OMGWTFBBQHOTTNESS! Okay... this is the moment you've all been waiting for. Unfortunately, because does not allow NC-17 material, I had to make some cuts. Don't worry, though. The link to the FULL and UNEDITED chapter is in my profile... or later on in the chapter where I made the cut, if you want to just read most of it here.

Anyways, here's Chapter TEEEEN!

2 hours later:

Roger squinted past the bright lights pulsing from the dance floor. He wasn't sure if it was the strobe affect or the five plus drinks he'd consumed in the last two hours, but his vision swam slightly as he looked. He could just make out Mark, and he smiled slightly.

After twenty minutes of listening to Chris whine, Mark had finally agreed to go to the dance floor with him.

"Not to dance with you," he'd hastened to make very clear, somehow staying immune to the puppy eyes that Chris shot at him. Roger had flat out refused to join them, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view.

If Roger was the giggling type, then the short laugh he let out into his drink could be described as such. Mark danced like a white boy. Which, technically, he was, but for some reason Mark's dance moves were a lot cuter, more endearing, than your average white-boy dance moves. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking.

Roger wasn't quite drunk yet, per se, but he was getting there. He certainly felt a lot calmer than he had earlier, and the warm haze that blanketed the room was agreeing with him nicely. He finished his drink and sighed. He should probably stop now. He didn't want to have a hangover in the morning.

He was just tipsy enough that he felt slightly groggy; like he'd been up all night working on the band's next song. Without the strong desire to find the nearest bed and pass out. The thought of a bed made quite different images pop up in his mind, actually. With a start, he realized that he'd put himself in a possibly dangerous situation.

Drunk enough to lose most of his inhibitions, but still sober enough to know what he was doing. He frowned. Maybe he should avoid Mark for a while. At least until he was sure he wasn't going to pin him against a wall. A shiver that wasn't wholly unpleasant raced down his spine.

He got up and started walking in the direction he'd last seen Blake. Maybe by seeing what he was up to, he could get his mind off Mark.

He wasn't sure if it would be an entirely welcome diversion.

Chris watched Roger out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure if Mark noticed it (probably not) but the guitarist was staring in their direction, those intense green orbs locked on Mark. It was a little disconcerting, but not altogether bad. He did a mental count of Roger's alcohol intake by the empty glasses on the table. Perfect. Just enough to hopefully loosen him up some, but not enough so that he'd do anything really stupid. That probably explained the intent stare.

Roger got up from the table and walked toward the dance floor. For a moment, Chris thought he was headed towards them, but then he veered off. Probably going to find Blake. Chris shook his head with a smile. Idiot.

Actually, come to think of it, this might work out for the best. Chris had been meaning to talk to Mark about the incident by the bar.

"Hey!" he shouted over the loud music, cutting Mark off mid-dance. Chris smiled again. He really needed to teach the poor kid the finer aspects of rhythm.

"What?" Mark shouted back.

"Let's go over there, okay?" He pointed to a semi-secluded seating area close to the bar, away from the dance floor and the tables. "I wanna ask you something!"

He saw the look of slight panic cross over Mark's face. Good. At least he knew what this was about. Just to be certain the filmmaker wouldn't run off, he grabbed onto a wrist, leading him to the place he mentioned earlier.

After making sure Mark wasn't going anywhere, he went and got them a couple fresh drinks. He knew that Mark had to be a little tipsy himself. Otherwise, he'd never have finally agreed to dance with Chris for a while. Keeping in mind that Mark probably had a lower tolerance, he guessed that another drink or so and the filmmaker would most likely be at the same level as Roger. Couldn't hurt if Chris wanted information out of him.

Chris had only seen Mark drunk twice in the time he'd known him. Usually, the filmmaker knew when to cut himself off. He always seemed to only allow himself to get a little bit of a buzz before he stopped. Strangely, unlike most people, when Mark drank, he talked a lot more, and more articulately at that. Chris was never able to gauge how drunk he was by any sort of slur.

"So… what's up?" Mark asked, giving away his nervousness about the impending conversation by downing his drink in one gulp.

"I think you know," Chris said. "What was that whole thing at the bar?" Mark stared at his feet, looking sheepish and reluctant.

"I'm… not sure," he said quietly. Chris had to strain to hear him.

"Really? 'Cause if I didn't know better, I'd say you were just about to kiss the guy." Mark was silent for a long moment.

"Mmm… I think… I was," he admitted. Chris pounced on it.

"Well, Jesus! Why didn't you?"

