After what seems like way too long (and actually, a day seems like too long for Mark), Roger finally agreed to mess around a little with him. Roger said he hasn't been able to see Mimi much lately, with her taking extra shifts, and he's horny as hell, so he told Mark to be ready later that night. Mark isn't exactly happy that the only reason Roger is agreeing to it this time is because Mimi isn't around but, he reminds himself, Roger is Mimi's boyfriend and not his own. He sighs as he sits on the couch, waiting for Roger to get back from where ever the hell he went.
Mark's fingers drum on the couch, his head falling back, growing very impatient by this whole situation. He's been thinking constantly about Roger for the past few days, and the prospect of finally doing some of the things he's fantasized about-- well, he doesn't know how much longer he can wait before he goes nuts.
"Fucking hell..." Mark moans out in frustration.
It's at that point that Roger walks into the loft, stretching his arms over his head. He raises an eyebrow at Mark, coming in on the tail end of his little outburst. "You all right there?" he asks, sounding rather amused as he walks over to the couch and plops down next to him.
"Fine, fine…" Mark says, although his hands are feeling a little bit jittery. He can feel himself getting aroused already, just by Roger's presence alone. "Horny…horny as hell," he says, amending the statement.
Roger chuckles hearing that. "I had the feeling. You had that look on your face when we decided to get together tonight. That look that tells me that you were gonna explode if you didn't get laid soon," he says, ruffling Mark's hair. "Ever consider getting your own girlfriend?"
"Yeah, twice," Mark says, not really paying much attention to the conversation, just wanting to get on with it. "They're now dating each other."
"Point taken," Roger says, unable to hold back more laughter. It's one of those things that Roger does—his habit of not taking other people's serious things very seriously. Sometimes it makes Mark think about what is getting him upset, and he starts to see that what he's getting mad at isn't worth getting mad at.
Other times, it just pisses him off.
Mark puts his feelings to the side though, not caring how condescending Roger is being and just wanting to jump on him. So that's what he does, quite literally, pushing him down onto the couch and climbing on top of him.
"Holy fuck," Roger says in his surprise as he falls on his back and feels the weight of Mark climbing over his body. He looks up at Mark, a questioning look in his eyes. He even opens his mouth to ask just what the hell has gotten into him, but his words are cut off by Mark forcing his mouth down onto his.
By the time they are done, Mark and Roger are both lying on the floor, panting heavily, Mark lying on his back and Roger propped up on his elbows.
There is a long silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Roger kind of stares off into space, his mind trying to wrap itself around what just happened. Mark stares up at the ceiling, half embarrassed as hell by his sudden outburst and taking control, and half damn proud of it. At the moment, however, the embarrassed half is rearing its ugly head, his cheeks a deep shade of red and eyes not looking away from the ceiling for fear of meeting Roger's.
After one of the longest minutes either of them had ever experienced, Roger decides to break the silence. "Not…that I'm complaining much," he says in a soft voice, looking over and Mark. "But what the hell was that about?"
Mark lets out a low sigh, still making sure not to meet his eyes. "Um… I got… excited?" he says, trying to justify himself. The truth is, even besides being hornier than a twenty-one year old frat boy on Viagra; he really wanted to be with Roger that way. It goes a bit too far beyond just the physical, and that scares him. They had started this because Mark needed to get off-- now it's getting personal.
Roger chuckles. "No shit, man," he says, shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair. "Again, I don't mind at all. I've just never seen you like that before."
"So…you wouldn't mind that happening again?"
"Give it a week or two, Tiger," Roger says, flashing him a small wink. He sits up a bit more. "I'm gonna take a shower then pass out. 'Night, Marky boy," he says, leaning over and planting a small kiss on Mark's forehead.
Mark just sits there on the floor as Roger walks to the bathroom, feeling quite bereft. He can't get himself to stand up and go to his own room, and so he just lies down on the floor, rolling over onto his stomach, his forehead against the floor.
