Fic: Two of A Kind [Mark/Mark]
Person A: Fuck, that gildedmuse must spend half her time at the computer writing.
Person B: Can you imagine having that much of a not life? What a loser.
Person A: Ah, come on. When she's not writing she must be doing something.
Stephanie: OMG! Look at the cute Mark/Roger dolls!
Person A: ...
Person B: At least she puts her whole heart into being a loser.
^^ My loserness is going to require a little more explaining this time around.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairings: RENT, Mark/Mark
Title: Two of a Kind
Rating: PG-13, for the weirdness of Mark/Mark kissing.
Word Count: 6,070
Summary: Mark meets a foreign filmmaker who he feels an instant connection with.
Explanation: First, you should know that this is all Krissy's fault. If not all, than at least 80%. This is an AU crack!fic. Everything is pretty much exactly as it is in canon, only it co-exists with the German Rent. This is German Mark. Some of you might recognize him from the fairly popular German Rent Bootleg. The plot of this fic is that these two Marks, one from Berlin and one from New York, meet up. If this doesn't make sense it's because it never will. May I suggest giving up?
Additional Author's Note: There may just be a second part of this, that would most likley be a Mark/Mark/Roger PWP to appease Krissy, but I'm not up for doing it if no one will read it. So, if this doesn't scare you too bad why not tell me in the review. That way I'll know if it's worth contining. Thank you. ^^
Two of a Kind
Mark sighs, breath turning into a puff of white when it hits the chilly February air. He rubs his hands together, trying to regain some of the feeling that has drained out of his fingertips. Roger had been right, laughing at Mark when he insisted on going out to film today. Even decked out in his sweater, scarf, and coat Mark’s skin is still feeling the bite of the cold New York winter. Still, what better way to capture the real suffering of the homeless then now when the snow is thigh deep and the little false holiday charity gone from the masses as Christmas fades away for another year. It’s right now when the homeless are forgotten, left to freeze to death at the side of the road like lost dogs without owners that Mark really needs to be filming.
At least, those are the lines he feed everyone else as he piled on the clothes and started rolling his camera. They believed them without question, and even if Mark didn’t give them any reason to doubt them it hurt. Is he really that closed off that no one can see when he’s lying to cut himself off from the pain?
Mark’s never let them see how much it hurts, though, so no one even looks for it. Especially not Mimi and Roger, so wrapped up in each other that even if Mark slipped every now and then they wouldn’t have noticed. At first he told himself the jealousy just came from being surrounded by couples. Mimi and Roger. Maureen and Joanne. Even if Collins is alone, he had the memory of Angel always around him, like a coat he wore to keep him warm. It would be normal to feel a little left out when every one around you has someone to hold, someone to love. Fuck, it would be more than okay if Mark got a little jealous of their happiness every now and then no matter how much he wanted to see Roger alive and well and living life like he does now.
Even when he lies in bed, unable to block out the sounds of Roger and Mimi in the next room, even then the jealousy could be plenty normal. It been almost two years since Mark had anyone in bed with him, and that’s only if you’re counting those last few months where Maureen just lied there and told him to hurry up. Who wouldn’t feel a little jealous that their best friend is two rooms over, having what sounds like the most amazing sex in the world why Mark is fucking hard as hell and all alone.
It’s when he ends up pumping to the sound of the headboard against the wall in the other room, panting and straining to hear those low, guttural moans that make his whole body ache that normalcy starts to get a little hazy. Maybe the rest he could pass off as just average couple jealousy, but chocking on Roger’s name when he comes, that’s crossing a line.
So today, instead of dealing with another round of “I love you,” “I love you more,” “No, I love you more,” banter from Mimi and Roger, Mark grabbed his camera the second they feel on the couch together and announced he wouldn’t be back until late that night. Mark doesn’t even want to think about what he’ll do tonight when the thumping and moaning pick up from Roger’s room. Maybe by then his sex drive will be as frozen as his hands are now, and he won’t have to worry about it.
After blowing a few times on his hands, praying his blood will start flowing there again, Mark picks up his camera and aims it out over the street. He starts winding the reel, looking for something interesting to close in on. Maybe a woman huddled under a quickly made tent, or an old man feasting on a molding piece of bread. Anything to show how devastating Alphabet City can be in these months, and maybe Mark will start to feel better about himself. Hey, compared to the lives of these people some confusing sexual thoughts on your best friend really aren’t all that bad.
“Close on…” Mark pauses, looking up at the guy his camera had caught in frame. His heart jumps, the urge to run striking through him as it usually does whenever he sees anyone walking straight towards him. One look at the guy calms Mark’s nerves pretty quickly. He looks lost, to say the least, looking around at the buildings in a way that seemed oddly familiar. Like the first time Roger had shown Mark to the loft, following after this new rock star friend he’d just met and unable to believe the city rising all around him.
The next thing Mark’s eyes fall on is his camera. It’s tucked under one of his arms, the other hand reaching up to support it. Same model as Mark’s and everything. At the same time, he can see this kid’s eyes fall on the still running camera in his own hands. He relaxes slightly, smiling a little as he takes a few cautious steps towards Mark, who straightens up his back. Just in case this kid is some creep ready to mug him, he wants to look intimidating for at least the first three seconds before he’s curled up in the snow.
When the guy smiles, Mark gets this strange feeling of safety and familiarity. He shakes it off pretty quickly. “Hello.” The boy’s accent is foreign. German, maybe. The only German accents Mark had ever heard where in old World War Two videos his history teacher had made them watch and Indiana Jones films. “You’re filming.”
“Huh?” Mark blinks, slightly hypnotized by the boy’s voice. “Oh,” He blushes slightly, hoping the tint in his cheeks will be cover by the wind hitting against his face. “Ummm… Yeah..” He smiles, raising his camera slightly. “Shooting a documentary of the city, kind of.” He lowers his camera, cradling it in his arms and nodding towards the other boy’s. “You?”
The boy’s smile is the kind you can’t help but grin back at. “Filming my vacation for my friends. They all wanted to know what New York was like.” He looks around him again, that lost look returning. Before he can say anything else Mark cuts in.
“Could have picked a cheery spot,” he says, motioning to the general run down, beaten look of Avenue A. “It’s a good thing you didn’t wander further into some of the other streets,” Mark points out, looking behind him towards his own street. Avenue A might have been littered with a few desperate homeless, but once a tourist hit C block it take more than a miracle to get them out with their wallet still in hand. “Maybe we could get you straightened out,” Mark says, scooting his glasses further up his nose as he looks back over this stranger. Maybe it’s just the camera, but he feels a connection with this guy. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time, maybe since meeting Angel. It sounds crazy, but it’s true. Hell, maybe it’s just the fact that so far he hasn’t had to watch him with his tongue down some girl’s throat, yet. With only Roger and Mimi to keep him company most days, this alone is a blessing. “Where are you staying?”
Before he can answer, there is a loud grumble. Blushing, the boy looks down at his stomach. “Maybe you could show me to a restaurant,” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. Mark’s eyes zero in on his fingerless gloves. He wonders if Germans are any more used to the cold or if this guy is just as freezing as he is. “I seem to have forgotten to eat.”
“I know what that’s like,” Mark answers. “Well, more like broke than forgetting, but still. I know a place you could grab a bite.”
