Short Ficlet: Ring*Con Blues
It only took me almost a year to finish this... *headdesk*
Pairing: Craig Parker/ Mark Ferguson
Rating: R
Warnings: alcohol abuse, angst
Summary: It's August 2008 and Craig just informed Mark that he won't be coming to Ring*Con. Again. Mark is determined to make sure that 2009 will be different.
Beta: lordhellebore and lhiam, at least partially. All remaining mistakes are mine. Yes, I am greedy. ^^
Disclaimer: Since I'm not that delusional I am - unfortunately - forced to admit that this is all just wishful thinking and made-up stories.
Ring*Con-Blues
"Work," Craig mumbled rather desperately to himself, cradling a mug of tea to his chest. "I really, really need work." He paused, gulping down some of the hot liquid. "Any work. Doesn't matter what."
Two years ago he would have laughed outright at anyone who told him that he was the seasonally depressive type. Not anymore, though. Oh, he still loved Christmas and all the excitement that came with it. No, his depressive season was earlier in the year. And it was coming closer. Again. It was almost September already. And that meant that October would come knocking at his door any day now. They'd want him to come to RingCon again. They always did.
"Fuck it." Tea sloshed over the rim, warm liquid spilling onto his hands as he slammed the mug down on the kitchen counter. Mark was already hounding him with all sorts of stupid ideas for the convention. Craig groaned, staring down at his hands. Brown droplets of tea ran from his fingers and onto the counter, leaving reddened skin behind. Hot. Craig shuddered. The tea was still hot. He should be in pain. He wasn't. Mark wanted to poke fun at the slashers. Again.
Craig blinked down at his hands. When had he reached for a towel? The amount of fun Mark got out of his slash innuendos was scary. Very scary. He swallowed, wincing as he noticed the painful lump in his throat. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He blinked a few more times. Fuck. Tears dropped onto the tea-stained towel, vanishing almost immediately into the thick cotton cloth. He hated it. Hated that the thing he loved the most hurt so fucking much. Hated that being with Mark broke his heart every time. His swallow sounded incredibly loud to him. And why for fuck's sake couldn't he think of Mark without crying his stupid eyes out? Maybe he should call his agent and ask her if she had work for him. Grovel a bit, if necessary. He wasn't above the occasional bit of grovelling every now and then. Anger rose within him and he turned, actually growling at thin air as he threw the dirty towel into the sink. He probably should have put it in the laundry instead, but he just couldn't force himself to care.
Why for fuck's sake was he still trying to come up with an excuse? Craig turned, giving the empty mug on the chequered kitchen counter a baleful glare. He really, really wanted to throw it against the nearest wall. Really. He positively needed to. Another growl escaped from his lips. The only reason why he didn't was that he had no desire to clean up the mess it would make. But damn it all, he needed to destroy something. Or sign a work contract for October. And the second half of September as well, if possible. Work, work, work, work. If he didn't have a valid excuse for not coming to RingCon then Mark would come around, with beer and crisps and his damned puppy dog eyes and would wheedle and cajole until he couldn't say no any more. He never could say no to Mark if the other man only asked persistently enough.
Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He couldn't say no to Mark and he couldn't bear being at the con with Mark. He blinked, looking down at his hands in surprise. There were red crescents on the palms of his hands. He hadn't even noticed that he had been digging his fingernails into the soft flesh. Fuck. And he really couldn't call his agent again. He had already called her four times yesterday and twice today and she had been rather vocal about what she would do to him - or rather which of his body parts she would sever from aforementioned body - if he were to call her again this week. He hunched over, holding his stomach, which was beginning to seriously hurt from his hysterical laughter.
Maybe he should really call her again after all. Losing his dick and/or his balls would get rid of at least some of his Mark-related problems. Unpredictable hard-ons and severe cases of blue balls. It was a wonder that his balls had survived to today. Right. He slowly straightened again. A few seconds later he had managed to get the laughter under control. At least almost.
Taking a deep breath Craig reached for the dirty towel with shaking hands. He'd better put it into the laundry after all. And he really needed to stop before his laughter turned to tears. Because if it did, the panic attack would not be far off.
"No, Mark, I can't come to Bonn with you," he told the empty kitchen. "I keep crying and having panic attacks whenever I think about us being there together." Yeah, right. He slammed the kitchen door shut behind himself. As if he was going to tell Mark that. No way. Absolutely no fucking way.
~***~
He had put off the phone call as long as he could, knowing that he would feel like the world's biggest asshole once he picked up the phone and told Mark that he wouldn't be coming. This time it was even worse. He already felt like a heel before Mark answered. And he knew that it would only get worse. Could only get worse.
"Hey, Mark," Craig forced himself - or at least tried to force himself - to sound happy and not too nervous. "I um," he winced. Damn, he had already started stuttering again. And his heart was racing. Fuck. "It's, um about the con..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish. He had no idea how to put this. Mark had been so disappointed the year before, had almost taken it personally. "Idon'tthinkI'llbeabletomakeittoBonnI'vegottawork."
Craig swallowed the painful lump in his throat, staring at the receiver, which was once more resting peacefully in its cradle. Oh damn. With a groan he turned around and banged his head against the wall. Ouch. Ingrain wallpaper. But the pain was so good. He flinched, jumping in shock as the phone rang. Mark. Had to be Mark. Oh god. How could he have been stupid enough to just hang up? Mark was bound to want to talk things through. He always did. In public Craig was the one, who was always babbling on about something, was always telling one story or another, but back at home, in private, he could be quiet, bordering on taciturn. He actually liked a bit of peace and quiet. And he also like the fact that Mark was the one who could make him talk even if he did not want to, could make him spill his guts over what ever problem he was trying to handle. And then talk him through to some kind of solution. And he was bound to at least try the same thing this time.
"Fuck!" Craig yelped, grabbing his foot as he continued to hop towards the door. Ouch. Of course he just had to stub his toe on the fucking door. He stopped, listening with baited breath. Oh damn. It had stopped. The fucking phone had stopped ringing! How long had it been? He swallowed nervously, continuing towards the door. Maybe he should start getting used to locking it. Leaving it open was really all kinds of stupid. Mark would be coming by. For sure. There was no way that he was just letting this go. He would be worried and he wouldn't stop until he had forced Craig to spill the beans.
Phew. Craig wiped his hands on his jeans. Sweaty palms. He was actually suffering from sweaty palms. What the fuck was he? A love-struck teenager? The patio. Had he closed the door to the patio? And all the windows? He had to make sure that Mark couldn't get in.
