Mark Cohen never drank much. Whether it was because he couldn't hold his liquor, or he just detested the stuff, not one of his friends knew for sure. Roger on the other hand, didn't drink that often, but when he did, he became a completely different person.
Roger was a snuggly, happy, out of his right mind drunk. Mark often had to resort to babysitting the rocker when he had too many. Tonight happened to be one of those nights. Everyone had decided to go to the life for a few drinks. Mimi was currently away visiting family, so that only left Mark to look out for his friend.
After about four hours, Roger was wasted. Mark had never seen him so out of it. He was happy, though. Mark was glad that his friend was oblivious to all their problems, at least for a little while. He decided drunk Roger was going to be a handful. He was right.
Mark stood up at the bar, talking to the waiter about a new documentary he was making. He loved to talk about his work. He was in the middle of explaining something when He felt a pair of leather jacketed arms snake around him from behind.
"Marky!" cried Roger in delight. "It's…. MARKY!" he snuggled his head against Mark's back. Mark murmured in protest. Roger was holding him way too tight.
"Yeah… it's me.." he flashed his friend a small smile. Roger looked at him in confusion.
"When did you get back from Scarsdale?" Mark raised an eyebrow, trying, and failing, to escape Roger's hold.
"Roger, I haven't been to Scarsdale since I was a kid…" Roger started laughing uncontrollably.
"I missed my Marky! my Marky came back to me!" he started to sway back and forth with Mark, the filmmaker now facing him, pressed against his chest, Roger's head on his, the bigger blonde's eyes closed. He began to sing. "Dance with me Mark… Marky… Marky… Marky Cohen…"
Maureen was nearly in hysterics, filming the scene with Mark's camera. Mark shot her a death glare.
"Maureen! you're gonna break it! put it down!" Maureen snorted and called back.
"Not a chance in hell! this is too good! oh my god Roger, I can't!" Mark groaned, closing his eyes, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Roger stroked Mark's hair.
"Shhhhh…. don't tell Mark about our love…" he whispered, determination flashing across his face. Mark struggled, shoving away from Roger.
"I AM Mark, you dipshit!" he then moved to where Maureen sat, snatching his camera back, and storing it away out of her reach. Roger was dumbfounded, standing there alone. He soon got an idea though, and in seconds, he was on one of the tables, taking off his shirt.
"ROGER!" screamed Mark in horror, running over. Roger smiled, dancing to a song playing in his head. Mark looked up at him "Roger, you're drunk!"
Roger smiled warmly at him. "Roger, i'm drunk" he replied. Mark pulled him down from the table, putting the shirt back on his friend. "Hush child only I know of your suffering.." he whispered. Mark rolled his eyes.
Mark sat him down in a chair, and turned to go get him some water. Roger's arms snaked around Mark's waist, and Mark screamed in surprise as he was yanked back into Roger's lap.
"Roger, let me go! quit it!" he fussed as Roger held him close. He nearly screamed as Roger kissed his neck.
"Aw Mark! he likes you!" said Collins, his laughter echoing around the room. Roger smiled, not having any intention of releasing him. Mark eventually gave up, sighing, and petting Roger's head. As long as Roger was focused on him, he wouldn't get into trouble. Mark was enjoying this more than he was willing to admit.
A few more drinks later, Mark had loosened up quite a bit. He kissed Roger, who snorted in response.
"Roggy… Roggy!" whispered Mark, clinging to him. Roger responded quickly.
"Marky…." the two stayed tangled up in each others arms, kissing every few minutes. Most of their time was spent babbling incoherently to one another.
"We need a car. I need… I need a rooster." mused Roger, and Mark nodded eagerly.
"Why don't we just…. get both?" Roger gasped.
"That… is… such a good idea, like…. wow.." he was amazed, staring off into space and smiling. Collins got up from his seat.
"Angel… lemme borrow your keys.." Angel smiled, handing them over to her lover. Collins sauntered over, holding the keys in the air, and jingling them,
"Show me the way to go home, everybody! im tired and I wanna go to bed…" sang Roger quietly. Mark blinked in confusion, and saw the keys. He gasped.
"Ro- Rog… look!" he yelled, smacking his friend's arm. Roger looked up, seeing the keys, and he gasped. They both were mesmerized for twenty minutes.
At the end of the night, the group began to walk back to the loft, Roger's arm around Mark's shoulder, and Mark's arm around his waist.
"Mark… you're keys… gimmie your drunk." whispered Roger. Mark shook his head.
"No, no no no no Rog, i'm fine… I need you to let me give you a ride… you aren't safe out here man…" Roger smiled.
"You're so sweet…. where would I be without you." Mark snorted.
"Six feet under…" he whispered. The two drunks headed up to the loft, the group following behind.
The next morning, the pair woke up with throbbing headaches, and sick stomachs. After throwing up, complaining, and eating, the two fell asleep against one another on the couch.