“How about you show me,” the boy says, pointing to Mark. “And I’ll pay for both our meals. It’s all I can do. After all, you’re the first person to stop and help me.”
Mark laughs and starts walking off to the Life Café with this new tourist in tow. Not only does this guy own a camera, but he’s also willing to feed Mark. Today’s turning out a lot better than he expected, all things considering. “Well, you know. Welcome to New York.”
*
“Much better,” the boy says, shoulders sagging when they enter the nice warm Café. Mark nods, leaning in as they approach the host.
“You might have to flash that card or something,” Mark whispers, watching that familiar look of fear appear in the host’s eyes when he walks in. “I kinda of have a history of not paying.”
In the short walk they’d shared, Mark had learned that this guy is in fact from Berlin. He’s visiting New York for the Sundance festival where his film will be shown. Mark had almost jumped him, begging for details. The other boy just laughed and shrugged, admitting that he hadn’t thought the film had been anything good. “My co-inhibitor submitted it for me,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t forced me to call my parents and explain that it had been expected. I think my mom was so grateful all my filming finally paid off. She must have held a knife to my father’s throat. It’s the only way he would have given me his credit card for the trip.”
When Mark tells him about the problems he’s had with paying at the Life, the boy just smiles and digs out the card. The host relaxes a little, but still gives Mark a dirty look when he points them to a table. “We kind of caused a riot last time we were here,” Mark explains, trying to make the idea sound casual. He feels this connection with this guy he hasn’t felt with anyone in a long time and doesn’t want to freak him out before he gets to know him more, or at least gets his meal.
“They sound like my friends,” the guy says, sliding into his booth and tucking his camera safely on the seat between him and the wall. Mark takes off his scarf, wrapping it around the body of his own camera before setting it gently on the far corner of the table. “They are very… dramatic.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Mark answers, smiling as he thinks of how Maureen would react to being called dramatic. The word isn’t nearly strong enough to describe her. Then again, if Maureen where he she’d probably be all over this guy, laughing at everything he said and falling over his lap. He seems like Maureen’s type, or at least what her type had been when she was still into guys. He’s attractive enough to catch her attention at least. He’s got this great smile, brown hair falling into his eyes and… Fuck, what is Mark thinking? He looks away, fingers tracing patterns into the titles of the table so that he isn’t openly ogling the other guy. What has gotten into him lately? Can’t he just make friends with a guy without bringing sex into everything?
Shit, he hadn’t even been thinking about sex until now.
“What your name?”
“What?” Mark jumps to attention, glasses sliding down his face when he pops back too quickly. Blushing, he pushes the frames back into place. “Sorry, I guess I was kinda zoning there.” The boy just keeps looking at him, and Mark realizes he hasn’t answered the question yet. Great, not only had he been staring, but now he looks like a total idiot. “But I’m Mark. Sorry. Mark.”
The boy’s eyes go wide, and for a second Mark is afraid he’s said something offensice. He wonders if Mark means something perverted in German. Fuck, why did he have to take three years of French in high school, anyway? Then a smile breaks out on the other guy’s face, and Mark actually sighs in relief. “You’re Mark?” He asks, nodding towards Mark who just smiles in reply. The boy laughs again, shaking his head and sending that hair back into his eyes. He brushes it away, fixing his own glasses. “What a… A weird…”
“Name?” Mark asks, and the other boy laughs and shakes his head. “Sound? Word? Um… Story? Coincidence?” Mark just throws out any word he can think of, hoping he lands on something.
The boy nods. “Yes. Coincidence.”
“Is your roommate named Mark or something?” Mark asks, thinking back to the friend the boy had mentioned earlier. Mark had gotten the strange feeling then that they had been talking about someone who meant more than just being roommate, that this guy was more than the boy felt comfortable letting on.
“No,” the guy answers, shaking his head. “No, I am Mark.”
Mark doesn’t even know how to react for a few seconds. He just looks back at this guy, waiting for something clever to pop into his head. Nothing does. Finally he breaks down and just smiles, motioning between their two cameras as if this other Mark hadn’t already picked up on their eerie similarities. “God, that is weird.”
Mark, the other Mark, smiles and holds out his hand. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet a fellow Mark and filmmaker.”
Shaking his head, Mark reaches up to take the other’s hand. “Un-fucking-believable. Of all the people to run into in this city, huh?”
“Fate most have been looking out for me,” Mark says, leaning back in his booth. Mark hopes this same run of good luck will catch onto him, too.
*
Five and a half hours later, Mark and Mark had discussed every film they’d ever seen, laughing over the bad dialogues and cinematic of Hollywood, getting excited when they stumbled over indie productions they’d both watched. Most of their chatting had been so loud that the rest of the Life now knew all about the continuity errors in the Star Wars Trilogy and how Trainspotting had changed Mark’s life. The only thing keeping them from getting kicked out was Mark’s father’s credit card being flashed every time anyone approached their table.
Both boys are huddled on one side of the table. Mark is laughing, a little drunk on what the other Mark had stubbed as the worst local brewery beers he’d ever tasted, trying to impress his newfound friend with his horrible impression of some actress - he isn’t even sure who he’s trying to mimic at this point. The other Mark seems to find his attempt amusing enough, snickering and leaning against Mark’s shoulder.
Somehow, it turns into a Maureen impression. “Sexy, funny, post modern goddess. How could they not adore me?” Mark snorts when he finishes up, shaking his head as the other Mark’s head nearly falls into his lap, barely managing to catch himself. “She’s so dramatic.”
Still trembling from the laughter, the other Mark props his head up on Mark’s shoulder. “Who?”
Mark rolls his eyes, reaching across the crowded table for his drink. Half the food scattered around them hadn’t been finished. It kept them from being thrown out into the cold, and besides the other Mark didn’t seem to have any problems with throwing away his dad’s money. “My ex-girlfriend. You wouldn’t believe how theatrical she can get. Every little thing sets her off into a monologue.” He rolls his eyes, holding the beer bottle up in a bad Hamlet impression. “Mark, you don’t understand how hard it is to be absolutely perfect!”
The other boy snorts. “She can’t be too bad,” he says.
Mark shakes his head, taking a deep sip from his nearly empty bottle. He looks around for another waitress, but by this point most of the staff seems to be going out of their way to avoid the boy’s table. “She’s not. She’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose, like she’s afraid of acting like herself.”
He frowns, glancing down at the dark hair boy leaning on his shoulder. “I have the worst luck with women.”
Mark sits up for a bit, fishing around the table until he can find an empty glass. He knocks it against Mark’s empty bottle with a loud clang. That gets a nearby waiter’s attention, obviously afraid the boys had broken another dish and he’d be in charge of cleaning it up. “There’s another thing we have in common.”
Mark smiles, bringing his empty bottle to the table with a loud thump. The waiter nearly jumps into the air. “I just wish she weren’t such a drama queen. Maybe then I could figure out where I went wrong instead of just this… I don’t know, scripted version of it.” Mark sighs, slumping into the booth. “I think I might be too drunk to make sense.”
“Dramatic?” The other Mark asks, laying his head back against Mark’s shoulder. It’s a strangely comfortable position they’d managed to work out, even if the other Mark is taller and has to stretch out all under the table to bend like he does. “My roommate he is… He over acts at everything.”