~***~
Craig was huddled in the corner of his bedroom, knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting on top of them. The carpet really was kind of interesting. Nice pattern. Sort of. Fuck. He winced. This time the knocking and pounding had come from the back windows. So Mark was in the garden now. Didn't the guy know when to give up? He had been prowling around outside, obviously trying to find a way inside for - Craig raised his head to risk a peek at his wristwatch - almost thirty minutes now. Oh god, please not again. Craig stared helplessly at the phone. Why hadn't he pulled the damn plug out of the socket yet? No, no, no, not that. Craig whimpered, staring at the phone. The answering machine. He had been too slow. There was no way that he could cut off Mark's voice now.
"Craig," Mark's voice resounded strangely in the otherwise quiet house. Nope. Craig shook his head. Not here. He wasn't here. He refused to be here. "I know you're there," Mark's voice continued. "And you know I'm worried." Craig breathed a sigh of relied as Mark paused. Maybe he'd get off easy this time. "I'm not going to go away, Craig." Damn. Craig groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Seemed like he would spent the next few days holed up in his house. Mark really sounded determined to stake out the house if necessary.
"Can't talk, can't cope, can't..." Craig trailed off, sitting down on the carpet. He blinked, surprised to find a tear running down his left cheek. Maybe Mark would call again. He wouldn't pick up, of course, but at least he could listen to Mark some more. Listen and try to delude himself by believing that Mark would still sound just as concerned if he found out. Yeah, right. Craig snorted. As if. Mark would run as far and fast as he could if he found out that his not-so-straight but supposedly platonic best friend really wanted nothing more than rip off his clothes, chain him to his bed and keep him there for the rest of their lives. Craig's bitter laugh was accompanied by renewed pounding on the back door. Seemed like Mark had still not given up.
Bitter laughter spilled from Craig’s lips. He'd be willing to forego the chains, of course, but he sort of suspected that he'd need them to keep Mark if he ever came on to the other man. Mark had never shown even the slightest interest in men. Except for the waiters at their favourite steakhouse and that interest always ended rather abruptly as soon as Mark had his meal. There was no way he'd ever look at Craig. At least not in that way. Sighing, Craig shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the carpet. He had to stay away from the windows. His eyes were glued to the little display that told him that Mark was the one ringing him again. He just had to remain where he was and wait until Mark gave up. He flinched as Mark hung up on the answering machine without saying anything. Seemed like he might be in for a very long wait.
~***~
Well. Craig frowned as he cocked his head at the offending piece of paper. This was different. And most certainly unexpected. Completely. A letter. Mark had pushed a frigging letter under the door. So... should he pick it up? He rather doubted that he wanted to read what ever it was that Mark had written. Stupid letter. Craig squatted down in front of the letter as his frown turned into a full-blown scowl. His hand hovered hesitantly over the folded piece of paper. He knew that he would have to read it at some point - or at least really should read it - but he really didn't want to. Still, Mark would most probably make his life hell if he didn't. The paper was rougher than it looked and felt strangely alien in his hand, like a dildo that had just been taken out of its wrapping for the first time. Ack.
He hissed at himself in annoyance, shaking his head. And there he went again, putting Mark and sex into the same sentence. So not of the good. The last thing he needed right now were thoughts about naked Mark. Thoughts like that only led to trouble. He shook his head, staring at his shaking fingers as they slowly, reluctantly, opened the letter. Oh god. Craig got back up, wandering into the kitchen as he read the letter again and again. He grinned. Mark had ambushed the mailman to get a piece of paper. And he did not seem too angry. He did, however, want to talk about things. Fuck.
Craig frowned, looking down. Telephone. Why had he walked to the frigging telephone? He wasn't really in the best condition to talk to Mark right now and he had already managed to make an ass of himself today. And rather thoroughly at that. Oh, what the heck.
He was almost proud of the fact that his fingers were only shaking slightly as he punched in Mark's number.
~***~
How the fuck dared he? Mark stopped his pacing with a frustrated growl, glaring at his blurred reflection in the glass frame of the painting that his soon-to-be ex-wife had left. Craig had fucking hung up on him. Just like that. He exhaled a long, slow breath as he forced his hands to unclench. Told him that he wouldn't come to the con - again, hung up and then pretended not to be home. Bastard. Oh, he knew that Craig was somewhat reluctant to talk about anything even remotely personal but this was ludicrous. Absolutely unthinkable. He couldn't just drop a bombshell like that and then run off and hide.
"Call," he glared at the phone, willing it to ring. "I did say that we could talk on neutral ground somewhere, didn't I?" He'd kill Craig if the other man didn't call. For real this time. They had been friends for too long to start this kind of shit now. Unless...
Oh god. Mark shuddered and started pacing again. Maybe Craig had finally figured it out. No, he hadn't had he? Mark narrowed his eyes at the still silent telephone, sorting through everything he had said to Craig in the past few weeks. Nope, he didn't think he could have. He hadn't said or done anything to make Craig realize - oh shit. He had. He totally had. Fuck! A pained groan slipped from Mark's lips. He had sort of flirted with that waiter guy at the steakhouse the day before yesterday. Sort of totally. Had there been any stupid pick-up line that he hadn't used? Of course Craig had to be freaking out, had to be taking it personally. He had probably thought that Mark had been making fun of him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not only had his previous campaign failed to show any results, he had also probably managed to subconsciously achieve the one thing he had been trying to avoid. Craig not talking to him. And he had not even told Craig that he was getting a divorce yet. Much less that the other man was the reason for said divorce. Or rather that Mark's feelings for him were. The sofa creaked ominously as Mark sat down. How could he have been so stupid? He really doubted that there was anyone even slower than him in the whole world. Over a decade to notice that one was actually in love with one's best friend? Please. It didn't get any more pathetic that that.
"Fuck!" Mark grimaced rubbing his hurting side. This was unbelievable. He had actually fallen off the stupid sofa. Just because the damned phone had suddenly decided to ring after all.
~***~
Craig stared numbly at the receiver in his hand. Could not be. Just could not be. Occupied. The line was fucking occupied! Who the fuck was Mark talking to right now? And why did it have to be now of all times? Slamming the receiver back onto its cradle was almost satisfying. Almost. Craig frowned. He needed something to calm him down, something to take the edge off, to make the uneasiness and the apprehension go away. Vodka, he decided. Vodka was the way to go. Definitely.
