "And, just for the record, I don't think Joanne would be caught in a pink fluffy skirt."
This gets Maureen laughing. "Actually," and her voice is bright and cheerful again. "She does have this really nice, fluffy pink teddy I bought her last Christmas. Oh my God, Mark, if you could just see her in this thing."
Mark moans, resisting the urge to bang his head against the bar. "Why me?" He asks, staring up at the ceiling. The blue and yellow lights flashing above him didn't have an answer, though, and Maureen is to caught up telling Mark about the things her girlfriend can do with feathers to listen.
*
It's one in the morning by the time Mark manages to escape Maureen. Her confidence is rebuilt enough that she says she'll be able to face Joanne. Mark has the feeling he might have put her up to the idea of actually beating up this Claudia girl, but at that point he had been so desperate to get her to stop talking about editable underwear and body chocolate that he would have said anything to change the subject.
A very tired, mildly confused, and verging on sick Mark drags himself to the loft with the intention of passing out in bed. There is a possibility he might look in the fridge to see if they have anything that hasn't started supporting other life forms, but that is a big maybe. Mostly he just wants to fall into bed and pretending that the last two days didn't happen.
Especially the parts that involved Joanne and pink feathers.
It takes about three seconds after opening the loft door to realizes that he must be crazy to think it would be that easy.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Mark cringes, closing the door as softly as he can behind him. He's really sick of loud noises. Loud noises, pop music, and people. "Hey, Rog," Mark mutters, hoping his tone can convey exactly how exhausted he is. In case Roger misses the point, he stumbles over his own feet, barely keeping himself from falling.
Roger isn't appeased. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, glaring as Mark tries to walk to his room. "Are you drunk?" It's not a light, amused tone. More like Roger is about to beat the shit out of someone. "Where you with Daniel?" And it sounds like that would be the someone he started with.
Mark rolls his eyes. "I wish," he mutters, referring to his sad state of soberness. He's almost exhausted enough to miss the way Roger's frame tightens up, but it would be hard to ignore the growl. Mark collapses against the wall next to his door, not sure he can stand on his own for however long this conversation is going to go on. "Look, Roger, I was just at SBNY-"
Wrong thing to say. Roger pushes himself off the counter. He's started pacing, which is never a good sign. "So, what, you were just out to some gay club for nine hours? Not even bothering to tell me where the hell you were, just disappearing."
Mark isn't up for a fight. "Roger, I was just helping Maureen." He starts massaging at the pounding locked up in his temple. He didn't remember this being quite so much of a habit before Roger had used it to apologize. Now it is almost constant.
"I'm sick of it," Roger says, stopping right in front of Mark. Dangerously close, with how anger he looks. Mark would rather have a nice room size between them at the moment. "I'm sick of all these guys getting to stare at you."
Mark shifted uncomfortable against the wall. This isn't normal. Roger should be telling him he's whipped or laughing at situations he let's his ex drag him into. "Guys don't stare-"
Roger doesn't care. He's ranting, and nothing Mark says is going to stop him. "And it was alright when I didn't know you were staring back but now, fuck, Mark. I've been your friend for ages and I'm not allowed to touch you or stare at you or want you but it's okay for you to go out with some guy on the street you don't even know?"
Mark is asleep. Mark has passed out on his way home. Mark is so out of it that he's hallucinating. "Wh-What?" Any second now, he'll regain his powers of thought and speech. Or maybe just wake up.
On second thought, he likes it in this world. Roger is against Mark, slamming Mark into the cold wall. A pain shots through his shoulders when they hit the back wall and Roger's lips are crashing down on his so that their noses are smashed together and their teeth clash and, God, Mark hasn't brushed his teeth since yesterday. It's awkward and nothing like his perfectly shaped fantasies. Real and wet and please and God, he's really not dreaming this up.
Roger pulls away, biting down on Mark's lower lip just a little too hard. "Tell me to stop," he says, dragging Mark's lip out between his teeth. His hands go around Mark's waist, slipping under the band of his jeans, pulling their bodies together. "Tell me to fuck off." A sharp pain shots up Mark's neck when Roger bites down, quickly quelled when Roger takes the flesh into his mouth, sucking and licking and branding Mark. His hands curl around Mark's ass, grinding their hip together, Mark stuck between the cold wall and Roger's hot skin. Trying to keep himself grounded enough that he can thrust to meet Roger's pace. "Punch me," Roger says, biting and sucking and biting and licking until Mark's voice is nothing but a mix of cries and moans. "Come on, Mark."
Mark's nails dig into Roger's shoulders, causing the other boy to shiver and gasp, slamming Mark back into the wall again. Hard enough that Mark's next moan is in pain, but neither boy slows down. "No." Mark aches his neck back, offering Roger anything he wants. "No stopping."
Roger's growl sends blood straight to Mark's already aching cock. His hands dig into Mark's skin hard enough to leave bruises. "I hate them." Mark groans, spread his legs so far apart he nearly falls, only catching himself on Roger's thigh as he presses up against Mark's groin. "Fucking hate Daniel." Mark's sweater is pushes aside as Roger looks for fresh skin to bite. Mark pressed down, riding the leg as the pressure in his balls tightens and it feels like he's going to explode if he doesn't get these jeans off. "Hate all those guys who stare at you." Mark slides forward, fingers curling into the backside of Roger's jeans as he tries to meet each thrust with one of his own. He is nearly flush against Roger's chest, feet only touching the floor enough that he can pump his straining cock against Roger's thigh. "Imagining you like this. Wanting you like this."
Roger's voice sounds so fucking wonderful, and Mark wants to get in on this little game they're playing. "I love it." His voice is strained from all the choke back whines and screams. He licks up Roger's ear, teeth scraping along the shell. A soft moan and he's being pulled impossibly close. So close he can feel the hard beat of blood through Roger's cock as he grinds their hips together. "I want to be fucked and ridden and used and - fuck."