Still thinking of Maureen, Mark says, “Every little thing is the end of the world.”
The other Mark raises his hand, pinching his fingers together. “No matter how small it is.” His hand falls back to his lap. Mark sighs, slipping a little further down in his seat, and if he keeps this up they’re both going to end up all the way under the table. “It’s not like he even notices me that much,” Mark continues. “But I never give up on him.”
Suddenly Maureen isn’t on Mark’s mind. The person who is, he’s back at the loft probably safe in warm in his girlfriend’s arms. Mark’s stomach twists thinking of that scene, of how happy Roger is when he’s around her. How can he compete with that? Fuck, does even want to try? After all his pain and suffering, Roger has finally found someone who makes him glad to be alive. If Mark were any kind of friend, he wouldn’t want to change that.
“Maybe we should toast to hopeless love,” Mark suggests without any of the cheer from earlier. “Seems to be another thing we have in common.”
Mark moves his head from his shoulder, propping and elbow on the tabletop and resting his head in his hand. “Sorry to hear that,” he says, looking right into Mark’s eyes, and there it is again. Between them, there is this connection, this understanding. Mark wonders how it got there so quickly, this force between them that already seems so solid and real. The last time he felt like this had been two Christmas’s ago, during the riots with Angel and Mimi and Joanne being introduced to their group. Even then, it hadn’t felt so familiar as it does now. Something about this Mark, it makes him feel like he’s not alone. That feeling of being separate, detached from all his friends, it’s been haunting him for so long, what with hanging around Maureen-Joanne and Mimi-Roger, that Mark hardly remembers how good this feels, having this fullness and connection with someone else.
“I hate couples,” he announces, and maybe he’s a little drunker than he gave himself credit for. It doesn’t really matter, though, because then he’s kissing Mark. Just like that, he leans in and they’re kissing. That familiar connection that he thinks they share, it crackles and burns with the contact. Maybe he just meant for it to be a quick kiss, the sort of thing you’d do after a first date if this little meeting could be called that. The second he’s closed the distance Mark kisses him back and chasteness is out of the question. They move in perfect synchrony, parting their lips and searching the other’s mouth without any hesitation. Mark struggles to sit up, cupping his face and pulling him forward into the kiss. He moans, his fingers curling into the other boy’s pants as the last breath of air is pushed from between them and the kiss becomes nothing but heat and lips and tongue.
When they pull apart, Mark is utterly out of breath. Fuck, this guy is the perfect kisser. Them fitting together felt like the most natural thing in the world, and he’d known just how to kiss Mark, everything he liked had been poured into it. The other Mark’s eyes have a glazed, dark look to them and he hopes that means he’d managed to return the favor.
There’s something else twisting at his stomach that isn’t the coiled heat of lust, though. Something that feels a little more strange and out of place. That familiarity Mark had felt with this guy, it made the kiss feel off somehow. Maybe like it would be to kiss a brother or close friend who didn’t mean anything more. Mark shakes his head, trying to clear his head of alcohol and lust and about a billion other things that could throw such weird thoughts his way. Maybe he’s just afraid that Mark hadn’t felt what he had. It had been a long time since he’d been brave enough to initiate a kiss. It been since Nanette, and even then saying that Mark had kissed her first is a bit of a stretch.
From beside their table, an older waiter coughs to get their attention. Two wide eyes boys look up at him, panting and flustered and not sure what to say at this point. He takes over for them. “You better be brothers.”
It doesn’t make that weird feeling in Mark’s stomach any better.
“We were just leaving,” he says. The other Mark nods, sitting back in his seat and waving his father’s credit card in the waiter’s face. The guy rolls his eyes and takes the plastic. “I don’t get what this places deal is with incest,” Mark adds as the man marches off towards the register.
He looks back over to the other Mark who is brushing a few loose locks of brown hair away from his face. He looks confused at Mark’s last comment, so he shrugs and explains with, “It’s a long story.”
The other Mark puts on a smile, even though it isn’t quite as bright as all his ones before. He reaches for his scarf, looping the colorful stripped material around his neck. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mark.”
Mark can’t help but wince as the other guy gets ready to walk back into the New York cold. He’d really managed to mess up whatever connection they had going with that kiss. Sure, he hadn’t known Mark all that long and in four days he’d be heading back to Germany, but for a second there Mark had forgotten all that and he’d just had this great friend with the same interest, same sense of humor. Yet he’d screwed all that up. If this is some sort of sign for how he’s going to end up dealing with his crush on Roger, he’s better off just ripping out his own heart right here and now.
“You should at least come back to my place,” Mark says as the boy starts to pull on those ripped up gloves. He pauses, looking up to meet Mark’s eyes and, yeah that couldn’t have been worded any worse. “I can call you a cab. Make sure you get back to your hotel in one piece.”
There’s a slight hesitation, and for a few second Mark knows the guy is going to say no and walk away and they’ll never see each other again. Then he smiles, and Mark’s heart starts beating again. “I’d like that.”
*
The walk back to the loft is strangely lacking in awkward silences. The two boys leave the Café bundled up once again and both with their cameras out and at the ready. They walk outside, Mark a few paces behind as he unwinds his scarf from his camera. The other Mark steps out on the curve, looking behind him to see what’s taking so long and a split second later he’s yelping and falling to his ass, sliding across the icy walkway.
Mark jumps, running over to make sure the other Mark is still in one piece. When everything looks fine he smiles and holds up his camera to say, “It’s okay. I got it all on film for your roommate.”
As he’s saying that, the other Mark looks up with his cameras clutched to his chest and says, “It’s okay. The camera’s alright.”
Everything goes back to being comfortable and easy from there.
They’re climbing up the stairs to the loft, exchanging tips on film exposure when the other Mark stops in his tracks. Mark frowns, turning back to see what’s the matter. He’s hoping the other boy isn’t going to start panicking, maybe thinking Mark is luring him into some kind of trap or anything creepy like that. Of course, with the run down vibes their building gives off, he can’t blame him if the other guy comes to this conclusion. Hell, the first time Roger had brought him back here he’d thought the same thing.
Had kind of been hoping for it, actually. But that had been long ago, when Mark was young and thought everyone was naturally bi and that being in lust with your new rock star roommate would be the easier thing in the world to deal with. He’d grown up a lot since then.
Well, until recently he’d thought he’d managed to out grow a few of those urges. Being with a withdrawaling drug addict on the verge of suicide and relapse at any given moment can help quell anyone’s little crush. Mark had never expected those feelings to come back, and with such force. Fuck the human heart for being so damn temperamental.
“Something wrong?” He asks Mark. He glances up the stairwell again. He can already seen Mimi and Roger wrapped around each other, smiling and kissing and just being so damn happy. Mark doesn’t want to hurt Roger’s chances of being happy in this life. He just wonders, why couldn’t it have been him?
The other boy shakes his head, eyes following Mark’s up the stairs towards the loft door. “Not really,” he answers, taking a few more slow steps forward. “Just got this weird sense of deja vu.” He smiles, ducking under Mark’s arm and heading up the last steps. “You guys live all the way up here.”
