Fic: Clean Up
Author: Gildedmuse (Stephanie)
Title: Clean Up
Pairings: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,080
Summary: Mark is trying his hardest to be bohemian and clean up the house. isolatingage asked for some teen Mark and Roger, and this is what she ended up with. In many ways, a compaion piece to Love Like This.
Clean Up
Have you ever been in a situation you thought was impossible? Maybe not impossible, but never going to happen to you. Like being trapped in a cave after a snowstorm with a sleeping bear, or sky diving off the torch of the stature of liberty to try and evade police after a grand heist gone wrong. Sure, there is a certain amount of trouble everyone is bound to get into, but then there are some things that just can't happen.
"This can't be happening," Mark says as he scrubs at the floor, trying to get the red stain out of the white carpet before his parents get home. Hard enough that when his hand slips away from the rag it actually hurts and gives him a serious case of rug burn. "Fuck!" He yelps as he pulls back, looking at his hand and growling.
Mark doesn't mind getting in trouble. He isn't the perfect American kid, as his dad reminds him every chance he gets. Mark likes messing up. Likes to push his parents and see how far he gets. He's been that way since he watched this documentary on Ginsberg in tenth grade. Screw mainstream and conventions and capitalism and organized religion and the brainwashing techniques of education and all those things that are destroying the human soul. Mark doesn't have to follow the examples set by society because when he was sixteen his life began to get a serious write over. He isn't going to let the big, bad business word scare him into behaving.
There are still things that can scare him, though, the top of which is his mother if she finds this deep red stain in her new carpet. It all goes back to situations that Mark never thought he would be in, and now here he is on his knees scrubbing at the stain.
And cursing. There is a lot of cursing, and it's about the only thing keeping him from throwing the scrub brush at the wall in frustration. It probably the steady stream of curses that gets Roger's attention, because Mark doesn't know how he happens to wake up and wander down into their den but there he is, standing at the door watching Mark scrub on his hands and knees.
"Hey," Roger says and then yawns. And then does something that makes it hard for Mark to scrub. He stretches out, and the blanket around his shoulders sort of falls back and Mark can see his chest and this dark line of hair leading down from his stomach and tucked into his boxers. His mouth goes dry and all those teenage hormones kick in as he watches him standing there, muscles tensing and pulling as he reaches back to work out some kink in his shoulders.
In a flash Mark looks back down at the stain, his cheeks now matching the same color as a flush works through his skin. Great, now he's even more frustrated than before. In a different way that makes this whole hands and knees things a little worse thanks to all the images pumping through his head.
"What you doing?" Roger asks once he's done with the pornographic-looking stretching and has pulled the blankets on his shoulders again. Roger is one of those guys no parent wants their kid talking to. Not that he is a drug dealer or white slave seller or anything scary, he just has this look. These dark eyes and bleached out hair and tattoos. It's this look that makes Mark's dry mouth and uncomfortable every time he catches a glimpse of him. Even though he's known Roger for years, back in middle school he doesn't remember Roger being particularly amazing. But then he'd go away from the summer and spend it with his dad in Maine, and when he came back, year after year, he was just different.
Mark's fingers feel ready to bleed as he keeps his eyes down and keeps scrubbing. He's allowed to look at Roger, but right now he needs to get the house cleaned before his parents come home. Roger is a distraction. It's what he's good at. "I'm trying to clean up."
Roger sits down next to him and the blanket pools around his legs. He looks at the basket of cleaning supplies Mark took out, picking up his mom's feather duster. "It doesn't look that bad," he tells Mark, running the feathers through his hair.
Mark frowns and knocks the duster away. "Stop that," he tells him in the best serious tone he can manage. "Mom is going to kill me if she finds out that we got into her wine and spilled it on the brand new fucking carpet."
