A/N: This is not something I would write on my own. This was done for a pairings challenge, and I got Collins/Benny/Mark/Roger. But it turned out surprisingly well, I think.
Disclaimer: As always, not mine.
i. Friendship,
just the four of them, inseparable. Connection, right from the start. Filmmaker, musician, anarchist, businessman, all different, never should have meshed as well as they did. But what did it matter? Together, they weren't just separate entities; together they were something more than themselves. For once, they had something they could call "us".
Creating chaos, causing a commotion, staying out late, getting thrown out of restaurants for getting too loud, a quick smile, a laugh, binding them tighter than blood ever could.
ii. Flirtation,
a little more than simple friendship. A different kind of smile, then, teasing and teasing right back, now and then a blush, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.
Closer, innocent kisses (innocentish), a quick brush of lips, fleeting sparks, momentary flickers of something. Breathy whisper in his ear, just to watch him shiver, works every time. Passing over the bounds of friendship and too far gone to care.
iii. Sex,
real, deep, hungry, craving kisses now, and kisses everywhere but on his lips. Hands sliding down, agonizingly slowly, teasing. A soft whimper, a moan, a whisper. Please, Roger, Mark, Collins, Benny, please, didn't matter which, never mattered, really. Who it was changed all the time, night to night, a little guiltless pleasure, skin, heat, lust, melding together into…
iv. Jealousy.
Of the girls that came and went, of each other. Roger and Benny were the worst, with their week-long feuds over his Collins, his Mark, while Mark would sit there helpless and Collins just got annoyed, until finally the arguments, the smoldering glares, all of it just blew over, only to start up again a week, a month later. More possessive then, not the same gentle lovemaking, but a series of contests and battles between Roger and Benny, and the prize the attention of the other two. No longer the four of them, inseparable, not anymore, but two and two, and splintering.
v. Fear.
The day Collins came home and told them he was sick. Sheer shock from Mark and Benny, and from Roger, absolute denial. Fury and rage, screaming, the hole in the wall where Roger put his fist through it. The bedroom door, locked, and Roger refusing to come out. Collins, apologizing through the door, trying to explain, giving up hen he got no response. Benny sitting on the couch, lost and numb, pulling away when Collins lightly touched his shoulder. Mark, sitting on the floor, leaning against the bedroom door, crying, pleading for Roger to come out.
vi. Falling together
when they finally got Roger to unlock the door. The four of them curled together on a single too-small bed, desperate for the comfort of touch. Barely moving, just holding each other, whispering reassurances and promises, never leave each other, never, never. Falling asleep there on the crowded bed, too emotionally exhausted to do anything but cling to each other. For the time being, whole again, the four of them once more, however briefly.
vii. Falling apart,
into anything to distract them. Collins, into NYU, later MIT and actual reality; Benny into Alison and a dream of a nonexistent studio; Mark into films and screenplays and Maureen; Roger into his music and drugs and a string of wild girls culminating in April. Their nights together more rushed, more desperate, knowing they were losing each other and unable to stop it. Collins left, Benny married and moved out, Mark and Roger simply drifting. Filmmaker, musician, anarchist, businessman, losing themselves in their roles, separate entities as they had been before they met. No longer four, together, but one and one and one and one.