“Eighth floor,” Mark says, turning and following the other boy up to their door. He fiddles with the key a bit. “My roommate and his girlfriend might be around,” he says before he opens the door. He’s not sure why he’s telling Mark this. Hell, maybe he’s just preparing himself from another round of ignoring the ache in his chest. “Feel free to just ignore them.”
There’s another one of those smiles that really doesn’t make him look any happier. “I’m good at that.”
Mark smiles and opens the door, motioning them both inside.
There is no couple cuddling on the sofa, no moans or creaks coming from the bedroom. Mark doesn’t call out for Roger to see if maybe he’s home and just passed out in bed with Mimi or something like that. Hey, why put himself through more than he has to?
“Phone’s over here,” he says, leading Mark back to the small living room set up they have cramped to one side of the loft where Roger’s music supplies and Mark’s filming equipment weren’t spilling all over the floor. He waves to the couch so Mark will know to sit down. “I’ll just call a cab. Where did you say you were staying?”
Mark smiles, looking around the boy’s messy loft. He adjusts his glasses and scarf a bit, rubbing up and down his arms from some warmth. “Cold in here.”
Mark shrugs. “Our heating is worth shit.”
The other boy laughs, smiling over at Mark. He’s got a pink tint to his cheeks, and Mark wonders if maybe it really is that cold or if he’s still just flustered. As if sharing the same thought, the boy asks, “Back at the Café.”
Now it is Mark who is blushing. “About that,” he says, looking down at the ground to avoid having to looking into the other boy’s eyes. Every time they look at each other, Mark feels like they’re both searching, studying. It’s not what he needs working on his nerves right now.
“Did it feel… Real.”
Now Mark does look up, brow furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean?” He thinks back to that deep, familiar connection that had been mixed in with the lust running through his system. He’s pretty sure he knows what Mark means.
The other boy shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“No,” Mark insists. “It’s something.” He isn’t sure what it is, but there is something between them. He keeps grabbing at it, looking for words or even just a feeling to connect with it but nothing he’d ever had with anyone else can quite explain this. It’s strange, because Mark has always been so adept at figuring people out by watching them. Figuring himself out, though, that’s impossible. Doesn’t explain why he can’t get Mark, though. “I think I’m going insane or something.”
Mark’s laugh sounds on the borderline of nervous. “Yet another thing we can add to the list of similarities.” He reaches forward, wrapping his fingers around the edges of Mark’s scarf. They both watch him play with the frayed blue and white ends, curling the loose strings around his fingers until a few break free and drift to the floor. “What is it about you?”
When the other Mark’s fingers curl into his scarf, Mark already knows what’s about to happen and lets it. He doesn’t fight when Mark tugs him forward, already grabbing at him as their lips connect. No, he doesn’t know what it is about this guy, but he knows it’s been too long since he’s felt like this.
Mark is still hot, still seems to fit against him so easily. He wraps his fingers into the other boy’s brown hair, pulling and tugging until their lips are smashes so close together he can’t even breath. Mark’s hands are on his waist, grinding their hips together, leading Mark back. There is a slight whimper of pain when he bumps against the table. Their phone shakes, almost falling off the edge, as Mark pushes him up on the cold surface. He uncurls his fist from the boy’s hair, hands sliding down his chest to fumble with the button of his jeans. He doesn’t know where all this is going, but he wants it to get there now.
Of course that would be the exact moment the loft door slams shut with a booming clang. Neither boy really moves back, though, until they hear someone shout, “Mark?”
Both of them pull back, looking anything but innocent with their rumbled clothes and gasping for breath. They both look at Roger, who is standing at the door way looking at them like he’s the one who has lost his mind, and Mark can’t think of a single thing to say.
“Mark,” he says, looking back at the German before turning to motion at Roger. “This is my roomma-“
“I… Wh-What the hell are you…?” Mark winces when Roger finally manages to recover from the shock of walking in on his best friend with some strange guy’s tongue down his throat. It’s at that point Mark decides to pull his hands away from the crotch of the other Mark’s jeans. The other boy doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, he hadn’t look away from Roger yet. The way he’s staring makes Mark more than a little uncomfortable. Shit, only he should be allowed to stare at Roger like that, and even then only when it’s dark and no one is there to can catch him.
“I was just calling him a cab,” Mark explains. Maybe not the best thing to say when you’re up on a table with a guy pressed in between your legs, but it’s the truth and at this point all Mark can think to say. He looks back to the other Mark, sure the guy has yet to so much as blink. He hopes he doesn’t look that desperate when he looks at his best friend. No, he couldn’t. If he had, surely Maureen with all her utter lack of tact would have pointed it out already.
He expects Roger to laugh at him. Maybe if Mimi and him had got in a fight he’d start yelling, but they’d been doing a lot less of that and Mark didn’t think it was all that likely. What he doesn’t expect is for Roger to keep staring at them for what feels like hours before he shakes his head. “I… I’m going to bed, I guess.”
Both Mark’s watch him disappear into his room without another word, never quite looking away from them until his door shut him off. Mark slips off the table and away from the other boy, grabbing the phone. “It will just be a minute,” he says and starts dialing for a taxi.
The other Mark’s eyes stay glued on Roger’s door. As Mark is talking to the taxi company, he keeps glancing between the door and Mark not liking the way that ache of jealousy is back already. “They’ll be here in a minute,” he says, hanging up and moving in front of Mark to get his attention back.
Mark smiles, eyes finally breaking from Roger’s door. “Thank you for showing me around, Mark,” he says. Mark shrugs, not feeling as comfortable around him anymore. All over Roger. It’s silly. This Mark has just as much of a chance as he does, which is zero so long as Mimi’s around.
“I had a nice time,” Mark answers, realizing a little too late how much that makes this whole thing sound like a date. The other Mark’s cheeks turn a few shades of pink, too, so Mark knows he isn’t the only one who caught it.
“Maybe you could come to the film festival,” Mark suggests. “Well, if you were planning on going anyway you could stop by and see me, maybe.”
“Yeah,” Mark says, feeling a smile tug at his lips again. Hell, he can’t blame Mark for staring at Roger. If it weren’t for the fact that Roger is his best friend and confidant, he’d probably stare at him like that, too. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Good,” Mark says, running a gloved hand through his flat brown hair. “I guess I might see you later.”
Mark smiles, walking the other Mark towards the exit. “Count on it,” he says, holding open door as Mark ducks out. They share one last smile and a few more promises to see each other before Mark disappears down the stairwell, heading off to his hotel. Once he’s out of sight, this eerie feeling sets over Mark. Almost like he’s missing part of himself. It’s stupid. He hadn’t known Mark for more than a day.
Mark leans his head against the cool wall of the loft, thinking back over today trying to pin point the exact moment of connection. Through the silence, he can hear a low moan. Mark closes his eyes. Fuck, couldn’t they go even a few hours without doing that? Then he realizes Mimi isn’t even here. Mark’s eyes pop open again, a blush bleeding into his cheeks. It’s not like he’s never heard Roger masturbating before. There were times when he’d been young and stupid and even thought maybe, just maybe, he slips into Roger’s fantasies every now and then. Now he’s older and a little smarter. He doesn’t want his day to be ruined by false hopes and stupid crushes. Growling, Mark grabs his camera and heads off back to the street to catch a few more frames before it got too dark. Everything had been going so nice today, too.