Mark is pretty sure Roger draws blood when he bites down this time. There is the sound of what might be a zipper tearing off, but more important is the feel of Roger's rough fingers circling his cock. Hard and fast and "Yes" and tight and "God, Roger" and nothing coherent is left before red flashes behind Mark's eyes and he's screaming, his whole body trembling as the orgasm rips through him.
It's amazing that Mark ends up standing, although most of his weight is against the wall. Roger is one his knees, his forehead resting against Mark's thigh. Mark has never wanted his camera as much as he does right this moment. There is Roger, all breathless and beautiful with sweat dripping of his hair and hand and jeans covered in cum.
"Shit," Roger mutters, shaking his head. Mark flinches, choking back laughter when Roger's hair gel spiked brushes against his inner thigh. "Mark, I'm- Shit."
There are times when you have to think about things, figure out your life and all the mistakes you've made. There are those times, and then there are times when all thoughts and worries should be put on hold for really great sex. Mark is voting for the second option at the moment. He takes Roger's hand, pulling the other boy to his feet. "We should go to bed," Mark says, walking backwards towards his room, never letting go off Roger's hand. "I think we need to sleep on this."
Sleep be damned.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairing: Rent, Mark/Roger
Series, Chapter: Mucho Masturbation, Chapter Three: Mutual
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,100
Part 1: Mark
Part 2: Roger
Additional Notes: How I ever got talked into doing a third chapter, I don’t even know.
Since this has (without my permission) morphed into some weird sex-chapter story, I just want to clear up a few things.
(A) I planned none of this. The first two parts were inspired by the line “Mucho Masturbation” and nothing more. These next few chapters have not been thought through. Any twist, turn, or plot is just as shocking to me as it is to you.
(B) I usually disagree with fics that move this fast. Let’s just accept, for the record, that Mark has been lusting over Roger for a while now. Let’s also assume that Roger has been lusting back. Let’s accept that the boys are bi and that, before this story, there was lots of angsting and uncertainty. Let’s say this went on for... Oh... Ten chapter sound good to everyone? Right then. Ten chapters it is.
(C) No, really. I have no idea in all of hell what I am doing. I’m just writing with the intention of ending somewhere. Probably in a pile of sin and decay. So all those questions you probably have like “What happened to Mimi?” and “When does this take place?” and “Hey, shouldn’t AIDs be brought up at some point?” and “Seriously, have you ever heard of characterization? Maybe in passing?” the answer is that is was meant as a smut-fantasy fix. So now I’m just bullshitting it. Thank you for being understanding.
Mainly this disclaimer is to point out that I know this isn’t a deep, characterized piece of work. I am working on one of those right now, so I know what they look like and I can assure you that this isn’t it. I know it’s not perfectly in character. I know it’s unrealistic. I know every chapter is rating R or Nc-17, and plot-wise there is something wrong with at least half of every part being dedicated to smut. It’s chapter porn, and no one is trying to pretend otherwise.
Mucho Masturbation
Chapter Three: Mutual
"Roger, what the hell are you-"
There are about three seconds that stretch into eternity while Roger is staring into Mark's eyes. Mark's room is completely dark; the only light is coming from behind Roger, making him into a silhouette. Still, Mark swears he can actually see Roger's eyes flash.
Then the door is slammed shut.
"Shit," Daniel mutters, breaking the awkward silence after the echoes have faded away. "I told you he'd be angry."
Shit. Shit is right. Shit and fuck and all those other words Mark's mother would slap him for using. "Shit." Mark's head is spinning as he shoves Daniel off of him and goes to find Roger. He nearly falls over when Roger's door slams shut and it feels like the whole loft shakes. This isn't how it is suppose to go. Mark had just been drunk and horny and not thinking straight.
"Roger!" Mark knocks at Roger's door, trying to sound as calm as possible while his voice is trembling. He doesn't know what he is going to say when Roger answers, doesn't even know what exactly he's done wrong, but he knows he has to get Roger to talk with him. "Roger, open up!"
"I should go," Daniel says, zipping up his jeans and hurrying to the front door, apparently desperate to get out before Roger decides to be a little less closed off and a lot more violent. Mark ignores him. He has his ear pressed to the cold metal door, listening for some sign of life. He remembers the one of the last times he had been this desperate for Roger to answer him, so afraid he was locked in there with a needle held to his arm.
"Roger, can you hear me?" It's a stupid thing to yell, but Mark isn't thinking clearly. He's just saying anything that might get Roger to talk back. "Roger?"
There's still nothing. Daniel is gone, and Mark is left all alone trying to coax Roger out of his room. "Roger, listen, I know.... I just, fuck, open the door!" What's he going to say? That he was just screwing around with Dan to make Roger jealous? That after a year of jerking off to fantasies about Roger he felt like he was going to explode? That he was drunk and Daniel is cute and Roger left him so hard he didn't think he had any other choice? Which one of those excuses sounded the best? Which one is Roger the least likely to beat the shit out of Mark for?
"Come on, Roger," Mark yells, hoping Roger will give in and at least scream back. "Don't you think you're over reacting?" Instead of Roger yelling, he gets the sound of something hitting the ground. Mark winces, hoping it isn't Roger's amp. He always regrets that sort of thing later.
Mark groans, turning around to lean against the door. "Roger?" No answer. "Roger?" Nothing. Mark slides down, plopping onto the floor. He pulls his legs to his chest, waiting for his head to stop spinning and a clear idea of what to do to magically appear in his jumbled mind.
"Roger, I'm sorry," he says, but it's pretty clear Roger isn't listening.
*
Mark is woken up when his head comes crashing to the floor.
"Fuck hell urg what shit?" Mark's head hurts, and not just from the falling. The light streaming in from the skylight is killing his eyes, and he's pretty sure that he'd be throwing up if he had any food in his stomach. He groans, moving only as much as he has to so that he can move his hand under his head, massaging the bump that is starting to form on his scalp.
