It was cold as hell, the only thing keeping them warm being their poor excuse of a fireplace. A can filled with posters and screenplays. Rodger was still shivering, yet somehow Mark managed to fall asleep. Rodger had looked up after sometime of making halfhearted attempts at writing a song, and saw Mark, his left arm and leg dangling off of the couch, his right arm holding a paperback to his chest. He laughed quietly and gently set my guitar down before walking over to his friend, taking his book from his hands and putting it on the coffee table. He then lifted Mark's leg, putting it couch. "Rodger…" Mark whispered. Rodger looked up, expecting to find that he'd woken him, but he was still asleep. The rocker slowly turned, hoping the floor wouldn't creak. After all they'd been through, he believed his friend deserved a simple nights sleep if he could get one. But before he'd even taken a step he heard his name again. Was it just him or did that one sound like… a moan? He quickly turned, looking down on Mark, who gripped the cushions, burying his head into them as well as he groaned softly. Was he really still asleep? Rodger found himself stepping closer. He was so quiet, but so… erotic. He arched his hips ever so slightly, scrunching his face. Rodger couldn't believe he'd just considered his friend- his male friend "erotic". Was his breath catching? Was he really leaning even closer?

Marks cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. He gripped the cushions tighter and let out another moan.

"Rodger, st-top!" Rodger gasped. He found himself on the couch at Rodger's feet, leaning over him. When had he gotten so close that he could feel Mark's breath on his face? When had he started wanting to kiss those lips? And more importantly, how fucking long had Mark been having wet dreams about him!

"Rodger!" His hips lifted once again, meeting Rodger's. The musician's eyes widened in horror. He was sure this would wake his friend. But instead it was the phone that did that. Rodger was still as stone as the phone rang once, twice, before Marks eyes snapped open and he gasped, staring wide eyed as his friend lay over him, straddling his hips.

"Rodger, what are you doing?" He gasped, short of breath. He looked his friend up and down but not for long. The phone reached it's last ring and both boy's voices rang out on the machine, saying "SPEAK!" and after the beep a familiar voice sounded.

"Chestnuts Roasting…"

Rodger was already off of Mark, the phone to his ear. "C-Collins!"

Mark could see his friends' flushed cheeks. His own were hot as well. Still-frames from his dream flashing through his head as he watched his friend speaking to their ex-roommate on the phone. Images of Rodger touching him, kissing him, grinding him… He quickly put his thoughts to the back of his mind before he regretted them. Then again, he already did. Rodger held the phone to his ear, sneaking quick glances at Mark before hanging up the phone and turning to his friend.

"I- It's Collins. Where's the key?

"Collins is here?" Mark sat up, smiling and went to the balcony. Sure enough his friend was there. Mark tossed down the key. Collins caught it. When Mark turned he saw his friend leaning against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. Even though he turned away before Mark could truly see, he was sure Rodger had been watching him.

"Rodger.." Mark stepped away from the balcony and back into the loft. "What were you doing?" Rodger looked away, stepped over to his guitar and plopped down into the chair, throwing the instrument onto his lap and picking at the strings, seemingly absently, though he was really struggling to seem casual as he blatantly ignored Mark's question. How could he answer when he didn't even know the answer himself?

"Rodger--" Mark went to press the issue, but Rodger cut him off.

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Rodger hoped this would embarrass is friend enough to shit him up.

It worked. Mark's breath caught in his throat. He talked in his sleep? "fuck!", he screamed into his head.

"Where is he?" He said, quickly changing the subject. Rodger simply shrugged his shoulders. He tried seeming non sealant, when in reality, he knew if he spoke he'd stutter. Why was he looking at Mark this way? Or rather, avoiding the impulse to look at Mark that way. All because of a stupid dream? A couple of moans? No way. He was straight. He is straight. He loved April, hadn't he? Yeah, we was straight. And what about mark? He'd had Moureen. It was just a dream. A stupid dream.

And Mark told himself the same thing as he watched his friend strum at his guitar. It was just a dream.