Fanfic: Just Between Friends [Mark/Roger]
So, I wrote this really quickly. It's my "fresh from writer's block" story, so it lacks a lot of things (plot) but at least I wrote something!
This is so dedicated to James_girl who helped muse me out of my block and deserves partial author credit. I don't care if the word muse can't be used in that sentence as such, I just did so and am not changing it. Oh, and much thanks to harbek for betaing this all in one day. Power to her.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairing: RENT, Roger/Mark
Rating: PG-16 (Hand job, I swear that's it)
Prompt: 21. Friends
Word Count: 6,140
Summary: Roger tries to help Mark out as only a friend can. Just a light piece, nothing serious as far as plot and characters and what not.
Just Between Friends
“How do you know?”
Mark looks up from his script, a documentary Roger doesn’t care about, chewing over his lower lip as he studies Roger the same way he would a film subject. Squinting over the top of his glasses, like the little extra blur around Roger will give him sudden clarity to his inner thoughts. “I just would, wouldn’t I?”
The way Mark stares at him is unnerving. Roger has to turn away, looking up through the skylight to study the heavy rain, but he can still feel Mark’s eyes on him - searching. There’s a flash of lightening the lights up the dim loft, the only thing keeping the filmmaker inside. Roger doesn’t mind. He spends most of his time in the loft or at clubs, anyway, and it’s nice to have Mark around him without Maureen hovering over his camera.
Roger strums away at his guitar, waiting for his skin to stop burning. When he can feel himself cool down it’s a sign that Mark has gone back to his overworked typewriter. “I don’t know,” he says. “Would you?”
“I think so,” Mark says, typing away at a key a few times before it gives in. He has pens and white out right next to him, for when the keys simply will not work or go crazy as they occasionally do. “I mean I like Maureen, so, how can I be…” When Mark looks up at Roger this time, it’s not so snaring. He looks nervous, unsure of himself. It makes Roger smirk, knowing that Mark trusts him to find the right answer.
Roger hides his grin with a snort, shaking his head and staring down at his fingers passing over the strings of his fender guitar. “Just because you think you like her,” Roger puts a lot of stress on the idea that Mark only thinks he likes Maureen. Something about them being together doesn’t feel right to Roger. Not that he’s in a position to care, but every time he watches Mark and Maureen kiss he gets this sinking feeling in his stomach. It feels like doom. “Doesn’t mean you can’t like boys also.”
Mark’s face goes deep red, and this time Roger doesn’t hide his smile. The kid is so cute when he gets all riled up. Roger isn’t sure why, but sometimes he annoys Mark just so he’ll get like that. It seems like unless he’s being embarrassed, he’s just this bland kid from Scarsdale. Roger likes seeing this other side of him, this ruffled and defensive Mark. “I don’t like boys,” Mark protests. “I mean, you think I’d be dating Maureen if…” He trails off, making a wild hand motion in the air.
“You were gay,” Roger supplies, laughing at the pout the other boy is sporting. “Come on, Mark, I’m just teasing you.”
Mark grumbles something and goes back to his typewriter. The loft goes quiet except for the sound of keys and heavy rain against the windows, with the occasional note from Roger’s guitar. He’s not paying as much attention to his music as he is this dorky blond kid hunched over his script. Roger’s never been one to examine himself. April would be the first to tell that he’s more of an action guy, do and then question it later. It’s weird being around Mark, who tries to back off the situation so that he can see everything. Roger is the situation, most of the time, the emotional breakdown to Mark’s steady detachment. Roger doesn’t want to know why he feels the urge to pester Mark about silly, stupid things. He just knows that he likes how Mark reacts to him, getting all worked up instead of just closed off and stumbling through life. It’s nice to have that kind of sway over a person.
“How do you know for sure, though?” Roger asks after he deems Mark to have calm down enough. “I mean, have you ever done anything with a guy?”
Roger’s pretty sure Mark would have fallen over if he weren’t sitting on the couch. “Wh-What?” Roger smiles, loving the way he can actually see the red creeping into Mark’s face. “Li-W- NO!” Mark shakes his head, probably hoping the motion will drain some of the blood from his cheeks. It doesn’t. “I’m serious, Roger, I’m straight. Stop… Stop asking!”
The way Mark can’t quite look Roger in the eyes; it’s too good to just stop now. Placing his guitar carefully on the floor, Roger sits up, hugging his knees to his chest so that he’s a bit closer to Mark. “How do you know you won’t like it more if you’ve never tried it?”
Roger’s absolutely certain he’s never seen anyone’s face turn that shade of red before. “What?” It’s somewhere between a yelp and a whine. Mark’s eyes are so wide he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Turning back to his typewriter, Mark scoots a little further down the couch and away from Roger. “Look, I just know, okay? I don’t have to have done anything to know.”
“Maybe it feels better,” Roger suggests, “being with a guy.”
Mark’s face is slowly returning to its albino shade of pale. He looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s sexuality are we questioning, Roger?”
Roger’s laugh doesn’t sound entirely amused. He had forgotten that as silent and closed off as Mark acts, he can also bite back when he needs to. The boy is too naïve and clever for his own damn good. “I’m just trying to help you out,” Roger says, leaning back against the armrest. A little more space between them suddenly feels nice. “I mean, come on, Mark, your own dad thought you were gay. There has to be something to it.”
Mark swerves so fast he nearly knocks his typewriter off the coffee table. “Who told you that?”
“Maureen,” Roger answers, looking back up to the skylight to see if the clouds have parted yet. They haven’t. It looks like it will be another wet day all day in the city. With Mark here, the idea doesn’t bother him too much even if it means April may not stop by after work or he might not hit a bar later. He doesn’t really think about why staying around with some boring kid from Scarsdale is just as appealing as his girlfriend or a club. Roger’s good at not thinking these things through until he has to. “That girlfriend of yours has quite the mouth on her.”
He looks back to Mark, smirking, and he can already see the blush rising when they both know what he’s about to say. “She use it for anything a little less annoying?”
Mark glares at Roger, a look that is hardly as frightening as his searching-burning-into-you stare from earlier. Roger laughs it off. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“You think she doesn’t talk about you with her friends?” Roger asks. He crosses his hands over his heart, doing his best impression of a high, squeaky voice. “Mark is *soooo* good in bed.” With an evil look he says, “Or is it closer to ‘I just lay there and hope he’ll climb off soon.’”
The pillow that hits Roger in the face just makes him laugh harder. It helps that Mark is wearing an expression that makes him look like a pouting nine year old. No wonder Roger had thought this kid had still been in high school when they’d first met. He doesn’t look anywhere near the nineteen he claims to be. “Shut up,” Mark says, sinking lower into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. It’s somewhere between cute and pathetic.
“I’m just joking, Mark. Lighten up.” Roger scoots back again, closer to Mark. “Maybe you’re just not meant to have hot sex with women.”
Mark rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are you still on that? What’s your obsession with wanting me to be gay, Rog?” His lips curl up in a confident smile that Roger swears he must have learned from him. No wonder April tells him he’s a bad influence on the kid. He thinks it looks good on Mark, though. Too cute to be annoying. “Upset because I won’t let you have your wicked way with me?”
Roger rolls his eyes, but this does little to stop Mark. He leans in, suddenly all smiles. “Come on, Roger, I know you want me.”
Maybe a little annoying, but if Mark thought he could beat Roger he had another thing coming. “You’re not my type,” Roger says, waving to dismiss the notion that he’d go for some guy like Mark even if he were into men. “Too scrawny.”