~***~
Mark slowly let his bag fall to the ground, staring at the list of departing planes with disgust. Almost time to leave for Bonn. Alone. Craig really wasn't coming. Well. He sighed. Work was more important than play. Still, the last few weeks had been more than awkward, even after he and Craig had talked. He had been wrong about Craig noticing something after all. Still, something about their relationship had changed and he couldn't really say what it was. He only knew that he didn't like it. Things had almost been back to normal. At least until Mark had talked Craig into participating in his latest Ring*Con prank. He grinned in spite of himself, smirking at the guy in the next line. Mark shrugged as the man turned away with a disgusted sneer. So what. He had the Mark-and-Craig-together-in-bed film in his bag and he knew that the fans would love it. He only had to rethink his strategy. It seemed that getting himself immersed in slash and cracking jokes about it at the con and in Craig's presence didn't work. He sighed as he was finally allowed to board the plane. He had to find another way to show Craig that he wasn't really that disgusted by and opposed to the whole Craig and Mark slash thing. It seemed like subtle wasn't working. Or maybe he was just too subtle for his own good.
~***~
The day had been hell. Craig had been on edge ever since he had woken up, which had been way too early and after not nearly enough sleep. Mark was on the way to Bonn already, had maybe even landed. Craig sighed, snuggling back into the covers and pulling the stuffed rabbit to his chest. The rabbit Mark had bought for that stupid film he had wanted to make for the convention. Craig had kicked the rabbit under the bed when they had been filming and then feigned ignorance when Mark had looked for it. Mark had brought the rabbit to his bed and he refused to give it up. Craig inhaled deeply, burying his face in the soft fur. It was his. He really was going to miss another Ring*Con. Just a few more hours and Mark would be telling the fans that Craig hadn't been able to come because he had to work. Just another lie on an already almost insurmountable mountain of lies. Lies, lies, lies. Craig sighed, hugging the blanket and the bunny even closer. Everything was nothing but lies. And the biggest one was the one he had been telling for years. That he didn't care for Mark as anything but a friend.
~***~
Mark's head was still reeling from the convention as he rather stumbled than walked onto the plane. It had been great. Absolutely great. The fans had been wonderful, the panels fun and seeing Lori, Jed and Shane again - and meeting Lee Ahrenberg and Chris Rankin - and getting drunk with them had been even better. Convention-wise everything had been wonderful. And yet it had been one of the two worst conventions of his life. The second convention without Craig. Mark frowned, sighing with relief as he finally dropped into his seat. Time to get some cramps in his legs again. He had never - not even once - managed to fly anywhere without his legs cramping up. And what the fuck had Craig been doing all weekend? The work-thing had been a lie, Mark was sure of it. He had actually had to call Craig's agent to find out what his friend was doing. Or rather what he wasn’t doing.
Mark squeezed his eyes shut. Craig had been more than just strange since their almost-fight about that phone call. And he hadn't even called. Last year Craig had at least called him during the convention to find out how things were going. And this year? Nothing. Zip, zero, nada, nilch. Not even an SMS. They really needed to talk. As soon as possible. And he really needed to apologize for what ever it was what he had done wrong. Sighing, he settled back into his seat, already grabbing the head phones as he waved the stewardess over and asked for something alcoholic. Alcohol first, peace and quiet second. Thinking about Craig right now would not help at all. He could worry about that when he was home. If he kept thinking about Craig and his sudden - or maybe not so sudden, considering that he had sort of started to notice it almost two years ago - attraction to Craig, he'd be nothing but a nervous wreck when they landed.
~***~
"You're my best friend and I don't need anyone else," Craig told Mr Squiggly. "After all," he hiccupped, staring at his newly-proclaimed best friend, "it's not as if I missed him, you know. No, Sir, no missing going on at all. Not even the teeniest, tiniest bit." He sighed, eyeing Mr Squiggly warily. "You're not listening, are you? Are you listening?" He shook the bottle, grinning broadly as the worm was swirled around by the little bit of clear liquid he had not drunk. Tequila was great. Even if there was a worm in it. Especially if there was a worm in it. He had drunk almost half of the bottle before he had noticed Mr Squiggly. And wasn't it just typical of his life to give him tequila bottles with worms in it? Singular. Worm.
"We're best buds now," Craig whined, shaking the bottle again. "You're s'posed to listen to me." Mr Squiggly was a bad, bad listener. Craig frowned, pouting. And the stupid chair was beginning to be all kinds of uncomfortable. Stupid chair. Stupid chair, stupid Mark, stupid tequila and stupid Mr Squiggly. "I'll drink you, if you don’t start being nicer to me," he declared, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He really needed to get to the loo. Like now. Alcohol wanted out. Everything always wanted to get away from him. "Whoa..." his hand scraped over the wallpaper. Itchy. And sort of swaying. Or was he the one who was doing the swaying? He'd have to drink more if the stuff kept on insisting on getting away. "Sorry, mate," he gave Mr Squiggly and the bottle a last shake. "Don't really wanna take you in there with me," he gestured at the bathroom door. "And I don't feel like wasting a perfectly good drink." And he was still way too sober. Craig grinned goofily, saluting the bottle. "Down you go, mate." Strange. He cocked his head, smacking his lips a few times. Tasted only of tequila. Not like worm at all.
~***~
So, this was it. Fuck. Mark sighed, squashing the cigarette but under his boots with more force than necessary. Shouldn't be so bloody hard. Okay, he'd really do it this time. He turned once more and strode confidently towards the door. Craig's door. "Bloody hell!" the sound of his fist hitting the tree was more than just satisfying. Stopped again. He had chickened out again. Craig was his best friend for fuck's sake - and would be more than just a friend one day, if he had any say in it - so it really shouldn't be too hard to just ring the fucking doorbell and talk to the guy.
He frowned, looking at the house. Barely any light. Just one dimly-lit window. Looked like a candle or something. What the fuck was up with that? Craig was the kind of guy who usually left all the lights on if he was at home. Mark stopped, frowning down on his hands. Just when had he lit another cigarette? He really shouldn't be smoking this much. He had already smoked and drunk too much over the weekend. Much more than any sane person should. But then, he hadn't really been sane, so that probably sort of evened things out. And why for fuck's sake hadn't he rung the damned doorbell yet? He threw the cigarette away, straightened his shoulders and marched once more towards the door. This time. Really. He was going to ring this time.
