Roger is whimpering by the time it's over, and Mark doesn't even think he realizes it.
Smiling – a bit smugly, maybe, but at least gently – he extracts his fingers and wipes them carefully clean with a damp cloth, reaching to stroke the side of his neck in a gentle (perhaps uncharacteristically), reassuring gesture that has the songwriter gone boneless, half in his lap.
It's Christmas Eve, and even Mark doesn't feel the need to extend the scene beyond four hours of torment.
Happy Christmas. Consider it a treat, he thinks smugly, but Roger doesn't hear him. He's blissfully satiated and hovering on the edge of exhaustion, still trembling from the force of his last orgasm.
The diagnosis had been a hard blow, and it had meant a month of uncomfortable dancing around that Mark will regret as lost time for the rest of his life. But it hadn't been the end. It couldn't be. They'd been in this together far too long for that.
If Maureen couldn't keep Mark away from Roger, then HIV never stood a chance.
"Can I…" Roger mumbles, obviously struggling with coherency. His hair is overgrown and unruly, plastered sweatily to his forehead as though he's run a marathon. He might as well have. Mark slips his hand down to rub his stomach soothingly, the way he always does after a particularly intense scene, encouraging him silently and giving him unspoken permission to speak.
Somehow, Roger manages to string together a sentence, scrunching his nose up as he does so. He grabs Mark's hand on his stomach in a tight, grateful grip. "Can we shower?"
"I imagine the others will appreciate it if we do," he murmurs, allowing him a small smile. Roger brightened as though he'd gotten a compliment out of that, somehow, sitting up on his elbows.
"Collins' bus isn't going to be here for another hour, though," he says slowly, blinking at him curiously – Mark has half a mind to press him back down onto the mattress, whether it's to make him rest or to continue what had been a lovely afternoon, but he restrains himself and just levels an appraising look at him until he lowers his eyes.
"We're going to decorate before he gets here," he explains, patiently, fingers soothingly rubbing his belly again until Roger is squirming and whimpering again. "And I'm going to kiss you all over –" He deliberately lets his voice drop, grinning at Roger's longing expression, leaning over him to press his lips to the top of his head and trailing down, down the side of his face, the column of his neck, to the sharp angle of his collarbone. (he's aware enough to frown at that and make a note of it for later)
"Because you've been such a good boy this year."
Roger tips his head back and groans. "Damn it, Cohen –"
He'd never speak to Mark like that in the middle of the scene, so at least he seems to have taken the transition back to reality better than the last time.
"You're killing me. Maureen is going to piss herself if you talk like that in front of her…"
Mark waggles his eyebrows, borrowing Roger's trademarked smirk for a moment. "I know, I know. It's not like she doesn't know, though."
In all honesty, Mark hadn't done very much at all to conceal the new dynamic of his sex life from their friends. Maureen should have known what he was into, anyways; she'd managed to walk in on them within the first week, when their routine was still trial-and-error awkwardness, and had come away laughing.
If she only could have seen them today…
Roger nuzzled his stubbly cheek against Mark's hand, trying to pretend it's not a needy gesture. They both know that it is. Mark strokes the pad of his thumb over his lower lip in a silent apology, feeling the tension – however pleasant it had been, in the moment – slowly leaving his shoulders, gentling the slope of them, softening his smile.
Out here, he was shy. He didn't speak, much, and certainly didn't give orders, and Roger mouthed off to him as much as he liked.
It had been a little strange in the beginning, but now he found himself appreciating the routine of it, the variety. Mark could still return to the introvert when they pulled back; Roger could revert back to his foul language and poor hygiene and silly, devious taunts about everything from Mark's overabundance of sweaters to the unhealthy amount of time he spent with his camera rather than people.
Neither one of them really had any control over the other. Unless they wanted them to.
Roger is sucking on his index finger when he starts back out of his reverie.
He pulls it back, yanks more like, feeling the force of the flush before it really gets a chance to hit him. "Roger!" he moans, swatting him away, but Roger just leans back into his hands contently, appearing unconcerned that he's being slapped.
Sighing, he scoots closer on the mattress and curls an arm around him, burying his face in his shoulder. Roger reaches up to stroke his back lazily.
They do this now, often. Just lie together.
Mark thinks back to all the years they spent so desperate to prove themselves, to be productive even if it wasn't in the typical way, and wonders what he thought he was going to accomplish. All he had to show for it was ashes of half-written screenplays and boxes of old film reels in the back of his closet, growing dusty.
But I still have Roger, he reminds himself, and his lips curve against Roger's neck.
Reluctantly, he breaks the comfortable silence. "You stink," he murmurs. "Go take a shower… I'll get the tree set up."
Roger groans, but he's disinclined to argue when he can still feel the phantom tremors of his orgasm, and Mark barely manages to conceal his smug expression when he starts to peel himself out of Mark's bed and gingerly pads to the bathroom.
It's moments before the shower starts in the next room and Mark lies back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling and breathing, utterly content. This was how Christmas should be. Not gloomy, not freezing, not strangled with the anticipation of life or death.
This year, he doesn't think about his failures, or that he has nothing to show for another year's dreadfully boring toil.
He's awfully comfortable. He doesn't particularly want to get up, now, but if he doesn't…
Well, if he doesn't, then Roger may take it upon himself to exact revenge for his hypocrisy. Mark grins to himself at the prospect and settles in to wait.
Maybe the decorations won't get done before the others get here, after all.
That's okay. They'll have more than enough fun doing it together.