In his hurry to leave, he doesn’t hear Roger moaning his name.
Person B: Can you imagine having that much of a not life? What a loser.
Person A: Ah, come on. When she's not writing she must be doing something.
Stephanie: OMG! Look at the cute Mark/Roger dolls!
Person A: ...
Person B: At least she puts her whole heart into being a loser.
^^ My loserness is going to require a little more explaining this time around.
Author: Stephanie
Fandom, Pairings: RENT, Mark/Mark
Title: Two of a Kind
Rating: PG-13, for the weirdness of Mark/Mark kissing.
Word Count: 6,070
Summary: Mark meets a foreign filmmaker who he feels an instant connection with.
Explanation: First, you should know that this is all Krissy's fault. If not all, than at least 80%. This is an AU crack!fic. Everything is pretty much exactly as it is in canon, only it co-exists with the German Rent. This is German Mark. Some of you might recognize him from the fairly popular German Rent Bootleg. The plot of this fic is that these two Marks, one from Berlin and one from New York, meet up. If this doesn't make sense it's because it never will. May I suggest giving up?
Additional Author's Note: There may just be a second part of this, that would most likley be a Mark/Mark/Roger PWP to appease Krissy, but I'm not up for doing it if no one will read it. So, if this doesn't scare you too bad why not tell me in the review. That way I'll know if it's worth contining. Thank you. ^^
Two of a Kind
Mark sighs, breath turning into a puff of white when it hits the chilly February air. He rubs his hands together, trying to regain some of the feeling that has drained out of his fingertips. Roger had been right, laughing at Mark when he insisted on going out to film today. Even decked out in his sweater, scarf, and coat Mark’s skin is still feeling the bite of the cold New York winter. Still, what better way to capture the real suffering of the homeless then now when the snow is thigh deep and the little false holiday charity gone from the masses as Christmas fades away for another year. It’s right now when the homeless are forgotten, left to freeze to death at the side of the road like lost dogs without owners that Mark really needs to be filming.
At least, those are the lines he feed everyone else as he piled on the clothes and started rolling his camera. They believed them without question, and even if Mark didn’t give them any reason to doubt them it hurt. Is he really that closed off that no one can see when he’s lying to cut himself off from the pain?
Mark’s never let them see how much it hurts, though, so no one even looks for it. Especially not Mimi and Roger, so wrapped up in each other that even if Mark slipped every now and then they wouldn’t have noticed. At first he told himself the jealousy just came from being surrounded by couples. Mimi and Roger. Maureen and Joanne. Even if Collins is alone, he had the memory of Angel always around him, like a coat he wore to keep him warm. It would be normal to feel a little left out when every one around you has someone to hold, someone to love. Fuck, it would be more than okay if Mark got a little jealous of their happiness every now and then no matter how much he wanted to see Roger alive and well and living life like he does now.
Even when he lies in bed, unable to block out the sounds of Roger and Mimi in the next room, even then the jealousy could be plenty normal. It been almost two years since Mark had anyone in bed with him, and that’s only if you’re counting those last few months where Maureen just lied there and told him to hurry up. Who wouldn’t feel a little jealous that their best friend is two rooms over, having what sounds like the most amazing sex in the world why Mark is fucking hard as hell and all alone.
It’s when he ends up pumping to the sound of the headboard against the wall in the other room, panting and straining to hear those low, guttural moans that make his whole body ache that normalcy starts to get a little hazy. Maybe the rest he could pass off as just average couple jealousy, but chocking on Roger’s name when he comes, that’s crossing a line.
So today, instead of dealing with another round of “I love you,” “I love you more,” “No, I love you more,” banter from Mimi and Roger, Mark grabbed his camera the second they feel on the couch together and announced he wouldn’t be back until late that night. Mark doesn’t even want to think about what he’ll do tonight when the thumping and moaning pick up from Roger’s room. Maybe by then his sex drive will be as frozen as his hands are now, and he won’t have to worry about it.
After blowing a few times on his hands, praying his blood will start flowing there again, Mark picks up his camera and aims it out over the street. He starts winding the reel, looking for something interesting to close in on. Maybe a woman huddled under a quickly made tent, or an old man feasting on a molding piece of bread. Anything to show how devastating Alphabet City can be in these months, and maybe Mark will start to feel better about himself. Hey, compared to the lives of these people some confusing sexual thoughts on your best friend really aren’t all that bad.
“Close on…” Mark pauses, looking up at the guy his camera had caught in frame. His heart jumps, the urge to run striking through him as it usually does whenever he sees anyone walking straight towards him. One look at the guy calms Mark’s nerves pretty quickly. He looks lost, to say the least, looking around at the buildings in a way that seemed oddly familiar. Like the first time Roger had shown Mark to the loft, following after this new rock star friend he’d just met and unable to believe the city rising all around him.
The next thing Mark’s eyes fall on is his camera. It’s tucked under one of his arms, the other hand reaching up to support it. Same model as Mark’s and everything. At the same time, he can see this kid’s eyes fall on the still running camera in his own hands. He relaxes slightly, smiling a little as he takes a few cautious steps towards Mark, who straightens up his back. Just in case this kid is some creep ready to mug him, he wants to look intimidating for at least the first three seconds before he’s curled up in the snow.
When the guy smiles, Mark gets this strange feeling of safety and familiarity. He shakes it off pretty quickly. “Hello.” The boy’s accent is foreign. German, maybe. The only German accents Mark had ever heard where in old World War Two videos his history teacher had made them watch and Indiana Jones films. “You’re filming.”
“Huh?” Mark blinks, slightly hypnotized by the boy’s voice. “Oh,” He blushes slightly, hoping the tint in his cheeks will be cover by the wind hitting against his face. “Ummm… Yeah..” He smiles, raising his camera slightly. “Shooting a documentary of the city, kind of.” He lowers his camera, cradling it in his arms and nodding towards the other boy’s. “You?”
The boy’s smile is the kind you can’t help but grin back at. “Filming my vacation for my friends. They all wanted to know what New York was like.” He looks around him again, that lost look returning. Before he can say anything else Mark cuts in.
“Could have picked a cheery spot,” he says, motioning to the general run down, beaten look of Avenue A. “It’s a good thing you didn’t wander further into some of the other streets,” Mark points out, looking behind him towards his own street. Avenue A might have been littered with a few desperate homeless, but once a tourist hit C block it take more than a miracle to get them out with their wallet still in hand. “Maybe we could get you straightened out,” Mark says, scooting his glasses further up his nose as he looks back over this stranger. Maybe it’s just the camera, but he feels a connection with this guy. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time, maybe since meeting Angel. It sounds crazy, but it’s true. Hell, maybe it’s just the fact that so far he hasn’t had to watch him with his tongue down some girl’s throat, yet. With only Roger and Mimi to keep him company most days, this alone is a blessing. “Where are you staying?”
Before he can answer, there is a loud grumble. Blushing, the boy looks down at his stomach. “Maybe you could show me to a restaurant,” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. Mark’s eyes zero in on his fingerless gloves. He wonders if Germans are any more used to the cold or if this guy is just as freezing as he is. “I seem to have forgotten to eat.”
“I know what that’s like,” Mark answers. “Well, more like broke than forgetting, but still. I know a place you could grab a bite.”