"Bar tender came up. Kinda ruined the moment."

"Well, go find him and work up to it again! You guys have been undressing each other with your eyes all night. It can't be that hard." All of the sudden, Mark looked very tired. He sank down into a seat.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered. Chris sat down next to him.

"What do you mean?" Mark stared off into space for a while, then turned to look at his friend.

"I've been thinking a lot lately," he stated, seemingly off-topic, "and I've come to realize a few things."

"Like what?"

"Like how I feel about Roger. And a lot of the reasoning behind why I left."

"And… verdict?"

"I'm in love with him," Mark whispered so quietly that Chris almost thought he'd imagined it. "I have been for a long time. Jesus, Christian, I was so fucking blind. To a certain extent, I think I still am."

Chris clamped down sharply on the rising emotions of jealousy and betrayal.

You knew this was coming, he told himself. Don't act all surprised now.

The problem was, it was one thing to know something was going to happen, and another thing when it actually did happen. It surprised Chris that it stung as much as it did, but it wasn't too bad. He could deal with it. Over time, he was sure he'd get over it completely. He forced a smile.

"Well, God, Mark! If you're in love with him, that's great! What's the problem?"
"A lot of things," Mark said, looking up to meet Chris' gaze. "Not sure I really deserve him for one." He held up a hand to stop Chris from launching into an indignant denial. "The biggest reason though?" Chris shut up, and waited for Mark to continue. He was alarmed when the filmmaker let out a self-depreciating laugh. "I'm terrified."

Chris knew better than to ask, 'Of what?' It was clear from the look Mark gave him, from the way he slouched in his chair, the way he acted whenever Roger was around. And Chris already knew that Mark had never really let anyone in since moving to LA. He didn't know how long the filmmaker had kept himself closed off, but opening up again after any length of time was a frightening ordeal. He could understand that.

"So trust him," Chris said. "Getting into any relationship is a leap of faith, Mark. Do you love him enough to risk it?"

"That's the thing. I love him too much to risk it."

Chris tried to come up with something to say to that, but he ended up just giving Mark a very confused look. Mark sighed and went on.

"Roger's been through so much, Christian. The most difficult thing, I think, was April's suicide and dealing with the fact that he's lost over half his life as a result of an addiction he lived for. He has HIV. And I'm not saying I'm afraid of catching it. Hell, at this point, I've lost almost everyone I cared about to it. It might make it easier on me to be able to follow them, twisted as that is. I'm not saying that I can't love him because of it, either. If anything, I love him more because he's managed to deal with that and get through it; to make the most of the time he has left.

"But sooner or later, I'm going to lose him. I have to face that fact. If I take that final step, if I allow myself to really love him… what'll I do when he's gone?"

Mark was staring at his knees, but Chris watched silently as a couple of drops landed on the leather of his pants. Mark leaned back and pulled his glasses off, brushing at his eyes furiously. Chris could almost hear his heart breaking for his friend.

"I'll tell you what you'll do," Chris said after a few minutes. "You'll hurt like hell. You know what losing someone close to you is like, probably better than I do. I don't need to tell you that.

"But I am telling you, Mark, if you think it'll hurt any less just because you never allowed yourself to be with him, you're being a lot stupider than I know you are." He reached over and grabbed Mark's shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"If you never tell him how you feel, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. So you've got a limited amount of time with him. Shouldn't you stop wasting it?"

He could see that he'd gotten through to him. Mark had known that all along, probably. He'd just needed to hear someone else say it.

"I can't promise you things will go well," Chris said, taking his hand back and swirling his half-finished drink. "But I can promise you that no matter what, I'll be here. Regardless of the decision you make. I just want you to be happy." He looked up and smiled. "And you know how often I show concern for something that doesn't directly have to do with myself. I'd say that this is pretty damn-near close to miraculous." Mark laughed, albeit there were still some tears shining in his eyes.

"Christian," he said, "I think you've got yourself a deal."

Chris took Mark's offered hand, shaking strongly. He grinned.

Go get him, Marky.

20 minutes later:

Roger groaned in frustration. This was his third time around the club, and he still hadn't managed to find Blake yet. It didn't help that the music was starting to give him a headache. At the first onset of pain behind his eyes, he'd cut himself off from all drinks. It wasn't helping.

Now it was all he could do to keep from running into Mark and Christian as he walked around again. It wasn't that he was avoiding Mark… okay, so maybe he was. It was the filmmaker's own damn fault, anyway. He had no right to make Roger feel hot, cold, nervous and calm all at once. Even from across the room he was having an effect on the guitarist. He definitely needed to sober up, and quick.

