Gay Bar, Rent, Mark/Roger,
Title: Gay Bar
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4321
Notes: Written before I joined letter_love, but I'm using it, dammit. This is entirely for holycitygirl. Because she's the only person who reads them anyway. <3! And I just reread this and it's so ridiculous, but somehow I still love it. Oh man.
It started in college, when things got a little to low on the Woe Is Me scale, and it was either go out with someone-anyone-or find yourself at the bottom of a bottle of vodka in less than two hours and regretting it for the next twenty-four. So that first night when Collins showed up looking to hit the town, and Benny insisted that he had a paper to finish for the next morning, and Collins looked at Mark with that grin that said, “You know you want to, but I know you won’t,” he thought fuck it and said, “Sure.”
He stuck close to Collins that first night-hip to hip to be precise. They drank. They danced. Collins told him, no offense, but Mark wasn’t his type. Mark said Collins wasn’t his type either. They drank and danced some more, and when Mark said goodbye to Collins before heading back to the dorms, Collins asked him, “That was your first time, wasn’t it? At a gay club, I mean. What did you think?”
Mark stood there, hands in pockets, tracing the crack in the sidewalk with his eyes for a moment as he considered: booze, music, no girls waiting for him to impress them and ultimately being disappointed.
“We should do this again sometime,” he answered, and Collins laughed.
And showed up the following weekend and barely said hello to Benny before heading to Mark’s closet and pulling out a shirt. “Put this on. Those rags you got on ain’t gonna fly at this place.”
“What place?” Benny asked.
“You wouldn’t be interested,” Collins replied.
As they walked down the dark street, Collins said, “Would you have a problem if I left you on your own tonight? While it may not be a problem for you if people think we’re together, it does severely lower my chances of getting laid.”
Mark hesitated a moment before shrugging and saying, “No problem.”
“Look, if any one starts making you uncomfortable, just tell them you’re straight. I’ll try to stick close.” He added with a grin, “If I’m not otherwise occupied.”
Mark did exactly this for two weeks, found that most guys would finish a dance and move on when they saw nothing more would come of it. Then when a tall, slender, gorgeous guy with blue eyes took him by surprise, his lips descending on Mark’s in the middle of the swirl of thumping bass and bodies, Mark found himself kissing back, fingers snaking into wavy black hair, heartbeat drowning out the music at the realization that he didn’t care, that he just wanted more.
Collins, who noticed, was kind enough to not mention it. Nor did he mention the next night when Mark ended up pressed against a back wall, fingers curling into a blonde’s shirt, as a skilled leg pressed between his own. But a few weeks later when Mark stumbled out of the bathroom, sweaty and red-lipped, and trailed by the cocoa-skinned, shirtless guy who’d been cruising him for the past two hours, Collins couldn’t refrain from comment.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as Mark joined him at the bar and Mr. Hot Torso disappeared back into the crowd.
Mark gave him a crooked smile. “Immensely.”
And it was the truth. His relationships divided into the occasional night with men, hassle-free physical satisfaction, and drawn-out relationships with women that would inevitably dissolve as he got more and more involved and she grew more and more bored. Somehow, the balance worked. And most importantly, it kept him from losing his mind.
So whenever Collins was in town, he insisted on taking Mark out, if only for old time’s sake.
Collins had been teaching at some small liberal arts college upstate for about six months. He made it back to the city whenever he could, claiming that Mark and Roger held the ends of the last tendrils of his sanity as small-town life slowly devoured his brain.
“We’re talking total farm country, man,” he moaned, throwing himself on the couch as Roger grinned sympathetically at him from the chair and Mark attempted to block a draft from the windows by tossing a pile of dirty laundry in front of them.
“Tell me we’re going out tonight, Mark. For the love of all that is holy.”
“Sure, though I’m pretty sure the level of debauchery you’re implying excludes tonight from all definitions of ‘holy.’”
“Amen. Roger? Care to join us?”
Roger snorted and picked out a few stray notes on his guitar. “I’m pretty sure the level of debauchery you’re implying excludes tonight from all definitions of ‘heterosexual.’”
Collins grinned. “Now, now. We all know Mark only moonlights as a gay man. Besides, I’ve got money to spend. Let me buy you boys some drinks.” He stood up and kicked Roger’s feet off the coffee table. “Come on.”
Roger sighed in agitation but stood without any further prodding. “I don’t have any money.”
“And I told you I’ve got you covered. Let’s go.”
Mark set aside his camera, grabbed his keys, and followed the two of them out the door and into the night.
The club was only a few blocks away, small, and slightly seedy, but the music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and there was always a good crowd. Collins set them up with a round of beers, which Mark quickly downed as he perused the crowd, allowing his eyes to linger a few times, and catching a few smiles in the process, before heading into the throng on the dance floor.
Mark threw his hands above his head, dancing, eyes closed, forgetting about everything: the phone call he’d received from his mother that morning, the twelve bucks he had in his wallet that was supposed to last until God knows when because it wasn’t like he had a paycheck coming his way, the cough that Roger had had off and on for the last three weeks, the fact that Maureen always told him he looked like a fool when he danced. Occasionally, someone would sidle up to him, hands brushing against his hips, but no one really caught his attention, and he would move off in another direction.