“How about you show me,” the boy says, pointing to Mark. “And I’ll pay for both our meals. It’s all I can do. After all, you’re the first person to stop and help me.”
Mark laughs and starts walking off to the Life Café with this new tourist in tow. Not only does this guy own a camera, but he’s also willing to feed Mark. Today’s turning out a lot better than he expected, all things considering. “Well, you know. Welcome to New York.”
*
“Much better,” the boy says, shoulders sagging when they enter the nice warm Café. Mark nods, leaning in as they approach the host.
“You might have to flash that card or something,” Mark whispers, watching that familiar look of fear appear in the host’s eyes when he walks in. “I kinda of have a history of not paying.”
In the short walk they’d shared, Mark had learned that this guy is in fact from Berlin. He’s visiting New York for the Sundance festival where his film will be shown. Mark had almost jumped him, begging for details. The other boy just laughed and shrugged, admitting that he hadn’t thought the film had been anything good. “My co-inhibitor submitted it for me,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t forced me to call my parents and explain that it had been expected. I think my mom was so grateful all my filming finally paid off. She must have held a knife to my father’s throat. It’s the only way he would have given me his credit card for the trip.”
When Mark tells him about the problems he’s had with paying at the Life, the boy just smiles and digs out the card. The host relaxes a little, but still gives Mark a dirty look when he points them to a table. “We kind of caused a riot last time we were here,” Mark explains, trying to make the idea sound casual. He feels this connection with this guy he hasn’t felt with anyone in a long time and doesn’t want to freak him out before he gets to know him more, or at least gets his meal.
“They sound like my friends,” the guy says, sliding into his booth and tucking his camera safely on the seat between him and the wall. Mark takes off his scarf, wrapping it around the body of his own camera before setting it gently on the far corner of the table. “They are very… dramatic.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Mark answers, smiling as he thinks of how Maureen would react to being called dramatic. The word isn’t nearly strong enough to describe her. Then again, if Maureen where he she’d probably be all over this guy, laughing at everything he said and falling over his lap. He seems like Maureen’s type, or at least what her type had been when she was still into guys. He’s attractive enough to catch her attention at least. He’s got this great smile, brown hair falling into his eyes and… Fuck, what is Mark thinking? He looks away, fingers tracing patterns into the titles of the table so that he isn’t openly ogling the other guy. What has gotten into him lately? Can’t he just make friends with a guy without bringing sex into everything?
Shit, he hadn’t even been thinking about sex until now.
“What your name?”
“What?” Mark jumps to attention, glasses sliding down his face when he pops back too quickly. Blushing, he pushes the frames back into place. “Sorry, I guess I was kinda zoning there.” The boy just keeps looking at him, and Mark realizes he hasn’t answered the question yet. Great, not only had he been staring, but now he looks like a total idiot. “But I’m Mark. Sorry. Mark.”
The boy’s eyes go wide, and for a second Mark is afraid he’s said something offensice. He wonders if Mark means something perverted in German. Fuck, why did he have to take three years of French in high school, anyway? Then a smile breaks out on the other guy’s face, and Mark actually sighs in relief. “You’re Mark?” He asks, nodding towards Mark who just smiles in reply. The boy laughs again, shaking his head and sending that hair back into his eyes. He brushes it away, fixing his own glasses. “What a… A weird…”
“Name?” Mark asks, and the other boy laughs and shakes his head. “Sound? Word? Um… Story? Coincidence?” Mark just throws out any word he can think of, hoping he lands on something.
The boy nods. “Yes. Coincidence.”
“Is your roommate named Mark or something?” Mark asks, thinking back to the friend the boy had mentioned earlier. Mark had gotten the strange feeling then that they had been talking about someone who meant more than just being roommate, that this guy was more than the boy felt comfortable letting on.
“No,” the guy answers, shaking his head. “No, I am Mark.”
Mark doesn’t even know how to react for a few seconds. He just looks back at this guy, waiting for something clever to pop into his head. Nothing does. Finally he breaks down and just smiles, motioning between their two cameras as if this other Mark hadn’t already picked up on their eerie similarities. “God, that is weird.”
Mark, the other Mark, smiles and holds out his hand. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet a fellow Mark and filmmaker.”
Shaking his head, Mark reaches up to take the other’s hand. “Un-fucking-believable. Of all the people to run into in this city, huh?”
“Fate most have been looking out for me,” Mark says, leaning back in his booth. Mark hopes this same run of good luck will catch onto him, too.
*
Five and a half hours later, Mark and Mark had discussed every film they’d ever seen, laughing over the bad dialogues and cinematic of Hollywood, getting excited when they stumbled over indie productions they’d both watched. Most of their chatting had been so loud that the rest of the Life now knew all about the continuity errors in the Star Wars Trilogy and how Trainspotting had changed Mark’s life. The only thing keeping them from getting kicked out was Mark’s father’s credit card being flashed every time anyone approached their table.
Both boys are huddled on one side of the table. Mark is laughing, a little drunk on what the other Mark had stubbed as the worst local brewery beers he’d ever tasted, trying to impress his newfound friend with his horrible impression of some actress - he isn’t even sure who he’s trying to mimic at this point. The other Mark seems to find his attempt amusing enough, snickering and leaning against Mark’s shoulder.
Somehow, it turns into a Maureen impression. “Sexy, funny, post modern goddess. How could they not adore me?” Mark snorts when he finishes up, shaking his head as the other Mark’s head nearly falls into his lap, barely managing to catch himself. “She’s so dramatic.”
Still trembling from the laughter, the other Mark props his head up on Mark’s shoulder. “Who?”
Mark rolls his eyes, reaching across the crowded table for his drink. Half the food scattered around them hadn’t been finished. It kept them from being thrown out into the cold, and besides the other Mark didn’t seem to have any problems with throwing away his dad’s money. “My ex-girlfriend. You wouldn’t believe how theatrical she can get. Every little thing sets her off into a monologue.” He rolls his eyes, holding the beer bottle up in a bad Hamlet impression. “Mark, you don’t understand how hard it is to be absolutely perfect!”
The other boy snorts. “She can’t be too bad,” he says.
Mark shakes his head, taking a deep sip from his nearly empty bottle. He looks around for another waitress, but by this point most of the staff seems to be going out of their way to avoid the boy’s table. “She’s not. She’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose, like she’s afraid of acting like herself.”
He frowns, glancing down at the dark hair boy leaning on his shoulder. “I have the worst luck with women.”
Mark sits up for a bit, fishing around the table until he can find an empty glass. He knocks it against Mark’s empty bottle with a loud clang. That gets a nearby waiter’s attention, obviously afraid the boys had broken another dish and he’d be in charge of cleaning it up. “There’s another thing we have in common.”
Mark smiles, bringing his empty bottle to the table with a loud thump. The waiter nearly jumps into the air. “I just wish she weren’t such a drama queen. Maybe then I could figure out where I went wrong instead of just this… I don’t know, scripted version of it.” Mark sighs, slumping into the booth. “I think I might be too drunk to make sense.”
“Dramatic?” The other Mark asks, laying his head back against Mark’s shoulder. It’s a strangely comfortable position they’d managed to work out, even if the other Mark is taller and has to stretch out all under the table to bend like he does. “My roommate he is… He over acts at everything.”