He walked to the bar and asked for a glass of club soda. He took a few large gulps when it was given to him, wincing a little as the carbonation threatened to go up his nose. He was about to continue his search when he felt a warm weight settle on his shoulder, leaning into his side. He turned, nearly bumping noses with a positively shit-faced Blake.

"Rooooger!" Blake slurred, leaning into him farther. "I thought this'd be where you at. Where ya been all night, huh?"

"Uh… I've been looking for you actually," he explained, moving away from the bar and propping Blake up better. "How's the hunt going?" he couldn't resist asking with a smirk.

"Jeeeezuus! These bitches is all over the place! Man! I dunno when they come or go, but they're here, a'ight!"

"Um… okay."

"I gots one over there… see her?" Blake gestured wildly in the direction of the dance floor, where an equally inebriated woman was leaning against her own friend. She waved droopily when she saw Blake pointing.

"Right. Blake, how many have you had?"

"At least two hundred in the past month!" he exclaimed, pushing away from Roger's support a little.

"Not girls, Blake," Roger sighed. "Drinks."

"You meanin' tonight? Maybe… tenty twelve? Six?"

"Okay. We'll take that as 'enough'."

Blake stumbled some more, leaned against the wall for a moment, grinned, and then promptly pitched towards the floor. Roger moved to grab him, but Christian beat him to it. He held the bass guitarist up easily. For a moment, Roger thought that Chris must be stronger than he looked to be able to do that, but the thought dissolved quickly. Where the hell had Christian come from? He hadn't even noticed him.

"Bloody hell," Chris muttered, moving Blake's weight to be supported partially by the wall. "You know you're raving drunk when you can smell the alcohol on your breath from clear across the bar."

"Chrish?" Blake asked, his face muffled because he was leaning into his friend's chest. "How'd you get to be the floor, man?" He then dissolved into a fit of giggles. Chris' eyebrow twitched.

"I could see that your drunken ass was a little too much to handle for Roger. No doubt he's well on his way to being as drunk as you are. How in the hell did I end up being the only person mostly sober here?" he moaned, then glared when Blake just giggled again.

Well, this was all good and fascinating, but Roger realized belatedly that it was only a matter of time before Mark showed up now, and he really wasn't in any condition to be interacting with him… He turned to retreat, and ran smack into the filmmaker. Typical. Could this night get any more screwed than it already was?

Whoa, Roger thought as he felt Mark's warmth even through his clothes. Hold up. Don't answer that, brain.

Mark moved away, and Roger could breathe again.

"Hey," Mark said. "What's going on?"

"Blake's drunk off his ass," Roger explained, turning back to watch as Chris tried to do the damage control.

"Well, obviously," Mark muttered when he saw the two. "Shouldn't someone take him home?"

"On it!" Chris exclaimed in answer to Mark's question, throwing an arm around Blake's waist to help him walk. "Blake, where're your keys?" He started rooting into Blake's pockets.

Roger was about to make a sarcastic comment, but held himself back. He didn't want to get stuck taking care of Blake. Christian didn't look too happy about it either. Blake just giggled some more.

"Tickles…" he muttered.

"You aren't helping," Chris groaned. He rooted some more, checking all the bass guitarist's pockets, then sighed exasperatedly.

"I can't find the damn things!" he mumbled. "Well, I guess I can put you up in my apartment for now… or something. Anywhere that isn't public. You need sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead!" Blake cheered, his head rolling back for a moment before he righted himself.

"Jesus," Roger said. "He's really out of it. Here, Chris." He dug out his own keys handed them over. "Take him to my place. It's at least four blocks closer. And it's on the first floor. I don't think you can navigate stairs or elevators with him right now." Chris glared.

"Then why don't you take him?" he asked. "Contrary to popular belief, taking care of inebriated young men is not a favorite pastime of mine… well, at least when they're too drunk to be of any use to me." Mark laughed.

"I've taken care of the drunk son of a bitch more times than I can count," Roger explained with a grin. "It's someone else's turn."

"Fine," Chris growled. "Wait. Where the hell are you gonna sleep, then? Not that I really care, you traitor."

"You can come back to my place if you want," Mark piped in.

Roger's eyes widened slightly. Fuck. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He looked over to Mark, those blue eyes sucking him in, the small smile making his stomach do some interesting things that he was sure had nothing to do with the alcohol. He answered the only way he was able to.

"Sure."

