Title: Sugar Coated

Pairing: Mark/Roger (Marker)

Summary: When Mark brings home a gingerbread house to make with Roger, Roger finds himself reflecting on their friendship in terms of candy.

A/N: Nikki! (thatspoeticthatspathetic) Guess what! This is yours! It's Marker-y as fuck so I hope you like it, since that's all you requested. Happy Holidays, by the way. :D Enjoy Boston! I love you and think you're just the bestest and as previously stated, one day we will live in weird adjoined non-apartment houses and have 20 cats, a hedgehog and a rat between us. Yes. Love. Our tumblr tags kick ass. On with the show! So sorry it's late.

"The fuck is that?" Roger grunted, eying the box under Mark's arm apprehensively as the filmmaker kicked off his boots and shook the snow out of his hair. He gave Roger a halfhearted glare, slamming the metal door shut behind him and attempting to juggle the grocery bags in both hands along with the slightly squished looking cube. Asshole that he generally was, Roger sat back on the couch strumming faintly on his acoustic, watching his friend struggle.

"Gingerbread house," Mark grunted, struggling to get out of his coat. He gave up, dropping the bags on the floor and peeling his arms out of it before hanging it up and bringing them to the kitchen, once again letting them lay randomly on the floor.

"… Why?" The guitarist almost didn't want to ask. Mark had that unpredictable air about him, the one he got on certain occasions and decided to throw everyone off- safe, responsible, cautious Mark can be surprisingly wild when he wants to be, and his ideas are some of the most fucked up Roger has ever heard. And he was the only one allowed to hear them. He wasn't sure if he was flattered or disturbed.

"Because. We don't have money for a tree, we don't have money for presents, and I might be a Jew by birth but god dammit we're going to celebrate Christmas one way or another," he said, a determined set to his prominent jaw. Internally, Roger groaned. It was one of those manic days, wasn't it?

"Well, you have fun with that," he tried, knowing that it was useless but giving it a try anyways. Mark threw him an exasperated look, blue eyes glinting.

"You're not getting out of it," he said flatly. "It is holiday time, Roger, and I'm forcing you into some social interaction. I don't ever see you come out of your room anymore."

"Maaaark," Roger whined, immediately protesting although he knew that he would give in in the end. Besides the fact that Mark was obsessive, he was just a sucker for Mark. And Mark knew it.

"Don't 'Mark' me! Get your ass off the couch and make a fucking gingerbread house with me! It's going to be fucking delicious!"

Groaning, Roger obeyed and got his ass off the couch, trailing into the kitchen after his manic friend.

He hated to admit it, but it was nice to see Mark excited about something.

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

It was almost bemusing, the sight of this much sugar piled on and spread over the metal tabletop. Roger wondered why they were starving artists if Mark had scraped together the cash for a humongous bag of M&Ms, thick slabs of gingerbread, a tub of frosting and a variety of other sweets, but he didn't bother thinking about it too hard. Who was he to complain about candy?

They worked in a companionable silence broken only by Mark's cheerful humming, so low that he probably thought his roommate couldn't even hear him. His hands, so delicate and pale, used to the neat and clean business of polishing his camera lens and winding film, were covered in off-white frosting as he attempted to erect the gingerbread structure, sticking the pieces together with the intense focus that only Mark Cohen could manage. Roger swallowed, trying not to think about the flutter in his chest, and let his mind wander.

His fingers wandered with it, stealing small pieces of candy here and there and popping them into his mouth. The first, of course, was a tiny red cinnamon candy. Mark, who he would have expected to swat his hand in reprimand, remained silent- he was never a fan of spicy things. Too hot for him, making him cringe; for Roger, it was perfect. Passion was heat was red and all of those things in a little piece of candy could only taste good. He'd never understood his roommate's aversion to cinnamon but he supposed there was nothing to be done.

His hand reached sneakily out in his impatience- how long did it really take to stick the roof on? He just wanted to put the damn candy on and be done with it so he could go back to his aimless strumming- and this time Mark did smack him. "Roger." His tone was mild, the faintest of smiles tilting his lips up. "No."

"What are you, my mom?" Not letting this deter himself, Roger snatched up a Junior Mint and bit into it, savoring the cool, sweet flavor that washed over his tongue and numbed his mouth.

If Mark was like any candy, he was a mint. Mint to Roger's cinnamon, perfect opposites. Whereas Roger was fiery and passionate and impulsive, Mark was calm and cool and collected. No wonder his last name was Cohen- all of those words started with a c, too. He had a hard time restraining his giggle as he sucked on it, chewing slowly as possible. God, Mark… He was such- well, a sweetheart, and the fact that he was even thinking this about his male best friend in terms of sappy nicknames made him a little sick but it couldn't be helped.

"What are you thinking about?" His head snapped up, blushing as he was caught in the act by his curious roommate. Mark's blue eyes, magnified by his glasses, peered at him in a friendly, questioning manner. "… Am I missing something?"

"No…" Muttering, he shook his head and looked back down to the Hershey kisses he was unwrapping, swallowing down that unsettling romantic feeling once more. "Nothing, Mark. Just thinking about candy."

Yeah, except ten times lamer than that. When had he started doing stupid shit like comparing his friendship with Mark to candy? God, he was pathetic.

"Mm… yeah. Candy is good," Mark grinned, and when he chanced a glance upwards he noticed the telltale white speck of frosting on his roommate's lower lip. Oh, so he was allowed to sneak candy? Mischief flashed in Roger's green eyes, and completely on impulse he leaned across the table.

"Wait- what-?" Mark's eyes widened in alarm, but he didn't move away as Roger's lips pressed to his less than gently and his tongue flicked over his lips, licking away the frosting there. He did, however, give an undignified squeak and shut his eyes, flushing a shade of red Roger wasn't even sure he'd ever seen before.

He gave him a satisfied smirk, gut coiling pleasantly, and suddenly he realizes that that was all he had wanted to do the past week.

"Can I start putting the goddamn gumdrops on the roof yet?" Cheerfully, he popped another mint in his mouth.

Blinking rapidly, a look of utter confusion on his face, Mark slowly and hesitantly thrust a handful of gumdrops in Roger's direction and abruptly looked down, his face flushed brightly and a small smile creeping up on.

Well.

Maybe he'd have to do that again…