Still thinking of Maureen, Mark says, “Every little thing is the end of the world.”
The other Mark raises his hand, pinching his fingers together. “No matter how small it is.” His hand falls back to his lap. Mark sighs, slipping a little further down in his seat, and if he keeps this up they’re both going to end up all the way under the table. “It’s not like he even notices me that much,” Mark continues. “But I never give up on him.”
Suddenly Maureen isn’t on Mark’s mind. The person who is, he’s back at the loft probably safe in warm in his girlfriend’s arms. Mark’s stomach twists thinking of that scene, of how happy Roger is when he’s around her. How can he compete with that? Fuck, does even want to try? After all his pain and suffering, Roger has finally found someone who makes him glad to be alive. If Mark were any kind of friend, he wouldn’t want to change that.
“Maybe we should toast to hopeless love,” Mark suggests without any of the cheer from earlier. “Seems to be another thing we have in common.”
Mark moves his head from his shoulder, propping and elbow on the tabletop and resting his head in his hand. “Sorry to hear that,” he says, looking right into Mark’s eyes, and there it is again. Between them, there is this connection, this understanding. Mark wonders how it got there so quickly, this force between them that already seems so solid and real. The last time he felt like this had been two Christmas’s ago, during the riots with Angel and Mimi and Joanne being introduced to their group. Even then, it hadn’t felt so familiar as it does now. Something about this Mark, it makes him feel like he’s not alone. That feeling of being separate, detached from all his friends, it’s been haunting him for so long, what with hanging around Maureen-Joanne and Mimi-Roger, that Mark hardly remembers how good this feels, having this fullness and connection with someone else.
“I hate couples,” he announces, and maybe he’s a little drunker than he gave himself credit for. It doesn’t really matter, though, because then he’s kissing Mark. Just like that, he leans in and they’re kissing. That familiar connection that he thinks they share, it crackles and burns with the contact. Maybe he just meant for it to be a quick kiss, the sort of thing you’d do after a first date if this little meeting could be called that. The second he’s closed the distance Mark kisses him back and chasteness is out of the question. They move in perfect synchrony, parting their lips and searching the other’s mouth without any hesitation. Mark struggles to sit up, cupping his face and pulling him forward into the kiss. He moans, his fingers curling into the other boy’s pants as the last breath of air is pushed from between them and the kiss becomes nothing but heat and lips and tongue.
When they pull apart, Mark is utterly out of breath. Fuck, this guy is the perfect kisser. Them fitting together felt like the most natural thing in the world, and he’d known just how to kiss Mark, everything he liked had been poured into it. The other Mark’s eyes have a glazed, dark look to them and he hopes that means he’d managed to return the favor.
There’s something else twisting at his stomach that isn’t the coiled heat of lust, though. Something that feels a little more strange and out of place. That familiarity Mark had felt with this guy, it made the kiss feel off somehow. Maybe like it would be to kiss a brother or close friend who didn’t mean anything more. Mark shakes his head, trying to clear his head of alcohol and lust and about a billion other things that could throw such weird thoughts his way. Maybe he’s just afraid that Mark hadn’t felt what he had. It had been a long time since he’d been brave enough to initiate a kiss. It been since Nanette, and even then saying that Mark had kissed her first is a bit of a stretch.
From beside their table, an older waiter coughs to get their attention. Two wide eyes boys look up at him, panting and flustered and not sure what to say at this point. He takes over for them. “You better be brothers.”
It doesn’t make that weird feeling in Mark’s stomach any better.
“We were just leaving,” he says. The other Mark nods, sitting back in his seat and waving his father’s credit card in the waiter’s face. The guy rolls his eyes and takes the plastic. “I don’t get what this places deal is with incest,” Mark adds as the man marches off towards the register.
He looks back over to the other Mark who is brushing a few loose locks of brown hair away from his face. He looks confused at Mark’s last comment, so he shrugs and explains with, “It’s a long story.”
The other Mark puts on a smile, even though it isn’t quite as bright as all his ones before. He reaches for his scarf, looping the colorful stripped material around his neck. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mark.”
Mark can’t help but wince as the other guy gets ready to walk back into the New York cold. He’d really managed to mess up whatever connection they had going with that kiss. Sure, he hadn’t known Mark all that long and in four days he’d be heading back to Germany, but for a second there Mark had forgotten all that and he’d just had this great friend with the same interest, same sense of humor. Yet he’d screwed all that up. If this is some sort of sign for how he’s going to end up dealing with his crush on Roger, he’s better off just ripping out his own heart right here and now.
“You should at least come back to my place,” Mark says as the boy starts to pull on those ripped up gloves. He pauses, looking up to meet Mark’s eyes and, yeah that couldn’t have been worded any worse. “I can call you a cab. Make sure you get back to your hotel in one piece.”
There’s a slight hesitation, and for a few second Mark knows the guy is going to say no and walk away and they’ll never see each other again. Then he smiles, and Mark’s heart starts beating again. “I’d like that.”
*
The walk back to the loft is strangely lacking in awkward silences. The two boys leave the Café bundled up once again and both with their cameras out and at the ready. They walk outside, Mark a few paces behind as he unwinds his scarf from his camera. The other Mark steps out on the curve, looking behind him to see what’s taking so long and a split second later he’s yelping and falling to his ass, sliding across the icy walkway.
Mark jumps, running over to make sure the other Mark is still in one piece. When everything looks fine he smiles and holds up his camera to say, “It’s okay. I got it all on film for your roommate.”
As he’s saying that, the other Mark looks up with his cameras clutched to his chest and says, “It’s okay. The camera’s alright.”
Everything goes back to being comfortable and easy from there.
They’re climbing up the stairs to the loft, exchanging tips on film exposure when the other Mark stops in his tracks. Mark frowns, turning back to see what’s the matter. He’s hoping the other boy isn’t going to start panicking, maybe thinking Mark is luring him into some kind of trap or anything creepy like that. Of course, with the run down vibes their building gives off, he can’t blame him if the other guy comes to this conclusion. Hell, the first time Roger had brought him back here he’d thought the same thing.
Had kind of been hoping for it, actually. But that had been long ago, when Mark was young and thought everyone was naturally bi and that being in lust with your new rock star roommate would be the easier thing in the world to deal with. He’d grown up a lot since then.
Well, until recently he’d thought he’d managed to out grow a few of those urges. Being with a withdrawaling drug addict on the verge of suicide and relapse at any given moment can help quell anyone’s little crush. Mark had never expected those feelings to come back, and with such force. Fuck the human heart for being so damn temperamental.
“Something wrong?” He asks Mark. He glances up the stairwell again. He can already seen Mimi and Roger wrapped around each other, smiling and kissing and just being so damn happy. Mark doesn’t want to hurt Roger’s chances of being happy in this life. He just wonders, why couldn’t it have been him?
The other boy shakes his head, eyes following Mark’s up the stairs towards the loft door. “Not really,” he answers, taking a few more slow steps forward. “Just got this weird sense of deja vu.” He smiles, ducking under Mark’s arm and heading up the last steps. “You guys live all the way up here.”
“Eighth floor,” Mark says, turning and following the other boy up to their door. He fiddles with the key a bit. “My roommate and his girlfriend might be around,” he says before he opens the door. He’s not sure why he’s telling Mark this. Hell, maybe he’s just preparing himself from another round of ignoring the ache in his chest. “Feel free to just ignore them.”