He considered making his way back to the bar to see if Collins would buy him another drink when a hand slid on to his hip. He looked up to find an olive-skinned man with spiky black hair grinning down at him. Mark’s quick assessment deemed him suitable, and he moved in a little closer, one arm tossed over the taller man’s shoulder. The man quickly closed all space between them, hot hips grinding together.
“You are so fucking hot,” the man said loudly, lips close to Mark’s ear to be heard over the music. “I could fuck you right here.”
Mark had never been able to handle propositions that were thinly veiled as compliments very deftly and chose to smile and continue dancing in response, though his stomach turned a little. He had no problem cutting to the chase; most of the guys here came with the sole intention of finding someone to take home for the night. But he hated the lines that usually came with such pretenses, and quickly lost interest in those who chose to use them.
He managed to slide his hand between their two chests and break the head to toe contact by gently pushing the man away.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“Not interested, man.”
With that, Mark spun around and slipped through the throng of people, losing the man in the crowd. He headed to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face, trying to cool down from the dancing and hear his thoughts over the thumpa-thumpa of the music.
As he walked back out onto the floor, he noticed the spiky-haired man standing off to the side, watching his every move. He made the mistake of catching his eye, and the man immediately pushed away from the wall and headed towards him.
“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to, beautiful,” he said, pulling him to the back of the club, away from the crowd. As Mark futilely attempted to shake off the too-tight grip, the man backed him up against the wall, one hand firmly on Mark’s chest, the other clutching his hip hard enough to leave purple bruises streaked across the flesh. He winced when his head connected with the wall slightly harder than could be considered playful, and hips pressed against his, keeping him in place.
Heart pounding, Mark turned his face away from the taller man’s advancing mouth and explained, “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
His hand slipped down Mark’s chest to his stomach and lower. “I think you are.”
“It’s not going to happen, man,” he said, jamming his shoulder against the other man’s chest, giving himself enough room to slip into the crowd on the dance floor.
“Hard to get, huh?” the man yelled behind him. “Lotta work for that pretty mouth, boy, but it’s worth it.”
Mark fought the slight panic that rose in his chest and allowed himself a glance behind him to see if he was being followed, which he was, before turning to see if Roger and Collins were still by the bar, which they were. As he sidled up next to Roger, a bit closer than he would have under normal circumstances, Roger threw a slightly tipsy arm across his shoulders. Mark was relieved to see that the man had detoured to the other end of the bar at the sight of Roger and Collins, but he still kept his eyes on Mark in a way that made Mark shiver.
“You okay?” Roger asked, giving the arm across Mark’s shoulders a shake to get his attention.
Mark turned back to his friends. “This guy has been cruising me all night. I told him to forget about it, but he just won’t quit.”
Collins snuck a glance down the bar and let out a chuckle before taking a drink. “You would be the one to catch Dwight Casey’s eye. That boy ain’t used to hearing ‘no.’”
“Well, he heard it from me enough.”
“Apparently not. He’s still watching you.” Collins finished his beer. “Be careful. Gay, straight, whatever. He’ll screw anything that isn’t nailed down.”
Roger’s interest now piqued, he craned his neck to peer down the bar. “Who? That big guy?”
“Yeah.” As he spoke, Mark felt Roger’s arm lift from his shoulders, and he grabbed Roger’s shirt hoping to keep him from starting a fight over what boiled down to nothing.
“Don’t. What are you doing?”
Roger’s hand resettled on the back of his neck and pulled him closer, his mouth curled in a grin. “Nailing you,” he replied simply before kissing him.
Well, this should get the point across, at least, Mark thought, trying not to snicker as Roger’s tongue brushed against his.
When Roger’s hand dropped to playfully squeeze his ass, the kiss dissolved into laughter from both parties. Roger turned to look down the bar and gave Dwight a little wave.
Dwight shot them both a glare and moved on.
“Now that’s taken care of. Have a beer and relax.”
Mark stayed away from the dance floor the rest of the night, opting to listen to Collins’s latest tales from the lands of higher education. Roger kept an arm around Mark’s shoulders as they stood, and after a couple more beers, Mark stopped glancing around nervously every few minutes.
Collins seemed less interested in hooking up and more interested in just soaking in some familiar surroundings.
“Don’t get me wrong. I do love the job. Something about liberal arts schools, man.”
“All those young minds ripe for corruption, ready to be swept up in your anarchist ways?” Roger offered.
“Exactly,” he replied, raising his beer in a small toast to his students. As he brought the bottle to his lips, someone jumped on him from behind, and Collins stumbled, trying not to fall over or spill his drink.
“Thomas! I didn’t know you were back in town!”
Collins laughed and spun around, throwing his arms around the other man. “Tim! I was gonna call you, man. How’ve you been?”
Tim dragged him down to the other end of the bar, leaving Mark and Roger alone.
“You sure you’re okay?” Roger asked him.
Mark nodded. “I’m fine.”
“You want to go home?”
“I’m fine,” Mark insisted.
“Then why aren’t you dancing?”
“I….” Mark looked away and hated that Roger could read him like that. “I just don’t feel like it. That’s all.”
Roger watched him a moment longer and was about to say something when Collins returned. “Tim and I are gonna go meet some friends of his. You up for it?”
Roger glanced at Mark and shook his head. “I think we’re gonna head back.”
“All right, man. I’ll find you two tomorrow.”
