Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. This is just fun; there's no profit (other than the fun).

The door slammed, and Mark stirred. "Hm…?"

He was in bed. In bed with someone, and who… Mark rolled over. "Roger?" No. It couldn't be Roger that wasn't possibly, and whoever it was would now be hideously angry with him for having just called her Roger…

It had amazed Mark, numbed him with pleasure the effect his body had on Roger. Mark had imagined Roger as a lover, fantasized about him, but he had never been accurate. He had never imagined the reverence and gentleness, enamor and lust mingling in kisses trailed over Mark's body…

And Mimi. Roger was healthier, bigger; Mark had expected dominance from Roger and more submission from his small, slightly frail girlfriend. Mark had been quite wrong. Every touch from Roger seemed an indulgence. Mimi was all sex and seduction.

It seemed the first time in months he had fallen asleep easily.

At nine o'clock the following morning, Roger was awake, propped up on one elbow. He shifted, bringing the blankets slightly higher across his body, then with his free hand brushed Mark's face lightly, as he would brush away fringe if Mark had any.

Mimi grinned at Roger. "Se quiere, no?"

Roger nodded, not taking his eyes off Mark. "I've wanted this," he said quietly. "I've wanted this for so long…" He trailed his fingers across Mark's cheek, down his neck. "I've wanted to love him, to make him feel it. I wanted him breathing beside me at night."

Mimi flinched. "Love?" she asked, watching carefully for his reaction.

"Wha--" Roger looked up at her face. "Oh. No, not… just… Doesn't it feel right, Mimi? You, me… Mark… us? We've lived together so long, it just… it just needed to happen. Mimi," he said, seriously, since she was clearly unconvinced, "I love you." He looked down at Mark. "I just worry that he's not happy, that he keeps too much inside."

"I'd be more concerned with what he lets out."

"What?"

Mimi ran her fingertips across Mark's forearm. "Look, Roger. Look at these, love."

Roger did, and felt a sudden need to be sick and a sudden pain closing his lungs. "How long?" he whispered, forcing his throat to move.

"I don't know."

"How long have you known?"

Mimi shrugged. "I saw them tonight," she said, tracing spirals over his scars. "So… what are we going to do?" She looked up again at Roger.

He shook his head. "I dunno."

Mark mumbled and rolled over. Mimi looked at Roger. "You want to do it now?"

He considered. Was he, now, when he had just gotten what he so badly wanted, willing to risk that? Did he want to talk about this, these, when he could ignore it all, when… fuck… he didn't want to. Roger didn't want to discuss this at all. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to know about this, but he did, and that was what mattered.

"Maybe it would be easier, just you two?"

Yes. Mark had known Roger for years, they could talk, Mark would be open with him. Mimi… Roger loved Mimi, and he wanted to believe that Mimi loved Mark, but he didn't.

Roger nodded. "That might be easier."

Mimi slipped out of bed. She pulled on her jeans. "I'll try to give you about an hour, okay?"

"Thanks, Mimi."

When she had gone, Roger wriggled deeper under the blankets and curled closer to Mark. Okay, he was ready for this. He was ready to talk about this, ready to accept, find out what was going on and help Mark in any way necessary.

After he was properly awake. For now there was only Mark, warm and solid and breathing evenly. Roger rested an arm across Mark's pouchy tummy-- thin as Mark was, he had never been vain enough to actually be fit.

The door slammed, and Mark stirred. "Hm…?"

He was in bed. In bed with someone, and who… Mark rolled over. "Roger?" No. It couldn't be Roger that wasn't possibly, and whoever it was would now be hideously angry with him for having just called her Roger.

Mark reached for his glasses.

"Here."

He slid them on, took a deep breath, and faced his partner. "Roger?"

Roger grinned. "Morning."

"Last night… we… you… and me…"

Roger nodded. "You and me and Mimi, yes." Despite the scars, it was still a morning after. Roger reached out and petted Mark's hair. "Did you like it?" he asked. Mark nodded. "Good." Roger kissed him, and Mark practically lost consciousness.

Shit. AIDS! Fuck!

"You… we used protection, right?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. We wore condoms, of course. We wouldn't expose you, Mark." The 'we' of the first sentence was clearly not the 'we' of the second, and though Mark told himself Roger only meant the subject to indicate the two infected individuals, he flinched to be excluded. "Mark? There's, um… there's something I want to talk to you about."

Mark froze. And you just let yourself be lured in, you little idiot! You let yourself think it was love. Moron! You're just a bit of fun. You're just a piece of ass, and you're too stupid and naïve to realize. "Last night… was a one-time thing," Mark forced himself to say. It was easier than hearing Roger say it.

Roger shook his head. "Only if you didn't enjoy it. And we can do more than just that, or… differently. Actually when I asked you to join us, me and Mimi had been thinking it was more like a forever thing." Roger smiled, so Mark smiled back. "I wanted to talk to you about these," Roger said, trailing his fingers along Mark's arms.

"They're just old cat scratches," Mark said.

"No, they aren't."

Mark turned away. He sighed. There wasn't much to say. His head was too heavy for his neck, his arms sagged from his shoulders. "What do you want, Roger?" he asked quietly.

"I want…" you. At least I did, but now that I have you… Roger curled his hand around Mark's. "I want to know why you would do that."

Mark curled his toes, and he made a choice. He would not get emotional. He would not be defensive. This was none of Roger's business, and Roger would have to accept that, because he'd done the same.

"Same way you shot smack into your arms."

Roger's throat tightened. "You made me stop."

"You want me to stop?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll stop." A part of Mark wanted to give Roger more credit. A part of him wanted to say, To stop, I have to be happy. To stop, I have to be loved. To stop, I have to have a reason. To stop, I have to care. Not all at once, but one or another at any time. "Hey!" Mark protested, because Roger had yanked the blankets away. "What are you doing?"

Mark reached for the blankets, but Roger pushed them onto the floor. "I'm learning every scar on your body."

"Roger--"

"You're being uncooperative, Mark, so I'm using force."

Mark pushed Roger away. Don't be cute. He found his corduroys on the floor and pulled them up. "It's my life, Roger, I don't want you interfering."

"Interfering?" Roger repeated. "So I'm not supposed to care, Mark, just let you slice and dice?"

"Yes," Mark snapped, surprised at his own viciousness. He grabbed a shirt and slipped it on.

"I won't let you fuck yourself up like that."

Mark scoffed. "I won't take advice from an HIV-positive junkie."

He regretted the words the moment he had said them, but he didn't dare retract them. Mark didn't dare cede to his desire to apologize, because, You idiot! Are you really that fucking afraid of happiness, you'll just say anything to push him away, won't you? Don't you care about Roger's feelings, you little shit? No. You just love his cock. You just want to love him, you want him to love you, but you don't deserve that… now, do you?

Mark slammed the door behind him as he left the loft.

When Mimi returned, she found Roger sitting on the bed. He had picked up the clothes strewn around the room, folded them, and set them aside, then he had made the bed. After that, he slumped down on the blankets, tried to cry and couldn't.

"Roger…"

"He's gone, Meems. I fucked it up, and now he's gone."

"He'll come back."

"How do you know that?"

Mimi shrugged. "Because he loves you."

TO BE CONTINUED!

So... I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I'm not really satisfied with it, but I'm pleased enough to just have it finished at this point.