~***~
"Wha..." Craig trailed off, raising his head reluctantly. Who the fuck was making that god-awful racket? It was way too loud. And he sort of knew it. "Fuck..." he shrunk back into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe spending the whole weekend drinking and being depressed hadn't been such a great idea after all. Mark! Oh god, Mark. Had to be. He was back. At least Craig thought that it was time for Mark to be back. And it hurt. Well, maybe it was time to get it over and done with. He just had to make it to the door somehow. Slowly, he decided, forcing his body to put one foot in front of the other. If he managed to do it slowly, it would work. Absolutely. It just had to.
~***~
"Hey Mark."
"Hey yourself," Mark said blinking at the sight in front of him. This definitely wasn't what he had been expecting. Craig looked like hell. Unshaven, rumpled, drunk and he sort of smelt like he hadn't showered in the last few days. And he was holding on to... a vodka bottle. "So..."
"How was the con?"
"Con? Oh, the con, right," Mark cleared his throat. What the hell was Craig doing? "Fun," he continued lamely. "It was. Fun. May I come in?"
“In.” Craig repeated, blinking at Mark from reddened eyes before gesturing at the hallway behind him. “Right. Come on.”
Mark winced as the door swung shut behind them. The house was badly lit, but he could still see that Craig was swaying dangerously as he picked his way through the hallway. It almost seemed as if he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings anymore.
~***~
About half an hour later Mark was sitting on the edge of Craig’s bed and staring down at his best friend. Who had never seemed more of a stranger to him. He still had no idea how he had managed to get Craig calmed down and into bed. Craig had kept talking and muttering the whole time, but Mark had been unable to understand more than a few words here and there. Craig’s mumblings had been too slurred. Still, what ever Craig had been trying to tell him had managed one thing at least. It had strengthened his resolve that things had to change. And that he had to be the one to change them.
~***~
“Wha…” Mark rubbed his eyes, blinking up at the figure in front of him. Craig. When had he fallen asleep?
“You’re sleeping on my carpet.” Mark slowly sat up as Craig frowned down at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was tired?” The explanation sounded incredibly stupid, even to Mark himself. It really didn’t explain anything.”
“Head hurts.”
“I can imagine.” Mark muttered, pushing himself to his feet. He couldn’t help shaking his head ever so slightly as he mustered Craig from head to toe. It was more than obvious that the other man had spent way too much time drinking recently. He looked like hell. And incredibly lost. His pyjamas seemed too big for him, seemed to be hanging loosely on his frame all of a sudden.
“So.” Craig crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You probably want to talk.”
Mark actually managed to surprise himself with his answer. “No, I don’t. But,” he continued before Craig could do anything but stare incredulously at him, “I’m not leaving you alone as long as you’re in this state and I’m here for you, when ever you feel ready to talk.”
“How nice of you.” Mark winced as Craig sneered maliciously at him. “Which shrink helped you come up with that bullshit?
“I…” Mark blinked; desperately willing his vocal chords to utter an explanation but the only thing he managed to get out was a string of incomprehensible sounds.
“Right.” Craig’s bitter muttering stung his ears as the other man rushed past him, shouldering him aside. Mark was left in the middle of the bedroom, staring after his friend and asking himself when it had all gone wrong.
~***~
Mark froze as he turned, the half-filled glass of water in his hands completely forgotten. This was bad. No, he corrected himself, this was worse. He had never seen Craig like this. The other man looked even worse than he had when Mark had decided to stay with him two days ago. Craig's eyes were even more bloodshot, his hair was still unkempt and sticking up into all directions and he looked as weary and tired as though he had just been forced to run a marathon. On an empty stomach. And without any water.
“Craig?” Mark carefully placed the glass on the counter and sat down, his eyes never leaving Craig’s. “I know I promised not to push if you didn’t want to talk but…” The unfinished sentence hung heavily in the silence between them, on oppressive presence that seemed to drain the very air from the room.
“Why don’t you just push off, if you feel that you have to push at all?” Craig’s hoarse whisper was enough to make Mark flinch. “Just push off and leave me the fuck alone.”
“Craig…” Mark stared down at his hand, which hung helplessly in the air, was hovering somewhere between Craig and himself. He was pretty sure that this was not the right situation to be reaching out to his friend, but he had absolutely no clue what else to do nothing seemed to be working.
“Why won’t you just go away? You always do!”
“Craig, I -“ Mark couldn’t say anything else before the glass flew just past his head and shattered to a thousand pieces on the wall behind him. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he stared at the man in front of him. Craig’s chest was heaving with sobs, his hands were clenched into fist and tears were shimmering in his eyes.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he asked, his voice finally breaking.
And then Craig was suddenly right in front of him, fists pounding against Mark’s chest in a quiet rage. Mark just stood there, too shocked to do anything until Craig finally just sagged against him, sobbing soundlessly.
“Craig…” Mark trailed off, bringing his arms around the small, shaking figure in front of him. Craig’s shivering just intensified. “You know that I love you, right?”
Craig froze, and for a few seconds the silence was back until Mark finally more guessed than heard the answer Craig murmured into his shirt.
“Bastard.”
“Bastard? But,” Mark stared at the blond, spiky hair in front of him. “Why? I mean… Bastard?”
“Bastard.” Craig confirmed his voice more steady than before. “Fucking bastard. Idiot.”
“But I-“ Mark forgot everything he had wanted to say as Craig finally looked up at him - and this time he was really looking at him. For the first time in days. “Bastard?”
“Love you, idiot.”
“Huh?” Mark shook his head. He couldn’t have heard correctly, could he?
“Why do you think I hated the thought of going to the con so much? You were always joking about slash, making fun of me for being in love with you and…” Craig punched Mark’s chest once more before settling back against the other man. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“I wasn’t making fun of slash,” Mark finally managed to say around the lump in his throat. “I was trying to show you that I wouldn’t mind to prove them right.”
“Idiot.” Craig repeated, his voice resounding with finality.
“Yeah, I guess.” Mark grinned, and then - suddenly - gulped. “So, now that we’ve done the whole ‘I love you, you love me’-thing, does that mean…” He trailed off, hoping for Craig to say something. He had absolutely no idea what his friend - lover? Boyfriend? - was thinking. A year ago it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.
“’m tired.” Craig finally said, letting go of Mark. “And the glass…” he gestured at the shards. Mark frowned. Craig really looked as if he was going to fall asleep on his feet any second now.
“Bed,” he decided after just a moment, “We can clean up later.”
“Moving fast, aren’t you?” Craig snickered.
“Asshole,” Mark said, giving Craig a gentle shove towards the bedroom door.
“Bastard.” Craig grinned broadly and pulled Mark into a short, sloppy kiss. “My bastard.”