“Stay out of trouble.”
Collins winked at them and headed for the door. A few minutes later when they had finished their drinks, Mark and Roger followed. Out on the street, Dwight Casey leered at Mark as he passed. Roger slid an arm around his friend’s waist, his eyes on Dwight the whole time. Dwight feigned disinterest at Roger’s look and lit a cigarette.
“He is persistent,” Roger commented with mock admiration.
“Persistently freaking me out,” Mark agreed.
“Why’d he make you so nervous?”
“There was just something about him. And when he wouldn’t leave me alone, all I could think was this guy’s twice my size.”
Mark had dealt with his fair share of guys who didn’t care if you weren’t interested just from Roger’s gigs alone: clubs full of folks on every drug imaginable, dancing, grinding, groping. Somehow, it had never bothered him before, probably because he would excuse their behavior due to the chemicals coursing through their systems. But with Dwight…. Mark shivered involuntarily. Roger dragged him closer as they turned on to Avenue B.
“Anyway, thanks for the rescue.”
“Don’t say it again, man.”
“Oh, I won’t. You’d get a big head.”
“I’m your knight in shining armor, admit it.”
Mark laughed and unlocked the door.
Once in the loft, Roger started clearing away the dirty dishes and empty bottles that had collected on every flat surface in the apartment over the past few weeks. Mark flopped down on the couch and watched him.
“Why do you only clean when you’re drunk?”
“So I don’t remember I did it, and I’m surprised in the morning.”
Mark picked up his camera from the coffee table and started filming. “Close on Roger who used to get his thrills from drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Now nothing gets him hotter than a clean kitchen.”
“Oh, baby.” Roger grinned at Mark’s camera over his shoulder.
Mark clicked his camera off and let out a sigh to fill the silence that followed.
“That fucker ruined my plans tonight.”
“And what plans would those be?” Roger asked, dumping some empties in the garbage.
“To get laid,” Mark said, a bitter chuckle bubbling up between the words. “Jesus, I’m the most sexually frustrated person I know, and considering I know some of the saddest saps in this city-including you-that’s saying something.”
“Hey, I don’t know. I’m getting kind of horny wiping down the counter. You may get lucky yet.”
Mark let out a snort. “I’m sure.” He tossed his camera onto the cushion beside him and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “The entire loft would need to be scrubbed from ceiling to floor before that would happen. I don’t have that kind of time on my hands. Looks like I’ll just be going to bed alone and unfulfilled.”
Mark stood up and headed towards his room. “Go to bed. I’ll never be able to sleep if I hear you fucking around in here.”
“Yes, dear.”
Mark disappeared into his room and began to clear off the mess of clothes, books, and film reels that had ended up on his bed earlier as he had searched for a clean pair of pants. He jumped when he turned back around and found Roger leaning against the wall, arms crossed against his chest.
“You know, you’re the worst fake boyfriend I’ve ever had?”
Mark couldn’t help his confused smile. “What?”
“I didn’t even get a goodnight kiss.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“Roger….” Mark shrugged, not sure exactly what he wanted to say or what Roger was expecting to hear.
Roger smirked and pushed himself away from the wall. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Roger.”
Mark waited for him to turn and leave, but instead, Roger took a step closer, took Mark’s face in his hands and kissed him for the second time that night. Mark’s hands instinctually grabbed onto Roger’s shirt, and he felt Roger’s lips grin against his. Mark played along, waiting to see where this was going. He hardly expected it when he found himself carried away.
“Roger.”
“What?” His hands were still on Mark’s face, their lips still brushing against each other as they spoke.
“You’re drunk.”
Roger shrugged. “Only a little.”
He pulled Mark toward him again, and Mark couldn’t ignore the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest as Roger’s lips pulled at his, and he was sure Roger couldn’t ignore the way Mark’s hands on his hips were shaking. When they broke apart this time, both men were gasping, hot breath against each other’s faces.
Mark struggled to find words for the thoughts that raced through his mind. “You….” His voice came out strangled, and he stopped to clear his throat. “We….”
“Could.” Mark felt the whisper against his temple. “We could. If you want to.”
Roger pulled away a half step and watched Mark’s face. His fingers stroked the short hairs on the back of Mark’s head, and he waited, calm and patient.
Mark still struggled to catch his breath, his thoughts. “I-…I don’t-”
“Okay.” Roger’s fingers brushed along Mark’s cheek as he turned away and headed for the door. “Goodnight.”
His hand had barely closed around the curtain that separated Mark’s room from the rest of the loft before Mark had grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall, hands fisting in his shirt, hips banging together, and both of them smiling because it was ridiculous and amazing and good.
--
Later, Roger rolled onto his back, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his muscles still loose. He looked up at the ceiling from the smallness of Mark’s bed where they lay shoulder to shoulder, and he laughed.
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
Beside him, Mark stretched in silence before letting out his own chuckle. “Yeah.”
Roger’s laughter dissolved with a quiet sigh. “We probably should’ve done this a while ago.”
“What?”
Mark wasn’t laughing anymore, and Roger shifted to look at him in the darkness. Mark’s brow was creased as he watched Roger’s face for any clue that would help him decipher his comment.
“Nothing. Forget I said it.” He settled against the pillow and let out a sigh. “Go to sleep.”
For a moment, Mark remained quiet, and Roger prepared to drift off into sleep.