Half an hour later:

Mark threw his keys on the coffee table, painfully aware of Roger's presence right behind him as he followed Mark into the apartment. Roger took off his leather jacket and put it on an empty chair. Mark walked to the kitchen and grabbed a couple glasses.

"Want some water?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. He could feel Roger looking at him, and it wasn't helping his already frazzled nerves.

Shit shit shitshitshit. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Well, it was too late to worry about it now, the more logical part of his brain argued.

"Please," Roger answered. "Seeing Blake made me realize that I really don't want a hangover tomorrow." Mark smiled and handed him the drink.

"He did kinda overdo it, didn't he?" Mark mused. "I hope Chris doesn't kill him. He doesn't do well with the whole 'nurturing' thing." Roger snorted.

"It'll be good for him. Maybe he'll finally develop some people skills."

"He can actually be pretty charming when he wants to. Most of the time, he just doesn't want to."

"How come he gets away with being an asshole, but I can't?" Mark laughed.

"Somehow, I remember you getting away with it for an extended period of time."

"Okay, okay. I don't think that really counts, though," Roger conceded with a smile, then downed the rest of his water.

He handed the glass to Mark, and their fingers brushed. He cursed inwardly when even that small touch made his heart beat a little faster. This was really getting out of hand. He saw Mark's brow knit into a frown.

Mark turned and set the glasses on the counter. Roger was so close in the small kitchen it was driving him nuts. The tension was palpable in the air. That little brush of hands was the last straw. Maybe it was just liquid courage coursing through his veins, but he decided to do something about it. Chris was right.

"We need to talk," he sighed, moving into the living room. Roger cocked an eyebrow, following him.

"'Bout what?" he asked, nearly running into the filmmaker's back when Mark stopped suddenly.

Then he could hear his heart thundering in his ears as Mark turned and wrapped his arms around Roger's waist. The silk of Mark's shirt was smooth against his skin as he automatically reached around Mark's back to return the hug. Mark rested his chin on Roger's shoulder, leaning farther into him with a shuddery sigh. Roger realized that he was trembling slightly too. Behind all the expletives running through his mind was a warm feeling of safety, of rightness in having Mark in his arms like this.

"This," Mark whispered into his hair. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who feels that." Roger's grip tightened slightly and he swallowed.

"You're… not the only one," he said haltingly. Jesus, Mark felt the same way? Well, to be honest it wasn't like he hadn't seen it coming, but still. Mark leaned into him even more. Roger sighed. That was nice. He started running his hands up and down Mark's back.

"Thank God," Mark breathed. "Otherwise I think I would be dying of embarrassment right now." Roger let out a strangled laugh.

"You'd probably be the only person who could actually follow through on that figure of speech."

Mark turned his head and buried his face in Roger's hair, nuzzling at his temple slightly. Roger really didn't want to deal with the bolt of arousal that sent through him right now. He raked his nails lightly up Mark's back, thrilling at the shudder that shook his friend's smaller frame. He turned his own head so that he and Mark were cheek to cheek.

He stopped the doubts running through his head, and just allowed himself to feel for a few moments. The heat pouring from Mark's body, flush against his, Mark's hands stroking the small of his back through the tight t-shirt, the smooth, flushed cheek against his own rough one. It was all too much, not enough, and Roger knew that he never wanted to let go. How had he ever lived without Mark for so long?

Mark tensed a little, and Roger realized belatedly that he'd voiced that last thought aloud. Mark pulled back and looked at him, blue meeting green. Something inside Roger broke. He gave a slightly sad smile.

"This probably isn't the best time to ask this," Roger said quietly, one hand raising of its own accord to rest on Mark's cheek, "but I have to know if this is gonna go any further. Why did you leave?"

Mark leaned into Roger's palm, his eyes closing as he braced himself slightly. It was frightening, being able to see how they were moving across that invisible line, their past friendship and intimacy changing into something different, something more. Roger deserved to know, didn't he? Mark had done a lot of thinking lately. He had told Roger he would tell him when he'd figured it out.

He pulled back a little so their bodies weren't flush against one another, but still kept his arms around the guitarist. It wasn't helping his thought process to have Roger so close, but he couldn't force himself to pull away completely. The contact was comforting, and Mark needed that if he was going to tell the truth.

"A lot of reasons," Mark started slowly, his eyes still closed. "Some of it was that I was just… tired, Rog. I missed everyone. Part of me didn't want to admit that they were really gone. Maybe by leaving I could make myself believe that they were all fine, just living somewhere else, as illogical as that is.