Back to the situations that you're not supposed to get into like being hung upside down from a roof trying to untie the shoelaces keeping you there, or desperately turning corners trying to dodge a motorcycle gang after you ran over their kitty cat mascot. We're talking things Mark never thought possible, like him holding a party while his parents were out of town getting half of his class drunk and passing out in bed with his boyfriend half naked. Like waking up in the morning and kicking still drunk kids from the basement as he desperately tries to straighten up before his parents get home. This stuff happens to kids in bad teenage movies, not kids like Mark who want to go against the mainstream, not copy it from a script.
He looks up and Roger smiles down at him, flicking the duster over his face. At least he knows whose fault this is. "Cut it out, Roger,' he says, spitting out the feathers that cling to his lips as he sits up and looks down at the carpet, wondering if it's white enough now.
Roger leans over, kissing Mark at the corner of his lips. His morning breath smells like alcohol. "I think it's kinky," he says, swatting Mark in the ass with the duster and making him jump, knee landing in the carpet cleaner that he's rubbed into the spot where some idiot spilled the red wine. Thinking back, it might have been him, but he can't be sure. He really can't remember anything. Roger getting here, others pouring in. Drinks being passed around, a joint pressed to his lips. Stumbling up the stairs, having Roger strip him down. Then nothing.
Shit, hopefully he was good at nothing. Whatever nothing was. Well, they probably didn't do nothing because they were both too drunk to even manage nothing. Right. Nothing to be worried about, then.
"Calm down," Roger says, the feather duster running alone Mark's back. He's just sitting there, almost naked and smiling and acting like this is no big deal. Mark would really like if he would panic. When other people panic, that is when Mark can be calm and in control. When others are at their worst, Mark's senses kick in and he's at his best. "It's just a little mess. Look, you've already got the stain out."
Mark puts the sponge away, reading the back of the carpet cleaner. Fuck, he has to let it sit for almost an hour. His mom is going to be home before that, and she is going to kill him. He can hear it now, yelling about how her and dad just go away for one weekend and come back to find their son has ruined the carpet. "Fuck off," he tells Roger, not in the mood for teasing right now. They're going to ground him forever.
Roger has this low, soft laugh that he's using now as he wraps his arms around Mark. "Come on. It's not a big deal. It's just a st-"
"It IS a big deal," Mark corrects, turning around in his arms and doing his best to glare at Roger. He just gets kissed on the tip of his nose. "You have no idea what a big deal it is. Mom is going to have a fit."
"So?" Roger asks, giving Mark this annoying look that says he honestly doesn't get what Mark is raving on about. Mark knows that Roger's parents aren't exactly strict (it's up for question over if his dad even knows he exists) but he hangs around enough that he should know by now that Mark's parents get some sort of twisted joy over grounding him for these things. At least that is the way it always seems to Mark.
"So..." Mark slides away from Roger, moving around the living room to try and straight up what he can. Moving the pillows back into place and pushing the coffee table away from the wall. "So, they're going to kill me when they find out what happened."
Roger smiles, stands up and walks to Mark with his arms wrapped around his chest. He is way too warm, like a blanket closing over Mark. "So? It isn't like you've never done anything to get them pissed before."
"That's... Roger," Mark says, snatching one of the cushions that Roger was tossing carelessly behind him and setting it back on the couch. Now he's just trying to make more of a mess to get on Mark's nerves. "Stop that. That doesn't go there. And this is different."
Laughing in his ear, Roger snatches the pillow back. Mark growls, which just makes his boyfriend laugh again. He turns to snatch the pillow back, almost blind sided by Roger's smile as he tugs at the pillow before finally letting Mark have it back. "How?"
"It is," Mark replies without thought as he fluffs the cushions before lining them up nicely on the sofa. "Because."
It's a lame answer, but in truth Mark just wants Roger to drop the subject and let him clean up the house before his parents get back and snap on him. This isn't the sort of thing that happens to Mark. Parties and wild nights and getting drunk with your boyfriend and a bunch of people you only sort of know, that is what Roger does. It isn't Mark's style of rebellion. Just being friends with Roger, having a boyfriend, that is enough pushing his parents. Plus, he just got his SAT scores back and maybe his dad is right about some things. Maybe there is more to life than a few teenage years of fucking around.