“No, tell me what you meant. I want to know.”
“Mark, odds are none of this will matter in the morning so why don’t you just go to sleep.”
“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to go to sleep!”
Roger groaned into the pillow then propped his head up in his hand so he was looking down at Mark. “Okay. What? What do you want to know?”
“I just….” Mark opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, groping for words. “When you said…. Have you considered--?”
“What? You?”
Mark shrugged before nodding hesitantly.
“Mark, I didn’t leave the loft for a year. Of course I’ve considered you.” He flopped back against the pillow once more and continued speaking to the ceiling. “Think about it: two single guys living together as long as we have, both of us fucking around, but never finding a relationship that works. Yeah, I’ve considered it before. Many, many times.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“What was there to say? ‘Mark, I haven’t been laid in months. What do you say to a random hookup?’”
Roger could hear the slight smirk in Mark’s voice as he spoke. “And how is that different from what happened tonight?”
“Because before there was always something in the way: April, drugs, Maureen. Mimi. Someone would feel guilty, someone would get hurt. It would complicate things. And in our circle of friends, things are always complicated enough without any encouraging.”
“Otherwise, you would’ve-”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done, Mark. You go out with Collins, and you sleep with these guys you don’t know.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Don’t get defensive. I never said I had a problem with it.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Does it make you happy?”
Mark hesitated before quietly pointing out, “I hardly ever go out anymore.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“It’s sex! It feels good. And maybe it’s not the best plan in the long run, but it gets me by on a short term scale. And you don’t have any right to criticize that after you spent how many years dumping shit into your veins when you knew it could kill you.”
“Mark, I’m not trying to start a fight here. You’re the one who started asking questions.”
“Forgive me if I’m a little befuddled by my best friend proclaiming that he’s wanted to sleep with me! You said you didn’t want to complicate things? Well, things are complicated now.”
Roger turned onto his side and placed a hand on Mark’s stomach, feeling the sharp rise and fall as he attempted to level his anger. “Are they?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Not if it’s a one time thing. Not if we go back to laughing about this.”
“Just a one time thing?”
“Well, I can’t guarantee there won’t be a few repeat performances in the future.” His hand still on Mark’s stomach, he could feel his friend chuckle though the sound was squelched before passing his lips. “But for now, yeah. One time. That okay?”
There was quiet for a moment before Mark said, “Okay.”
“Good.” Roger playfully pinched Mark’s stomach. “Can I sleep now?”
“If you promise not to snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
“Go to sleep.”
They settled down against the pillow, the sounds from the street below, creating a familiar lullaby.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Just because I said this should be a one time thing doesn’t mean that I regret it.”
“And just because you never tried to sleep with me until tonight doesn’t mean I would’ve said no any other time.”
Roger’s lips curled into a sleepy, but content, smile. With his arm still stretched across Mark, he drifted off to sleep.
--
When Mark woke up the next morning, he was warm and calm, and Roger’s hand was resting on his stomach and Roger’s breath met his shoulder on each exhale. Mark pushed Roger’s hair back from his eyes with a smile and got no response. Definitely still asleep.
Moving cautiously, he climbed over Roger and out of bed, putting on his glasses as he headed into the brightness of the loft.
“Well, well, well.”
He jumped although his brain had already identified the location and identity of the voice’s source before he muttered a startled, “Shit!”
Collins grinned at him from the couch. “I made coffee.”
Mark stumbled, still half-asleep, across the room to the hot plate. “How the hell did you get in here? Taken to picking locks now, too?”
“Roger gave me his key before we parted ways last night. Figured I’d need a place to crash and you two pussies would be passed out before I made it back.” Mark heard Collins shifting on the old couch behind him as he poured himself some coffee. “But it looks like you two managed to get into plenty of trouble without me, eh?”
The coffee pot missed its mark, and coffee spilled all over the counter. Ignoring the mess, Mark attempted to halt the blush he felt rising in his cheeks and turned around to find Collins smirking just as he knew he would.
“Well. I mean, we…”
“Oh, come on. I came in around four, and try to tell one of you I’m here. You’re in there wrapped around some blond piece of ass, and Roger? That bitch ain’t home yet.”
Mark’s mouth opened then closed abruptly.
“Where’d he get to anyway? I thought you two were heading home after I left.”
“He…uh….”
“Hey.” Roger stumbled into the room, pulling one of Mark’s t-shirts over his head. Mark winced. Collins put two and two together and apparently got the funniest four ever.
“Oh shit! No, this is too good,” he howled, making a poor attempt at hiding his grin behind a fist.
Roger rolled his eyes and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. “Get over it.”
As Collins continued to laugh behind them, Roger filled the mug he had retrieved and handed it to Mark before cleaning up the spilled coffee and filling the other mug for himself.
“You okay?” he asked Mark, who was still standing there, staring stupidly at the mug in his hand. Mark blinked a few times before glancing back over at Collins who was still giggling on the couch.
“I think so. You?”
Roger grinned. “Yeah. I’m great. So relax. Have some breakfast.”
As Roger headed towards the couch-to give Collins a much deserved smack upside the head, Mark hoped-he squeezed Mark’s arm.
“So, is it a good morning, gentlemen?” Collins asked, glancing between the two of them.
“It’s a very good morning, Collins,” Mark told him, and he took a sip of his coffee and smiled.
