Disclaimer: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson.

Italix are Mark's thoughts

Matching Maureen

Chapter Four

A gentle breeze was periodically brushing against Mark's flushed face, soothing the heavy banging going on inside his head. Warm darkness had enveloped his mind, shielding him from the world that was surely still spinning like a top.

Mark was lying on a soft surface, with a warm blanket holding his small frame. Pulling his knees up into his chest, Mark attempted to curl himself into a tiny ball, shutting out the outside world. It was only then that he realized there was someone else with him. Another body was suddenly occupying the couch next to him.

Mark's eyes shot open, greeted by the sight of Roger's eyes clenched shut while his mouth gaped open, a river of spit streaming out onto the pillow they were sharing. No sound was coming from the cavern, only regular stale gusts of breath- the only indication that Roger was still alive.

The grip on Mark's waist tightened, pulling their bodies closer together, dragging Marks' face closer to the puddle of drool. A rank odor was coming from the musician's sleeping form as Mark wondered when he had last practiced some form of personal hygiene.

He remained motionless, watching Roger sleep, sealing every last detail into his memory. It never occurred to Mark to wonder why Roger had chosen to pass out next to him, or why his arm was draped across his waist like they had been doing it forever. He just assumed that when Roger awoke everything would go back to the way it was before Maureen's stupid protest; with Mark pining and Roger clueless of it.

His hand had unconsciously began tracing Roger's angular features, his jutting chin, his contoured jaw line, his sharp, shapely, nose. The sensitive skin on his fingertips delighted in the different textures of Roger's soft, pink, lips and rough beard that reminded him of coarse sandpaper. Fingers gently caressed Roger's face and neck, as Mark fought the lead that had settled in his gut at the thought of Roger waking up.

He wanted to do this. Fuck everything else.

Mark's palm moved voluntarily, searching out the crevices and perfect flaws that have managed to characterize Roger so well over the years.

"What are you doing?" Roger asked after this had been going on for several minutes. His eyes were still tightly closed and his voice was coarser than the scruff lining his jaw.

Mark's hand shot back as if he had just been struck. The force was enough to knock him off of the couch. He landed on his ass with a hard thump, causing him to wince.

Roger chuckled quietly and brought himself up into a sitting position, elbows resting on his knees with his palms pressed into his forehead.

They had only been passed out for three hours and were already drifting through the worst part of intoxication- that phase when you're still a little drunk, but can feel the hangover coming on.

"Remind me to never drink with Maureen again," he groaned rubbing his head.

"Maureen didn't drink," Mark pointed out. "She just wanted to get us drunk,"

"Whatever," Roger said. "Let's just not do it again. You're a fucking horny drunk,"

Mark cringed inwardly, and still somehow managed to play it off.

"Like you're not. You were the one with your tongue halfway down Maureen's throat,"

"She told me to!" he retorted.

"No Roger, she didn't,"

"Yeah well… fuck you,"

Yes please

"I'll pass thanks,"

"Ha,"

Roger's tone was harsh, as if he had known all along that he wanted more than friendship.

Mark was scrambling to think of some sort of witty response to get him off the hook, when the phone rang. Relief surged through his veins as their stupid answering machine echoed through the dirty air in the apartment.

SPEAK

"Okay boys, get off each other and answer the phone, we have work to do,"

Leave it to Maureen to make a situation more awkward.

"We need to finish rehearsing, so you both have better sobered up,"

Roger caught Mark's gaze and smirked. They both knew better to question the fact that it was only hours after Maureen had stormed off in a rage and was now demanding their participation as if nothing had happened. Mark returned the grin then turned away, doing his best to hide the rising color in his typically pale cheeks.

"Where are you assholes? Throw down the key already, I'm freezing my tits off,"

"Don't let her in," Roger said quickly.

Mark couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. Knowing Roger, he was probably being serious.

"You know she's just going to keep calling until we give up,"

"She'll run out of quarters eventually,"

"Not Maureen…"

"Seriously Mark, don't do it," Roger grabbed his arm as he passed by on his way to the fire escape. "She's going to… hurt me,"

"Grow up Roger. She's not going to do any permanent damage. Who knows, maybe she even liked the kiss,"

"I hate you,"

"I'll get over it,"

This was the way things were supposed to be- playful banter between friends. That's all they were: friends, buddies, best pals. Mark had been pointlessly trying to convince himself of the fact for months.

He could tell himself that he only felt friendship for Roger a thousand times, but it would never be the truth.

Mark continued towards the fire escape when he felt two familiar hands clasp his waist and spin him around in the other direction. Roger had crept up silently and had dove inside Mark's pants.

"Give it to me Marky,"

"Jesus, give what to you?" Mark said trying to wiggle out of Roger's grasp.

"The key dumb-ass,"

"Roger, get off me,"

"Not until you give me the key," Roger said as his hands moved to the back pockets of Mark's jeans, pressing their chests together. "Where is it?"

"Mark, Roger!" Maureen's sharp voice screeched through the apartment. "You better let me in right now,"

"Roger, we have to give her the key," Mark leaned away from Roger's face which was inches from his own.

He tried not to think about the calloused fingers roaming some of the most sensitive areas of his body.

"She's not getting in here,"

"It's Maureen, of course she's going to find a way in,"

"Got it!" Roger shouted ripping his hands out of Mark's pants and waving the key over his head triumphantly.

"MARKY!!" Maureen's voice crackled over the machine.

He could only imagine what she looked like to anyone passing by on the street.

This day could not have gotten worse. He was forced into a strange protest that made absolutely no sense, was hung over at five in the afternoon, and was now torn between the wrath of Roger and Maureen, each option equally dangerous.