~ The End ~
Pairing: Craig Parker/ Mark Ferguson
Rating: R
Warnings: alcohol abuse, angst
Summary: It's August 2008 and Craig just informed Mark that he won't be coming to Ring*Con. Again. Mark is determined to make sure that 2009 will be different.
Beta: lordhellebore and lhiam, at least partially. All remaining mistakes are mine. Yes, I am greedy. ^^
Disclaimer: Since I'm not that delusional I am - unfortunately - forced to admit that this is all just wishful thinking and made-up stories.
Ring*Con-Blues
"Work," Craig mumbled rather desperately to himself, cradling a mug of tea to his chest. "I really, really need work." He paused, gulping down some of the hot liquid. "Any work. Doesn't matter what."
Two years ago he would have laughed outright at anyone who told him that he was the seasonally depressive type. Not anymore, though. Oh, he still loved Christmas and all the excitement that came with it. No, his depressive season was earlier in the year. And it was coming closer. Again. It was almost September already. And that meant that October would come knocking at his door any day now. They'd want him to come to RingCon again. They always did.
"Fuck it." Tea sloshed over the rim, warm liquid spilling onto his hands as he slammed the mug down on the kitchen counter. Mark was already hounding him with all sorts of stupid ideas for the convention. Craig groaned, staring down at his hands. Brown droplets of tea ran from his fingers and onto the counter, leaving reddened skin behind. Hot. Craig shuddered. The tea was still hot. He should be in pain. He wasn't. Mark wanted to poke fun at the slashers. Again.
Craig blinked down at his hands. When had he reached for a towel? The amount of fun Mark got out of his slash innuendos was scary. Very scary. He swallowed, wincing as he noticed the painful lump in his throat. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He blinked a few more times. Fuck. Tears dropped onto the tea-stained towel, vanishing almost immediately into the thick cotton cloth. He hated it. Hated that the thing he loved the most hurt so fucking much. Hated that being with Mark broke his heart every time. His swallow sounded incredibly loud to him. And why for fuck's sake couldn't he think of Mark without crying his stupid eyes out? Maybe he should call his agent and ask her if she had work for him. Grovel a bit, if necessary. He wasn't above the occasional bit of grovelling every now and then. Anger rose within him and he turned, actually growling at thin air as he threw the dirty towel into the sink. He probably should have put it in the laundry instead, but he just couldn't force himself to care.
Why for fuck's sake was he still trying to come up with an excuse? Craig turned, giving the empty mug on the chequered kitchen counter a baleful glare. He really, really wanted to throw it against the nearest wall. Really. He positively needed to. Another growl escaped from his lips. The only reason why he didn't was that he had no desire to clean up the mess it would make. But damn it all, he needed to destroy something. Or sign a work contract for October. And the second half of September as well, if possible. Work, work, work, work. If he didn't have a valid excuse for not coming to RingCon then Mark would come around, with beer and crisps and his damned puppy dog eyes and would wheedle and cajole until he couldn't say no any more. He never could say no to Mark if the other man only asked persistently enough.
Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He couldn't say no to Mark and he couldn't bear being at the con with Mark. He blinked, looking down at his hands in surprise. There were red crescents on the palms of his hands. He hadn't even noticed that he had been digging his fingernails into the soft flesh. Fuck. And he really couldn't call his agent again. He had already called her four times yesterday and twice today and she had been rather vocal about what she would do to him - or rather which of his body parts she would sever from aforementioned body - if he were to call her again this week. He hunched over, holding his stomach, which was beginning to seriously hurt from his hysterical laughter.
Maybe he should really call her again after all. Losing his dick and/or his balls would get rid of at least some of his Mark-related problems. Unpredictable hard-ons and severe cases of blue balls. It was a wonder that his balls had survived to today. Right. He slowly straightened again. A few seconds later he had managed to get the laughter under control. At least almost.
Taking a deep breath Craig reached for the dirty towel with shaking hands. He'd better put it into the laundry after all. And he really needed to stop before his laughter turned to tears. Because if it did, the panic attack would not be far off.
"No, Mark, I can't come to Bonn with you," he told the empty kitchen. "I keep crying and having panic attacks whenever I think about us being there together." Yeah, right. He slammed the kitchen door shut behind himself. As if he was going to tell Mark that. No way. Absolutely no fucking way.
~***~
He had put off the phone call as long as he could, knowing that he would feel like the world's biggest asshole once he picked up the phone and told Mark that he wouldn't be coming. This time it was even worse. He already felt like a heel before Mark answered. And he knew that it would only get worse. Could only get worse.
"Hey, Mark," Craig forced himself - or at least tried to force himself - to sound happy and not too nervous. "I um," he winced. Damn, he had already started stuttering again. And his heart was racing. Fuck. "It's, um about the con..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish. He had no idea how to put this. Mark had been so disappointed the year before, had almost taken it personally. "Idon'tthinkI'llbeabletomakeittoBonnI'vegottawork."
Craig swallowed the painful lump in his throat, staring at the receiver, which was once more resting peacefully in its cradle. Oh damn. With a groan he turned around and banged his head against the wall. Ouch. Ingrain wallpaper. But the pain was so good. He flinched, jumping in shock as the phone rang. Mark. Had to be Mark. Oh god. How could he have been stupid enough to just hang up? Mark was bound to want to talk things through. He always did. In public Craig was the one, who was always babbling on about something, was always telling one story or another, but back at home, in private, he could be quiet, bordering on taciturn. He actually liked a bit of peace and quiet. And he also like the fact that Mark was the one who could make him talk even if he did not want to, could make him spill his guts over what ever problem he was trying to handle. And then talk him through to some kind of solution. And he was bound to at least try the same thing this time.
"Fuck!" Craig yelped, grabbing his foot as he continued to hop towards the door. Ouch. Of course he just had to stub his toe on the fucking door. He stopped, listening with baited breath. Oh damn. It had stopped. The fucking phone had stopped ringing! How long had it been? He swallowed nervously, continuing towards the door. Maybe he should start getting used to locking it. Leaving it open was really all kinds of stupid. Mark would be coming by. For sure. There was no way that he was just letting this go. He would be worried and he wouldn't stop until he had forced Craig to spill the beans.
Phew. Craig wiped his hands on his jeans. Sweaty palms. He was actually suffering from sweaty palms. What the fuck was he? A love-struck teenager? The patio. Had he closed the door to the patio? And all the windows? He had to make sure that Mark couldn't get in.