Roger senses those serious thoughts and cuts them off with a kiss. "Come on," he says, hands stroking Mark's stomach. His fingers make every hormone in Mark's system go crazy in an instant. "Stop acting like a suburban prince. You got drunk, you had a party. Who gives a fuck?"
"My mom is going to give a..." Mark trails off before he can finish that. He looks over his shoulder, glaring at Roger and elbowing him in the stomach when he just smirks at Mark. "Don't say it."
"I wasn't." He is wearing this huge, shit eating grin that is kind of contagious. Mark rolls his eyes, laughing at Roger's expression and what he was going to say and just everything. It feels better than stressing out about the house.
"You were," Mark accuses, cuffing Roger in the shoulder. He pulls back, rubbing where Mark had hit him and faking a pout.
"Okay," he admits. "I was. But the point is you shouldn't worry so much. Now," he says in that tough, commanding sort of tone that Roger mainly uses when he sings. In real life, Mark knows he's just as scared as Mark. When he uses that voice, though, it's hard to tell and Mark likes to imagine that he is always as confident as he likes people to think. It helps, knowing that he's attached to someone who knows what he is doing. Unlike Mark. Mark feels like most of the time with his art, he is just flailing.
"But..." Right here Mark falters a bit, trying to find footing in his argument again. "But I need to go to college."
As Mark protests he finds himself following Roger. He isn't even sure where he's being lead, just that Roger is pulling him out of the den and back up the stairs, and Mark lets him. "You do not."
"Get a degree," Mark mutters, brow winkling in confusion as Roger pulls him into the bedroom. This isn't where he should be. He should be cleaning, but it's Roger who is tugging him down into bed, and Mark just lets it happen. "Get a job."
"You'll get a job filming," Roger tells him, and he lies down with Mark, curling up to him like he had when Mark woke up. It's innocent, just sleeping together and touching one another. It throws Mark. He expects more from Roger. He expects him to push boundaries and break things down. That is what drew him to Roger in the first place. That is why he is with him now, isn't it? Because he is sick of being just another pale face in the crowd of good, cookie cutter kids. Because Roger stops him from cleaning up messes.
So even though Roger seems content with just lying there wrapped around each other, Mark has to have more. He wants shocking and new, not same old same old. Even if it's just a few kisses, pressed to Roger's mouth and sucking at his lip. Even if that is all it is, at least it's something. Roger's eyes open as Mark bites and licks at him, eyeing him nervously like he isn't sure of something.
How can he not be sure now? Mark, he likes to think of Roger as his Virgil. His guide to everything bohemian. The opposite of who his parents want him to be. "You know," he mutters as he kisses him again, and slowly Roger starts to kiss back, hand in Mark's hair as he moans against his mouth. And Mark gets braver because of Roger. He drags a hand down Roger's chest, fingers brushing against his jeans. "Mom and Dad think you're no good," he tells him. Not that Roger didn't already know this, but he has to say something to keep his nerves in check.
Roger starts rocking up against his hand, and Mark bites his lip and rubs back. Hey, it isn't like he has done this before and he wants it to be good. He doesn't want Roger to leave thinking he's some impossibly ignorant little school kid who has never done anything wrong. If he thinks about it, he knows that Roger already knows as much, but right now Mark needs to prove it. That he isn't always just cleaning up his act.
Roger just shrugs, that impossible confident and all knowing shrug. Mark is awkward, probably trying too hard and there Roger is just saying, "They're probably right" like this is no big deal at all. Mark wants that.
*
After Roger falls back asleep, Mark stops feigning it and turns in his arms to stare up at his ceiling. He isn't thinking about his parents. He is naked in bed with his boyfriend, and thinking about his parents would just be gross right now. So that is the last thing he is trying to concentrate on.