This gets rid of the smirk. Mark frowns, looking down at himself. “I’m not-FUCK!“
That last yelp happens when Roger’s hand slips over his leg. Roger’s nails dig into Mark’s jeans as the other boy tries to wiggle away. “Roger! What are you doing?”
“Helping a friend,” Roger answers, sounding too innocent and honest for it to be true. The truth is, not even he’s sure what he is doing. He just had the idea to touch Mark, and so he did. “Look there’s an easy way to figure out if you’re gay or not.”
Mark’s eyes dart between his crotch and Roger’s hand. “Ermm…”
“Does this make you nervous?” Roger asks, before Mark has time to think about it. He’s hand is rest there, innocent and still on Mark’s knee. It’s not intimate or suggestive, not really.
“No,” Mark says, eyes trained on Roger’s hand as if afraid it might bite (or worse). He shifts on the couch, but Roger’s hand stays put. “Look, Rog-“
“How about this.” Roger pulls his hand away, ignoring the look of relief that passes over Mark’s face before he’s on the other boy’s lap, straddling his legs so they aren’t quite pressed together but certainly close enough to give anyone attracted to Roger a hard time swallowing.
Mark makes the sound of a cornered animal. “No-No…” He’s sitting still, way to still, Roger thinks. He wouldn’t mind if Mark tried to wiggle away right now. Not that he could. Roger’s got height and muscle on him, but it be nice if he would at least try.
Hands slide down Mark’s chest, over the rough fabric of his T-shirt. “How about now?”
Roger can feel Mark’s breathing, watches his hands rise and fall a little too shallowly. “Not at all.” Mark’s voice sounds higher than normal, more breathy too. It sounds good. Like music on his acoustic guitar.
Roger’s staring ends up giving Mark enough time to catch his breath. “Still just helping me out here, Roger?” He teases. Roger blinks, trying to come back to his senses, trying to remember that he’s been helping Mark.
“Don’t be stupid,” He snorts, shaking his head to dismiss the idea. “I’m straight, you know that.”
Mark is starting to regain some of the footing he’d lost when Roger had pounced on him. “Are you sure?” He asks, using that same tone Roger had used earlier on him. It’s annoying.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Roger growls, and now he’s the one pouting. “I’m with April, aren’t I?”
“Well, I’m with Maureen, and you keep asking me!” Mark throws back. Roger just rolls his eyes. Amazing how they can carry on a conversation while he’s perched on Mark’s legs, hands resting against his stomach. It’s not that Roger’s into guys, but with a warm body under his it’s hard not to react. He can think of hundreds of things better than talking right now.
“That’s different,” Roger replies, trying to work out how exactly it’s different. Why can Roger be with April but Mark can’t be with Maureen. He’s not sure, but he knows it has to be wrong. Watching Mark and Maureen, something just feels wrong to Roger. “I mean, Maureen’s like…” He gives a lazy smile, suggesting that Maureen is like a lot of things, most of which involved sex. “And you’re… Well… You’re you?”
Mark groans, shaking his head in frustration. Roger has a feeling that if he weren’t holding onto the sofa cushions like he’s life depended on it, he probably would have thrown his arms in the air. “People keep saying that! Why doesn’t anyone think I could be with a girl like Maureen?”
Roger’s use to seeing Mark exasperated and flustered around him, but he isn’t use to seeing him get angry. He raises an eyebrow at this little vent, going along with it. “You’re gay?”
“I am not gay!” Mark whines. Roger can’t help but snort at how damn serious Mark is taking this. “You’re the one who is sitting on my lap!”
Roger opens his mouth to tell Mark off, but nothing it there. It is kind of hard to explain, even to himself, what possessed him to climb on top of his friend like this. “You really need to get over that.”
“It’s kind of hard when-“ Roger smirks, and Mark is back to glowing bright red and stumbling. “I mean… I just… I don’t think friends would-”
“April tells me you liked her last boyfriend,” Roger cuts in before either boy can really think over how not quite friend-like this whole situation has been. “Kevin or Kyle or whatever.” It was Casey. Roger has a way of remembering the names of guys he’s sworn to hate forever.
“Casey,” Mark says, wrinkling his nose. Roger coughs to cover a laugh. He looks six. “And - Ew, no. That guy was ugly!”
It’s good to know, but Roger frowns anyway. “You’re saying April doesn’t have good taste in men?” he asks, trying to sound insulted.
Mark shakes his head. “I mean, no, I mean, April…. Casey just wasn’t that cute, okay?” There’s an audible clunk when Mark hits his head against the back of the couch. “Not that I…”
“What about Collins?” It’s really a random question, one that’s he’s not sure will get under Mark’s skin or not but he just wants to keep the conversation going. Maybe Mark won’t notice that he’s on his lap.
It works. Mark’s head snaps back up. “Ewe! Roger, I am not dating your roommate!” His eyes dart to the room Collins stays in. They’ve only seen each other a few times, as far as Roger knows, all in passing. Mark isn’t exactly a regular fixture in the loft and Collins has a short teaching stunt at NYU this semester. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with him or anything. I just…” He trails off with a sigh, shaking his head and apparently giving up on the line of thought. Probably a good thing, since Roger had giving up on thinking a while ago.
“I don’t see what the big deal is with me being straight,” Mark says. Without the fun back and forth banter, it’s suddenly very clear that Roger is still on his lap.
“I just think it’s not right. I mean, if you like guys you should be with guys.” It sounds good to Roger. Who wouldn’t be a little concerned if their friend is miserable, toiling away their life dating someone they didn’t care about? It’s clear to him that Mark and Maureen aren’t right together, and well, teasing Mark about liking guys is just too easy.
“Maybe you’re the one who likes guys,” Mark points out. This seems to be his main difference in this argument. It’s school childish, really. ‘You’re gay.’ ‘No, you are.’ Back and fourth until recess ends, the girls come home, and they have to go back inside.
“I don’t,” Roger replies. It’s starting to loose a little of it’s meaning, but it still sounds damn convincing. After all, everyone knows that the three best things in Roger’s life are music, drugs, and April.
“Well, how do you know?” It’s a rehash of Roger’s earlier question. If Mark thinks Roger’s going to see his error and give up, he’s dead wrong.
“I’ve slept with guys before,” Roger says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. The way Mark’s eyes go wide, the other boy obviously thinks differently.
He covers his tracks before Mark can say anything. “I mean, April’s into that gay boy stuff, right, and come on, you don’t think we’ve had a few threesomes here and there?” Roger thinks it might be best to leave out those few times he’s been horny and high and boy fans look just as good on their knees as girls do. He’s not sure Mark’s heart can take it.
After a few seconds of simply opening and closing his mouth, not quite able to form coherent words, the first thing Mark manages to get out is, “You’ve had threesomes?”
Sometimes it’s hard to remember this filmmaker only came to New York three or so months ago he seems to fit in so naturally with the life Boheme. Sometimes, Roger is amazed he’s survived the whole first month. “Duh.” If Roger makes it sound like a fact of life, something everyone does, it’s because as far as he’s concerned it may as well be. He can’t see Maureen going very long, either, before she drags someone else into the bedroom to spice things up. This doesn’t sit well in Roger’s stomach.
He shakes that feeling off. “See, I have the experience. I know.” He likes feeling this way, as if he knows everything there is to know, something he only gets with Mark. April and him are rather equal when it comes to life and drugs and sex. Collins, well Collins can always bring down Roger’s ego in under a minute if he’s feeling up to it. But Mark is a newcomer to the city and the lifestyle. He needs Roger to lead him through it and answer his questions, and Roger is all too pleased to have someone hero-worship him.
