Fanfic--Collins/Maureen--012. Orange
Title: Trick or Treat
Fanfic
Characters: Mark, Roger, Mimi, Collins, Angel, Maureen, Joanne
Prompt: 012. Orange
Word Count: 1273
Summary: It’s Halloween
Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure whether or not to end here or keep going. Orange makes me think of Halloween. So here you go.
Special Thanks: to
bronzin_it who is fantastic Disclaimer: I don’t own, I just rent. Thank you Jonathan Larson.
Mark sat quietly on the couch in the middle of the loft, fiddling with his camera absentmindedly. He looked anxiously at the door, waiting for it to open. This was their first Halloween together and they’d decided to head over to the Life for dinner, followed up with drinks back at the loft. Roger emerged from his bedroom, startling Mark slightly. Mark looked quizzically at his roommate.
“Who are you supposed to be?” he asked.
“Well, I’m Freddie Mercury,” Roger replied, spinning in a circle.
“You’re not too convincing,” Mark pointed out as he wound his camera.
“I don’t see you in costume.”
“That’s because I’m not going in costume.”
“Oh, come on, Marky,” Roger whined, playfully shoving Mark’s shoulder. “The rest of the gang will be here soon. Get something on.”
“No,” Mark shook his head. “I’ll be the cameraman. Costume enough for you?”
“No,” Roger replied as a knock came on the door. “Come in.”
A loud sliding sound filled the air as the door moved back to reveal Mimi, Roger’s girlfriend. A short skimpy black dress clung tightly to her slender figure, a white apron tied around the waist. Her dark curly hair hung freely around her pretty face, flowing down her back. Dark fishnets covered her long tan legs and in her hand was a gray feather duster. She stood seductively in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a “come hither” look on her face.
“Cleaning service,” she murmured. “I hear you’re a very dirty boy.” She winked at Roger as she pushed off of the wall and stepped into the loft.
Roger’s jaw had dropped down to his knees and his pants suddenly felt tighter, too. He watched as Mimi fluttered across the room, a smile flickering across his lips. She wrapped her thin arms around his waste and pressed her body against his. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips. She settled back onto the floor and grinned up at him.
“Wow,” he finally managed. “Wow.”
She giggled and spun her head around. “Hi Mark,” she waved at the cameraman. “Rog, what are you supposed to be?” she asked, picking at his jacket.
“Freddie Mercury,” he explained.
She looked skeptically at him and shrugged.
“What?” he asked. “I’m not convincing enough?”
“Not quite, babe,” she replied, squeezing his cheeks between her hand. “But you’re still cute.”
“Well, look at Mark,” Roger said through his squeezed face. “He doesn’t even have a costume.”
Mimi released her grip on Roger’s face and turned to face the blond. “What’s your excuse?”
“I don’t do costumes,” he told her. “Ever since I was a kid and that stupid lobster that stood outside of some seafood restaurant scared the crap out of me, I just don’t like costumes.”
“Aw, poor Marky,” Mimi said, feigning sympathy. “Everyone’s late.”
Another knock came to the door of the loft as these words left Mimi’s mouth. The door slid open again, this time for Collins and Angel. A short pink dress clung loosely to Angel’s body. The sleeves poofed around her shoulders and the skirt of the dress flared at her waist. Glitter was sprayed all over the skirt of the dress and a silver tiara sat on top of Angel’s bobbed black wig. Collins had his black suit on, accompanied by a pair of tinted sunglasses and a pink tie, the same hue as Angel’s dress. The couple smiled as they stepped into the apartment, a bottle of wine in Collins’s hand.
“And who are you two supposed to be?” Mark asked as he stood up from the couch.
“I’m a princess,” Angel said cheerfully, smiling at the cameraman.
Collins shrugged. “I’m the prince,” he explained. “Now Meems is a maid, but what are you two?”
“I’m… James Dean,” Roger tried, knowing the Freddie Mercury thing wasn’t working so well. “And Mark, Mark is nothing.”
“James Dean?” Collins asked.
“Well, he thinks he’s Freddie Mercury,” Mimi explained. “But I didn’t think he was too convincing.”
Collins nodded as he set the bottle down on the counter, his arm still wrapped around Angel. “Mo and Jo aren’t here yet?”
“Are you surprised?” Mark asked.
Collins shook his head and smiled.
“I heard that,” a voice shouted from the hallway. “And we’re fashionably late.”
Maureen smiled as she stepped into the apartment. A skintight bright red dress stuck to her body, stopping mid-thigh and red tinted nylons covered her pale legs. A pair of bright red knee high boots clinked across the floor as she stepped further into the apartment and a pair of red horns sat atop her messy auburn hair. Joanne puffed in behind her, dragging a large cardboard box. She slid the box in and straightened herself out to catch her breath. She wore a pair of 1970’s style bellbottomed jeans and a flashy peasant blouse, swirled with blues, yellows and pinks. A huge faux-fur jacket was tossed over her shoulders and her usually neat tightly curled hair had been teased into an Afro.
“Jesus, Maureen, that dress is skintight. How do you get into that?” Roger asked, teasing the diva.
“You could start by buying me a drink,” she teased back.
The rest of the loft burst into laughter as Roger’s face turned a nice shade of red. He muttered something about never buying Maureen a drink ever again as Mimi leaned into his chest, still laughing.
“I think you look cute, Mo,” Angel grinned.
“Aw, thanks baby,” she smiled back. “You look so pretty!”
Angel curtsied as she smoothed out her skirt. Collins leaned over and kissed her cheek before heading over to see Joanne. He hugged Joanne before inquiring what was in the box.
“Costumes,” she replied. “Maureen insisted on bringing extras in case someone wasn’t prepared. Of course, I got stuck carrying the box,” she muttered.
“Look, I was right,” Maureen pointed out. “Mark’s not in costume.”
“Yes I am,” he said quickly. “I’m a cameraman.”
“That’s not a costume, silly,” she said, ruffling his blond hair.
Mark’s skin tingled at her touch; it had been almost a year and he had yet to get over the drama queen. Maureen skipped over to the cardboard box and began digging through the costumes, flinging things she didn’t like all over the loft. Joanne sighed and chased after them, setting them in a neat pile beside the box.
“Mark, you could be Superman!” Maureen exclaimed, pulling out a bright red cape and a dark blue shirt.
“Oh no,” he shook his head. “No, no, no.”
“Oh, come on Mark,” Collins urged. “Come on, the rest of us are in costume.”
“Uh uh,” he said, walking behind the couch.
“Marky, please?” Maureen pouted. “Please?”
Mark watched as the diva’s bottom lip extended and she gave him the look. He could feel himself beginning to melt inside and he ducked behind the couch to hide from her. Maureen pranced across the loft and slid behind the couch. She tackled the blond and pinned him to the ground. He squirmed underneath her as she tried to wrestle his sweater off.
“What are you two doing back there?” Roger asked.
“No,” Mark shouted. “Get her off of me!”
“Mark, hold still,” she ordered.
A loud rustle came from behind the couch, followed by various yelps and groans. Joanne stood off to the side, her head in her hands, as she imagined what her girlfriend was doing to the poor cameraman. Collins and Angel had to stifle their laughter as the fight continued behind the couch. Finally, Maureen’s head appeared over the top of the couch.
“Does anyone have blue tights?”