When he finally manages to open his eyes without feeling like they're ready to bleed he spots a blurry figure that looks suspiciously like Roger. As the image becomes clearer Mark determines that it is definitely Roger standing over him, struggling to keep a blank face even if Mark can see he's fighting back that worry and amusement. "You hit your head."
"Thanks," Mark says, grunting in pain while he tries to get to his feet. He manages to get himself propped onto his elbow before giving up. "You're out of your room."
"Yeah, well." Roger leaves Mark to crawl up the wall and try to keep himself from falling back down again all on his own. Well, that was clearly the wrong thing to say. What is wrong with him? Can't he do anything right when it comes to Roger?
While Roger fixes coffee, Mark hobbles across the room to collapse on the couch. He shouldn't have had that much to drink. He shouldn't have called Daniel over here. He shouldn't have fallen in love with Roger. He shouldn't have ever left Scarsdale in the first place.
For some reason, maybe it's just the blinding pain throbbing in his head or the fact that his best friend hates him at the moment, but Mark can't help but laugh. Definitely a mistaken when his head feels like it's trying to explode, but the pain doesn't make the situation any less hilarious.
Roger walks over his coffee in hand, sitting down on the coffee table and watches Mark laugh and sob. "What's so funny?"
"Can you believe," Mark shakes his head, not entirely sure if he should be smiling or crying. "I actually thought about going back to Scarsdale."
As funny as Mark find this, Roger is not amused. He takes a sip from his mug and continues staring at Mark, which manages to destroy any humor left in the situation. Mark has never liked people staring at him. Maureen never really did. She was always looking around, always out and about and wild. It's what made Mark love her. Roger, he's completely different. He has this way of just looking at Mark that makes him want to shrink away. Makes him want to get his camera so that it can be him watching Roger and not the other way around.
Roger waits until Mark isn't smiling anymore to ask, "Why do you want to go back?" He has this calm, professional tone that reminds Mark of this psychiatrist his mom once made him go to. Mark had never noticed Dr. Rindwood looking so nervous over what he was going to answer. It's nice to know that even if Roger is mad at him, he doesn't want Mark skipping town.
Mark shrugs, groaning when he tries to sit up and eventually just giving up on the idea. "Not really. Just sometimes things just get so fucked up." There are so many ways in which Mark has managed to screw up his life. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd stayed home. Maybe if he'd done what his father wanted, gone to Brown and become an accountant, maybe Mark wouldn't be secretly lusting after his best friend. Maybe it would have been easier that way, but it's not what Mark wants. Mark wants Roger, and there is nothing that can change that.
Before either of them can say anything else, the phone rings. "Speak!"
"Mark? Mark? It's Cindy."
Mark groans, hitting his head against the armrest of the couch. "Fuck," he mutters, rubbing the now bruising bump on the back of his head. "Turn it off."
Roger stares at the answering machine, taking another sip of coffee. He must really hate Mark not to offer him any. "Why don't you ever pick up? Are you just never home? What about that roommate of yours? I know he doesn't have a job. Are you ignoring me?"
"Yes," Mark says, covering his eyes with his hand to block out some of the light. "Please go away." It's not that Mark doesn't love his older sister. She had helped hold back Mom when Mark announced he was heading to New York to become a filmmaker. Sure, her husband is sort of creepy and her kids are demon spawn, but Cindy isn't all that bad. Recently, though, her husband got a job in the city and moved the family to the New York suburbs. Cindy apparently saw this as a sign to call Mark with news of the cutest girl she'd just met up at the synagogue. Mark always knew when it is Saturday because that's when Cindy called.
"You remember that girl I was telling you about? Bessie. Well, I sat next to her today and we started talking."
Roger taps Mark in the shoulder, so Mark moves his arm back enough that he can see Roger out of the corner of one barely opened eye. Roger mouths the word, "Bessie?" Sure, now he thinks something is funny.
Mark groans and covers his face again, trying to ignore Roger's snickering. On the answering machine, Cindy keeps talking, unaware that the last of Mark's dignity is being destroyed. "Turns out she's an ART student at NYU," Cindy emphasizes the word art as if Mark would jump the phone now that he's found out this Bessie girl isn't just Jewish, but also into art. She's always tried to understand her brother's obsession with camera, maybe a little too much. "She's back with her parents for the summer. Turns out she's a little younger than I thought, but there's a four year difference between me and Max and we get along great, don't we snookims?"
Whatever else Cindy says before the beep cuts her off is hard to hear above Roger's laughter. Behind his arm, Mark rolls his eyes. "Bessie?" Roger pokes Mark in the side, knowing that Mark hates that and it makes him yelp, or as Collins puts it "squeal like a naked girl when he parents walk in the room". Mark jumps away, taking a light hit at Roger. He misses by a long shot. "Snookims? Is your entire family screwed up?"
"Now you know why I was laughing at my momentary lapse in sanity," Mark grumbles, rubbing his side. He pulls himself up so that he can stretch his back out over the armrest, trying to work out some of the ache in what felt like every last one of his muscles. Sleeping curled up against a door isn't nearly as comfortable as it sounds and, admittedly, it doesn't sound comfy at all.
After rolling around his shoulders enough that his back feels like goo, Mark collapses back on the couch. He looks over at Roger to say something about his hangover, but that gets forgotten when he notices that Roger is staring. He shifts uncomfortable, brushing his hands over his chin to see if maybe he'd drooled in his sleep and then wondering if it's his hair instead. Maureen always said he had scary morning hair. "What?" Roger quickly looks towards the skylight.
"Nothing," he mutters, picking up his coffee and walking towards the kitchen. This only makes Mark more suspicious. If he looked funny, Roger would have told him instead of acting all nervous.