He is thinking, though. Things like how long can this possibly last? Being friends with Roger was easy, but this isn't. When he goes away to college, what is going to happen to Roger? Things like, did he do that right? It couldn't have been, and Roger probably thinks he is an idiot right now. Well, not right now because right now Roger is snorting and drooling a little on his shoulder. When he wakes up, though, and thinks back on it Roger is going to see how Mark was all awkward limbs and flailing and he is going to realize what a mistake it had been.
Right now Mark is thinking that, fuck, sex kind of hurts and why didn't anyone warn him about that?
Mostly, though, he's wondering how Roger will take it when he leaves. He can't stay. He isn't like Roger and even if he has wild plans to run off to New York and become this famous director, he'll never really get there. He isn't that good, he thinks right now as Roger nuzzles into him, warm breath against Mark's shoulder. He isn't strong enough to just leave his family and all their expectations to follow a dream like that. And he can't tell Roger any of this, of course. Roger probably already thinks that Mark is a hopeless case. He doesn't want to confirm it.
Mark wiggles out of Roger's arms and starts to get dressed. He should tell Roger, and he will. Later. When he's accepted to a college and moving away, then he'll tell him. And then he can hate Mark all he wants. Be as disappointed in him as he knows Roger will be, because Mark won't have to stick around and see it all happen. He'll be off to some other soul-sucking school, getting a degree he doesn't want because that is what people do. They go to school and get jobs and get married and no matter how many times Mark sleeps with Roger, no matter how many films he makes, he can't change that. It's a set pattern, and even if Roger has broken out, Mark can't seem to find any sort of escape route.
Have you ever look down at someone in your bed and feel impossibly far from him? They're right there in reach and yet you know that you can't even begin to get close enough to touch him. All you can do is stare and want, but when it comes down to it there are just some people that you can't have. Right now, looking down at Roger, there is a sinking feeling in Mark's stomach. Knots and bubbles and all this painful ache that he just can't describe. He thinks it must be that he can easily lean forward right now to kiss him, to call Roger his and curl up beside him. It would be easy and if he could just get to Roger than he could get to New York and he could make that film. All it would take is breaking through everything he'd ever been taught and he could have him. That is all it would take, but Mark freezes up and can't move at all.
Title: Clean Up
Pairings: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,080
Summary: Mark is trying his hardest to be bohemian and clean up the house. isolatingage asked for some teen Mark and Roger, and this is what she ended up with. In many ways, a compaion piece to Love Like This.
Clean Up
Have you ever been in a situation you thought was impossible? Maybe not impossible, but never going to happen to you. Like being trapped in a cave after a snowstorm with a sleeping bear, or sky diving off the torch of the stature of liberty to try and evade police after a grand heist gone wrong. Sure, there is a certain amount of trouble everyone is bound to get into, but then there are some things that just can't happen.
"This can't be happening," Mark says as he scrubs at the floor, trying to get the red stain out of the white carpet before his parents get home. Hard enough that when his hand slips away from the rag it actually hurts and gives him a serious case of rug burn. "Fuck!" He yelps as he pulls back, looking at his hand and growling.
Mark doesn't mind getting in trouble. He isn't the perfect American kid, as his dad reminds him every chance he gets. Mark likes messing up. Likes to push his parents and see how far he gets. He's been that way since he watched this documentary on Ginsberg in tenth grade. Screw mainstream and conventions and capitalism and organized religion and the brainwashing techniques of education and all those things that are destroying the human soul. Mark doesn't have to follow the examples set by society because when he was sixteen his life began to get a serious write over. He isn't going to let the big, bad business word scare him into behaving.
There are still things that can scare him, though, the top of which is his mother if she finds this deep red stain in her new carpet. It all goes back to situations that Mark never thought he would be in, and now here he is on his knees scrubbing at the stain.
And cursing. There is a lot of cursing, and it's about the only thing keeping him from throwing the scrub brush at the wall in frustration. It probably the steady stream of curses that gets Roger's attention, because Mark doesn't know how he happens to wake up and wander down into their den but there he is, standing at the door watching Mark scrub on his hands and knees.
