Author: Stephanie/Gildedmuse
Rating: M (R) for sexual themes and language.
Pairing: Mark/Roger

Holiday Mistakes

"You think we'll get trick or treaters?"

Roger closes his eyes and counts to ten. His guitar is tucked between his arms. For the last day and a half he's been trying to find the right tune for April's words. The rest of the loft should be able to understand this. Instead Benny keeps going on and on about his new girlfriend and Collins pops in and out of the loft, constantly berating Roger with questions about his costume. As if Roger is five years old.

"What about your girlfriend's party?" Collins has asked.

Roger said, "No fucking way man," because he hadn't been going out with her long enough that he had to put himself through that type of torture to get laid.

Now Mark, the latest addition to the group, is taking his turn to distract Roger from getting any decent work done. Roger doesn't mind Mark all that much. He snores and his naivety can get annoying, but Mark isn't the worst roommate Roger's ever put up with. When he's not talking about his latest film he's a pretty cool guy. He's got his ideals straight if not a little high, and he turned out not to be one of those loser teenagers fresh from Scarsdale who spends the weekend in New York City before crawling back to his parents. Plus, he loves following Roger around town and listening to the veteran Alphabet City resident go on about his music. Roger is willing to put up with almost anyone who looks at him like some sort of idol. He's dating April, isn't he?

Mark could still do things that reminded Roger just how new to the city scene he is. Roger shakes his head, strumming out a few disappointing bars as a deseperate attempt at getting work done. "Mark, we're on the top story of a loft in the middle of a practically deserted street. The only costumes you'll see around is people pretending to care."

Mark drops a candy bag on the floor in front of the couch. He falls backwards against the cushions, making the whole piece rattle and squeak. "Well, if we do get anyone, I got candy."

Roger looks down at his feet, kicking the bag with the toe of his shoe. He raises an eyebrow. "M&Ms?"

Mark looks hurt. April once told Roger upon meeting Mark that it is hard to think of him as a guy. "More like a puppy that someone kicked for being bad," she said. "But then, he looks so hurt that you end up giving him a treat, anyway."

Roger tries not to think about Mark too much, he has better things to concentrate on, but he has to give his girlfriend credit. April had this way with words. She got Mark exactly right.

"What's wrong with M&Ms?" Mark asks. He's still pouting, looking to Roger like he has the answer. Mark tends to look at Roger like he has all the answers. Roger will be the first to admit that this can't be healthy. Roger's answers lie in sex, booze, drugs, and music.

"You picked out the most boring candy on the market," Roger replies. He sets his Fender guitar to the side, making sure that the loose springs from their trash-rescued couch don't have any chance of scratching up the paint, and reaches down for the candy bag. He tosses the pack of M&Ms from one hand to the next as if weighing his words. Collins once told Roger that he takes Mark's affection too seriously. That he likes playing the part of hero and big brother a little too much. Collins has always been good at being right.

"It's like going to the store and picking out a generic pop mix over Nirvana or Circle Jerks of The Melvins," Roger explains. For Mark's benefit he adds, "It's like going to the movies and seeing this weeks latest chick-flick blockbuster instead of..." Roger trails off when he realizes the last time he saw a film he spent half of it on the floor with his jeans around his waist and April on his lap.

"Private Idaho, Drug Store Cowboy, Mondo New York," Mark supplies. He's watching Roger as if ever word the musician says is vital to his survival. Roger loves it and soaks it in. Mark is only eighteen and fresh to New York. He needs someone to listen to while he tries to catch his footing. Roger gets that he's going to grow out of this stage soon. He figures he should love every second of it while it lasts.

"Exactly," Roger says. He stops tossing the candy around, pointing the bag straight at Mark's face. "M&Ms are the generic pop brand of candy. Colorful outer shells, sure, but when you bite in it's just chocolate."

Mark pouts again, staring at the bag in Roger's hands like it's important for him to figure something out. Does the candy represent him? Every idealistic New York artist has that same fear. Am I the generic pop?

Mark's brow is furrowed in confusion and his lips turned down. Roger wonders what April meant when she talked about giving him a treat. The word 'kiss' comes to mind. Not that Roger would ever do that, because he's had hundreds of girlfriends before that can attest to his love of kissing women, but the thought crosses his mind before he can stop it.