There’s another one of those smiles that really doesn’t make him look any happier. “I’m good at that.”
Mark smiles and opens the door, motioning them both inside.
There is no couple cuddling on the sofa, no moans or creaks coming from the bedroom. Mark doesn’t call out for Roger to see if maybe he’s home and just passed out in bed with Mimi or something like that. Hey, why put himself through more than he has to?
“Phone’s over here,” he says, leading Mark back to the small living room set up they have cramped to one side of the loft where Roger’s music supplies and Mark’s filming equipment weren’t spilling all over the floor. He waves to the couch so Mark will know to sit down. “I’ll just call a cab. Where did you say you were staying?”
Mark smiles, looking around the boy’s messy loft. He adjusts his glasses and scarf a bit, rubbing up and down his arms from some warmth. “Cold in here.”
Mark shrugs. “Our heating is worth shit.”
The other boy laughs, smiling over at Mark. He’s got a pink tint to his cheeks, and Mark wonders if maybe it really is that cold or if he’s still just flustered. As if sharing the same thought, the boy asks, “Back at the Café.”
Now it is Mark who is blushing. “About that,” he says, looking down at the ground to avoid having to looking into the other boy’s eyes. Every time they look at each other, Mark feels like they’re both searching, studying. It’s not what he needs working on his nerves right now.
“Did it feel… Real.”
Now Mark does look up, brow furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean?” He thinks back to that deep, familiar connection that had been mixed in with the lust running through his system. He’s pretty sure he knows what Mark means.
The other boy shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“No,” Mark insists. “It’s something.” He isn’t sure what it is, but there is something between them. He keeps grabbing at it, looking for words or even just a feeling to connect with it but nothing he’d ever had with anyone else can quite explain this. It’s strange, because Mark has always been so adept at figuring people out by watching them. Figuring himself out, though, that’s impossible. Doesn’t explain why he can’t get Mark, though. “I think I’m going insane or something.”
Mark’s laugh sounds on the borderline of nervous. “Yet another thing we can add to the list of similarities.” He reaches forward, wrapping his fingers around the edges of Mark’s scarf. They both watch him play with the frayed blue and white ends, curling the loose strings around his fingers until a few break free and drift to the floor. “What is it about you?”
When the other Mark’s fingers curl into his scarf, Mark already knows what’s about to happen and lets it. He doesn’t fight when Mark tugs him forward, already grabbing at him as their lips connect. No, he doesn’t know what it is about this guy, but he knows it’s been too long since he’s felt like this.
Mark is still hot, still seems to fit against him so easily. He wraps his fingers into the other boy’s brown hair, pulling and tugging until their lips are smashes so close together he can’t even breath. Mark’s hands are on his waist, grinding their hips together, leading Mark back. There is a slight whimper of pain when he bumps against the table. Their phone shakes, almost falling off the edge, as Mark pushes him up on the cold surface. He uncurls his fist from the boy’s hair, hands sliding down his chest to fumble with the button of his jeans. He doesn’t know where all this is going, but he wants it to get there now.
Of course that would be the exact moment the loft door slams shut with a booming clang. Neither boy really moves back, though, until they hear someone shout, “Mark?”
Both of them pull back, looking anything but innocent with their rumbled clothes and gasping for breath. They both look at Roger, who is standing at the door way looking at them like he’s the one who has lost his mind, and Mark can’t think of a single thing to say.
“Mark,” he says, looking back at the German before turning to motion at Roger. “This is my roomma-“
“I… Wh-What the hell are you…?” Mark winces when Roger finally manages to recover from the shock of walking in on his best friend with some strange guy’s tongue down his throat. It’s at that point Mark decides to pull his hands away from the crotch of the other Mark’s jeans. The other boy doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, he hadn’t look away from Roger yet. The way he’s staring makes Mark more than a little uncomfortable. Shit, only he should be allowed to stare at Roger like that, and even then only when it’s dark and no one is there to can catch him.
“I was just calling him a cab,” Mark explains. Maybe not the best thing to say when you’re up on a table with a guy pressed in between your legs, but it’s the truth and at this point all Mark can think to say. He looks back to the other Mark, sure the guy has yet to so much as blink. He hopes he doesn’t look that desperate when he looks at his best friend. No, he couldn’t. If he had, surely Maureen with all her utter lack of tact would have pointed it out already.
He expects Roger to laugh at him. Maybe if Mimi and him had got in a fight he’d start yelling, but they’d been doing a lot less of that and Mark didn’t think it was all that likely. What he doesn’t expect is for Roger to keep staring at them for what feels like hours before he shakes his head. “I… I’m going to bed, I guess.”
Both Mark’s watch him disappear into his room without another word, never quite looking away from them until his door shut him off. Mark slips off the table and away from the other boy, grabbing the phone. “It will just be a minute,” he says and starts dialing for a taxi.
The other Mark’s eyes stay glued on Roger’s door. As Mark is talking to the taxi company, he keeps glancing between the door and Mark not liking the way that ache of jealousy is back already. “They’ll be here in a minute,” he says, hanging up and moving in front of Mark to get his attention back.
Mark smiles, eyes finally breaking from Roger’s door. “Thank you for showing me around, Mark,” he says. Mark shrugs, not feeling as comfortable around him anymore. All over Roger. It’s silly. This Mark has just as much of a chance as he does, which is zero so long as Mimi’s around.
“I had a nice time,” Mark answers, realizing a little too late how much that makes this whole thing sound like a date. The other Mark’s cheeks turn a few shades of pink, too, so Mark knows he isn’t the only one who caught it.
“Maybe you could come to the film festival,” Mark suggests. “Well, if you were planning on going anyway you could stop by and see me, maybe.”
“Yeah,” Mark says, feeling a smile tug at his lips again. Hell, he can’t blame Mark for staring at Roger. If it weren’t for the fact that Roger is his best friend and confidant, he’d probably stare at him like that, too. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Good,” Mark says, running a gloved hand through his flat brown hair. “I guess I might see you later.”
Mark smiles, walking the other Mark towards the exit. “Count on it,” he says, holding open door as Mark ducks out. They share one last smile and a few more promises to see each other before Mark disappears down the stairwell, heading off to his hotel. Once he’s out of sight, this eerie feeling sets over Mark. Almost like he’s missing part of himself. It’s stupid. He hadn’t known Mark for more than a day.
Mark leans his head against the cool wall of the loft, thinking back over today trying to pin point the exact moment of connection. Through the silence, he can hear a low moan. Mark closes his eyes. Fuck, couldn’t they go even a few hours without doing that? Then he realizes Mimi isn’t even here. Mark’s eyes pop open again, a blush bleeding into his cheeks. It’s not like he’s never heard Roger masturbating before. There were times when he’d been young and stupid and even thought maybe, just maybe, he slips into Roger’s fantasies every now and then. Now he’s older and a little smarter. He doesn’t want his day to be ruined by false hopes and stupid crushes. Growling, Mark grabs his camera and heads off back to the street to catch a few more frames before it got too dark. Everything had been going so nice today, too.
In his hurry to leave, he doesn’t hear Roger moaning his name.