"Hey," Roger says and then yawns. And then does something that makes it hard for Mark to scrub. He stretches out, and the blanket around his shoulders sort of falls back and Mark can see his chest and this dark line of hair leading down from his stomach and tucked into his boxers. His mouth goes dry and all those teenage hormones kick in as he watches him standing there, muscles tensing and pulling as he reaches back to work out some kink in his shoulders.
In a flash Mark looks back down at the stain, his cheeks now matching the same color as a flush works through his skin. Great, now he's even more frustrated than before. In a different way that makes this whole hands and knees things a little worse thanks to all the images pumping through his head.
"What you doing?" Roger asks once he's done with the pornographic-looking stretching and has pulled the blankets on his shoulders again. Roger is one of those guys no parent wants their kid talking to. Not that he is a drug dealer or white slave seller or anything scary, he just has this look. These dark eyes and bleached out hair and tattoos. It's this look that makes Mark's dry mouth and uncomfortable every time he catches a glimpse of him. Even though he's known Roger for years, back in middle school he doesn't remember Roger being particularly amazing. But then he'd go away from the summer and spend it with his dad in Maine, and when he came back, year after year, he was just different.
Mark's fingers feel ready to bleed as he keeps his eyes down and keeps scrubbing. He's allowed to look at Roger, but right now he needs to get the house cleaned before his parents come home. Roger is a distraction. It's what he's good at. "I'm trying to clean up."
Roger sits down next to him and the blanket pools around his legs. He looks at the basket of cleaning supplies Mark took out, picking up his mom's feather duster. "It doesn't look that bad," he tells Mark, running the feathers through his hair.
Mark frowns and knocks the duster away. "Stop that," he tells him in the best serious tone he can manage. "Mom is going to kill me if she finds out that we got into her wine and spilled it on the brand new fucking carpet."
Back to the situations that you're not supposed to get into like being hung upside down from a roof trying to untie the shoelaces keeping you there, or desperately turning corners trying to dodge a motorcycle gang after you ran over their kitty cat mascot. We're talking things Mark never thought possible, like him holding a party while his parents were out of town getting half of his class drunk and passing out in bed with his boyfriend half naked. Like waking up in the morning and kicking still drunk kids from the basement as he desperately tries to straighten up before his parents get home. This stuff happens to kids in bad teenage movies, not kids like Mark who want to go against the mainstream, not copy it from a script.
He looks up and Roger smiles down at him, flicking the duster over his face. At least he knows whose fault this is. "Cut it out, Roger,' he says, spitting out the feathers that cling to his lips as he sits up and looks down at the carpet, wondering if it's white enough now.
Roger leans over, kissing Mark at the corner of his lips. His morning breath smells like alcohol. "I think it's kinky," he says, swatting Mark in the ass with the duster and making him jump, knee landing in the carpet cleaner that he's rubbed into the spot where some idiot spilled the red wine. Thinking back, it might have been him, but he can't be sure. He really can't remember anything. Roger getting here, others pouring in. Drinks being passed around, a joint pressed to his lips. Stumbling up the stairs, having Roger strip him down. Then nothing.
Shit, hopefully he was good at nothing. Whatever nothing was. Well, they probably didn't do nothing because they were both too drunk to even manage nothing. Right. Nothing to be worried about, then.
"Calm down," Roger says, the feather duster running alone Mark's back. He's just sitting there, almost naked and smiling and acting like this is no big deal. Mark would really like if he would panic. When other people panic, that is when Mark can be calm and in control. When others are at their worst, Mark's senses kick in and he's at his best. "It's just a little mess. Look, you've already got the stain out."
Mark puts the sponge away, reading the back of the carpet cleaner. Fuck, he has to let it sit for almost an hour. His mom is going to be home before that, and she is going to kill him. He can hear it now, yelling about how her and dad just go away for one weekend and come back to find their son has ruined the carpet. "Fuck off," he tells Roger, not in the mood for teasing right now. They're going to ground him forever.
