Okay, at long last, I've finally finished Chapter 9. I had a brief foray into the wonderful (sarcasm) world of writer's block for a while, but I think I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. It might seem slightly cliche at the end, but I promise it's like that for a reason, one that isn't ‘because that's the way it's always done.' I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid. Please please please read/review. I don't know how many chapters are left, but it's pretty much downhill from here (in terms of action, that is, not quality - I hope, anyway!). Let me know what you think. Thanks, and enjoy!

Two things I forgot to mention: The beginning of this chapter is in italics because it's a dream. You find that out pretty quickly, but just so it doesn't freak anybody out and scare them off without reading on... Also, the dream is, well, a little descriptive. There is a reason for that R rating. :-) It's nothing terribly explicit, but, it's there.

Disclaimer: Not my characters. (Man, I'm getting lazy with disclaimers...) The title is from “Cookie Jar” by Matt Caplan, a song which as Sandy pointed out to me fits this story/chapter a lot. But I didn't want to make Cookie Jar the title (for my own idiosyncratic reasons), so I hope this satisfies her. :-)

Through My Blood

By Alison

Chapter Nine: The Way It Always Seems to Happen

“Roger?” Mark lingered by the doorway, a small pout on his lips. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” I replied, casting aside my guitar to pay full attention to the man. “What's up?”

Mark crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Can I sleep with you tonight? My bed's so... lonely...”

I coughed, averting my eyes. “Um, yeah, sure.”

“Thanks.” Mark flashed a charming smile, then leaned his head against my shoulder. He breathed in deeply and exhaled, the warm air tickling and teasing my neck.

“Well... goodnight,” I said with some difficulty. I closed my eyes, but they were jolted back open when I felt a hand trail down my stomach to my thigh.

“You know,” my filmmaker whispered, “when I said I wanted to sleep with you tonight, I didn't just mean in the same bed...”

Before I could respond, my lips were covered by Mark's. The sweetness flooded my senses, overwhelming and crushing and enveloping me all at the same time. The hand that lingered on my thigh slipped further inward, and I arched my hips up to meet the touch.

The kiss ended all too soon, but my disappointment was quickly replaced by anticipation. Mark's lips brushed along my jawline, blazing a trail of tingling warmth down the flesh. His tongue flickered torturously across a nipple, then swooped down to my navel. With agonizing slowness, he unbuckled the belt I was wearing and pulled it off. Then he set to work on the zipper, his palm pressng firmly against the denim fly and eliciting a small, muffled noise from my throat.

A minute later, my jeans were in a pile on the floor. A chill shot through the freshly exposed skin, but it quickly vanished as the delicious feeling of Mark's warm, wet mouth encompassed my erection.

“Oh God,” I murmured, savoring every touch and movement Mark made. He was a natural at this. As he sped up, my moans grew louder and more frequent, finally culminating as he--

“Roger?”

I awoke with a start. Mark had his hand on my shoulder and was searching my face, an extremely worried expression on his own. “Did you sleep like this all night?”

Grumbling in pain, I shifted onto my side. Okay, so maybe sleeping on the floor wasn't the best idea I'd ever had.

“What the hell do you want?” I muttered. Did he have to end my dream just when it was getting to the best part?

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare... you kept moaning, and thrashing all over the place.” He gingerly stroked my hair, which currently hung over my forehead in sweaty clumps, but he didn't seem to mind.

Yeah, I thought bitterly, until a few minutes from now, when he decides to pretend it never happened and leave without a single goddamn explanation. I pulled away from the touch, frowning. “I'm fine. I wasn't having a bad dream.”

“Whatever you say.” He sighed, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. “I made you breakfast. Go get into bed and I'll bring it to you.”

I glanced downward for a split second, just long enough to check my crotch area and confirm what I feared.

“Uh, Roger?” Apparently he had noticed too. I didn't even stop to consider why in the world he was looking at my crotch -- I think I was a little too busy blushing furiously.

“What, never heard of a morning wood?” I stood up, my movements slow and cautious to ensure that there would be no reenactments of last night's performance.

He stifled a snicker. “I guess you weren't having a bad dream after all... must've been a pretty good one, actually.”