"Look, is this about last night?" Mark asks. They're going to have to fight about it some time. Might as well get it over with before these awkward silences and half-hearted conversations become habit. Mark walks over to the kitchen, leaning on one of the counters when he figures out that walking is not the best idea. "You know I-"
"Whatever," Roger says, shrugging his shoulders to show that it's no big deal. Mark might believe that if it weren't for the fact that Roger refuses to look at him. "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" This resolve to silence lasts about ten seconds before Roger slams the mug onto the counter. Mark jumps back, barely escaping the splash of hot coffee. "How could you do that?" It's somewhere between screaming and growling. Mark winces, wondering if maybe he could get a cup of coffee before Roger starts yelling at him. "I mean, I don't care who you fuck but-"
"Obviously you do." Definitely wrong thing to say. Mark knows he's screwed up even before Roger turns his back to him. The sullen attitude and avoiding eye contact-Mark knows these signs and they are never good. "What's the big deal, Roger? Me and Danny were just screwing around."
Roger snorts, storming out of the kitchen. Mark watches him, but doesn't follow. He's seen Roger like this before. He knows Roger is just trying to get some distance between them. "That's all, huh? Just screwing around. God, Mark, don't you think you're better than that?"
Maybe it's just the Maureen in him, but Mark can't imagine anyone being better than casual sex. Especially not a guy who gets off to images of his best friend cuffing him to the bedpost. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex, Roger?" This gets Roger to stop pacing for a while and actually look at Mark. "Since Maureen!" During Maureen, actually. At the very end of their relationship Mark had been too wrapped up in Roger, and at the same time Maureen was figuring out that Mark - and boys in general - were just not her taste. "And that's was... What... two years ago?"
Roger looks too shocked to speak. Mark can't blame him. Looking back, he's amazed he's hasn't done something more drastic. Running a hand through his hair, he tries to massage away some of the throbbing pain in his temple. "Look, I'm going to my room," Mark says trying to sound as patient as possible while Roger continues to just stare at him. He was wrong. They should wait until after the explosive pain that is filling his head is gone to have this argument. "Whatever the hell we're fighting about, can we do it later?"
Mark doesn't wait for Roger to answer - he's pretty sure Roger doesn't even try - just turns around and heads back into his bedroom. All the lights are still off from last night, so all Mark has to do is climb into bed. He groans, resting his back against the cold back wall. That went well. In the same way that Mark's love life is going well.
It's only a few minutes before the door to Mark's room is barely cracked open, Roger sliding inside as if he's not sure he's allowed to be there. "Can I come in?" Roger sounds surprising meek. Mark knows that voice. It's Roger's apology voice, for when he can't quite say it. It doesn't matter. Mark always forgives him.
Mark sighs, at least trying to act put out. It turns out sounding a lot more like surrender. "Sure." Roger takes careful footsteps into Mark's room, shutting the door nearly soundlessly behind him. He hops onto Mark's bed, scooting over until they're barely touching. It feels nice to be so close to Roger. Nice enough that Mark wants to snuggle against the warm body next to his.
Those types of thoughts are not helping him get over Roger. Mark tries to think about girls. Naked girls. Really pretty naked girls. But not Maureen. Shit, now all he can think about is Maureen. She was suppose to call yesterday and he forgot to tell her that he wouldn't be here because of Roger's gig. She is going to be so pissed next time they talk. If she had any idea what he went through... Well that probably wouldn't matter to Maureen. Still, it gives him a reason not to call her for a while. He has to deal with Roger first, although Roger doesn't seem too angry with him anymore. It's nice, having Roger next to him like this.
After a few minutes of silence where Mark looses out to his own mind, Roger starts to fidget. If staring makes Mark nervous, than silence does it for Roger. "You have a headache?"
Mark shrugs, which actually makes his headache that much worse. This, he imagines, is what it feels like to be dying. Of course, he always thinks that after he wakes up from a night of drinking and he always survives to make the same mistakes again. "Kinda."
"Here." Mark feels more than sees Roger's hesitant movements before fingers twist into his hair. Mark almost jumps at the contact, barely keeping in check as Roger starts massaging his scalp. The touch is timid, to light to make any of the pounding in Mark's skull go away, but it's the thought that counts. At least Roger is trying to apologize for their fight, or possibly just avoid talking about it.
Hell, what is he thinking? He is in pain right now and Roger owes him. "I lied," he says, tilting his head so that Roger's fingers are right over the pain. "It hurts like hell. What the fuck was I thinking?" With Roger trying so hard to say he's sorry, it's only fair for Mark to apologize as well.
Roger smiles and applies a little more pressure. Mark pushes away from the wall, wiggling around until he gets Roger's hands right above his ears, and maybe he's pressed a little too close to Roger but the other boy doesn't move away so it must be safe. "April used to do this after I got back from a show," Roger says, and Mark swears he can feel Roger's words rumble through him. He doesn't try to answer. He's pretty sure if he opens his mouth right now he's going to moan.
The sane, reasonable part of Mark that took a vacation last night says that maybe this isn't the best idea, leading Roger on like this. His friend is just trying to apologize for a fight, probably didn't expect little Mark to hard and panting. He's using an unknowing Roger, and shouldn't he at least feel guilty about this if he doesn't outright stop it?
Fuck you, Mark tells sanity and goes back to concentrating on how good Roger's hands feel as they knead circles into his temple.
After a while Roger's touches become lighter again, somewhere between massaging and petting as they work through Mark's hair. It relaxing and exciting, light brushes and just enough pressure not to be teasing. Roger starts downwards, rubbing small circles in Mark's neck with one hand while the other brushes hair behind his ear. Somehow Mark ends up resting against the other boy, head in the crook of Roger's neck as his hands fall to Mark's shoulders. Mark's jeans are starting to get a little to snug and there is a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach that isn't left over from drinking. These warning signs are ignored for the feeling of Roger's fingers against his skin.
With his ear pressed against Roger's neck he can hear the other boy's heartbeat race against his own. He closes his eyes so that everything is Roger against him and touching him and breathing against his cheek, and it's like being stuck between reality and one of his fantasies. The musician's fingers slid under his shirt, callused pads pressing against his bare skin. Mark's too out of it to try and hold back a low, throaty moan.
