Chapter Eleven: To Passion When It's New
Soul meets soul on lover's lips.—Percy Bysshe Shelley
April lay on her back on Mark's bed, her feet up against the wall, head hanging over the edge so that she watched Roger upside down. He sat on his own bed with his guitar, playing the same melody over and over. Just a few notes, and then he would stop, frown, play it again, sometimes a little differently, sometimes with no alteration that April could hear. She smiled a little and said at last, "Roger? You're obsessing. Stop it."
He glanced up at her, raising his eyebrows a little when he saw her watching him from her upside down position on the other bed. "I am not obsessing. I just want to get it right."
April gave him a look somewhere between amused and irritated—it didn't exactly have the effect she wanted, perhaps because an upside-down glare just wasn't very intimidating. "It sounds fine to me. And you're going to drive me crazy. That's going to be in my head for a week now."
Roger grinned at her and set his guitar down gently. "Fine, I'll stop. Did you know that you're kind of bossy?"
April mock-gasped, pretending to be offended. "I am not!" She pushed her feet against the wall and tumbled off the bed easily, landing on her feet. She sat down alongside Roger, smirking at him as he gave her an odd look and commented, "You know, you could break your neck that way."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "If I'm bossy, then you're a mother hen. 'Break my neck' indeed."
"I am not a mother hen," he retorted. "And don't stick that out unless you plan to use it."
"Maybe I—" She cut off as he kissed her, and pulled her closer to him. April giggled and pulled back just a little. "That's not fair."
"What's not fair?" he asked with a smile, his arms now looped comfortably around her waist. "Don't even try to tell me you don't like it."
"Well, yeah, but—"
Another kiss, and she didn't even try to pull away this time. It was far too easy to just melt into that kiss and lose herself… and she really didn't care. Her hand slid up to his cheek, glided along his jawline until it circled around the back of his neck. The other hand rested on his chest, just above his heart, and as for his hands…
April broke the kiss and asked, a little breathless, "How long until Mark gets home?"
"I'm not sure," Roger said after a moment. "He's visiting his parents, so… late."
"Good." April smiled and pulled him close again.
When Mark got home, Collins, Benny and Maureen were sitting on the couch, and the second he stepped in the doorway they all three looked up at him as if surprised. He knew immediately that there had to be something going on, but he couldn't summon the energy to ask about it—visits with his parents were always draining. He unwound his scarf from around his neck, draped it over the back of a chair as he passed it, and headed for his room.
Collins cleared his throat as Mark reached the closed bedroom door. "You probably don't want to go in there, Mark."
He sighed and turned to face Collins. "Why not?"
"Because Roger and April are in there."
"So? I don't see why—oh." Mark frowned at the door as realization slowly dawned. "Oh!" He took a few steps back and turned to look at the other three. "You mean… they're… the two of them are…"
"Yes, Mark," Maureen said patiently. "They are."
He glanced back at the door thoughtfully. "Does this mean I'm not getting my room back again?" he asked at last, and Maureen simply collapsed into giggles while Mark gave her a quizzical look, unable to see what she found funny about that. Before he could ask, the bedroom door creaked open, April stepped out and immediately stopped just outside the doorway upon seeing Mark.
She stood there for a few seconds, running a hand through tousled hair in a self-conscious attempt to smooth it, and then gave an embarrassed little smile. "Um… hi, Mark."