Roger has this low, soft laugh that he's using now as he wraps his arms around Mark. "Come on. It's not a big deal. It's just a st-"
"It IS a big deal," Mark corrects, turning around in his arms and doing his best to glare at Roger. He just gets kissed on the tip of his nose. "You have no idea what a big deal it is. Mom is going to have a fit."
"So?" Roger asks, giving Mark this annoying look that says he honestly doesn't get what Mark is raving on about. Mark knows that Roger's parents aren't exactly strict (it's up for question over if his dad even knows he exists) but he hangs around enough that he should know by now that Mark's parents get some sort of twisted joy over grounding him for these things. At least that is the way it always seems to Mark.
"So..." Mark slides away from Roger, moving around the living room to try and straight up what he can. Moving the pillows back into place and pushing the coffee table away from the wall. "So, they're going to kill me when they find out what happened."
Roger smiles, stands up and walks to Mark with his arms wrapped around his chest. He is way too warm, like a blanket closing over Mark. "So? It isn't like you've never done anything to get them pissed before."
"That's... Roger," Mark says, snatching one of the cushions that Roger was tossing carelessly behind him and setting it back on the couch. Now he's just trying to make more of a mess to get on Mark's nerves. "Stop that. That doesn't go there. And this is different."
Laughing in his ear, Roger snatches the pillow back. Mark growls, which just makes his boyfriend laugh again. He turns to snatch the pillow back, almost blind sided by Roger's smile as he tugs at the pillow before finally letting Mark have it back. "How?"
"It is," Mark replies without thought as he fluffs the cushions before lining them up nicely on the sofa. "Because."
It's a lame answer, but in truth Mark just wants Roger to drop the subject and let him clean up the house before his parents get back and snap on him. This isn't the sort of thing that happens to Mark. Parties and wild nights and getting drunk with your boyfriend and a bunch of people you only sort of know, that is what Roger does. It isn't Mark's style of rebellion. Just being friends with Roger, having a boyfriend, that is enough pushing his parents. Plus, he just got his SAT scores back and maybe his dad is right about some things. Maybe there is more to life than a few teenage years of fucking around.
Roger senses those serious thoughts and cuts them off with a kiss. "Come on," he says, hands stroking Mark's stomach. His fingers make every hormone in Mark's system go crazy in an instant. "Stop acting like a suburban prince. You got drunk, you had a party. Who gives a fuck?"
"My mom is going to give a..." Mark trails off before he can finish that. He looks over his shoulder, glaring at Roger and elbowing him in the stomach when he just smirks at Mark. "Don't say it."
"I wasn't." He is wearing this huge, shit eating grin that is kind of contagious. Mark rolls his eyes, laughing at Roger's expression and what he was going to say and just everything. It feels better than stressing out about the house.
"You were," Mark accuses, cuffing Roger in the shoulder. He pulls back, rubbing where Mark had hit him and faking a pout.
"Okay," he admits. "I was. But the point is you shouldn't worry so much. Now," he says in that tough, commanding sort of tone that Roger mainly uses when he sings. In real life, Mark knows he's just as scared as Mark. When he uses that voice, though, it's hard to tell and Mark likes to imagine that he is always as confident as he likes people to think. It helps, knowing that he's attached to someone who knows what he is doing. Unlike Mark. Mark feels like most of the time with his art, he is just flailing.
"But..." Right here Mark falters a bit, trying to find footing in his argument again. "But I need to go to college."
As Mark protests he finds himself following Roger. He isn't even sure where he's being lead, just that Roger is pulling him out of the den and back up the stairs, and Mark lets him. "You do not."
"Get a degree," Mark mutters, brow winkling in confusion as Roger pulls him into the bedroom. This isn't where he should be. He should be cleaning, but it's Roger who is tugging him down into bed, and Mark just lets it happen. "Get a job."
"You'll get a job filming," Roger tells him, and he lies down with Mark, curling up to him like he had when Mark woke up. It's innocent, just sleeping together and touching one another. It throws Mark. He expects more from Roger. He expects him to push boundaries and break things down. That is what drew him to Roger in the first place. That is why he is with him now, isn't it? Because he is sick of being just another pale face in the crowd of good, cookie cutter kids. Because Roger stops him from cleaning up messes.