Mark doesn’t look too sure. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right guy,” he suggests, and Roger’s not sure if he’s being sly or serious.
He decides to go along with it, maybe get it back to him teasing Mark and not the other way around. “Are you offering, Cohen?”
Mark’s laugh sounds a little too forced. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Before he can think about it, Roger reaches down, grabbing Mark through his jeans. Mark yelps, banging back against the couch when he tries to get away. Not that he’ll be trying to hard, Roger thinks as he massages the almost hard bulge through Mark’s pants. He puts up a good show, wiggling under Roger’s hand but not really going anywhere. “Ro-Rog?” It’s somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Roger shivers, hand tightening over Mark. “Wh-What are yo-you doing?”
It’s a good question. Roger has no idea what he’s doing. He just likes the feeling of Mark under him, loves how he looks when he’s all flushed and panting. He knows that Mark’s smile is cute, that his dorky sense of humor and bad sense of fashion adds to his charm, that in the few months they’ve known each other Mark has put up with more from Roger than anyone other than April has ever managed before. There had always been, since day one of meeting his girlfriend’s old high school buddy, an urge to corrupt this stumbling Scarsdale kid who didn’t look a day over sixteen. Recently he couldn’t stand it whenever Mark got reality broken to him or someone hurt this optimistic filmmaker. It’s confusing, all of it, and Roger would rather not think about it.
He can think of one activity sure to cut off all thought process. Roger plants a kiss below Mark’s ear, still rubbing the boy’s now growing erection through the rough jeans. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Mark, using that low, hoarse voice so many groupies wet themselves over. It sounds better when he’s using it for Mark, more masculine, possessive, calming, and honest. It’s not surprising that on top of everything else, Mark can turn around and make Roger’s voice a contradiction. “It’s just a friend helping out a friend.”
Roger’s fingers curl under the base of Mark’s cock. The boy groans, arching against Roger’s hand and moaning his name. He doesn’t have the breath to ask the next logical question: Who is helping whom? Roger plans to keep it that way.
He kisses down Mark’s jaw, stopping to tease his neck. There’s a low groan when Roger pulls his hand away, only long enough to unzip Mark’s pants before grabbing onto his now freed erection. That gets him moaning, trembling as Roger’s fingers skim over the head. He’s all thrusting and whimpers and “Please, Roger,” as Roger strokes up and down, not keeping any particular tempo. His lips are locked to Mark’s skin, never biting hard enough to leave a mark but teasing with nips and licks and gentle sucking.
Nails come up to dig into Roger’s shoulders as he starts to move a little faster, keeping Mark off guard and moaning. He begins rocking his hips, his own cock rubbing against the soft material of his plaid pants and Mark’s warm thigh. Fingers tweak hard nipples as teeth move across a pale, unmarked collarbone. Mark is trembling so hard that Roger’s starting to shake. He groans as Mark’s voice is becoming less coherent and more breathy with every thrust. Then: one, two, three, and he’s coming, bucking into Roger’s fist as he arches back, screaming his name.
Roger wipes his hand down Mark’s jeans, smirking at the sight of the exhausted boy melting against the couch, still trying to catch his breath. Roger isn’t sure he could describe how stunning Mark is at that moment, worn out and flushed against the torn up sofa, not without music.
Mark blinks, tilting his head up to smile at Roger. Roger smiles back (more of a smirk, really). “Roger?” His voice is thick, like he just woke up. It makes Roger still untouched cock that much harder. Mark struggles to sit up, not easy with Roger still in his lap. “Can I…“
Roger raises an eyebrow. Mark is blushing and stumbling again. It’s amazing how he can go back to being so shy right after that. “What is it?”
Mark cups Roger’s cheeks in his hands, still wearing that goofy, lopsided grin that somehow manages to totally disarm anyone who sees it. At least, that’s how Roger has always felt. “Just… This.” And with that he leans forward, kissing Roger gently against the lips.
There’s a spark the second Roger feels Mark’s chapped lips against his. It clicks the spring that has been coiled in Roger’s stomach, sending a shock wave humming through his body. Roger pushes Mark back against the couch, licking at his lips until Mark opens beneath him with a moan. Roger can already picture this mouth wrapped around his cock, Mark on the floor like so many other groupies. Or in his bed, the same way April made it into his life. The kiss sends his mind racing with all the thousands of things he wants to do to Mark right now to make Mark scream for him again.
This sets off an entirely different sort of spark.
“What the-?” Roger pushes Mark back and jumps to his feet, leaving the other boy dazed on the couch. He walks away from the couch, staring at the wall as he runs his hand through his hair, wipes his palm down his leg, works to even out his breathing. Anything to calm himself down. “Roger, why’d you stop?”
Roger shuts his eyes, giving himself a second before he can build up the right amount of anger. “What was that, Mark?”
Poor Mark, he just doesn’t get it. Sitting on the couch, looking up at Roger with a hurt expression. Well, good, now Roger has the chance leave him as confused as Mark does him. “What do you mean? I thought we were-“
“Come on, Mark,” Roger snaps, pacing away from Mark to keep his temperature boiling. “We were just messing around! You don’t- You don’t just kiss a guy like that!”
Despite the fact that he keeps telling himself not to, Roger can’t help but sneak a few glances at Mark. “I-I’m sorry,” Mark mutters, staring down at his hands. “I didn’t know.”
It’s hard to stay upset at him when Mark didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault that Roger wants to kiss him so bad. Not his fault that Roger is stupid enough to want Mark like that. He’s a fucking rock star, guaranteed free sex after every show with any number of groupies of his own girlfriend (April, Roger chants in his mind to make her seem more real. April, his girlfriend). Then there are those like Mark, the ones who only come along every so often. Roger doesn’t have enough of them in his life, people that will put up with all his shit without wanting sex or a cut of the profit in return.
It’s scary to think that Roger Davis, fuck-up extraordinaire, could get anyone in his life that is worth more to him than sex.
Roger is wringing his hands in his pockets, still pacing and keeping his eyes on the ground. “I know you didn’t,” he sighs. No point in getting pissed off at Mark. “Look, it was just something between friends,” Friends, that had been the word he was looking for. Described Mark so perfectly. The only problem is Roger. He knows enough to know you don’t mess around with your friends. You certainly don’t kiss them like he wants to kiss Mark, even now, but he can get past that. Give him a needle and April and he’ll get through this whole mess. “It didn’t mean anything, right?”
What he really needs is for Mark to tell him that of course it was nothing. It’s not like Roger hadn’t helped jerk a guy off before in return for a little more. It’s just sex. People did this sort of thing all the time. Roger just needs a little reassurance for Mark that he hasn’t fucked anything up.
What he really wants is for Mark to say that he’s more than a friend. To get up and kiss Roger again, hard and like he means it. To lead Roger to bed and show that he’s not afraid of this, promise him that no matter what Roger does Mark’s always going to be there for him.
“Yeah… I- I know.” Roger lets out a sigh of relief, even as his heart plummets into his stomach. Fuck Mark, for putting these paradoxes into Roger’s head.
Mark stand up, awkwardly fixing his pants. “You know, I think I’ll go… Film something or something.” If the stumbling weren’t a dead give away to how much Mark is just fishing for excuses, the lightening and thunder that follows would have been.