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4321
Notes: Written before I joined letter_love, but I'm using it, dammit. This is entirely for holycitygirl. Because she's the only person who reads them anyway. <3! And I just reread this and it's so ridiculous, but somehow I still love it. Oh man.
It started in college, when things got a little to low on the Woe Is Me scale, and it was either go out with someone-anyone-or find yourself at the bottom of a bottle of vodka in less than two hours and regretting it for the next twenty-four. So that first night when Collins showed up looking to hit the town, and Benny insisted that he had a paper to finish for the next morning, and Collins looked at Mark with that grin that said, “You know you want to, but I know you won’t,” he thought fuck it and said, “Sure.”
He stuck close to Collins that first night-hip to hip to be precise. They drank. They danced. Collins told him, no offense, but Mark wasn’t his type. Mark said Collins wasn’t his type either. They drank and danced some more, and when Mark said goodbye to Collins before heading back to the dorms, Collins asked him, “That was your first time, wasn’t it? At a gay club, I mean. What did you think?”
Mark stood there, hands in pockets, tracing the crack in the sidewalk with his eyes for a moment as he considered: booze, music, no girls waiting for him to impress them and ultimately being disappointed.
“We should do this again sometime,” he answered, and Collins laughed.
And showed up the following weekend and barely said hello to Benny before heading to Mark’s closet and pulling out a shirt. “Put this on. Those rags you got on ain’t gonna fly at this place.”
“What place?” Benny asked.
“You wouldn’t be interested,” Collins replied.
As they walked down the dark street, Collins said, “Would you have a problem if I left you on your own tonight? While it may not be a problem for you if people think we’re together, it does severely lower my chances of getting laid.”
Mark hesitated a moment before shrugging and saying, “No problem.”
“Look, if any one starts making you uncomfortable, just tell them you’re straight. I’ll try to stick close.” He added with a grin, “If I’m not otherwise occupied.”
Mark did exactly this for two weeks, found that most guys would finish a dance and move on when they saw nothing more would come of it. Then when a tall, slender, gorgeous guy with blue eyes took him by surprise, his lips descending on Mark’s in the middle of the swirl of thumping bass and bodies, Mark found himself kissing back, fingers snaking into wavy black hair, heartbeat drowning out the music at the realization that he didn’t care, that he just wanted more.
Collins, who noticed, was kind enough to not mention it. Nor did he mention the next night when Mark ended up pressed against a back wall, fingers curling into a blonde’s shirt, as a skilled leg pressed between his own. But a few weeks later when Mark stumbled out of the bathroom, sweaty and red-lipped, and trailed by the cocoa-skinned, shirtless guy who’d been cruising him for the past two hours, Collins couldn’t refrain from comment.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as Mark joined him at the bar and Mr. Hot Torso disappeared back into the crowd.
Mark gave him a crooked smile. “Immensely.”
And it was the truth. His relationships divided into the occasional night with men, hassle-free physical satisfaction, and drawn-out relationships with women that would inevitably dissolve as he got more and more involved and she grew more and more bored. Somehow, the balance worked. And most importantly, it kept him from losing his mind.
So whenever Collins was in town, he insisted on taking Mark out, if only for old time’s sake.
Collins had been teaching at some small liberal arts college upstate for about six months. He made it back to the city whenever he could, claiming that Mark and Roger held the ends of the last tendrils of his sanity as small-town life slowly devoured his brain.
“We’re talking total farm country, man,” he moaned, throwing himself on the couch as Roger grinned sympathetically at him from the chair and Mark attempted to block a draft from the windows by tossing a pile of dirty laundry in front of them.
“Tell me we’re going out tonight, Mark. For the love of all that is holy.”
“Sure, though I’m pretty sure the level of debauchery you’re implying excludes tonight from all definitions of ‘holy.’”
“Amen. Roger? Care to join us?”
Roger snorted and picked out a few stray notes on his guitar. “I’m pretty sure the level of debauchery you’re implying excludes tonight from all definitions of ‘heterosexual.’”
Collins grinned. “Now, now. We all know Mark only moonlights as a gay man. Besides, I’ve got money to spend. Let me buy you boys some drinks.” He stood up and kicked Roger’s feet off the coffee table. “Come on.”
Roger sighed in agitation but stood without any further prodding. “I don’t have any money.”
“And I told you I’ve got you covered. Let’s go.”
Mark set aside his camera, grabbed his keys, and followed the two of them out the door and into the night.
The club was only a few blocks away, small, and slightly seedy, but the music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and there was always a good crowd. Collins set them up with a round of beers, which Mark quickly downed as he perused the crowd, allowing his eyes to linger a few times, and catching a few smiles in the process, before heading into the throng on the dance floor.
Mark threw his hands above his head, dancing, eyes closed, forgetting about everything: the phone call he’d received from his mother that morning, the twelve bucks he had in his wallet that was supposed to last until God knows when because it wasn’t like he had a paycheck coming his way, the cough that Roger had had off and on for the last three weeks, the fact that Maureen always told him he looked like a fool when he danced. Occasionally, someone would sidle up to him, hands brushing against his hips, but no one really caught his attention, and he would move off in another direction.