"Part of me was tired of hiding. You were right, Rog. I had been using my work as a way to… detach. I used it to hide from a lot of things. I didn't want to do that anymore."

He paused, and was very glad when Roger didn't interrupt him. He needed to get this out all in one shot. If Roger spoke up now, he didn't know if he could do it.

"Before Collins died," Mark said after a moment, "I made him a promise. He told me he never wanted me to give up, to stop caring. I guess another part of it was that I felt like I couldn't do that in New York. There was too much… pain there, I guess. Too many old scars."

He breathed in deeply, shivering again. He opened his eyes looking searchingly at Roger's face. He raised a slightly shaky hand, resting it near the nape of Roger's neck, his thumb running over stubble on the guitarist's jaw.

"If I'm being completely honest, though, I was running away. I told myself different, but that's what I was really doing. I… I was scared, Roger. I never imagined you'd ever feel the same way I did. I didn't want to screw up what we had. You could break me so easily, Rog. If you ever told me to get lost, or were disgusted by me… I can't even imagine what that would do to me.

"Part of me could see this coming, even then, and I didn't know if it was the right thing, if I could handle it, if you could handle it. We'd already lost Angel, Mimi and Collins. Even if we stay just friends, I don't think I'll ever be able to handle losing you. How would I deal with it if we were more? So I acted out the old standard stupidity. Leave before you get left.

"I know it's idiotic and selfish, but I don't want to be the one to keep going when all my friends are gone. I'm not… not strong enough for that."

He realized that there were tears running down his face, his voice becoming more and more choked. Roger's eyes were shining with his own unshed tears. That face he could see even with his eyes closed, those deep green eyes that still had the ability to take his breath away were staring concerned, even lovingly into his.

"It's killing me, Roger," he whispered, eyes closing again.

Roger had listened to Mark silently, his insides twisting at every new revelation. He hated seeing Mark this way. It hurt to see that defeated look on the filmmaker's face, the tears escaping his closed eyes. When Mark finished, he finally gave into his instincts, pulling him into a tighter embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Mark," he whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't see what you were going through. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm just… I'm sorry."

What he couldn't voice was how very sorry he was to be the cause of a lot of Mark's troubles. No matter how much he wished to stay, he knew that inevitably he'd leave, that Mark would be left alone with nothing but a gravestone and a used guitar as reminders. He'd never regretted his lifestyle with April as much as he did now. Because he wasn't really regretting it for himself, he was regretting it for Mark.

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.

Even the old motto felt empty in his mind at this point. How could he not regret something that was hurting his best friend, the man he loved, so badly? How could he even begin to make this any better?

He pulled back from the tight embrace just slightly, looking into the face that, for all the trials endured, still looked so young, so achingly innocent. He cupped either side of Mark's face and brushed at the tears with his thumbs. He felt almost frantic, wanting so badly to make it better, but at a loss as to how.

"Don't cry, Mark," he choked out after a moment, surprised to find that tears of frustration and shared grief were starting to leak from his own eyes. "Please, don't cry. Please."

Hardly thinking about it, he leaned down slightly, pressing his lips to Mark's forehead, his closed eyes, his cheeks, noticing slowly that Mark had stilled completely and his eyes were opening again. Roger stared into deep blue, the color darkened in sadness, and finally brought his lips to meet Mark's, his eyes sliding shut.

Mark followed suit, his breath catching slightly. This was nothing like the first kisses described in so many romance novels. There were no fireworks, no ringing bells. Just warmth, connection, and Roger. But somehow, it felt sweeter, truer, than anything a romance novelist could describe.

Roger felt his chest swelling with all the pent up emotions. He wanted more. He needed to show Mark, he was alive, he was here, he was now. He needed to stop the tears flowing down the man's face. He shifted, bringing Mark closer, wrapping his arms around him more tightly, moving his lips over the filmmaker's. He licked at his lips while still pressing them to Mark's, his tongue pulling back with a faint taste of him. With a shock, Roger realized he wanted to taste all of him.

Mark immediately opened his mouth to Roger's moving tongue, surprising himself at his lack of hesitance. He pushed all his thoughts away, focusing on feel. He felt Roger pressed up against him, their bodies flush against each other. He buried his fingers in Roger's hair, pulling his head closer almost viciously, his hips bucking forward of their own accord. And then, then he felt their pelvises brush together, could feel that Roger was being affected the same way he was, and with a whimper that he wasn't even aware came out of his mouth, he was lost.