Roger has trouble swallowing. When Mark vacates the couch he flops back down, pulling his guitar onto his lap. If he can’t have smack and sex right away, he can always distract himself with music. After all, anyone who knew him for more than a day knew that three most important things in Roger’s life where drugs, April, and his guitar. There simply isn’t room for another, he thinks. Not one as complicated as Mark. “I’ll see you later,” He says, strumming some sore sounding chords. It’s an old song his mom taught him when she used to play the piano. A waltz.
“Umm…” Mark runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries to gather his half written script and camera. “Yeah… Later, I guess.”
“Tell Maureen I said hi,” Roger adds, just to remind Mark of her presence and reason number five hundred why they can’t ever talk about what happened between them. Swallows the ill feeling that accompanies the idea of MarkandMaureen. That’s just him being an overprotective friend.
Standing at the door with his camera, Mark looks as scared and lost as he did when April first dragged him back stage through the ring of half naked groupies. When Roger thought he was just some passing friend of April’s he’d never have to see again. Right now, Roger should be wishing that it had stayed that way. That Mark hadn’t kept showing up at his gigs, that Roger hadn’t figured out that under his aura of detachment Mark is one of the few people with such a bohemian spirit it glows. He knows, though, that as complicated as Roger has made this, he still wouldn’t take back meeting Mark. Even if that were the only way to undo this mess. “Uh… I guess.”
“Bye Mark,” Roger mutters, tuning his guitar so that he doesn’t have to look up or wave goodbye or whatever. By the time he does glance towards the door, it’s already being slammed shut and he doesn’t get more than a second peak at Mark’s face before he’s locked away, alone in the loft.
It’s enough, though.
Roger sets his guitar on the couch, is across the loft in a second with his belt half off before he’s even in his room, looking for the little white powder hidden in with his notebook sheets and guitar picks. He usually waits until he’s with April, with someone to keep him safe when he’s too high to care, but right now his mind and heart are both racing too fast and he needs to block it all out.
Roger Davis, screw up of the century, who finally gets himself a friend and mess it up in less than a year.
*
An hour later, Mark treks back up the loft, completely dry. He’d been standing at the front door, camera pointed towards the outside world but never stepping out in it. This isn’t new territory to Mark. He’s use to that feeling of being inside a bubble, watching life go on around him without ever being caught up in its rush.
He’s never felt so trapped before then when he had been standing at the threshold of Roger’s building and not sure which way to go. Outside, where he is always wrapped in a nice woolen blanket to keep anything real off his skin or back upstairs. He knows what to expect if he just walks away, but the other option is a little more frightening. Roger hadn’t exactly pushed him out, but he isn’t sure he’s welcome back so soon after what happened.
This is stupid, Mark thinks as he walks back up the stairs to the loft. Roger explained what happened about it just being a friend thing. Besides, you have Maureen and you are not gay!
At least, Mark is ninety five percent sure he isn’t gay. He did like Maureen after all, for all her little quirks and their huge differences. He certainly liked having sex with Maureen, but he also liked the way Roger felt on top of him. Did that make him gay or just confused? “Maybe I’m Rogersexual,” He mutters, smiling at the phrase. Roger would probably enjoy that, having a sexuality dedicated to him.
He had certainly seemed to have liked Mark’s begging for him.
Mark shivers and represses the thought. He’s going up just to talk with Roger, not for any other reason, and it’d be nice if the rest of his body would agree with that.
“Roger!” The door to the loft isn’t locked. He pushes it open and walks right in, mostly because he’s afraid that if he knocks Roger will just ignore him. As he calls into the loft and gets nothing but silence in return, it seems Roger doesn’t need a door between them to do that. “Roger? I… Uh… I forgot-”
Mark nearly jumps when he hears what sounds like someone dying in the bathroom. Maureen says that Mark is much too uptight for his own good, but if she had been raised in fear of the big city (thanks to the Jewish Guilt Trip that is his mother) she might understand why Mark is so sure every bump in the night is a gang of mob-pirate-criminal-rapists. Armed with his camera, Mark takes a few careful steps in the direction of the curtained-off toilet and shower area masquerading as a bathroom.
He hears the sound again and it’s slightly less intimidating, especially once he swings the curtain back and realizes what it is making that awful sound. “Roger?” The musician is doubled over the toilet, puking up what looks like it might the entire contents of and his stomach. Mark puts his camera safely on the counter before kneeling down next to his friend. “Roger, are you alright? What happened?”
Roger mutters something that might have been “ShitGodfuck,” before he starts in with another round of dry heaving. Mark isn’t sure what to do, so he simply hovers nearby waiting until Roger is done choking. Once his stomach seems convinced there are no more vital organs left in his system that it can eject, he pulls back from the bowl, grabbing a shirt off the floor and wiping it across his mouth. “Mark?”
Roger looks up at him, squinting to make him out like he’s the one who needs glasses. His face is pale and covered in sweat, his pupils like pinpricks. It looks familiar, something he’d seen on April when… Mark shakes his head. “Here, let me help you,” he offers, grabbing Roger by the arm and trying to help him up. He is just as strong as he looks, though, in the end Roger ends up using him more for balance than strength.
“You okay?” Mark asks once Roger is on his feet. He has an arm around his waist to keep the other boy steady as he sways, able to feel the sweat pouring off his skin. Okay, dumb question.
“Bed?” Roger crooks, eyes flicking open and closed as he almost collapses against Mark. Mark grabs to wall to keep them both standing.
“Right.” Somehow, with plenty of stops along the way, Mark manages to drag the mostly dead weight of Roger out of the bathroom and to his room. Roger falls back into bed immediately, groaning as he hits the mattress. Mark isn’t sure what to do, so he ends up just standing awkwardly at the foot of Roger’s bed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be here to see this, but now that he is, it’s too late to just turn around and ignore it. He can’t just leave Roger alone like this.
“Haveniteen sssick lithat n’rever,” Roger mutters, words slurring together. He groans and pulls himself a little further up onto the bed so he’s legs are no longer hanging over and just stops moving. Mark frowns, looking at the mostly unconscious body of his friend sprawled out across the bed. No way he’s just going to leave Roger like this. Carefully, almost afraid to wake him up (he’s not sure if Godzilla roaming the streets of New York could wake Roger up at this point, but Mark’s mom had taught him to over worry like that) he moves the pillow under Roger’s head, jumping back when he moans and snuggles against the mattress. After a few seconds of standing there, sure that Roger is still asleep, Mark gently tugs the blankets out from under him and starts tucking him in.
He’s shocked to hear Roger mutter “Thank you,” curling up in the cover. Mark looks around the room, almost expecting Roger to be sleep talking with a dream figure. Of course, he’s the only one there taking care of the musician.
“Fell any better?” He asks. Roger murmurs something, but mostly replies by snuggling against his covers. Mark rolls his eyes, amazed at how childlike this rock star can act. Of course, he figured that out pretty early on. For all his smirking and sexual energy, Roger’s just an overgrown kid. Immature, really, and overly wild. The type of person Mark’s mother warned him away from.
Yet he still sticks around, even when Roger’s high and vomiting and so obviously out of it. Even when Roger’s putting confusion and not-so-straight thoughts into Mark’s head. April says he’s a pushover for Maureen. Well, maybe his girlfriend isn’t the only one he’s a total sucker for.
“What’s that?” Mark asks, knocked out of his thoughts when Roger mutters something into the mattress.
Roger moans in response, moving just enough that his mouth isn’t smashed against the bed and Mark can hear him, “Thanks for coming back,” he says, “Good.”