So even though Roger seems content with just lying there wrapped around each other, Mark has to have more. He wants shocking and new, not same old same old. Even if it's just a few kisses, pressed to Roger's mouth and sucking at his lip. Even if that is all it is, at least it's something. Roger's eyes open as Mark bites and licks at him, eyeing him nervously like he isn't sure of something.
How can he not be sure now? Mark, he likes to think of Roger as his Virgil. His guide to everything bohemian. The opposite of who his parents want him to be. "You know," he mutters as he kisses him again, and slowly Roger starts to kiss back, hand in Mark's hair as he moans against his mouth. And Mark gets braver because of Roger. He drags a hand down Roger's chest, fingers brushing against his jeans. "Mom and Dad think you're no good," he tells him. Not that Roger didn't already know this, but he has to say something to keep his nerves in check.
Roger starts rocking up against his hand, and Mark bites his lip and rubs back. Hey, it isn't like he has done this before and he wants it to be good. He doesn't want Roger to leave thinking he's some impossibly ignorant little school kid who has never done anything wrong. If he thinks about it, he knows that Roger already knows as much, but right now Mark needs to prove it. That he isn't always just cleaning up his act.
Roger just shrugs, that impossible confident and all knowing shrug. Mark is awkward, probably trying too hard and there Roger is just saying, "They're probably right" like this is no big deal at all. Mark wants that.
*
After Roger falls back asleep, Mark stops feigning it and turns in his arms to stare up at his ceiling. He isn't thinking about his parents. He is naked in bed with his boyfriend, and thinking about his parents would just be gross right now. So that is the last thing he is trying to concentrate on.
He is thinking, though. Things like how long can this possibly last? Being friends with Roger was easy, but this isn't. When he goes away to college, what is going to happen to Roger? Things like, did he do that right? It couldn't have been, and Roger probably thinks he is an idiot right now. Well, not right now because right now Roger is snorting and drooling a little on his shoulder. When he wakes up, though, and thinks back on it Roger is going to see how Mark was all awkward limbs and flailing and he is going to realize what a mistake it had been.
Right now Mark is thinking that, fuck, sex kind of hurts and why didn't anyone warn him about that?
Mostly, though, he's wondering how Roger will take it when he leaves. He can't stay. He isn't like Roger and even if he has wild plans to run off to New York and become this famous director, he'll never really get there. He isn't that good, he thinks right now as Roger nuzzles into him, warm breath against Mark's shoulder. He isn't strong enough to just leave his family and all their expectations to follow a dream like that. And he can't tell Roger any of this, of course. Roger probably already thinks that Mark is a hopeless case. He doesn't want to confirm it.
Mark wiggles out of Roger's arms and starts to get dressed. He should tell Roger, and he will. Later. When he's accepted to a college and moving away, then he'll tell him. And then he can hate Mark all he wants. Be as disappointed in him as he knows Roger will be, because Mark won't have to stick around and see it all happen. He'll be off to some other soul-sucking school, getting a degree he doesn't want because that is what people do. They go to school and get jobs and get married and no matter how many times Mark sleeps with Roger, no matter how many films he makes, he can't change that. It's a set pattern, and even if Roger has broken out, Mark can't seem to find any sort of escape route.
Have you ever look down at someone in your bed and feel impossibly far from him? They're right there in reach and yet you know that you can't even begin to get close enough to touch him. All you can do is stare and want, but when it comes down to it there are just some people that you can't have. Right now, looking down at Roger, there is a sinking feeling in Mark's stomach. Knots and bubbles and all this painful ache that he just can't describe. He thinks it must be that he can easily lean forward right now to kiss him, to call Roger his and curl up beside him. It would be easy and if he could just get to Roger than he could get to New York and he could make that film. All it would take is breaking through everything he'd ever been taught and he could have him. That is all it would take, but Mark freezes up and can't move at all.