When Roger doesn't stop, Mark's moan turns into a whimper, arching off the bed and back into Roger as his cock rocks against the rough fabric of his pants looking for some sort of contact. "Shit." Roger's hands stop, and for a few seconds the room is completely still and silence expect for his panting and Roger's nervous swallows. "We should-"
"Stop," Mark mutters. Because sleeping with your best friend never turns out well. If Roger leaves right now Mark's not sure he'll be able to keep from collapsing. It seems like all that's keeping him from melting is Roger's hands on his skin.
"Yeah." Roger swallows, hands shaking as he pulls them away, and Mark doesn't collapse but it feels like he should. "Yeah, I should... Umm..."
Mark struggles to scoot down the bed and way from Roger. "Yeah," Mark says, wincing when he curls up his legs in hopes that maybe Roger hasn't noticed the very obvious bulge in his jeans just yet. "You should probably go back to...."
"My room." Roger backs away from the bed, his eyes going between Mark and the door. He keeps running his hand through his hair, small movements that catch Mark's attention as he tries to look anywhere but Roger. "Yeah, I guess I'll..."
"Later," Mark says, struggling to sound casual. Because this isn't one hundred different types of awkward.
"Yeah," Roger says, slipping out of the door almost as quietly as he'd come in. "Later."
*
Strong hands with callused fingers pressed against the base of his cock, squeezing his balls just a little too tight and Mark isn't sure wither he's suppose to come or scream or both.
On his hands and knees with Roger's cock digging against his ass but not in him, just teasing. Finger brush the underside of his balls, the hand around the base of his erection tightening when Mark whimpers and rocks his hips back. Torturing Mark with pressure and promises that lead nowhere. Roger leans in, breath against Mark's neck and even turned away with his eyes closed Mark can see his smirk. "Ma-ark," Sing-song and sweet-Roger wants him to know he's just toying with him. Mark whines, pressing back and spreading his legs out, begging Roger to just fuck him already.
A hand slides up his stomach, twisting a hard nipple a little too sharply. Mark's yelp turns into a groan when the pinching become light touches. Between rough and gentle strokes. The feeling of hands massaging and twisting through his hair become ghost touches against his skin. Long fingers wrap around his cock, stopping him from coming as a thumb brushes over the head, dragging a line of wetness up his stomach, whispering horrible things in his ear.
Roger with his skin glistening as he starts getting fed up with the teasing. Hands all over Mark's body, licking the bite marks he's left on his shoulder. Sexy, confidant Roger with his rough hands and gorgeous eyes and hard cock rocking against Mark. Trying to act like he's in total control even while he's loosing it, is dying to just give in and push Mark to the bed and fuck him hard and fast and just like Mark wants it.
His Roger, who tries to act so cut off from life even when Mark knows he's so passionate and emotional it scares him.
Right now all that passion is concentrated on Mark. He's trembling on the edge of release. His thrusting speeds up, unable to hold back any longer. In his mind, Roger has him on his back. His hands are tangled in bleached-out hair, eyes barely open as he watches his friend's head between his legs. Beautiful, bruised lips stretched over his cock as he takes Mark in. Licking down one side, the back of his throat constricting around the head. Mark's hands twist in the sheets and Roger's hair, pumping his cock as Roger hollows his cheeks and hums around the sensitive flesh.
Mark comes so hard he ends up sobbing when he tries to hold back his scream. He collapses against the wall, sweating and panting and still shaking as the after shock of his orgasm passes through him.
All Roger has to do is rub his shoulders, and it's the best "sex" Mark has had in a long time. He needs to meet someone really badly.
In the other room, the answering machine picks up the phone after one ring. Mark lies back in bed, eyelids feeling to heavy to keep open. He snuggles against his blankets, feeling like a good nap is in order.
"Mark? It's Maureen." Shit. Mark groans, rolling onto his back and blinking at the ceiling, trying to find the strength in him to get out of bed. It's not there. Maybe she's just calling to remind them to buy groceries or that Joanne's birthday is in a week. Maybe she doesn't even want to talk to him.
"Are you there? Mark, I really need to talk to you." Mark pauses midway getting out of bed. It sounds like Maureen is crying. Maybe not full out hysterics, but she's definitely upset. While Maureen might over react to a whole lot, Mark knows her well enough to know that she doesn't cry. Bitch, whine, moan, complain, and place blame were more her thing. "Look, if you're not there I just-"
Maureen is definitely crying. Mark is across the loft in a second, picking up the phone before she can hang up. "Maureen?" He runs a hand through his hair, an old nervous gesture. "Maureen? Are you there?"
On the other end of the line, Maureen sobs. "Pookie?"
Mark sighs, realizing he managed to catch her and a little wary of the nickname. Pookie never boded well. "Yes, Maureen. I'm here. Sorry I was just..." Mark slips the phone between his ear and shoulder, zipping up his jeans. "Umm... In the shower."
He doesn't sound at all convincing, but Maureen is too busy sniveling to notice. Mark can't help but be a little relieved. "Thank God you're there," Maureen cries, and Mark can almost picture the overdramatic pout she's working. "I... I need to talk with to you."
"Sure, of course!" Mark answers. He never has any choice but to help Maureen. Like Roger, she's managed to get under his skin and stay there. Not that Mark minds. After all, once upon a time she was his Maureen. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm at SBNY, on West 17th and 5th avenue " Maureen sobs. "Can you come over here, Pookie? Joanne is probably looking for me and I..." Here Maureen breaks down into unintelligible tears, and Mark is practically out the door.
"I'll be there in a second," Mark promises, running of to his room to change before he remembers the phone is attached to the wall. Sighing, Mark hurries back to the cradle. Maureen is still sobbing and Mark can't quite make out her words, but they sound important. "I promise, Maureen, just give me a-"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Someone is at the door," Mark says. When the hell had he and Roger become so popular?