Mark smiles, reaching down to pull at one of Roger’s uneven, messy spikes. “No big deal,” he tells him over a light snore. “It’s just between friends.”
This is so dedicated to James_girl who helped muse me out of my block and deserves partial author credit. I don't care if the word muse can't be used in that sentence as such, I just did so and am not changing it. Oh, and much thanks to harbek for betaing this all in one day. Power to her.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairing: RENT, Roger/Mark
Rating: PG-16 (Hand job, I swear that's it)
Prompt: 21. Friends
Word Count: 6,140
Summary: Roger tries to help Mark out as only a friend can. Just a light piece, nothing serious as far as plot and characters and what not.
Just Between Friends
“How do you know?”
Mark looks up from his script, a documentary Roger doesn’t care about, chewing over his lower lip as he studies Roger the same way he would a film subject. Squinting over the top of his glasses, like the little extra blur around Roger will give him sudden clarity to his inner thoughts. “I just would, wouldn’t I?”
The way Mark stares at him is unnerving. Roger has to turn away, looking up through the skylight to study the heavy rain, but he can still feel Mark’s eyes on him - searching. There’s a flash of lightening the lights up the dim loft, the only thing keeping the filmmaker inside. Roger doesn’t mind. He spends most of his time in the loft or at clubs, anyway, and it’s nice to have Mark around him without Maureen hovering over his camera.
Roger strums away at his guitar, waiting for his skin to stop burning. When he can feel himself cool down it’s a sign that Mark has gone back to his overworked typewriter. “I don’t know,” he says. “Would you?”
“I think so,” Mark says, typing away at a key a few times before it gives in. He has pens and white out right next to him, for when the keys simply will not work or go crazy as they occasionally do. “I mean I like Maureen, so, how can I be…” When Mark looks up at Roger this time, it’s not so snaring. He looks nervous, unsure of himself. It makes Roger smirk, knowing that Mark trusts him to find the right answer.
Roger hides his grin with a snort, shaking his head and staring down at his fingers passing over the strings of his fender guitar. “Just because you think you like her,” Roger puts a lot of stress on the idea that Mark only thinks he likes Maureen. Something about them being together doesn’t feel right to Roger. Not that he’s in a position to care, but every time he watches Mark and Maureen kiss he gets this sinking feeling in his stomach. It feels like doom. “Doesn’t mean you can’t like boys also.”
Mark’s face goes deep red, and this time Roger doesn’t hide his smile. The kid is so cute when he gets all riled up. Roger isn’t sure why, but sometimes he annoys Mark just so he’ll get like that. It seems like unless he’s being embarrassed, he’s just this bland kid from Scarsdale. Roger likes seeing this other side of him, this ruffled and defensive Mark. “I don’t like boys,” Mark protests. “I mean, you think I’d be dating Maureen if…” He trails off, making a wild hand motion in the air.
“You were gay,” Roger supplies, laughing at the pout the other boy is sporting. “Come on, Mark, I’m just teasing you.”
Mark grumbles something and goes back to his typewriter. The loft goes quiet except for the sound of keys and heavy rain against the windows, with the occasional note from Roger’s guitar. He’s not paying as much attention to his music as he is this dorky blond kid hunched over his script. Roger’s never been one to examine himself. April would be the first to tell that he’s more of an action guy, do and then question it later. It’s weird being around Mark, who tries to back off the situation so that he can see everything. Roger is the situation, most of the time, the emotional breakdown to Mark’s steady detachment. Roger doesn’t want to know why he feels the urge to pester Mark about silly, stupid things. He just knows that he likes how Mark reacts to him, getting all worked up instead of just closed off and stumbling through life. It’s nice to have that kind of sway over a person.
“How do you know for sure, though?” Roger asks after he deems Mark to have calm down enough. “I mean, have you ever done anything with a guy?”
Roger’s pretty sure Mark would have fallen over if he weren’t sitting on the couch. “Wh-What?” Roger smiles, loving the way he can actually see the red creeping into Mark’s face. “Li-W- NO!” Mark shakes his head, probably hoping the motion will drain some of the blood from his cheeks. It doesn’t. “I’m serious, Roger, I’m straight. Stop… Stop asking!”
The way Mark can’t quite look Roger in the eyes; it’s too good to just stop now. Placing his guitar carefully on the floor, Roger sits up, hugging his knees to his chest so that he’s a bit closer to Mark. “How do you know you won’t like it more if you’ve never tried it?”
Roger’s absolutely certain he’s never seen anyone’s face turn that shade of red before. “What?” It’s somewhere between a yelp and a whine. Mark’s eyes are so wide he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Turning back to his typewriter, Mark scoots a little further down the couch and away from Roger. “Look, I just know, okay? I don’t have to have done anything to know.”
“Maybe it feels better,” Roger suggests, “being with a guy.”
Mark’s face is slowly returning to its albino shade of pale. He looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s sexuality are we questioning, Roger?”
Roger’s laugh doesn’t sound entirely amused. He had forgotten that as silent and closed off as Mark acts, he can also bite back when he needs to. The boy is too naïve and clever for his own damn good. “I’m just trying to help you out,” Roger says, leaning back against the armrest. A little more space between them suddenly feels nice. “I mean, come on, Mark, your own dad thought you were gay. There has to be something to it.”
Mark swerves so fast he nearly knocks his typewriter off the coffee table. “Who told you that?”
“Maureen,” Roger answers, looking back up to the skylight to see if the clouds have parted yet. They haven’t. It looks like it will be another wet day all day in the city. With Mark here, the idea doesn’t bother him too much even if it means April may not stop by after work or he might not hit a bar later. He doesn’t really think about why staying around with some boring kid from Scarsdale is just as appealing as his girlfriend or a club. Roger’s good at not thinking these things through until he has to. “That girlfriend of yours has quite the mouth on her.”
He looks back to Mark, smirking, and he can already see the blush rising when they both know what he’s about to say. “She use it for anything a little less annoying?”
Mark glares at Roger, a look that is hardly as frightening as his searching-burning-into-you stare from earlier. Roger laughs it off. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“You think she doesn’t talk about you with her friends?” Roger asks. He crosses his hands over his heart, doing his best impression of a high, squeaky voice. “Mark is *soooo* good in bed.” With an evil look he says, “Or is it closer to ‘I just lay there and hope he’ll climb off soon.’”
The pillow that hits Roger in the face just makes him laugh harder. It helps that Mark is wearing an expression that makes him look like a pouting nine year old. No wonder Roger had thought this kid had still been in high school when they’d first met. He doesn’t look anywhere near the nineteen he claims to be. “Shut up,” Mark says, sinking lower into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. It’s somewhere between cute and pathetic.
“I’m just joking, Mark. Lighten up.” Roger scoots back again, closer to Mark. “Maybe you’re just not meant to have hot sex with women.”
Mark rolls his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are you still on that? What’s your obsession with wanting me to be gay, Rog?” His lips curl up in a confident smile that Roger swears he must have learned from him. No wonder April tells him he’s a bad influence on the kid. He thinks it looks good on Mark, though. Too cute to be annoying. “Upset because I won’t let you have your wicked way with me?”
Roger rolls his eyes, but this does little to stop Mark. He leans in, suddenly all smiles. “Come on, Roger, I know you want me.”
Maybe a little annoying, but if Mark thought he could beat Roger he had another thing coming. “You’re not my type,” Roger says, waving to dismiss the notion that he’d go for some guy like Mark even if he were into men. “Too scrawny.”
