A/N: Okay, this is a pointless, pointless sex fic. Well, maybe not so pointless. It was supposed to be pointless and then Mark got all sappy on me and I had to give it a mild point. But this pretty much is just one of those fics that are fun to write. I have to give thanks to Becca for making me post this, because...well, we were both sick of seeing Mark never have sex with anyone but Roger. Sham on, my peoples.

It was so...hot.

"Christ..." It took him a few slow moments to realize that a voice had cried out. It took him even longer to realize that it was his own, ragged tenor. A flash. A voice that wasn't his. His name. Hands. Legs. A tangle. Breath on his neck.

He couldn't see...why couldn't he see...

His eyes were closed. He was afraid to open them. Afraid to keep them closed.

Lips on his, making him think of fruit, fingertips trailing across his face. A shiver on his spine, followed by a sharp stinging sensation...fingernails...

His hands gripped a lock of hair. Fingers released and ran through the rest of it. Hips lifted under him. Forced him to move. Directed him. He obeyed.

Hands previously lost in red trailed downwards, brushed across a tight stomach. A voice giggled. Head pressed to the side. Lips. His lips. Sliding down an exposed neck. Hands. Two hands. Searched his back, slid around. Moved up and brushed across his neck with care. Gingerly ran across his face. Fingertips slid across his opened mouth. Across his closed eyes. Through his short, matted hair. Back down his neck and across his shoulders. Down his arms. One hand linked with his.

Lips meshed again. Tangled, locked, refused to part.

Voices heightened. Whimpered. Begged him. Shouted.

Crash. Flash. Rain raged outside the window.

Cool sheets were tugged up around him by hands that weren't his. Breath echoed in his ear. Drove him wild. Made him forget.

That's why he had come here, wasn't it? To forget? Forget the harsh words that had been said before. Run away from anyone but her. Find solace in something fleeting, backed by something with meaning. To indulge in the ephemeral and linger in the concrete.

"Emma..." He could barely bring his voice above a whisper. His forehead pressed to hers, eyes clenched shut, jaw tightened. Lips found hers again and pressed. A feminine whine released. Affirmations rang. Voices chorused. Sheets and blankets moved. Legs tangled. Bodies twisted. Arched.

A calm passed. Slid over them. Thunder crashed, shaking windows. A smile from her. Rain pattered. Soothing, sleeping rain. Her fingers traced his arm, little tickling circles that soothed him like the rain. Made him just want to sleep. Inhaling, taking it all in. The sound of the weather, the smell of her, the sheer exhaustion. He needed to sleep. He wanted to sleep. But couldn't.

She tugged blankets up around him and laid back on the pillow, her head near his.

"You're tired..." She noted, her voice groggy and separated. He nodded, lips still against her neck, breath hot against her glossed skin.

"A little..." He smiled during his comment, and the red-head laughed, turning. Lips met for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Emma..." He began, eyelashes tickling her cheeks. "I love you."

Silence. He cringed...not expecting. Just wondering. Waiting for words that he knew weren't going to come. He couldn't stand the awkward look on her face anymore. A quick kiss and he sat up.

"I gotta go..." He muttered, shaking his head. The body beside him shifted and sat up a little, taking sheets with her.

"Mark..." Her voice whimpered, too close to his ear for comfort. He shook his head, regretfully. Anger. Anger that he had stormed out of his apartment. Anger that he had come here. Anger that he had let himself think it was more than it was. Anger that he had said that without thinking it through.

"Don't go..." She muttered again, hands on his shoulders, almost trying to keep him near her. He wanted to stay. He wanted to just fall back on the sheets and sleep. Or let her do whatever it was she wanted him here for. But no. Now it was time to avoid. It was time to fly.

"I have to go..." He said, a little more force in his usually timid voice.

"No you don't..." Her lips found their way to his neck and he froze, letting her do what she wanted for the moment. He wanted to stay. He couldn't make himself move. "You don't have to go...just stay here with me, I hate being alone when there's a storm..."

He sighed, her hands still massaging his shoulders a little. He couldn't say no. He couldn't resist.

"'Till the storm dies out..." He sighed, making it sound like it was more of a chore than it really was. She smiled, moving over and letting him get settled again. Fingertips brushed his skin as she pulled the sheets up around him. Sending those familiar lightning bolts up his spine. He exhaled as she slid arms around him, and he couldn't help but to do the same. It fit. It was comfortable. He felt her lean her head against his shoulder, and before he could stop himself, his hands were lost in red locks again. It was instinct. God...it just plain felt good. He didn't want the storm to die out. He didn't want to have to move. To have to pack up and leave this bed. It was so much better than his bed. It was bigger, warmer...it had someone in it. No. Not someone. Her. He felt his eyes close and his head rest against hers...the thunder was dying out.

"Do you have to go?" She murmured, drugged with sleep.

"No..."