"It's Joanne!" Maureen squeals. "Oh my God, Mark, you can't tell her where I am. Promise, baby?"
Mark rubs his forehead, wondering if this damn headache is ever going to go away. He can tell this thing with Maureen is going to be a headache in itself and someone is still pounding at the door loud enough to wake the dead and Roger is still locked away in his room. What Mark wouldn't give to still be in his arms, hands tangled in his hair and fingers pressing into his skin.
Think about girls. Beautiful, naked girls. On second thought, not helping. Think about Mom. Think about dead puppies. Think about that guy on the third floor who never bathes and smells like fish and beer. "Look, Maureen, I'm going to hang up so I can go, okay?"
"I realize that," Maureen says, and even though Mark can't see her he knows exactly how she looks when she rolls her eyes. "Listen, just... Hurry, okay?"
"I promise," Mark says. "Be there in a bit."
"Maureen? Mark? Roger? Anyone there?"
Desperately trying to straight out his day old clothes as if that will get rid of the smell, Mark hurries over to door before Joanne can make his headache any worse. He puts on what he hopes is a decent smile before opening the door.
"Hey, Joanne."
Joanne looks over Mark's shoulder, as if Maureen would be hiding right there on the couch. "Is she here?"
"Who?" Joanne glares, walking around Mark and into the loft. Mark sighs, gently closing the door behind her. So maybe acting totally oblivious isn't going to save him time. "No, she's not here," He says, leaning against the kitchen counter as Joanne peaks into his room.
"Do you know where she is?" Mark freezes up a little when Joanne moves towards the answering machine, staring at the little red beep that is Maureen's message. "She ran out and, well, she always comes here or calls you." She gives Mark a look somewhere between suspicious and annoyed. "I guess she trusts you enough to talk about her problems. More than she does for me."
Mark shakes his head. "It's not like that. Maureen, she just likes getting under your skin. Likes making you angry. Proves that you still like her." Mark had seen it a thousand times when he was with Maureen. Every time she went out and slept with someone, she'd be sure to let Mark find out. Just Maureen's way of testing him, to make sure he still wanted to stick around. He always did.
"I wish she'd let me show her how much I love her without these games." Mark is pretty sure he must visibly relax when Joanne walks away from the machine and towards the door. "I guess I should go look at the Clit Club."
For a second, Mark wants to break down and tell her. Joanne looks so worried, and Mark knows how it is, loving Maureen. He could save Joanne a lot of stress, hell he could save himself a bundle, if he just tells her where Maureen is and let them work out whatever problem they're having now by themselves.
Mark gives a halfhearted wave as Joanne fixes her coat. "Good luck with that."
*
The second Mark finds the SBNY club he knows something is off. It's not exactly a hard thing to figure out. In fact, there are plenty of signs. Big, glowing pink neon signs. With rainbow flags hanging off the sides.
"Jesus Christ." It's not hard to find Maureen through the crowd of men. She's the only girl at that bar, leaning over and giggling at something with her hand on some guy's thigh. Leave it to Maureen to find someone to flirt with.
Playing the part of the older brother, Mark places a hand on Maureen's shoulder, glaring at the man she's sitting with. She's drunk and upset, can't they see that? Where are the morals of some people? "Pookie!" Maureen laughs, throwing herself into Mark's arms. Over her shoulder, Mark tries to keep up his protective stance. It's hard to do when the guy is smirking at him like that.
Mark turns them around so that he's facing away from the stranger. "Maureen, what are you doing here?" He asks when he manages to pry the girl off him. Maureen laughs, reaching for her drink.
"I'm hiding," she explains as if that should be obvious.
"Here?" Mark asks, waving around at the club filled with men, most shirtless and on the dance floor, grinding and sweaty and...
Mark's thinking about road kill. He's thinking about last Hanukah he spent with his family. He's thinking about his grandmother with food dribbling down her chin at the dinner table.
Maureen shrugged, sliding into one of the stools at the bar. "I figured Joanne wouldn't look here." Mark can see the logic in that. This is the last place he'd expect to find Maureen. Hell, this is the last place he'd expect to find any of his friends, even Collins. After all, Collins probably has more taste than to go to some smoke-filled bar with dancers who could bend like that.
"Mark!" Mark jumps back when Maureen waves a hand in his front of his face.
"What?" Mark yelps, stumbling forward after he manages to bump into some unsuspected guy grabbing a beer. He turns around, offering a pathetic smile. "Sorry about that I just-"
The guy rolls his eyes, taking his drink. "Whatever," he says, linking his arm with another man's and walking off. Great, he probably thought that had been Mark's lame attempt at flirting.
"Gee, Mark, you think you'd never seen guys dancing before," Maureen comments, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her beer.
Mark bites on his lip, sitting down with his lap facing away from Maureen. Had he seen guys dancing before? Sure, he knew gay people and Collins had lived with them for a few years and The Well Hungarians had plenty of male fans who would have loved to jump into Roger's bed, but Mark had never really been surrounded by it. Mark is starting to figure a few things out just being here. First is that his attraction to guys is definitely not limited to Roger and Daniel. Second is that he is still horny as all hell.
"Stop staring," Maureen snaps her fingers in Mark's face. She gets bossy when she's drunk. Actually, Maureen almost always bossy. That's another thing Mark had fallen in love with.
He pushes her hand away, narrowing his eyes to show he's serious and not going to take her attitude. Like he has a choice. "I wasn't staring," he says. Well, not this time anyway. This time he'd been more focused on making sure Maureen notices exactly what effect the earlier staring is having on him. The last thing he needs is for his ex-girlfriend to find out he likes guys. She'll be all over that, probably take credit for it. "Why are we here, Maureen?"
Maureen rolls her eyes over the top of her beer. "I told you, hiding." She answers, fluffing out her blonde hair. She recently had it bleached a brilliant blonde. Mark liked her stringy, brown hair a lot more but would never tell her that. As tough as she tries to act, everyone knows Maureen needs other people's attention and approval.