This gets rid of the smirk. Mark frowns, looking down at himself. “I’m not-FUCK!“
That last yelp happens when Roger’s hand slips over his leg. Roger’s nails dig into Mark’s jeans as the other boy tries to wiggle away. “Roger! What are you doing?”
“Helping a friend,” Roger answers, sounding too innocent and honest for it to be true. The truth is, not even he’s sure what he is doing. He just had the idea to touch Mark, and so he did. “Look there’s an easy way to figure out if you’re gay or not.”
Mark’s eyes dart between his crotch and Roger’s hand. “Ermm…”
“Does this make you nervous?” Roger asks, before Mark has time to think about it. He’s hand is rest there, innocent and still on Mark’s knee. It’s not intimate or suggestive, not really.
“No,” Mark says, eyes trained on Roger’s hand as if afraid it might bite (or worse). He shifts on the couch, but Roger’s hand stays put. “Look, Rog-“
“How about this.” Roger pulls his hand away, ignoring the look of relief that passes over Mark’s face before he’s on the other boy’s lap, straddling his legs so they aren’t quite pressed together but certainly close enough to give anyone attracted to Roger a hard time swallowing.
Mark makes the sound of a cornered animal. “No-No…” He’s sitting still, way to still, Roger thinks. He wouldn’t mind if Mark tried to wiggle away right now. Not that he could. Roger’s got height and muscle on him, but it be nice if he would at least try.
Hands slide down Mark’s chest, over the rough fabric of his T-shirt. “How about now?”
Roger can feel Mark’s breathing, watches his hands rise and fall a little too shallowly. “Not at all.” Mark’s voice sounds higher than normal, more breathy too. It sounds good. Like music on his acoustic guitar.
Roger’s staring ends up giving Mark enough time to catch his breath. “Still just helping me out here, Roger?” He teases. Roger blinks, trying to come back to his senses, trying to remember that he’s been helping Mark.
“Don’t be stupid,” He snorts, shaking his head to dismiss the idea. “I’m straight, you know that.”
Mark is starting to regain some of the footing he’d lost when Roger had pounced on him. “Are you sure?” He asks, using that same tone Roger had used earlier on him. It’s annoying.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Roger growls, and now he’s the one pouting. “I’m with April, aren’t I?”
“Well, I’m with Maureen, and you keep asking me!” Mark throws back. Roger just rolls his eyes. Amazing how they can carry on a conversation while he’s perched on Mark’s legs, hands resting against his stomach. It’s not that Roger’s into guys, but with a warm body under his it’s hard not to react. He can think of hundreds of things better than talking right now.
“That’s different,” Roger replies, trying to work out how exactly it’s different. Why can Roger be with April but Mark can’t be with Maureen. He’s not sure, but he knows it has to be wrong. Watching Mark and Maureen, something just feels wrong to Roger. “I mean, Maureen’s like…” He gives a lazy smile, suggesting that Maureen is like a lot of things, most of which involved sex. “And you’re… Well… You’re you?”
Mark groans, shaking his head in frustration. Roger has a feeling that if he weren’t holding onto the sofa cushions like he’s life depended on it, he probably would have thrown his arms in the air. “People keep saying that! Why doesn’t anyone think I could be with a girl like Maureen?”
Roger’s use to seeing Mark exasperated and flustered around him, but he isn’t use to seeing him get angry. He raises an eyebrow at this little vent, going along with it. “You’re gay?”
“I am not gay!” Mark whines. Roger can’t help but snort at how damn serious Mark is taking this. “You’re the one who is sitting on my lap!”
Roger opens his mouth to tell Mark off, but nothing it there. It is kind of hard to explain, even to himself, what possessed him to climb on top of his friend like this. “You really need to get over that.”
“It’s kind of hard when-“ Roger smirks, and Mark is back to glowing bright red and stumbling. “I mean… I just… I don’t think friends would-”
“April tells me you liked her last boyfriend,” Roger cuts in before either boy can really think over how not quite friend-like this whole situation has been. “Kevin or Kyle or whatever.” It was Casey. Roger has a way of remembering the names of guys he’s sworn to hate forever.
“Casey,” Mark says, wrinkling his nose. Roger coughs to cover a laugh. He looks six. “And - Ew, no. That guy was ugly!”
It’s good to know, but Roger frowns anyway. “You’re saying April doesn’t have good taste in men?” he asks, trying to sound insulted.
Mark shakes his head. “I mean, no, I mean, April…. Casey just wasn’t that cute, okay?” There’s an audible clunk when Mark hits his head against the back of the couch. “Not that I…”
“What about Collins?” It’s really a random question, one that’s he’s not sure will get under Mark’s skin or not but he just wants to keep the conversation going. Maybe Mark won’t notice that he’s on his lap.
It works. Mark’s head snaps back up. “Ewe! Roger, I am not dating your roommate!” His eyes dart to the room Collins stays in. They’ve only seen each other a few times, as far as Roger knows, all in passing. Mark isn’t exactly a regular fixture in the loft and Collins has a short teaching stunt at NYU this semester. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with him or anything. I just…” He trails off with a sigh, shaking his head and apparently giving up on the line of thought. Probably a good thing, since Roger had giving up on thinking a while ago.
“I don’t see what the big deal is with me being straight,” Mark says. Without the fun back and forth banter, it’s suddenly very clear that Roger is still on his lap.
“I just think it’s not right. I mean, if you like guys you should be with guys.” It sounds good to Roger. Who wouldn’t be a little concerned if their friend is miserable, toiling away their life dating someone they didn’t care about? It’s clear to him that Mark and Maureen aren’t right together, and well, teasing Mark about liking guys is just too easy.
“Maybe you’re the one who likes guys,” Mark points out. This seems to be his main difference in this argument. It’s school childish, really. ‘You’re gay.’ ‘No, you are.’ Back and fourth until recess ends, the girls come home, and they have to go back inside.
“I don’t,” Roger replies. It’s starting to loose a little of it’s meaning, but it still sounds damn convincing. After all, everyone knows that the three best things in Roger’s life are music, drugs, and April.
“Well, how do you know?” It’s a rehash of Roger’s earlier question. If Mark thinks Roger’s going to see his error and give up, he’s dead wrong.
“I’ve slept with guys before,” Roger says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. The way Mark’s eyes go wide, the other boy obviously thinks differently.
He covers his tracks before Mark can say anything. “I mean, April’s into that gay boy stuff, right, and come on, you don’t think we’ve had a few threesomes here and there?” Roger thinks it might be best to leave out those few times he’s been horny and high and boy fans look just as good on their knees as girls do. He’s not sure Mark’s heart can take it.
After a few seconds of simply opening and closing his mouth, not quite able to form coherent words, the first thing Mark manages to get out is, “You’ve had threesomes?”
Sometimes it’s hard to remember this filmmaker only came to New York three or so months ago he seems to fit in so naturally with the life Boheme. Sometimes, Roger is amazed he’s survived the whole first month. “Duh.” If Roger makes it sound like a fact of life, something everyone does, it’s because as far as he’s concerned it may as well be. He can’t see Maureen going very long, either, before she drags someone else into the bedroom to spice things up. This doesn’t sit well in Roger’s stomach.
He shakes that feeling off. “See, I have the experience. I know.” He likes feeling this way, as if he knows everything there is to know, something he only gets with Mark. April and him are rather equal when it comes to life and drugs and sex. Collins, well Collins can always bring down Roger’s ego in under a minute if he’s feeling up to it. But Mark is a newcomer to the city and the lifestyle. He needs Roger to lead him through it and answer his questions, and Roger is all too pleased to have someone hero-worship him.