~***~
Craig was huddled in the corner of his bedroom, knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting on top of them. The carpet really was kind of interesting. Nice pattern. Sort of. Fuck. He winced. This time the knocking and pounding had come from the back windows. So Mark was in the garden now. Didn't the guy know when to give up? He had been prowling around outside, obviously trying to find a way inside for - Craig raised his head to risk a peek at his wristwatch - almost thirty minutes now. Oh god, please not again. Craig stared helplessly at the phone. Why hadn't he pulled the damn plug out of the socket yet? No, no, no, not that. Craig whimpered, staring at the phone. The answering machine. He had been too slow. There was no way that he could cut off Mark's voice now.
"Craig," Mark's voice resounded strangely in the otherwise quiet house. Nope. Craig shook his head. Not here. He wasn't here. He refused to be here. "I know you're there," Mark's voice continued. "And you know I'm worried." Craig breathed a sigh of relied as Mark paused. Maybe he'd get off easy this time. "I'm not going to go away, Craig." Damn. Craig groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Seemed like he would spent the next few days holed up in his house. Mark really sounded determined to stake out the house if necessary.
"Can't talk, can't cope, can't..." Craig trailed off, sitting down on the carpet. He blinked, surprised to find a tear running down his left cheek. Maybe Mark would call again. He wouldn't pick up, of course, but at least he could listen to Mark some more. Listen and try to delude himself by believing that Mark would still sound just as concerned if he found out. Yeah, right. Craig snorted. As if. Mark would run as far and fast as he could if he found out that his not-so-straight but supposedly platonic best friend really wanted nothing more than rip off his clothes, chain him to his bed and keep him there for the rest of their lives. Craig's bitter laugh was accompanied by renewed pounding on the back door. Seemed like Mark had still not given up.
Bitter laughter spilled from Craig’s lips. He'd be willing to forego the chains, of course, but he sort of suspected that he'd need them to keep Mark if he ever came on to the other man. Mark had never shown even the slightest interest in men. Except for the waiters at their favourite steakhouse and that interest always ended rather abruptly as soon as Mark had his meal. There was no way he'd ever look at Craig. At least not in that way. Sighing, Craig shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the carpet. He had to stay away from the windows. His eyes were glued to the little display that told him that Mark was the one ringing him again. He just had to remain where he was and wait until Mark gave up. He flinched as Mark hung up on the answering machine without saying anything. Seemed like he might be in for a very long wait.
~***~
Well. Craig frowned as he cocked his head at the offending piece of paper. This was different. And most certainly unexpected. Completely. A letter. Mark had pushed a frigging letter under the door. So... should he pick it up? He rather doubted that he wanted to read what ever it was that Mark had written. Stupid letter. Craig squatted down in front of the letter as his frown turned into a full-blown scowl. His hand hovered hesitantly over the folded piece of paper. He knew that he would have to read it at some point - or at least really should read it - but he really didn't want to. Still, Mark would most probably make his life hell if he didn't. The paper was rougher than it looked and felt strangely alien in his hand, like a dildo that had just been taken out of its wrapping for the first time. Ack.
He hissed at himself in annoyance, shaking his head. And there he went again, putting Mark and sex into the same sentence. So not of the good. The last thing he needed right now were thoughts about naked Mark. Thoughts like that only led to trouble. He shook his head, staring at his shaking fingers as they slowly, reluctantly, opened the letter. Oh god. Craig got back up, wandering into the kitchen as he read the letter again and again. He grinned. Mark had ambushed the mailman to get a piece of paper. And he did not seem too angry. He did, however, want to talk about things. Fuck.
Craig frowned, looking down. Telephone. Why had he walked to the frigging telephone? He wasn't really in the best condition to talk to Mark right now and he had already managed to make an ass of himself today. And rather thoroughly at that. Oh, what the heck.
He was almost proud of the fact that his fingers were only shaking slightly as he punched in Mark's number.
~***~
How the fuck dared he? Mark stopped his pacing with a frustrated growl, glaring at his blurred reflection in the glass frame of the painting that his soon-to-be ex-wife had left. Craig had fucking hung up on him. Just like that. He exhaled a long, slow breath as he forced his hands to unclench. Told him that he wouldn't come to the con - again, hung up and then pretended not to be home. Bastard. Oh, he knew that Craig was somewhat reluctant to talk about anything even remotely personal but this was ludicrous. Absolutely unthinkable. He couldn't just drop a bombshell like that and then run off and hide.
"Call," he glared at the phone, willing it to ring. "I did say that we could talk on neutral ground somewhere, didn't I?" He'd kill Craig if the other man didn't call. For real this time. They had been friends for too long to start this kind of shit now. Unless...
Oh god. Mark shuddered and started pacing again. Maybe Craig had finally figured it out. No, he hadn't had he? Mark narrowed his eyes at the still silent telephone, sorting through everything he had said to Craig in the past few weeks. Nope, he didn't think he could have. He hadn't said or done anything to make Craig realize - oh shit. He had. He totally had. Fuck! A pained groan slipped from Mark's lips. He had sort of flirted with that waiter guy at the steakhouse the day before yesterday. Sort of totally. Had there been any stupid pick-up line that he hadn't used? Of course Craig had to be freaking out, had to be taking it personally. He had probably thought that Mark had been making fun of him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not only had his previous campaign failed to show any results, he had also probably managed to subconsciously achieve the one thing he had been trying to avoid. Craig not talking to him. And he had not even told Craig that he was getting a divorce yet. Much less that the other man was the reason for said divorce. Or rather that Mark's feelings for him were. The sofa creaked ominously as Mark sat down. How could he have been so stupid? He really doubted that there was anyone even slower than him in the whole world. Over a decade to notice that one was actually in love with one's best friend? Please. It didn't get any more pathetic that that.
"Fuck!" Mark grimaced rubbing his hurting side. This was unbelievable. He had actually fallen off the stupid sofa. Just because the damned phone had suddenly decided to ring after all.
~***~
Craig stared numbly at the receiver in his hand. Could not be. Just could not be. Occupied. The line was fucking occupied! Who the fuck was Mark talking to right now? And why did it have to be now of all times? Slamming the receiver back onto its cradle was almost satisfying. Almost. Craig frowned. He needed something to calm him down, something to take the edge off, to make the uneasiness and the apprehension go away. Vodka, he decided. Vodka was the way to go. Definitely.
