Disclaimer: I own nothing.
WARNING: Sexual content. It's not smut, but there is open discussion.
Mark listened to his heart beat, felt the blood pump through his body. There was a familiar soreness at the back of his throat. He was tingling and sweating all over; the bed was warm. Mark stared at the ceiling, distant and spiraling in the darkness, and tried to sleep.
His eyes would not close. His mind raced ahead, through shapes and worry as to what he would be doing tomorrow and if, in his sore state, he would manage. Neither he nor Roger had left the loft in three days, the cold kept them from desiring fresh air, and there had been plenty of noodles and soup to keep them fed. Now Monday approached, and with it an end to their sphere of seclusion.
The telephone rang.
It rang again.
On the third ring Mark decided that he might get out of bed if Collins was calling. Might. But he didn't know where his sweatpants were, and the bed was so comfortable. He might get up, but he would guilt Collins for waking him, though he had not been asleep.
"SPEAK!"
"Mark? Mark, it's Mom! Listen, honey, it's April and you know what that means. Passover! Come home for sedar, sweetie. Dad misses you, and he is sorry for the terms you two parted on… in fact, Mark… you know, it would mean a lot if you came home. For heaven's sake, it's been years, and, well… honey, he hasn't been the same since his… since he was in the hospital about ten months ago. I didn't want to worry you with it, but he wants to speak to you, Mark. You never answer the phone. Come home for the sedar, honey."
Mark bit his lip. He hadn't known his father was in the hospital. Surely he would have visited… he would have done something. He sighed, then rolled onto his left side.
"Rog?"
Mark pushed himself up on one elbow. Roger was covered in sweat, but there was no mistaking the pewter token gleaming on his chest. This could go very poorly. Mark lifted the thing. It was heavy-- he wouldn't want to wear something that weighty around his neck. He did wear a Star of David, more from habit than anything else, but it was easily forgotten, a thin gold chain he had been wearing since turning thirteen.
Mark sat up. He hunted on the floor for sweatpants, running his hands across dust, dirty dishes and a pair of underpants before finding the sweats. He tugged them on, cinched up the drawstring and tiptoed out of the room, taking the dishes with him.
Mark closed the door quietly. As he crossed the loft, his heels caught the hems of the sweatpants. Oops. Mark had taken Roger's pants by mistake. Not terribly fussed by this, he set the dishes down in the sink, then picked up the telephone. He cinched the receiver between his shoulder and his ear and dialed eleven digits.
The phone rang twice before a child's voice asked, "Hello?" Mark heard giggling and cries in the background; obviously, his sister's children were near the phone.
This suspicion was confirmed by a distant scolding: "Ethan! I've told you before, the telephone is not a toy!" Over Ethan's whining, Mark heard, "Hello?" in an older voice.
"Hi… Cindy?"
"Yes, speaking."
He hadn't heard his sister's voice in years. She sounded softer than he recalled, more subdued and almost sad. "Is m--" Mark choked. He couldn't bring himself to ask for 'Mom', so instead said, "Is Lily there?"
"Just a minute, I'll get her." The phone was set down, Ethan warned not to touch it, and for a moment Mark was left alone, listening to the rain drip outside and, through the telephone, the kids shout. Ethan was the loudest, but a girl's voice pealed through occasionally.
"Hello?"
"Mom?"
There was a momentary pause, then, "Mark!"
Mark blushed. "Hey, Mom. Yeah, it's me. Listen, I… I'll be there, for Passover."
"Well… I… Mark, honey, that's wonderful. That's… oh, I can't wait. We'll have latkes! It's not traditional, but you always loved my latkes," she reminded him. Mark was blushing deeper by the second. "So, I only have a few minutes but tell me: what's going on in your life? Is there someone, hm?"
"There's…" Mark paused. Did he want Roger at the sedar? Did he want to bring his attentive, dirty-minded, occasionally mournful boyfriend to his parents' house? Mark had not even come out of the closet to them. He had started dating Roger well after he stopped talking to his parents. "Yeah, Mom. There's someone."
---
"Roger!" Mark hissed, and gave a little shake.
"What?" Roger squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Something wrong?" he asked, blinking. "Mark?" Roger's hand wandered through the darkness, searching.
Mark raised his hand to meet Roger's. "How long has it been since we went out?" Mark asked.
Roger gave a little hum to indicate that he was thinking, or savoring a thought. "Three days. Four times on top, twice on the bottom. Fellated… I dunno."
"That my count or yours?" Mark wondered.
"Yours. Mine is twice on top, four times on the bottom, and you gave me head once. No, twice. Once in the shower and once to wake me up," Roger recounted. "It's been a goood weekend. That's why I'm asleep at--" he raised his arm to check the luminous hands of his watch "--seven forty-two p.m."
"I have a serious question," Mark said.
"Okay."
"Are you awake?"
"Yes," Roger replied sleepily.
"I want to go home for Passover," Mark announced. When Roger only nodded and murmured that that sounded like a great idea, Mark clarified, "Roger. I want to bring you home to meet my family, for Passover."
Suddenly Roger was wide awake. "You huh?"
Mark repeated the idea. "Okay?" he asked.
"Sure, babe. If that's what you want."
Roger yawned, but forced himself not to fall asleep again, regardless of his heavy eyelids. "That's it," Mark promised. He kissed Roger's hand. "You can go back to sleep now."
TO BE CONTINUED!
Well? What do you think? I've never done a slash that wasn't one-shot before, so I'm nervous on how this turns out.
Happy Pesach!