He considered making his way back to the bar to see if Collins would buy him another drink when a hand slid on to his hip. He looked up to find an olive-skinned man with spiky black hair grinning down at him. Mark’s quick assessment deemed him suitable, and he moved in a little closer, one arm tossed over the taller man’s shoulder. The man quickly closed all space between them, hot hips grinding together.
“You are so fucking hot,” the man said loudly, lips close to Mark’s ear to be heard over the music. “I could fuck you right here.”
Mark had never been able to handle propositions that were thinly veiled as compliments very deftly and chose to smile and continue dancing in response, though his stomach turned a little. He had no problem cutting to the chase; most of the guys here came with the sole intention of finding someone to take home for the night. But he hated the lines that usually came with such pretenses, and quickly lost interest in those who chose to use them.
He managed to slide his hand between their two chests and break the head to toe contact by gently pushing the man away.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“Not interested, man.”
With that, Mark spun around and slipped through the throng of people, losing the man in the crowd. He headed to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face, trying to cool down from the dancing and hear his thoughts over the thumpa-thumpa of the music.
As he walked back out onto the floor, he noticed the spiky-haired man standing off to the side, watching his every move. He made the mistake of catching his eye, and the man immediately pushed away from the wall and headed towards him.
“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to, beautiful,” he said, pulling him to the back of the club, away from the crowd. As Mark futilely attempted to shake off the too-tight grip, the man backed him up against the wall, one hand firmly on Mark’s chest, the other clutching his hip hard enough to leave purple bruises streaked across the flesh. He winced when his head connected with the wall slightly harder than could be considered playful, and hips pressed against his, keeping him in place.
Heart pounding, Mark turned his face away from the taller man’s advancing mouth and explained, “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
His hand slipped down Mark’s chest to his stomach and lower. “I think you are.”
“It’s not going to happen, man,” he said, jamming his shoulder against the other man’s chest, giving himself enough room to slip into the crowd on the dance floor.
“Hard to get, huh?” the man yelled behind him. “Lotta work for that pretty mouth, boy, but it’s worth it.”
Mark fought the slight panic that rose in his chest and allowed himself a glance behind him to see if he was being followed, which he was, before turning to see if Roger and Collins were still by the bar, which they were. As he sidled up next to Roger, a bit closer than he would have under normal circumstances, Roger threw a slightly tipsy arm across his shoulders. Mark was relieved to see that the man had detoured to the other end of the bar at the sight of Roger and Collins, but he still kept his eyes on Mark in a way that made Mark shiver.
“You okay?” Roger asked, giving the arm across Mark’s shoulders a shake to get his attention.
Mark turned back to his friends. “This guy has been cruising me all night. I told him to forget about it, but he just won’t quit.”
Collins snuck a glance down the bar and let out a chuckle before taking a drink. “You would be the one to catch Dwight Casey’s eye. That boy ain’t used to hearing ‘no.’”
“Well, he heard it from me enough.”
“Apparently not. He’s still watching you.” Collins finished his beer. “Be careful. Gay, straight, whatever. He’ll screw anything that isn’t nailed down.”
Roger’s interest now piqued, he craned his neck to peer down the bar. “Who? That big guy?”
“Yeah.” As he spoke, Mark felt Roger’s arm lift from his shoulders, and he grabbed Roger’s shirt hoping to keep him from starting a fight over what boiled down to nothing.
“Don’t. What are you doing?”
Roger’s hand resettled on the back of his neck and pulled him closer, his mouth curled in a grin. “Nailing you,” he replied simply before kissing him.
Well, this should get the point across, at least, Mark thought, trying not to snicker as Roger’s tongue brushed against his.
When Roger’s hand dropped to playfully squeeze his ass, the kiss dissolved into laughter from both parties. Roger turned to look down the bar and gave Dwight a little wave.
Dwight shot them both a glare and moved on.
“Now that’s taken care of. Have a beer and relax.”
Mark stayed away from the dance floor the rest of the night, opting to listen to Collins’s latest tales from the lands of higher education. Roger kept an arm around Mark’s shoulders as they stood, and after a couple more beers, Mark stopped glancing around nervously every few minutes.
Collins seemed less interested in hooking up and more interested in just soaking in some familiar surroundings.
“Don’t get me wrong. I do love the job. Something about liberal arts schools, man.”
“All those young minds ripe for corruption, ready to be swept up in your anarchist ways?” Roger offered.
“Exactly,” he replied, raising his beer in a small toast to his students. As he brought the bottle to his lips, someone jumped on him from behind, and Collins stumbled, trying not to fall over or spill his drink.
“Thomas! I didn’t know you were back in town!”
Collins laughed and spun around, throwing his arms around the other man. “Tim! I was gonna call you, man. How’ve you been?”
Tim dragged him down to the other end of the bar, leaving Mark and Roger alone.
“You sure you’re okay?” Roger asked him.
Mark nodded. “I’m fine.”
“You want to go home?”
“I’m fine,” Mark insisted.
“Then why aren’t you dancing?”
“I….” Mark looked away and hated that Roger could read him like that. “I just don’t feel like it. That’s all.”
Roger watched him a moment longer and was about to say something when Collins returned. “Tim and I are gonna go meet some friends of his. You up for it?”
Roger glanced at Mark and shook his head. “I think we’re gonna head back.”
“All right, man. I’ll find you two tomorrow.”
“Stay out of trouble.”