~***~
Mark slowly let his bag fall to the ground, staring at the list of departing planes with disgust. Almost time to leave for Bonn. Alone. Craig really wasn't coming. Well. He sighed. Work was more important than play. Still, the last few weeks had been more than awkward, even after he and Craig had talked. He had been wrong about Craig noticing something after all. Still, something about their relationship had changed and he couldn't really say what it was. He only knew that he didn't like it. Things had almost been back to normal. At least until Mark had talked Craig into participating in his latest Ring*Con prank. He grinned in spite of himself, smirking at the guy in the next line. Mark shrugged as the man turned away with a disgusted sneer. So what. He had the Mark-and-Craig-together-in-bed film in his bag and he knew that the fans would love it. He only had to rethink his strategy. It seemed that getting himself immersed in slash and cracking jokes about it at the con and in Craig's presence didn't work. He sighed as he was finally allowed to board the plane. He had to find another way to show Craig that he wasn't really that disgusted by and opposed to the whole Craig and Mark slash thing. It seemed like subtle wasn't working. Or maybe he was just too subtle for his own good.
~***~
The day had been hell. Craig had been on edge ever since he had woken up, which had been way too early and after not nearly enough sleep. Mark was on the way to Bonn already, had maybe even landed. Craig sighed, snuggling back into the covers and pulling the stuffed rabbit to his chest. The rabbit Mark had bought for that stupid film he had wanted to make for the convention. Craig had kicked the rabbit under the bed when they had been filming and then feigned ignorance when Mark had looked for it. Mark had brought the rabbit to his bed and he refused to give it up. Craig inhaled deeply, burying his face in the soft fur. It was his. He really was going to miss another Ring*Con. Just a few more hours and Mark would be telling the fans that Craig hadn't been able to come because he had to work. Just another lie on an already almost insurmountable mountain of lies. Lies, lies, lies. Craig sighed, hugging the blanket and the bunny even closer. Everything was nothing but lies. And the biggest one was the one he had been telling for years. That he didn't care for Mark as anything but a friend.
~***~
Mark's head was still reeling from the convention as he rather stumbled than walked onto the plane. It had been great. Absolutely great. The fans had been wonderful, the panels fun and seeing Lori, Jed and Shane again - and meeting Lee Ahrenberg and Chris Rankin - and getting drunk with them had been even better. Convention-wise everything had been wonderful. And yet it had been one of the two worst conventions of his life. The second convention without Craig. Mark frowned, sighing with relief as he finally dropped into his seat. Time to get some cramps in his legs again. He had never - not even once - managed to fly anywhere without his legs cramping up. And what the fuck had Craig been doing all weekend? The work-thing had been a lie, Mark was sure of it. He had actually had to call Craig's agent to find out what his friend was doing. Or rather what he wasn’t doing.
Mark squeezed his eyes shut. Craig had been more than just strange since their almost-fight about that phone call. And he hadn't even called. Last year Craig had at least called him during the convention to find out how things were going. And this year? Nothing. Zip, zero, nada, nilch. Not even an SMS. They really needed to talk. As soon as possible. And he really needed to apologize for what ever it was what he had done wrong. Sighing, he settled back into his seat, already grabbing the head phones as he waved the stewardess over and asked for something alcoholic. Alcohol first, peace and quiet second. Thinking about Craig right now would not help at all. He could worry about that when he was home. If he kept thinking about Craig and his sudden - or maybe not so sudden, considering that he had sort of started to notice it almost two years ago - attraction to Craig, he'd be nothing but a nervous wreck when they landed.
~***~
"You're my best friend and I don't need anyone else," Craig told Mr Squiggly. "After all," he hiccupped, staring at his newly-proclaimed best friend, "it's not as if I missed him, you know. No, Sir, no missing going on at all. Not even the teeniest, tiniest bit." He sighed, eyeing Mr Squiggly warily. "You're not listening, are you? Are you listening?" He shook the bottle, grinning broadly as the worm was swirled around by the little bit of clear liquid he had not drunk. Tequila was great. Even if there was a worm in it. Especially if there was a worm in it. He had drunk almost half of the bottle before he had noticed Mr Squiggly. And wasn't it just typical of his life to give him tequila bottles with worms in it? Singular. Worm.
"We're best buds now," Craig whined, shaking the bottle again. "You're s'posed to listen to me." Mr Squiggly was a bad, bad listener. Craig frowned, pouting. And the stupid chair was beginning to be all kinds of uncomfortable. Stupid chair. Stupid chair, stupid Mark, stupid tequila and stupid Mr Squiggly. "I'll drink you, if you don’t start being nicer to me," he declared, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He really needed to get to the loo. Like now. Alcohol wanted out. Everything always wanted to get away from him. "Whoa..." his hand scraped over the wallpaper. Itchy. And sort of swaying. Or was he the one who was doing the swaying? He'd have to drink more if the stuff kept on insisting on getting away. "Sorry, mate," he gave Mr Squiggly and the bottle a last shake. "Don't really wanna take you in there with me," he gestured at the bathroom door. "And I don't feel like wasting a perfectly good drink." And he was still way too sober. Craig grinned goofily, saluting the bottle. "Down you go, mate." Strange. He cocked his head, smacking his lips a few times. Tasted only of tequila. Not like worm at all.
~***~
So, this was it. Fuck. Mark sighed, squashing the cigarette but under his boots with more force than necessary. Shouldn't be so bloody hard. Okay, he'd really do it this time. He turned once more and strode confidently towards the door. Craig's door. "Bloody hell!" the sound of his fist hitting the tree was more than just satisfying. Stopped again. He had chickened out again. Craig was his best friend for fuck's sake - and would be more than just a friend one day, if he had any say in it - so it really shouldn't be too hard to just ring the fucking doorbell and talk to the guy.
He frowned, looking at the house. Barely any light. Just one dimly-lit window. Looked like a candle or something. What the fuck was up with that? Craig was the kind of guy who usually left all the lights on if he was at home. Mark stopped, frowning down on his hands. Just when had he lit another cigarette? He really shouldn't be smoking this much. He had already smoked and drunk too much over the weekend. Much more than any sane person should. But then, he hadn't really been sane, so that probably sort of evened things out. And why for fuck's sake hadn't he rung the damned doorbell yet? He threw the cigarette away, straightened his shoulders and marched once more towards the door. This time. Really. He was going to ring this time.