Mark doesn’t look too sure. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right guy,” he suggests, and Roger’s not sure if he’s being sly or serious.
He decides to go along with it, maybe get it back to him teasing Mark and not the other way around. “Are you offering, Cohen?”
Mark’s laugh sounds a little too forced. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Before he can think about it, Roger reaches down, grabbing Mark through his jeans. Mark yelps, banging back against the couch when he tries to get away. Not that he’ll be trying to hard, Roger thinks as he massages the almost hard bulge through Mark’s pants. He puts up a good show, wiggling under Roger’s hand but not really going anywhere. “Ro-Rog?” It’s somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Roger shivers, hand tightening over Mark. “Wh-What are yo-you doing?”
It’s a good question. Roger has no idea what he’s doing. He just likes the feeling of Mark under him, loves how he looks when he’s all flushed and panting. He knows that Mark’s smile is cute, that his dorky sense of humor and bad sense of fashion adds to his charm, that in the few months they’ve known each other Mark has put up with more from Roger than anyone other than April has ever managed before. There had always been, since day one of meeting his girlfriend’s old high school buddy, an urge to corrupt this stumbling Scarsdale kid who didn’t look a day over sixteen. Recently he couldn’t stand it whenever Mark got reality broken to him or someone hurt this optimistic filmmaker. It’s confusing, all of it, and Roger would rather not think about it.
He can think of one activity sure to cut off all thought process. Roger plants a kiss below Mark’s ear, still rubbing the boy’s now growing erection through the rough jeans. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Mark, using that low, hoarse voice so many groupies wet themselves over. It sounds better when he’s using it for Mark, more masculine, possessive, calming, and honest. It’s not surprising that on top of everything else, Mark can turn around and make Roger’s voice a contradiction. “It’s just a friend helping out a friend.”
Roger’s fingers curl under the base of Mark’s cock. The boy groans, arching against Roger’s hand and moaning his name. He doesn’t have the breath to ask the next logical question: Who is helping whom? Roger plans to keep it that way.
He kisses down Mark’s jaw, stopping to tease his neck. There’s a low groan when Roger pulls his hand away, only long enough to unzip Mark’s pants before grabbing onto his now freed erection. That gets him moaning, trembling as Roger’s fingers skim over the head. He’s all thrusting and whimpers and “Please, Roger,” as Roger strokes up and down, not keeping any particular tempo. His lips are locked to Mark’s skin, never biting hard enough to leave a mark but teasing with nips and licks and gentle sucking.
Nails come up to dig into Roger’s shoulders as he starts to move a little faster, keeping Mark off guard and moaning. He begins rocking his hips, his own cock rubbing against the soft material of his plaid pants and Mark’s warm thigh. Fingers tweak hard nipples as teeth move across a pale, unmarked collarbone. Mark is trembling so hard that Roger’s starting to shake. He groans as Mark’s voice is becoming less coherent and more breathy with every thrust. Then: one, two, three, and he’s coming, bucking into Roger’s fist as he arches back, screaming his name.
Roger wipes his hand down Mark’s jeans, smirking at the sight of the exhausted boy melting against the couch, still trying to catch his breath. Roger isn’t sure he could describe how stunning Mark is at that moment, worn out and flushed against the torn up sofa, not without music.
Mark blinks, tilting his head up to smile at Roger. Roger smiles back (more of a smirk, really). “Roger?” His voice is thick, like he just woke up. It makes Roger still untouched cock that much harder. Mark struggles to sit up, not easy with Roger still in his lap. “Can I…“
Roger raises an eyebrow. Mark is blushing and stumbling again. It’s amazing how he can go back to being so shy right after that. “What is it?”
Mark cups Roger’s cheeks in his hands, still wearing that goofy, lopsided grin that somehow manages to totally disarm anyone who sees it. At least, that’s how Roger has always felt. “Just… This.” And with that he leans forward, kissing Roger gently against the lips.
There’s a spark the second Roger feels Mark’s chapped lips against his. It clicks the spring that has been coiled in Roger’s stomach, sending a shock wave humming through his body. Roger pushes Mark back against the couch, licking at his lips until Mark opens beneath him with a moan. Roger can already picture this mouth wrapped around his cock, Mark on the floor like so many other groupies. Or in his bed, the same way April made it into his life. The kiss sends his mind racing with all the thousands of things he wants to do to Mark right now to make Mark scream for him again.
This sets off an entirely different sort of spark.
“What the-?” Roger pushes Mark back and jumps to his feet, leaving the other boy dazed on the couch. He walks away from the couch, staring at the wall as he runs his hand through his hair, wipes his palm down his leg, works to even out his breathing. Anything to calm himself down. “Roger, why’d you stop?”
Roger shuts his eyes, giving himself a second before he can build up the right amount of anger. “What was that, Mark?”
Poor Mark, he just doesn’t get it. Sitting on the couch, looking up at Roger with a hurt expression. Well, good, now Roger has the chance leave him as confused as Mark does him. “What do you mean? I thought we were-“
“Come on, Mark,” Roger snaps, pacing away from Mark to keep his temperature boiling. “We were just messing around! You don’t- You don’t just kiss a guy like that!”
Despite the fact that he keeps telling himself not to, Roger can’t help but sneak a few glances at Mark. “I-I’m sorry,” Mark mutters, staring down at his hands. “I didn’t know.”
It’s hard to stay upset at him when Mark didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault that Roger wants to kiss him so bad. Not his fault that Roger is stupid enough to want Mark like that. He’s a fucking rock star, guaranteed free sex after every show with any number of groupies of his own girlfriend (April, Roger chants in his mind to make her seem more real. April, his girlfriend). Then there are those like Mark, the ones who only come along every so often. Roger doesn’t have enough of them in his life, people that will put up with all his shit without wanting sex or a cut of the profit in return.
It’s scary to think that Roger Davis, fuck-up extraordinaire, could get anyone in his life that is worth more to him than sex.
Roger is wringing his hands in his pockets, still pacing and keeping his eyes on the ground. “I know you didn’t,” he sighs. No point in getting pissed off at Mark. “Look, it was just something between friends,” Friends, that had been the word he was looking for. Described Mark so perfectly. The only problem is Roger. He knows enough to know you don’t mess around with your friends. You certainly don’t kiss them like he wants to kiss Mark, even now, but he can get past that. Give him a needle and April and he’ll get through this whole mess. “It didn’t mean anything, right?”
What he really needs is for Mark to tell him that of course it was nothing. It’s not like Roger hadn’t helped jerk a guy off before in return for a little more. It’s just sex. People did this sort of thing all the time. Roger just needs a little reassurance for Mark that he hasn’t fucked anything up.
What he really wants is for Mark to say that he’s more than a friend. To get up and kiss Roger again, hard and like he means it. To lead Roger to bed and show that he’s not afraid of this, promise him that no matter what Roger does Mark’s always going to be there for him.
“Yeah… I- I know.” Roger lets out a sigh of relief, even as his heart plummets into his stomach. Fuck Mark, for putting these paradoxes into Roger’s head.
Mark stand up, awkwardly fixing his pants. “You know, I think I’ll go… Film something or something.” If the stumbling weren’t a dead give away to how much Mark is just fishing for excuses, the lightening and thunder that follows would have been.