Collins winked at them and headed for the door. A few minutes later when they had finished their drinks, Mark and Roger followed. Out on the street, Dwight Casey leered at Mark as he passed. Roger slid an arm around his friend’s waist, his eyes on Dwight the whole time. Dwight feigned disinterest at Roger’s look and lit a cigarette.
“He is persistent,” Roger commented with mock admiration.
“Persistently freaking me out,” Mark agreed.
“Why’d he make you so nervous?”
“There was just something about him. And when he wouldn’t leave me alone, all I could think was this guy’s twice my size.”
Mark had dealt with his fair share of guys who didn’t care if you weren’t interested just from Roger’s gigs alone: clubs full of folks on every drug imaginable, dancing, grinding, groping. Somehow, it had never bothered him before, probably because he would excuse their behavior due to the chemicals coursing through their systems. But with Dwight…. Mark shivered involuntarily. Roger dragged him closer as they turned on to Avenue B.
“Anyway, thanks for the rescue.”
“Don’t say it again, man.”
“Oh, I won’t. You’d get a big head.”
“I’m your knight in shining armor, admit it.”
Mark laughed and unlocked the door.
Once in the loft, Roger started clearing away the dirty dishes and empty bottles that had collected on every flat surface in the apartment over the past few weeks. Mark flopped down on the couch and watched him.
“Why do you only clean when you’re drunk?”
“So I don’t remember I did it, and I’m surprised in the morning.”
Mark picked up his camera from the coffee table and started filming. “Close on Roger who used to get his thrills from drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Now nothing gets him hotter than a clean kitchen.”
“Oh, baby.” Roger grinned at Mark’s camera over his shoulder.
Mark clicked his camera off and let out a sigh to fill the silence that followed.
“That fucker ruined my plans tonight.”
“And what plans would those be?” Roger asked, dumping some empties in the garbage.
“To get laid,” Mark said, a bitter chuckle bubbling up between the words. “Jesus, I’m the most sexually frustrated person I know, and considering I know some of the saddest saps in this city-including you-that’s saying something.”
“Hey, I don’t know. I’m getting kind of horny wiping down the counter. You may get lucky yet.”
Mark let out a snort. “I’m sure.” He tossed his camera onto the cushion beside him and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “The entire loft would need to be scrubbed from ceiling to floor before that would happen. I don’t have that kind of time on my hands. Looks like I’ll just be going to bed alone and unfulfilled.”
Mark stood up and headed towards his room. “Go to bed. I’ll never be able to sleep if I hear you fucking around in here.”
“Yes, dear.”
Mark disappeared into his room and began to clear off the mess of clothes, books, and film reels that had ended up on his bed earlier as he had searched for a clean pair of pants. He jumped when he turned back around and found Roger leaning against the wall, arms crossed against his chest.
“You know, you’re the worst fake boyfriend I’ve ever had?”
Mark couldn’t help his confused smile. “What?”
“I didn’t even get a goodnight kiss.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“Roger….” Mark shrugged, not sure exactly what he wanted to say or what Roger was expecting to hear.
Roger smirked and pushed himself away from the wall. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Roger.”
Mark waited for him to turn and leave, but instead, Roger took a step closer, took Mark’s face in his hands and kissed him for the second time that night. Mark’s hands instinctually grabbed onto Roger’s shirt, and he felt Roger’s lips grin against his. Mark played along, waiting to see where this was going. He hardly expected it when he found himself carried away.
“Roger.”
“What?” His hands were still on Mark’s face, their lips still brushing against each other as they spoke.
“You’re drunk.”
Roger shrugged. “Only a little.”
He pulled Mark toward him again, and Mark couldn’t ignore the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest as Roger’s lips pulled at his, and he was sure Roger couldn’t ignore the way Mark’s hands on his hips were shaking. When they broke apart this time, both men were gasping, hot breath against each other’s faces.
Mark struggled to find words for the thoughts that raced through his mind. “You….” His voice came out strangled, and he stopped to clear his throat. “We….”
“Could.” Mark felt the whisper against his temple. “We could. If you want to.”
Roger pulled away a half step and watched Mark’s face. His fingers stroked the short hairs on the back of Mark’s head, and he waited, calm and patient.
Mark still struggled to catch his breath, his thoughts. “I-…I don’t-”
“Okay.” Roger’s fingers brushed along Mark’s cheek as he turned away and headed for the door. “Goodnight.”
His hand had barely closed around the curtain that separated Mark’s room from the rest of the loft before Mark had grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall, hands fisting in his shirt, hips banging together, and both of them smiling because it was ridiculous and amazing and good.
--
Later, Roger rolled onto his back, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his muscles still loose. He looked up at the ceiling from the smallness of Mark’s bed where they lay shoulder to shoulder, and he laughed.
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
Beside him, Mark stretched in silence before letting out his own chuckle. “Yeah.”
Roger’s laughter dissolved with a quiet sigh. “We probably should’ve done this a while ago.”
“What?”
Mark wasn’t laughing anymore, and Roger shifted to look at him in the darkness. Mark’s brow was creased as he watched Roger’s face for any clue that would help him decipher his comment.
“Nothing. Forget I said it.” He settled against the pillow and let out a sigh. “Go to sleep.”
For a moment, Mark remained quiet, and Roger prepared to drift off into sleep.