Write that down as another thing that drives Mark and Joanne nuts that they couldn't live without.
"Hiding from Joanne?" Mark asks. Still drinking, Maureen nods. Mark puts his hand gentle over hers, slowly lowering the mug. "Maybe you need to stop and explain." It's his patient voice, the trying-to-understand-if-you'll-just-let-me tone that Roger and Maureen have helped him perfect.
It takes all of three seconds for Maureen's eyes to tear up. "She's leaving me, Mark." She holds up a hand, pressing it against Mark's half open mouth. "Don't' say I'm over reacting, either! I'm serious this time."
Mark sighs, pushing Maureen hand away from his lips. "What do you mean she's leaving you?"
Maureen sniffles, choking on something that sounds a lot like actual tears instead of her usual drama. "She... She was all night talking with this girl. Claudia." Maureen rolls her eyes when she says the name, and there isn't a person in the world who couldn't hear the spite in her voice. "What kind of name is that, anyway? Claudia? I mean, who looks at their precious baby girl and says, 'You know what name fits? Claudia?' I mean, it's not even a hot name!"
Mark's headache is never going to go away. Rubbing his temple, he tries to take a few deep breaths before interrupting Maureen. Another advantage to the bar is that Mark can't just yell at her and walk away. Not unless he wants Maureen climbing onto the bar and making a spectacle of herself. Let it never be said that the girl couldn't work things to her advantage. "So she was talking with some girl? I mean, you talk with girls all the time." And boys, and anything with two legs that shows even a mild interest in her. That's one of those qualities Mark never quite learned to love.
"But this is different!" Maureen says, hands waving wildly enough that Mark has to scoot back a little to avoid being hit. "I mean, this wasn't just friendly, idle chat. They were talking, Mark. Really talking. I mean," she leans in, as if about to divulge a huge secret and Mark can't help it. He lets himself get sucked in. "I heard Joanne say the word 'making love'!" Maureen honestly looks indignant when she pulls back. "I mean, friends don't just idly talk about that sort of stuff. How many times have you and Roger talked like that?"
For a second, Mark tries to think of all the times him and Roger have discussed sex before coming to his senses. "I'm sure Joanne has a good reason," Mark says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. Passing strangers kept looking over at the pair and Mark is pretty sure they weren't checking either one of them out. It's not hard to see Maureen is approaching hysterical. "Have you tried talking to her yet?"
Before she answers Mark can tell she hasn't. "Of course I have!" Maureen pouts (and Joanne is right about that pout), crossing her arms over her chest so that she looks like a ten year old who didn't get her way. "She denied it, of course! I mean, what did you think she was going to do? Admit that she was cheating on me?"
"Maybe she isn't cheating on you," Mark says. He'd seen Joanne earlier and he knows she isn't cheating on Maureen. He knows this because he has been in her shoes (minus the chunky heels) and he's seen that expression in the mirror way to many times to count. "Maybe you're just blowing this out of proportion. I mean, why would Joanne even cheat on you?"
This time there is no drama, no make up and acting classes and imaginary violins in the background. Mark has only seen this look once before, this crushed and heartbroken and real Maureen that cried over Angel's grave even while trying to fake a smile. "Because," she whispers, just loud enough that Mark can here over the pop music and yelling and laughing all around them. "Because she's so wonderful. She's smart and she's feisty and she's in control and I'm none of those things." Maureen sniffles, giving a sort of shrug. "Well, I mean, other than feisty. But Joanne she's just amazing and she could have anyone she wants and this Claudia girl... She's a lawyer." Maureen slams her hand down on the bar, tears clinging to her lashes. "And what am I, Mark? Just some out of work actress? I mean, it's not even a contest."
Sitting in the middle of a crowded nightclub with Maureen in tears, this has to be the most awkward night of Mark's life. He places a hand on Maureen's shoulder, as comforting as he can be while some guys start stripping and making out behind them. The part of him that still loves Maureen, that knows she would never break down this far from him, that part just has to grit it's teeth and swallow it's pride. "You could kick her ass."
Maureen laughs, or possibly sobs. It's difficult to tell with this lighting and music. She does manage to smile for Mark. "Really?"
Mark nods. "Trust me. I've seen you angry. Claudia can't hold a candle."
Maureen's smile is starting to beat out her tears now. She brushes away some of the wet streaks down her cheeks, careful not to smear her mascara. "I just... I feel like I'm in that movie, right? The one with the girl and the dog. And Joanne is the beautiful, glowing fairy thing that everyone loves and I'm just some evil, green witch." Maureen sniffles, but most of the signs of her break down are gone. "I mean, I know I'm not the best girlfriend in the world but I really love her. I just..."
"I don't think you're a witch," Mark says, patting Maureen on the shoulder. "And, just for the record, I don't think Joanne would be caught in a pink fluffy skirt."
This gets Maureen laughing. "Actually," and her voice is bright and cheerful again. "She does have this really nice, fluffy pink teddy I bought her last Christmas. Oh my God, Mark, if you could just see her in this thing."
Mark moans, resisting the urge to bang his head against the bar. "Why me?" He asks, staring up at the ceiling. The blue and yellow lights flashing above him didn't have an answer, though, and Maureen is to caught up telling Mark about the things her girlfriend can do with feathers to listen.
*
It's one in the morning by the time Mark manages to escape Maureen. Her confidence is rebuilt enough that she says she'll be able to face Joanne. Mark has the feeling he might have put her up to the idea of actually beating up this Claudia girl, but at that point he had been so desperate to get her to stop talking about editable underwear and body chocolate that he would have said anything to change the subject.
A very tired, mildly confused, and verging on sick Mark drags himself to the loft with the intention of passing out in bed. There is a possibility he might look in the fridge to see if they have anything that hasn't started supporting other life forms, but that is a big maybe. Mostly he just wants to fall into bed and pretending that the last two days didn't happen.
