Title: Leap of Faith
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Disclaimer: These dudes are not belonging to me. Please don't sue.
Rating: T, conservatively.
Warning: Slash.
Summary: There are so many maybes in life. Mark's kind of sick of living with maybes.
Notes: Beta cred goes to the very bestest of friends, Leanna, who isn't a fangirl at all, but proclaimed Mark and Roger making with the kissy-facing "hot." I saw the play live for the first time (and probably the last) during their stop in Toronto last month and was absolutely blown away. This is a result of that, 'cause Anthony and Adam shoving each other around during Goodbye Love? Just about had me in fits.
He's probably seen the sight about a thousand times, Roger sitting cross legged on the big steel table, reading a tattered newspaper while eating idly from the bowl in his lap. He's barefoot and wearing a pair of ratty jeans and a band t-shirt that's had the sleeves torn off. The loft is quiet, morning light streaming in through grimy windows to turn the tips of Roger's bleached blond hair golden. The roots are starting to show and he needs to wash and shave, but there's something so peaceful about him in that moment that it gives Mark pause as he stumbles across the room toward the fridge.
Roger doesn't even look up, just waves his spoon at the cupboard and says, "There's still some cereal. Milk's starting to taste a little off, though."
Mark shrugs and pours himself a bowlful anyway. It won't be the first time he's braved food past it's expiry date. Besides, if Roger's still eating it, it can't be that bad. He leans against the counter and eats, continuing to study Roger as the other man flips to the next page. His brow is creased in concentration, expression slightly disdainful. Not good news, then.
The silence between them is comfortable from long years of friendship and shared heartache. It's just the two of them. In the end it always comes back to just the two of them. Everyone else picks up and moves out and moves on, but Mark's never left and Roger always comes back.
It's not always going to be that way, Mark knows. Someday, maybe soon, Roger is going to die or Mimi's going to come back from another rehab stay and they're going to stick, or maybe Mark will get another job like Buzzline. Maybe Roger will go back to drugs or his band will get signed and he'll make it big. Maybe Mark's mother will finally cajole him into going back home or he'll meet some nice girl while he's filming one day and want to settle down. Maybe they'll be walking down the street tomorrow and one or both of them will find themselves on the wrong end of a gun. Maybe maybe maybe.
There are so many maybes in life. Mark's kind of sick of living with maybes.
The thing is, Roger was right about all of those things he flung at Mark as he was leaving for Santa Fe, just as right as Mark was about the things he said to Roger. He hides in his work, always has done. He withdraws emotionally even as Roger withdraws physically. Like two sides of the same coin or an inverted reflection.
But maybe- God, that maybe again. Won't stop popping up. But really, maybe they don't have to hide anymore. Maybe Mark shouldn't let this one opportunity - maybe the last opportunity - pass him by. Things are good right now, as good as they ever are for two starving artists just one step up from living on the streets of New York.
He doesn't even stop to consider that Roger doesn't feel the exact same thing, because he knows that's not true. The thing that's there between them has been there almost since the beginning. There's always been something to stop them from acknowledging it aloud, but it's never been entirely stamped out. Not through drugs and booze and pretty girls; not through death and disease and temper tantrums. Half of those obstacles are still valid, but Mark knows with a heavy certainty that this is it. This is their chance.
Carefully, he sets his half-finished bowl off to the side, listens to the clink of the spoon against the ceramic bottom as he pushes himself away from the counter. Roger's still reading some article in the paper, though why he bothers, Mark hasn't got a clue. It's all a variation on the same theme and usually only succeeds in annoying him.
Roger doesn't look up at him until Mark's slipped around the table to stand in front of him. He lifts his brows curious and opens his mouth to speak, but Mark interrupts him with a kiss.
Roger's lips are rough and chapped, is the first thing he notices. They taste a little sour, like the milk from their cereal and the fact neither or them have brushed their teeth yet today. Roger doesn't kiss him back at first, just draws in a shocked breath through his nose and jerks instinctively. Jerks, but not away from Mark. Encouraged, Mark leans forward, bringing up a hand to rest at the side of Roger's neck, fingers splayed in his hair, thumb running over Roger's stubbled cheek. He runs his tongue curiously along the seem of lips that are already opened to him and finally feels Roger reacts with a shudder and suddenly grasping hands.
The kiss turns hot and wet as Roger joins in, pulling him as close as their awkward positions will allow. There's a clatter from somewhere and Mark notes absently that Roger's bowl has just fallen to the ground and the newspaper is a crumpled mess between them. Not that either really care, not as wrapped up as they are in the clash of mouths and teeth and tongues. In that blissful moment, Mark knows that this is the right thing. That this is the right moment.
When Mark is finally forced to yank away to catch his breath, his free hand has wandered to clench at one of Roger's thighs and Roger has both of his fisted in the material of Mark's shirt. He looks a little dazed and Mark feels a thrill of satisfaction for having been the one to put that expression there.
Confused and breathless, Roger finally asks, "What was that?"
Mark snorts ineligantly. "I know it's been a while for you Rog, but I didn't think you'd forget what it's like to kiss someone."
"Jackass," is the mumbled rejoinder, though the way Roger leaned forward to nuzzle at his throat is telling a different story. "You know what I mean."
"It was time."
Roger seems to accept this, as he just rests there, head tucked neatly under Mark's chin. In the end, it's really that simple. There's a time for everything and the time for this has come. Mark grips tighter and lets the 'finally' remain unspoken.
END