Roger took the invitation, plunging his tongue into Mark's mouth. The taste; vanilla and something that made him think of autumn, underneath the tang of alcohol, made warmth explode deep in his stomach. He traced his tongue feverishly over teeth, the top of his mouth, trying to remember it all, to map it out in his mind. It didn't help when Mark's warm, slick tongue began brushing over his own, or when Mark used it to pull his tongue farther in and sucked, at the same moment that he ground their hips together sharply. He felt the tension building along with the heat in his stomach. He ravaged Mark's mouth for a few more long moments, then pulled back just barely with a gasp, their noses brushing.

"Mark," he breathed out, unable to form any other coherent thought.

He leaned down, latching onto Mark's slender neck and sucking sharply as he moved their hips together again, starting to pick up a rhythm. He could feel himself hardening, the friction just enough to drive him crazy but keep him sane at the same time. It didn't make sense, but it felt so right that Roger didn't want to question it. He pumped their hips together more strongly, feeling Mark's answering desire, his hips pushing back into Roger's. Roger nearly let out a whimper of his own at some of the breathy noises Mark was starting to make.

The sensations were building, piling on top of one another, and Mark couldn't decide what he liked better; Roger's hot tongue against his pulse point, the occasional nip of teeth, or the teasing brush of their hips against each other. He wanted to scream at the exquisite pressure starting to build. He never realized he could need something so badly.

"Roger. Oh, God," he tried to slow them down a little, pulling his hips away slightly, or he was going to come right there. "Bedroom." He felt the shudder go through Roger at that one word, and the implications of it crashed down on him. Christ, this was really happening, wasn't it?

"Yeah, good idea," Roger muttered shakily, his lips leaving Mark's neck only to attack Mark's lips again.

It was sharp and fast, the clash of teeth and tongues, until he pulled away. Mark's eyes stayed closed after the kiss, his face flushed, and Roger had to fight himself to not simply pin him to the floor where they stood. With an amount of self-control he didn't know he had left, he pulled back enough to lead the filmmaker into the bedroom, their hands entwined. Roger realized he was dragging him more than leading him, but that was just a technicality. As soon as they got in the door, he closed it, slamming Mark up against it and biting at his neck again, rubbing their hips together, his knees starting to buckle.

Mark wasn't sure how it happened, but after a few moments against the door they stumbled over to the bed, Roger's mouth still attached to his neck, Mark's hands kneading at Roger's ass through tight denim. Roger fell on top of him, their hips still pistoning together. They were both shaking.

Mark pulled Roger's head up from his neck and kissed him again, trying to tell him without words what he wanted, what he needed. It was happening too fast but not fast enough at the same time. Mark wondered when his head would stop spinning, and if he really wanted it to. He dragged his fingers up Roger's back, nails scratching harshly. Roger let out a pleased hiss.

Mark felt warm, nimble hands working at his shirt, unbuttoning until it was all the way open. Mark was breathing in harshly, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes tightly when he felt Roger lean back, giving him room to sit up and pull it off all the way. He did so quickly, opening his eyes to watch as Roger pulled off his own tight shirt. He bit back a whimper at the sight of the rock star's exposed torso. It wasn't like he'd never seen Roger without a shirt on before, but this situation was entirely new. And Roger was gorgeous.

Roger was having similar thoughts about his slender ex-roommate. He laid a hand gently against the middle of Mark's collarbone, pushing back lightly until they lay chest to chest. He let out a soft moan at the incredible feeling of skin against skin, stroking his hands up and down Mark's arms. They were both gasping, sweat starting to bead, but Roger couldn't care less.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, placing a few open-mouthed kisses around Mark's collarbone, sucking on his neck briefly.

"Fuck," Mark groaned when Roger traced the pads of calloused fingers teasingly around his nipples. "If you don't… start moving faster I think I'm gonna kill you." Roger chuckled deep in his chest and it was all Mark could stand.

AN: Okay, so this is where I had to cut it... Stinks, I know. There's a link in my profile, but here's the address for now if you are too lazy to go to my profile:

http/ community. rentfic /326015 .html? #cutid1

Just take out the spaces... obviously. If you don't care about the smut, then just ignore this whole thing... yeah.

He pulled Mark into his arms, snuggling down and resting his head on his friend's smaller chest, sighing in contentment when Mark wrapped his arms tightly around him, then kissed the top of his head sleepily.

"'Night," Mark mumbled through a yawn, promptly drifting off to sleep.

"'Night," Roger whispered after a few minutes, lulled into sleep himself by the steady beating of Mark's heart.