Especially the parts that involved Joanne and pink feathers.
It takes about three seconds after opening the loft door to realizes that he must be crazy to think it would be that easy.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Mark cringes, closing the door as softly as he can behind him. He's really sick of loud noises. Loud noises, pop music, and people. "Hey, Rog," Mark mutters, hoping his tone can convey exactly how exhausted he is. In case Roger misses the point, he stumbles over his own feet, barely keeping himself from falling.
Roger isn't appeased. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, glaring as Mark tries to walk to his room. "Are you drunk?" It's not a light, amused tone. More like Roger is about to beat the shit out of someone. "Where you with Daniel?" And it sounds like that would be the someone he started with.
Mark rolls his eyes. "I wish," he mutters, referring to his sad state of soberness. He's almost exhausted enough to miss the way Roger's frame tightens up, but it would be hard to ignore the growl. Mark collapses against the wall next to his door, not sure he can stand on his own for however long this conversation is going to go on. "Look, Roger, I was just at SBNY-"
Wrong thing to say. Roger pushes himself off the counter. He's started pacing, which is never a good sign. "So, what, you were just out to some gay club for nine hours? Not even bothering to tell me where the hell you were, just disappearing."
Mark isn't up for a fight. "Roger, I was just helping Maureen." He starts massaging at the pounding locked up in his temple. He didn't remember this being quite so much of a habit before Roger had used it to apologize. Now it is almost constant.
"I'm sick of it," Roger says, stopping right in front of Mark. Dangerously close, with how anger he looks. Mark would rather have a nice room size between them at the moment. "I'm sick of all these guys getting to stare at you."
Mark shifted uncomfortable against the wall. This isn't normal. Roger should be telling him he's whipped or laughing at situations he let's his ex drag him into. "Guys don't stare-"
Roger doesn't care. He's ranting, and nothing Mark says is going to stop him. "And it was alright when I didn't know you were staring back but now, fuck, Mark. I've been your friend for ages and I'm not allowed to touch you or stare at you or want you but it's okay for you to go out with some guy on the street you don't even know?"
Mark is asleep. Mark has passed out on his way home. Mark is so out of it that he's hallucinating. "Wh-What?" Any second now, he'll regain his powers of thought and speech. Or maybe just wake up.
On second thought, he likes it in this world. Roger is against Mark, slamming Mark into the cold wall. A pain shots through his shoulders when they hit the back wall and Roger's lips are crashing down on his so that their noses are smashed together and their teeth clash and, God, Mark hasn't brushed his teeth since yesterday. It's awkward and nothing like his perfectly shaped fantasies. Real and wet and please and God, he's really not dreaming this up.
Roger pulls away, biting down on Mark's lower lip just a little too hard. "Tell me to stop," he says, dragging Mark's lip out between his teeth. His hands go around Mark's waist, slipping under the band of his jeans, pulling their bodies together. "Tell me to fuck off." A sharp pain shots up Mark's neck when Roger bites down, quickly quelled when Roger takes the flesh into his mouth, sucking and licking and branding Mark. His hands curl around Mark's ass, grinding their hip together, Mark stuck between the cold wall and Roger's hot skin. Trying to keep himself grounded enough that he can thrust to meet Roger's pace. "Punch me," Roger says, biting and sucking and biting and licking until Mark's voice is nothing but a mix of cries and moans. "Come on, Mark."
Mark's nails dig into Roger's shoulders, causing the other boy to shiver and gasp, slamming Mark back into the wall again. Hard enough that Mark's next moan is in pain, but neither boy slows down. "No." Mark aches his neck back, offering Roger anything he wants. "No stopping."
Roger's growl sends blood straight to Mark's already aching cock. His hands dig into Mark's skin hard enough to leave bruises. "I hate them." Mark groans, spread his legs so far apart he nearly falls, only catching himself on Roger's thigh as he presses up against Mark's groin. "Fucking hate Daniel." Mark's sweater is pushes aside as Roger looks for fresh skin to bite. Mark pressed down, riding the leg as the pressure in his balls tightens and it feels like he's going to explode if he doesn't get these jeans off. "Hate all those guys who stare at you." Mark slides forward, fingers curling into the backside of Roger's jeans as he tries to meet each thrust with one of his own. He is nearly flush against Roger's chest, feet only touching the floor enough that he can pump his straining cock against Roger's thigh. "Imagining you like this. Wanting you like this."
Roger's voice sounds so fucking wonderful, and Mark wants to get in on this little game they're playing. "I love it." His voice is strained from all the choke back whines and screams. He licks up Roger's ear, teeth scraping along the shell. A soft moan and he's being pulled impossibly close. So close he can feel the hard beat of blood through Roger's cock as he grinds their hips together. "I want to be fucked and ridden and used and - fuck."
Mark is pretty sure Roger draws blood when he bites down this time. There is the sound of what might be a zipper tearing off, but more important is the feel of Roger's rough fingers circling his cock. Hard and fast and "Yes" and tight and "God, Roger" and nothing coherent is left before red flashes behind Mark's eyes and he's screaming, his whole body trembling as the orgasm rips through him.
It's amazing that Mark ends up standing, although most of his weight is against the wall. Roger is one his knees, his forehead resting against Mark's thigh. Mark has never wanted his camera as much as he does right this moment. There is Roger, all breathless and beautiful with sweat dripping of his hair and hand and jeans covered in cum.
"Shit," Roger mutters, shaking his head. Mark flinches, choking back laughter when Roger's hair gel spiked brushes against his inner thigh. "Mark, I'm- Shit."
There are times when you have to think about things, figure out your life and all the mistakes you've made. There are those times, and then there are times when all thoughts and worries should be put on hold for really great sex. Mark is voting for the second option at the moment. He takes Roger's hand, pulling the other boy to his feet. "We should go to bed," Mark says, walking backwards towards his room, never letting go off Roger's hand. "I think we need to sleep on this."
Sleep be damned.