"Roger, I'm not fucking around. Give me the key,"

"No," he smirked like an undisciplined child.

Mark fought the urge to slap him.

"You know you're going to have to face her sometime,"

"No I don't,"

"Give me the key," Mark's voice took on a dangerous monotone. He spoke quietly, all of the stress from the day resonating in those four words. Mark had finally reached his breaking point.

"Make me,"

Roger's grin quickly disappeared when Mark suddenly grabbed two handfuls of the ratty green pullover and threw him onto the couch. His mouth was clenched so tightly the blood had disappeared from his lips. Lines burrowed into his forehead as Mark concentrated on getting the key so he could put this whole day behind him.

The ends justify the means

He climbed on top of Roger, reaching for the key which was still perched high in his raised arm. One leg was placed on either side of Roger's as he grabbed for the shiny piece of metal tightly clutched in his fist.

There were no words exchanged, only sharp breaths and grunts as the two men struggled.

It was impossible to tell who kissed who first. One minute Mark was on top of Roger locked in a somewhat friendly wrestling match, the next he's being pressed into the cushions by Roger's face pushing against his own.

Suddenly, he was drunk again.

The world was spinning. He couldn't breathe- he didn't want to breathe. If the only way Mark could get oxygen was to release Roger's lips, then he'd rather suffocate.

Everything he had gone through today was worth this. All of the stress, confusion, Maureen, faded from his mind with every surge of pressure coming from Roger's mouth.

Roger's tongue was swirling with his own while their hands roamed each other's shaking bodies.

The tension had evaporated from Mark's body. He was now just a limp form pinned to the couch, absorbing every bit of Roger he could touch.

Then it was over.

"What are you doing!?" Maureen's voice was no longer static over their fifteen year old answering machine, but a booming presence inside the room.

For the second time in an hour Mark shot off of the couch onto the floor completely devoid of any semblance of grace or dignity.

"Rehearsing," he said automatically, his voice cracking miserably.

"So that's what we're calling it now," Roger said placing a wet sloppy kiss on the side of his face before standing up to cross the room. "Hey Maureen,"

Mark's heart stopped.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked.

"Oh, I still have a key from when I lived here,"

"Then why did you-"

"So it worked?!" she asked Roger excitedly.

"I don't know," He said, turning his gaze towards Mark "Did it work Mark?"

The filmmaker sat there with his knees bent, back supported by the battered couch as his mind tried, in vain, to wrap around the situation.

"What?"

Maureen was starring at him expectantly, while Roger leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did it work?" he repeated.

"Did what work?"

Maureen continued to stare at him, a smile spreading wider as Mark's confusion grew deeper.

"Our plan,"

"What plan? What are you guys talking about," Mark said frustrated.

"Roger said the only way he'd help me with my protest was if I helped him with something,"

"Okay…" Mark said, not quite following. His mind was still swimming in the kiss that Roger had washed over him.

Roger pushed himself off the table and sat on the couch directly behind Mark. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth close to his ear, sending shivers racing down Mark's spine.

"Think about it Marky,"

When Roger's rough hands came to rest on Mark's shoulders everything suddenly became clear.

"You set me up?"

"Yes, wasn't it perfect?!" Maureen squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.

"You mean you… and you… and the kiss-"

"It was all my idea," she said proudly.

"I got to hand it to Maureen," Roger said. "If you need to trick your best friend into a relationship, she's the person to go to,"

Mark couldn't believe this was happening. It was if he was trapped inside the best dream of his life and unable to escape. Everything he had gone through that day had been calculated and planned by the two most unorganized people he knew.

"Are you saying you-"

"Yeah, I am," Roger interrupted smiling. "If you want to anyway,"

"Yeah," Mark said before he was interrupted by Roger's lips against his own.

"Good, now that that's settled, can we finally finish rehearsing? The protest is in a week and we have a lot of ground to cover,"

"Come on Marky," Roger said, pulling him off the ground. "Let's just get this over with,"

The trio spent the next few minutes rehearsing. Maureen was once again between Mark and Roger who kept sneaking quick kisses when she wasn't looking.

It was amazing how quickly Mark was able to get used to the idea of him and Roger together. Everything in his life had just suddenly clicked into place.

He had to keep reminding himself to focus on the rehearsal. Each time Roger smiled all concentration was shoved aside. Mark was determined to make this Maureen's best protest yet, even if it meant making of a fool of himself onstage in front of a crowd of strangers.

He owed her, he owed her big time.

Mark even relaxed enough to the point where he was starting to enjoy himself. He liked the feeling of two warm bodies pressed up against him, making him feel secure. It was to the point where he couldn't tell if it was Roger's hand, or Maureen's wrapped around his waist, or who's skin he was massaging with his lips.

Who cares what the protest is about anymore. This is fun.

Then Joanne walked into the loft and saw them all tangled together.

Apparently Maureen had forgotten to run her little scheme with Roger by her girlfriend.

After she ran out of the loft, deciding that rehearsal wasn't more important that Joanne, Mark and Roger collapsed together on the couch. They lay there for several minutes, not speaking. Mark's head was pressed against Roger's chest, listening to the combined rhythm of breathing and heartbeat.

He couldn't remember a time when he ever felt happier. For once he wasn't thinking about money, or his career, or disease. He was just there, being, nothing else.

Mark was just being there with Roger.

"I think we need to go explain to Joanne what's going on," Roger said softly. "Maureen will probably castrate us if we don't back her up on this,"

"I guess you're right," Mark said groaning as rolled off of Roger.

"Come on, let's go Marky,"

"Don't call me Marky," he smiled before tangling Roger's fingers with his own and pulling him out the door.

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