Even now as Mark lay before him, handcuffed and on his knees, Roger could never shake the feeling that they were being watched. Peering over his shoulder, he saw only Marks' abandoned camera, clothing and the closed door to his own room.
Mark really didn't have anything against the rain. In fact he quite liked to lie on the couch and listen to it during a lazy afternoon, and on occasion walk outside when there was a light drizzle. Mark did not like running down the street in pouring rain without any proper covering, nor did he like when the rain was coming down so hard that looking through his glasses gave him worse vision then looking without them. He had come to this conclusion after dragging himself up off the sidewalk after a nasty fall. It wasn't his fault though; he blamed it all on the rain. If there hadn't been any rain, no puddle would have formed, and even if it had been there he would have been able to see it. Cursing under his breath the filmmaker continued his trek back to the loft, his pace slower now that he had aquatinted himself with the sidewalk.
People were rushing passed him, everyone with the same desire to get somewhere warm and away from the wretched downpour. Even the folks in cars seemed to have the same idea; especially the one that sped passed Mark, spraying the male with a new coat of muddy water. That earned yet another string of curses, causing a woman nearby to glare and urge her young daughter forward. Mark just glared right back.
He had managed to make it back to the loft with no other issues, well besides the constant sheets of water that barreled down on top of him, but that was obvious. Mark opened the door, relieved to finally be home. All that was on his mind was tea and perhaps one of the donuts that Collins' had brought them the other day. Roger didn't seem to be anywhere around until the sounds of his guitar drifted out of the musicians room. Mark had to laugh as a bit of jealousy rose inside him. He bet Roger hadn't left the loft all day, which meant Roger was perfectly dry.
Setting the camera bag on the table, Mark hung up his jacket, noting how much lighter he felt after the soaked article of clothing was removed. Putting some water in their kettle and setting it to boil, he wandered in the direction of Rogers music, frowning as the other took one look at him and laughed.
"The drowned rat look doesn't work for you Mark." Roger's grin widened as Mark shot a glare at him. "Hey I told you to stay in today, it's not my fault you decided to go out"
"Oh shut up Rog, you know I had to, even if I didn't get any good shots today..." Mark grabbed a towel off the ground and started attempting to dry his hair. He was still in his wet clothes though, and he could feel himself begin to shiver.
Roger seemed to notice this as well. "Stop with the hair, start with the clothes." He ordered, setting the guitar down and snatching away the towel. "You'll end up making yourself sick staying in those."
That earned him an odd look from Mark. "You sound like my mom you know that don't you?" He pointed out as he made his way back out of the room.
Roger looked absolutely appalled. "That was low Mark, really low."
"Only because you know it was true," was the only response as Mark left, heading towards his own room. Or at least that was the plan before the kettle started whistling at him.
Taking a detour to the stove, Mark pulled out a mug, hesitating a moment before pulling out another. Even though he knew Roger detested tea, it had become customary for Mark to pour two cups. Even if it always ended with Rogers tea being abandoned on a table or in his room. In fact if they ever found that they were running low on mugs, all Mark had to do was go into Roger's room, he would find most of them gathered on the other's desk.
Pulling the tea down from the cabinet, he let the bags fall into the steaming water, holding one in his trembling hands and relishing the heat between his fingers. He was still dripping and a small puddle was starting to collect at his feet, it really didn't matter though, at least this time he noticed it.
Grabbing the other mug from the counter, Mark returned to the room, placing the tea in Rogers waiting hands before flopping on the others' bed and sipping at his own drink. Sure he was still cold, but it was nice to just sit back and have a drink, besides at least when he finally got around to changing something warm would already be in his system.
Roger seemed to see the situation in a different light. "You're getting my bed wet, you do know that right?" He grinned as he mocked Marks tone from earlier. "If you're going to stay in here, you're going to stay in here with dry clothes on." Setting the mug on the night stand, Mark watched as Roger picked his way to a pile of clothing in the corner, rummaging around before pulling out some old pants and a sweater. They would be big, but that didn't matter much. The pants were frayed at the bottom, and the sweater stained with something or other, but anything would have been better then the sopping things that the filmmaker was wearing then.
Mark never saw the clothes coming, and because of that was rewarded with cotton making itself quite comfortable on his face.
Roger merely grinned, as he was offered a playful glare.
Letting the clothes fall onto the bed, Mark began to peel off his own soaking shirt, and let it drop carelessly on the floor. Shoving the dry sweater on, a content grin crossed his face. It was a nice sweater, a little big yes, but that's what made it comfortable. That and it feel like three pounds of water had been soaked into it.
Next he removed his pants, a slight blush making itself apparent as he caught Roger watching. It made him move just a bit faster, ramming his legs into the old thing he noticed anything else. Sitting back on the bed, he let out a yawn before picking up his cup once more and taking a deep gulp. Roger joined him then, lying next to Mark and lightly playing with one sleeve of the others shirt. "It suits you much more then me. I don't even know why I had it really"
Blinking Mark looked down at the sweater, noting the blue and maroon coloring. "Yeah I guess." Another yawn, then he too gave into the urge to lie down, snuggling up to his roommate. "Thanks by the way." Eyelids were beginning to droop downwards and he realized that the stress of the day was finally getting to him.
"Yeah no problem," Roger mumbled as he wrapped one arm around the others waist. His other hand was already beginning to play with the blonde's hair, only helping to ease him into the arms of sleep.
Being silent for a moment, Mark blinked, then shifted so he was facing the other. "Roger, why does your breath smell like donut...MY donut?" It was true, Rogers' breath smelled like the raspberry filling of the last donut that Mark had left for himself that morning.
A wide grin spread across the musicians face, but he didn't say a word, giving a frustrated sigh, Mark could do nothing but roll back on his side. At least today he could blame all this on the rain.