~***~
"Wha..." Craig trailed off, raising his head reluctantly. Who the fuck was making that god-awful racket? It was way too loud. And he sort of knew it. "Fuck..." he shrunk back into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe spending the whole weekend drinking and being depressed hadn't been such a great idea after all. Mark! Oh god, Mark. Had to be. He was back. At least Craig thought that it was time for Mark to be back. And it hurt. Well, maybe it was time to get it over and done with. He just had to make it to the door somehow. Slowly, he decided, forcing his body to put one foot in front of the other. If he managed to do it slowly, it would work. Absolutely. It just had to.
~***~
"Hey Mark."
"Hey yourself," Mark said blinking at the sight in front of him. This definitely wasn't what he had been expecting. Craig looked like hell. Unshaven, rumpled, drunk and he sort of smelt like he hadn't showered in the last few days. And he was holding on to... a vodka bottle. "So..."
"How was the con?"
"Con? Oh, the con, right," Mark cleared his throat. What the hell was Craig doing? "Fun," he continued lamely. "It was. Fun. May I come in?"
“In.” Craig repeated, blinking at Mark from reddened eyes before gesturing at the hallway behind him. “Right. Come on.”
Mark winced as the door swung shut behind them. The house was badly lit, but he could still see that Craig was swaying dangerously as he picked his way through the hallway. It almost seemed as if he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings anymore.
~***~
About half an hour later Mark was sitting on the edge of Craig’s bed and staring down at his best friend. Who had never seemed more of a stranger to him. He still had no idea how he had managed to get Craig calmed down and into bed. Craig had kept talking and muttering the whole time, but Mark had been unable to understand more than a few words here and there. Craig’s mumblings had been too slurred. Still, what ever Craig had been trying to tell him had managed one thing at least. It had strengthened his resolve that things had to change. And that he had to be the one to change them.
~***~
“Wha…” Mark rubbed his eyes, blinking up at the figure in front of him. Craig. When had he fallen asleep?
“You’re sleeping on my carpet.” Mark slowly sat up as Craig frowned down at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was tired?” The explanation sounded incredibly stupid, even to Mark himself. It really didn’t explain anything.”
“Head hurts.”
“I can imagine.” Mark muttered, pushing himself to his feet. He couldn’t help shaking his head ever so slightly as he mustered Craig from head to toe. It was more than obvious that the other man had spent way too much time drinking recently. He looked like hell. And incredibly lost. His pyjamas seemed too big for him, seemed to be hanging loosely on his frame all of a sudden.
“So.” Craig crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You probably want to talk.”
Mark actually managed to surprise himself with his answer. “No, I don’t. But,” he continued before Craig could do anything but stare incredulously at him, “I’m not leaving you alone as long as you’re in this state and I’m here for you, when ever you feel ready to talk.”
“How nice of you.” Mark winced as Craig sneered maliciously at him. “Which shrink helped you come up with that bullshit?
“I…” Mark blinked; desperately willing his vocal chords to utter an explanation but the only thing he managed to get out was a string of incomprehensible sounds.
“Right.” Craig’s bitter muttering stung his ears as the other man rushed past him, shouldering him aside. Mark was left in the middle of the bedroom, staring after his friend and asking himself when it had all gone wrong.
~***~
Mark froze as he turned, the half-filled glass of water in his hands completely forgotten. This was bad. No, he corrected himself, this was worse. He had never seen Craig like this. The other man looked even worse than he had when Mark had decided to stay with him two days ago. Craig's eyes were even more bloodshot, his hair was still unkempt and sticking up into all directions and he looked as weary and tired as though he had just been forced to run a marathon. On an empty stomach. And without any water.
“Craig?” Mark carefully placed the glass on the counter and sat down, his eyes never leaving Craig’s. “I know I promised not to push if you didn’t want to talk but…” The unfinished sentence hung heavily in the silence between them, on oppressive presence that seemed to drain the very air from the room.
“Why don’t you just push off, if you feel that you have to push at all?” Craig’s hoarse whisper was enough to make Mark flinch. “Just push off and leave me the fuck alone.”
“Craig…” Mark stared down at his hand, which hung helplessly in the air, was hovering somewhere between Craig and himself. He was pretty sure that this was not the right situation to be reaching out to his friend, but he had absolutely no clue what else to do nothing seemed to be working.
“Why won’t you just go away? You always do!”
“Craig, I -“ Mark couldn’t say anything else before the glass flew just past his head and shattered to a thousand pieces on the wall behind him. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he stared at the man in front of him. Craig’s chest was heaving with sobs, his hands were clenched into fist and tears were shimmering in his eyes.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he asked, his voice finally breaking.
And then Craig was suddenly right in front of him, fists pounding against Mark’s chest in a quiet rage. Mark just stood there, too shocked to do anything until Craig finally just sagged against him, sobbing soundlessly.
“Craig…” Mark trailed off, bringing his arms around the small, shaking figure in front of him. Craig’s shivering just intensified. “You know that I love you, right?”
Craig froze, and for a few seconds the silence was back until Mark finally more guessed than heard the answer Craig murmured into his shirt.
“Bastard.”
“Bastard? But,” Mark stared at the blond, spiky hair in front of him. “Why? I mean… Bastard?”
“Bastard.” Craig confirmed his voice more steady than before. “Fucking bastard. Idiot.”
“But I-“ Mark forgot everything he had wanted to say as Craig finally looked up at him - and this time he was really looking at him. For the first time in days. “Bastard?”
“Love you, idiot.”
“Huh?” Mark shook his head. He couldn’t have heard correctly, could he?
“Why do you think I hated the thought of going to the con so much? You were always joking about slash, making fun of me for being in love with you and…” Craig punched Mark’s chest once more before settling back against the other man. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“I wasn’t making fun of slash,” Mark finally managed to say around the lump in his throat. “I was trying to show you that I wouldn’t mind to prove them right.”
“Idiot.” Craig repeated, his voice resounding with finality.
“Yeah, I guess.” Mark grinned, and then - suddenly - gulped. “So, now that we’ve done the whole ‘I love you, you love me’-thing, does that mean…” He trailed off, hoping for Craig to say something. He had absolutely no idea what his friend - lover? Boyfriend? - was thinking. A year ago it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.
“’m tired.” Craig finally said, letting go of Mark. “And the glass…” he gestured at the shards. Mark frowned. Craig really looked as if he was going to fall asleep on his feet any second now.
“Bed,” he decided after just a moment, “We can clean up later.”
“Moving fast, aren’t you?” Craig snickered.
“Asshole,” Mark said, giving Craig a gentle shove towards the bedroom door.
“Bastard.” Craig grinned broadly and pulled Mark into a short, sloppy kiss. “My bastard.”
~ The End ~