I shoved him as hard as I could. “Shut up, Mark.”

His eyes grew wide as he staggered backward and struggled to regain his balance. “Jeez, it was just a joke.”

“Yeah, like you,” I said under my breath.

“What's that?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” We were both silent; I stalked over to the bed and sat down. After a moment he grabbed a tray from outside my door and joined me.

“I didn't know what you'd feel like, so I made a couple different things. But if you think it's gonna make you sick, you don't have to eat it, okay?”

”Okay, Mommy.”

This time he ignored my snide comment and handed me a mug of hot coffee. Maybe he thought my bad mood was due to lack of caffeine. Maybe it was.

Then again, maybe it's caused by my best friend snogging me and deciding in the middle of our make-out session that it's time to go to sleep.

The coffee was making me feel a little better, anyway. At least until Mark's hand tentatively slipped onto my free one. No, I wasn't going to put up with this “is he or isn't he?” shit anymore. I yanked my hand away and placed it on the coffee mug.

Mark sighed loudly. “I don't get you, Roger,” he complained, frustrated.

I concentrated on my drink, feigning nonchalance. “Why do you say that?”

“Jesus, you snap at every other word I say, and you won't even let me so much as touch you!”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don't like being touched?” I took a large gulp and tried to ignore the burning sensation it caused in my mouth and throat.

“You sure didn't seem to mind it yesterday!”

“Yeah, and you never seemed like a prick tease until a few days ago, but I guess people aren't always what they seem, huh?”

The surprise and hurt on his face were evident. Once or twice he opened his mouth to respond, but ended up snapping it shut each time. Finally he spoke, quietly. “What is it you want from me?”

I chewed on a piece of toast for a good minute before addressing his question. “What do you mean?”

He sighed again. “You're my best friend. I'm not going to let you turn me into some meaningless one night stand just because you're craving comfort.”

I nearly choked on my toast. “Wait, what?”

“I may be naive, Roger, but I'm not stupid. It's obvious when you want to get someone into bed, and this time is no exception. I never thought you were into guys, but you've made it pretty clear.”

The situation would've been hilarious. If it weren't so horrendous. “You think that's what this is about? That I just want to get a good fuck out of you? Christ, Mark, did the thought that I'm actually in love with you ever once cross your mind?”

We both froze. Did I just say that? Please tell me I did not just say that... The look on his face was proof that, indeed, I had. Shit.

“I... you...” Mark stuttered, then stopped to clear his throat. “Really?”

I shrugged, looking anywhere I could that wasn't the other man's searching gaze. “Yeah. So what if I am?”

His response was a soft, stifled laugh. Betraying my unspoken vow not to look at him, for fear that his eyes would reveal a truth I didn't want to believe, I glanced up sharply. Immediately he took on an apologetic quality. “I'm sorry, it's just... do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear you say something like that?”

For the second time in minutes, I found myself wondering if this was really happening. This time, though, I prayed desperately that it was. “Umm... no,” I replied lamely.

“A while.” An unsteady grin hovered on Mark's lips, as though he was afraid to be happy just yet, afraid like I was that this was all just a dream. “I, uh -- I do too. Love you, I mean.”

“Oh--okay.” It was too surreal, too perfect, yet at the same time, not at all the perfect scenario I'd always imagined. Something was not right here. The quivering nausea in my stomach had returned, but this time I wasn't sure it was from withdrawal.

What was wrong with me? I'd spent the last few days pining away for him to return my affections, and now that he did, I was scared shitless.

Mark extended a hand toward me, and I pulled back reflexively. A hurt look flashed across his face. “What's the--”

“I... Mark, I need to...” What was I trying to say? What was I trying to do? I didn't know. A familiar feeling of dread had begun to wash over me, cloaking any sense of reason I still had. I stood up abruptly, eyeing the bedroom door like it held my salvation.

“Roger, please don't...”

I wanted to listen to him. I wanted to calm down and throw my arms around him and let everything be okay. But everything wasn't okay. I didn't know how or why, but it wasn't.

“I just, I need to -- to think, okay?” My chest was pounding and I wasn't even moving yet. The room seemed to be closing in on me. I made a break for the door.

“I swear to God--”

I was gone before Mark could finish his sentence.