The next morning, Mark wakes up knowing exactly what he has to do. It's so simple and obvious that he is baffled that he didn't think about it before. Why was he attempting to talk to Maureen about it when he has someone so much better? His unconscious mind seems to have been working overtime when he was sleeping. Who is always willing to talk? Who is always filled with the widest assortment of random knowledge and always gives great advice?
Collins.
He throws on some clothes and his glasses, runs into Roger's room to tell him he'll be back later, and jets out the door like there were a herd of stampeding cattle behind him. His mind sort of spazzes out on the way over to Collins' apartment, so that he ends up at the front door without recollection of how exactly he got there or what ensued on the way over.
Mark gets buzzed up to the apartment and dashes up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. As he opens the unlocked door and walks into the familiar apartment, he can sense things are slightly awry. He isn't sure exactly what it is, but he can just sense it.
A smell wafts up into his nostrils, a vaguely familiar sent but one which he can't quite place. Of course things begin to piece together when Collins stumbles out of his room, in nothing put a pair of jeans, giggling slightly.
"Mark!" Collins says, walking over to him and pulling him into a giant, bone-crushing bear hug.
"Whoa!" Mark sputters out as he is pulled into the hug. "Collins…are you high?" he asks, dreading the answer.
"Yooou bet your ass I am." Collins says, laughing a bit more as he breaks the hug and walks away from him. He walks back over to his couch and flops onto it, sprawling over the whole thing. "So, what you come by for today, my blonde headed friend," he asks, lying on his side to look at Mark.
"Well… I wanted to try and talk about something. I got a lot of shit on my mind," Mark mutters, knowing he's not going to get much talking done. At least, not with some decent advice. Collins gets kinda giddy when he's high.
"Well, come over here and talk about it," he says, sitting up and patting the seat on the couch next to him.
Reluctantly, Mark walks over and sits next to him, wondering just what the hell he's getting himself into. "Um…so yeah…." he says, trying to think about how exactly to start.
"Wanna hit?" Collins asks, holding out the joint in his hand to Mark.
Mark looks at the joint, then at Collins, then back at the joint. He tries to think about just what the hell he should do. On the one hand, he desperately needs advice…in a big way. He can't go much longer like this, and he's at a loss what to do. On the other hand, of course, Collins looks too far gone at the moment to give any advice aside from 'breathe deep.'
Mark thinks about it for a few seconds. "Fuck it, hand it over," he mutters, taking the joint from Collins' hand and puts it between his lips. As he inhales he feels sweet relief spreading through his veins, filling every bit of his body, and all he can do is sigh, lean back and inhale again. It has been so long since he's done this and he almost forgot how good it feels, especially when things aren't going right in his life.
They actually sit in silence for about five minutes or so, doing nothing but passing the joint back and forth and back and forth, then lighting up another and then back and forth and back and forth. Every once in a while they will say something not even mildly amusing, and then break into a fit of the giggles before falling into silence once more.
Mark leans over a little bit on the couch, resting an arm on Collins' shoulder. "You know Col…" he mutters, his eyes slightly out of focus. "I don't know what I'm gonna do about Roger," he says, completely oblivious to the fact that Collins doesn't know what's actually going on between them. "It's messing with me, man."
"White Castle," Collins says firmly.
"White Castle?" Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.
"White Castle. Them shits always make me feel better...and I'm really hungry now," Collins says, sitting up a little bit on the couch. Mark finds himself to be awfully hungry as well.
An hour or so later, finishing his third slice of pizza with a side of Funyuns, Mark thinks it a good idea to head off. He's sobered up enough to realize that absolutely nothing was accomplished by going to talk to Collins, the one person he was sure would be able to help him. Of course, he's still too high to really care. He's relaxed and his stomach is cured of the munchies, and he's rather contented with life.
His only concern for the time being is making it home without stopping in every store he sees and getting snacks with a lot of sugar and salt.