Roger has trouble swallowing. When Mark vacates the couch he flops back down, pulling his guitar onto his lap. If he can’t have smack and sex right away, he can always distract himself with music. After all, anyone who knew him for more than a day knew that three most important things in Roger’s life where drugs, April, and his guitar. There simply isn’t room for another, he thinks. Not one as complicated as Mark. “I’ll see you later,” He says, strumming some sore sounding chords. It’s an old song his mom taught him when she used to play the piano. A waltz.
“Umm…” Mark runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries to gather his half written script and camera. “Yeah… Later, I guess.”
“Tell Maureen I said hi,” Roger adds, just to remind Mark of her presence and reason number five hundred why they can’t ever talk about what happened between them. Swallows the ill feeling that accompanies the idea of MarkandMaureen. That’s just him being an overprotective friend.
Standing at the door with his camera, Mark looks as scared and lost as he did when April first dragged him back stage through the ring of half naked groupies. When Roger thought he was just some passing friend of April’s he’d never have to see again. Right now, Roger should be wishing that it had stayed that way. That Mark hadn’t kept showing up at his gigs, that Roger hadn’t figured out that under his aura of detachment Mark is one of the few people with such a bohemian spirit it glows. He knows, though, that as complicated as Roger has made this, he still wouldn’t take back meeting Mark. Even if that were the only way to undo this mess. “Uh… I guess.”
“Bye Mark,” Roger mutters, tuning his guitar so that he doesn’t have to look up or wave goodbye or whatever. By the time he does glance towards the door, it’s already being slammed shut and he doesn’t get more than a second peak at Mark’s face before he’s locked away, alone in the loft.
It’s enough, though.
Roger sets his guitar on the couch, is across the loft in a second with his belt half off before he’s even in his room, looking for the little white powder hidden in with his notebook sheets and guitar picks. He usually waits until he’s with April, with someone to keep him safe when he’s too high to care, but right now his mind and heart are both racing too fast and he needs to block it all out.
Roger Davis, screw up of the century, who finally gets himself a friend and mess it up in less than a year.
*
An hour later, Mark treks back up the loft, completely dry. He’d been standing at the front door, camera pointed towards the outside world but never stepping out in it. This isn’t new territory to Mark. He’s use to that feeling of being inside a bubble, watching life go on around him without ever being caught up in its rush.
He’s never felt so trapped before then when he had been standing at the threshold of Roger’s building and not sure which way to go. Outside, where he is always wrapped in a nice woolen blanket to keep anything real off his skin or back upstairs. He knows what to expect if he just walks away, but the other option is a little more frightening. Roger hadn’t exactly pushed him out, but he isn’t sure he’s welcome back so soon after what happened.
This is stupid, Mark thinks as he walks back up the stairs to the loft. Roger explained what happened about it just being a friend thing. Besides, you have Maureen and you are not gay!
At least, Mark is ninety five percent sure he isn’t gay. He did like Maureen after all, for all her little quirks and their huge differences. He certainly liked having sex with Maureen, but he also liked the way Roger felt on top of him. Did that make him gay or just confused? “Maybe I’m Rogersexual,” He mutters, smiling at the phrase. Roger would probably enjoy that, having a sexuality dedicated to him.
He had certainly seemed to have liked Mark’s begging for him.
Mark shivers and represses the thought. He’s going up just to talk with Roger, not for any other reason, and it’d be nice if the rest of his body would agree with that.
“Roger!” The door to the loft isn’t locked. He pushes it open and walks right in, mostly because he’s afraid that if he knocks Roger will just ignore him. As he calls into the loft and gets nothing but silence in return, it seems Roger doesn’t need a door between them to do that. “Roger? I… Uh… I forgot-”
Mark nearly jumps when he hears what sounds like someone dying in the bathroom. Maureen says that Mark is much too uptight for his own good, but if she had been raised in fear of the big city (thanks to the Jewish Guilt Trip that is his mother) she might understand why Mark is so sure every bump in the night is a gang of mob-pirate-criminal-rapists. Armed with his camera, Mark takes a few careful steps in the direction of the curtained-off toilet and shower area masquerading as a bathroom.
He hears the sound again and it’s slightly less intimidating, especially once he swings the curtain back and realizes what it is making that awful sound. “Roger?” The musician is doubled over the toilet, puking up what looks like it might the entire contents of and his stomach. Mark puts his camera safely on the counter before kneeling down next to his friend. “Roger, are you alright? What happened?”
Roger mutters something that might have been “ShitGodfuck,” before he starts in with another round of dry heaving. Mark isn’t sure what to do, so he simply hovers nearby waiting until Roger is done choking. Once his stomach seems convinced there are no more vital organs left in his system that it can eject, he pulls back from the bowl, grabbing a shirt off the floor and wiping it across his mouth. “Mark?”
Roger looks up at him, squinting to make him out like he’s the one who needs glasses. His face is pale and covered in sweat, his pupils like pinpricks. It looks familiar, something he’d seen on April when… Mark shakes his head. “Here, let me help you,” he offers, grabbing Roger by the arm and trying to help him up. He is just as strong as he looks, though, in the end Roger ends up using him more for balance than strength.
“You okay?” Mark asks once Roger is on his feet. He has an arm around his waist to keep the other boy steady as he sways, able to feel the sweat pouring off his skin. Okay, dumb question.
“Bed?” Roger crooks, eyes flicking open and closed as he almost collapses against Mark. Mark grabs to wall to keep them both standing.
“Right.” Somehow, with plenty of stops along the way, Mark manages to drag the mostly dead weight of Roger out of the bathroom and to his room. Roger falls back into bed immediately, groaning as he hits the mattress. Mark isn’t sure what to do, so he ends up just standing awkwardly at the foot of Roger’s bed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be here to see this, but now that he is, it’s too late to just turn around and ignore it. He can’t just leave Roger alone like this.
“Haveniteen sssick lithat n’rever,” Roger mutters, words slurring together. He groans and pulls himself a little further up onto the bed so he’s legs are no longer hanging over and just stops moving. Mark frowns, looking at the mostly unconscious body of his friend sprawled out across the bed. No way he’s just going to leave Roger like this. Carefully, almost afraid to wake him up (he’s not sure if Godzilla roaming the streets of New York could wake Roger up at this point, but Mark’s mom had taught him to over worry like that) he moves the pillow under Roger’s head, jumping back when he moans and snuggles against the mattress. After a few seconds of standing there, sure that Roger is still asleep, Mark gently tugs the blankets out from under him and starts tucking him in.
He’s shocked to hear Roger mutter “Thank you,” curling up in the cover. Mark looks around the room, almost expecting Roger to be sleep talking with a dream figure. Of course, he’s the only one there taking care of the musician.
“Fell any better?” He asks. Roger murmurs something, but mostly replies by snuggling against his covers. Mark rolls his eyes, amazed at how childlike this rock star can act. Of course, he figured that out pretty early on. For all his smirking and sexual energy, Roger’s just an overgrown kid. Immature, really, and overly wild. The type of person Mark’s mother warned him away from.
Yet he still sticks around, even when Roger’s high and vomiting and so obviously out of it. Even when Roger’s putting confusion and not-so-straight thoughts into Mark’s head. April says he’s a pushover for Maureen. Well, maybe his girlfriend isn’t the only one he’s a total sucker for.
“What’s that?” Mark asks, knocked out of his thoughts when Roger mutters something into the mattress.
Roger moans in response, moving just enough that his mouth isn’t smashed against the bed and Mark can hear him, “Thanks for coming back,” he says, “Good.”
Mark smiles, reaching down to pull at one of Roger’s uneven, messy spikes. “No big deal,” he tells him over a light snore. “It’s just between friends.”