This is a fanfiction that I wrote in probably around fifteen minutes. It is a friendship fanfiction. No slash here, sorry.
It is also based on a real-life experience. Yes, I know. Real-life.
Disclaimer - I don't own the charries, I RENT!
It is extremely short, but I still love it. If you want something more serious, go read Elaborate Lives. If you like this one, then REVIEW! Please? -pouts-
Whenever my birthday came along, Roger always made certain that he would get me a present that I would never forget. Even during withdrawal...
Who could forget about a beat-up Barney plushie and a pair of brand-new socks, with guitars stitched on the ankles? I sure haven't.
It was more like a goal of Roger's to buy me a better present each year. Last year, on my previous birthday, Roger had managed to get what was left of our family, including Benny, to pitch in a few bucks and get me a decent mattress to sleep on.
"Seriously, Mark," my best friend had said to me the year before this one. "You can't sleep on a freakin' beat-up mattress from the dumps forever."
All I would do was give him the same caring smile and a quick, "You really don't have to get me anything, Roger. I'll live."
Once I would add in the two words, "I'll live," Roger would suddenly start taunting me about how I hadn't gotten laid in years.
"You call not getting laid since Nanette Himelfarb 'living'?" he had asked, claiming that Maureen did not count, since she would get laid with the first man or woman that had eye contact with her.
It seemed like Roger was pestering me about not getting laid a lot more often. I mean, we always joke around like that, but not that constant. Whenever I wanted to listen to a song of his or something, he would always reply with, "Go get laid, Cohen."
So, you probably can't really blame me for being a little nervous with my next birthday present. I mean, first he gets me a brand new mattress. The only thing in Roger's mind that's better than sleep, is sex. There's a slight chance that I actually wouldn't be surprised if I found two strippers sitting on my bed.
Well, I got something close to it.
Typical Roger. Always "caring". Always "living".
On the morning of my birthday, I reach out to my milk-crate nightstand to get my glasses. Instead, I feel something else. Grabbing it, along with my glasses, I put them on my face, and instead of finding a blurry little wrapper in my hand, I see a condom, along with a note taped to it.
"Happy birthday, Mark."
A little, loopy smile is drawn beside the three words. I couldn't help but return the smile with my own.
"Hopefully it'll be a happy one, now that you finally have a condom.
Go get laid!
Much love, lust, and lube,
Roger."