“No, tell me what you meant. I want to know.”
“Mark, odds are none of this will matter in the morning so why don’t you just go to sleep.”
“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to go to sleep!”
Roger groaned into the pillow then propped his head up in his hand so he was looking down at Mark. “Okay. What? What do you want to know?”
“I just….” Mark opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, groping for words. “When you said…. Have you considered--?”
“What? You?”
Mark shrugged before nodding hesitantly.
“Mark, I didn’t leave the loft for a year. Of course I’ve considered you.” He flopped back against the pillow once more and continued speaking to the ceiling. “Think about it: two single guys living together as long as we have, both of us fucking around, but never finding a relationship that works. Yeah, I’ve considered it before. Many, many times.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“What was there to say? ‘Mark, I haven’t been laid in months. What do you say to a random hookup?’”
Roger could hear the slight smirk in Mark’s voice as he spoke. “And how is that different from what happened tonight?”
“Because before there was always something in the way: April, drugs, Maureen. Mimi. Someone would feel guilty, someone would get hurt. It would complicate things. And in our circle of friends, things are always complicated enough without any encouraging.”
“Otherwise, you would’ve-”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done, Mark. You go out with Collins, and you sleep with these guys you don’t know.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Don’t get defensive. I never said I had a problem with it.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Does it make you happy?”
Mark hesitated before quietly pointing out, “I hardly ever go out anymore.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“It’s sex! It feels good. And maybe it’s not the best plan in the long run, but it gets me by on a short term scale. And you don’t have any right to criticize that after you spent how many years dumping shit into your veins when you knew it could kill you.”
“Mark, I’m not trying to start a fight here. You’re the one who started asking questions.”
“Forgive me if I’m a little befuddled by my best friend proclaiming that he’s wanted to sleep with me! You said you didn’t want to complicate things? Well, things are complicated now.”
Roger turned onto his side and placed a hand on Mark’s stomach, feeling the sharp rise and fall as he attempted to level his anger. “Are they?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Not if it’s a one time thing. Not if we go back to laughing about this.”
“Just a one time thing?”
“Well, I can’t guarantee there won’t be a few repeat performances in the future.” His hand still on Mark’s stomach, he could feel his friend chuckle though the sound was squelched before passing his lips. “But for now, yeah. One time. That okay?”
There was quiet for a moment before Mark said, “Okay.”
“Good.” Roger playfully pinched Mark’s stomach. “Can I sleep now?”
“If you promise not to snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
“Go to sleep.”
They settled down against the pillow, the sounds from the street below, creating a familiar lullaby.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Just because I said this should be a one time thing doesn’t mean that I regret it.”
“And just because you never tried to sleep with me until tonight doesn’t mean I would’ve said no any other time.”
Roger’s lips curled into a sleepy, but content, smile. With his arm still stretched across Mark, he drifted off to sleep.
--
When Mark woke up the next morning, he was warm and calm, and Roger’s hand was resting on his stomach and Roger’s breath met his shoulder on each exhale. Mark pushed Roger’s hair back from his eyes with a smile and got no response. Definitely still asleep.
Moving cautiously, he climbed over Roger and out of bed, putting on his glasses as he headed into the brightness of the loft.
“Well, well, well.”
He jumped although his brain had already identified the location and identity of the voice’s source before he muttered a startled, “Shit!”
Collins grinned at him from the couch. “I made coffee.”
Mark stumbled, still half-asleep, across the room to the hot plate. “How the hell did you get in here? Taken to picking locks now, too?”
“Roger gave me his key before we parted ways last night. Figured I’d need a place to crash and you two pussies would be passed out before I made it back.” Mark heard Collins shifting on the old couch behind him as he poured himself some coffee. “But it looks like you two managed to get into plenty of trouble without me, eh?”
The coffee pot missed its mark, and coffee spilled all over the counter. Ignoring the mess, Mark attempted to halt the blush he felt rising in his cheeks and turned around to find Collins smirking just as he knew he would.
“Well. I mean, we…”
“Oh, come on. I came in around four, and try to tell one of you I’m here. You’re in there wrapped around some blond piece of ass, and Roger? That bitch ain’t home yet.”
Mark’s mouth opened then closed abruptly.
“Where’d he get to anyway? I thought you two were heading home after I left.”
“He…uh….”
“Hey.” Roger stumbled into the room, pulling one of Mark’s t-shirts over his head. Mark winced. Collins put two and two together and apparently got the funniest four ever.
“Oh shit! No, this is too good,” he howled, making a poor attempt at hiding his grin behind a fist.
Roger rolled his eyes and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. “Get over it.”
As Collins continued to laugh behind them, Roger filled the mug he had retrieved and handed it to Mark before cleaning up the spilled coffee and filling the other mug for himself.
“You okay?” he asked Mark, who was still standing there, staring stupidly at the mug in his hand. Mark blinked a few times before glancing back over at Collins who was still giggling on the couch.
“I think so. You?”
Roger grinned. “Yeah. I’m great. So relax. Have some breakfast.”
As Roger headed towards the couch-to give Collins a much deserved smack upside the head, Mark hoped-he squeezed Mark’s arm.
“So, is it a good morning, gentlemen?” Collins asked, glancing between the two of them.
“It’s a very good morning, Collins,” Mark told him, and he took a sip of his coffee and smiled.