Finally, Mark looks up at Roger. He's wearing a slightly suspicious look. He asks, "What candy would you get?"

Roger snorts, tossing the bad across the room. It slips under their illegal stove where, most likely, there are some over sized cockroaches ready to grab it. "I wouldn't," he answers, picking up the sheets of crossed out notes he has sprawled on the coach between him and Mark. "Halloween isn't about candy."

"It's free food." Make is grinning, like he has something about Roger figured out. He's been doing that more lately. It's annoying, and if it kept up Roger is going to have to hit him. "Every holiday should be about that."

"It's childish," Roger scolds, not entirely playfully. Mark is meant to believe every word Roger says without question. More and more the other boy has begun teasing Roger about his opinions and having some of his own on the side. Roger doesn't like this new development. "It's all about money and advertising."

"It's better than burning scarecrows or leaving full meals out on your front door step." Mark walks across the floor, kneeling down to fish under stove for his lost bag of candy.

Roger watches. For someone so concerned about the holiday, Mark is in jeans and a sweater with no sign of a costume. It's his usual look, and he wears that type of clothes he looks way to young. He could do better. Roger's seen his roommate naked before. Nothing weird, of course, but it's hard not to catch a glimpse now and then. Mark might not be able to pull off the guitarist's look, but Roger thinks he do some sort of club appeal and turn a couple heads. As is, he looks too innocent.

Not that there was anything wrong with looking innocent. Roger can think of plenty situations where it isn't a bad thing. Most of them involved girls who were anything but naïve wearing nothing but a schoolgirl skirt and blush.

Mark stand up, coughing and waving the saved M&Ms in one hand. His face is flushed and his hair is covered in bits of gray dust. Roger's one-track mind takes a turn from schoolgirls to Mark tied to the bed, legs pushed apart and that pink color spreading all the way down his chest.

That is a thought he could have done without.

Mark throws the candy bag in Roger's lap, collapsing back on the couch. "You really think we won't get any trick or treaters?"

"If we do, the treats they're looking for won't come in fun sized packs," Roger answers.

Mark rolls his eyes. "There must be some kids around here." He curls up on the couch. Knees tucked in under his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. It's a good thing some of April's less tactful friends never came over to the loft, Roger thinks. Mark has that sort of virgin look to him, and God wouldn't it be great to make him scream? They'd be just the kind to say that, too.

"Not if their parents have an ounce of sense," Roger replies. "I was never allowed to go further than my own apartment floor when I was little. And my parents..." Roger trails off. He looks down to the bag in his hands, making little tears in the plastic. It's a subject he wants to avoid sharing with Mark for as long as possible.

Mark gets that sympathetic look that makes Roger want to growl at him. He's good enough not to say anything about Roger's lack of deep and meaningful childhood conversation, though. "Something tells me you were more of a trick person, anyway."

To make up for his lapse in their light banter, Roger grins. That sort of grin that drives girls crazy. "Treats are good, too, though." He thinks about Sarah, that girl from the club, and last Halloween. Treats definitely had their upside.

Mark reaches across and steals the candy from Roger's lap. He dangles one of the packs in front of the other boy's face. "Want some?"

Roger keeps with that annoyingly self-satisfied smile. "What I'm talking about it way better than generic pop candies."

Mark smiles back, although his is a lot less likely to make girls swoon. Still, Roger appreciates his friend's teasing, lopsided grin. "What's a better treat then free candy?"

It's Mark's fault. First he pouts and makes Roger think about things that would have otherwise not crossed his mind, and now he's sitting next to Roger, not even a foot away and joking like that. It's all Mark's fault that he gets kissed.

At first Roger figures he'll just play with Mark. Show him exactly what it is Roger treats girls with. It's meant to be hot, yeah, but nothing serious. Roger leans forward, cupping the back of Mark's neck and forcing their mouths together so hard the other boy yelps and tries to jump away. Roger's stronger, though, and when he gets these ideas in his mind its hard to talk him out of them. He pushes Mark's mouth open, smashing their lips together until there is no room for air. He pushes into Mark, titling the other boy's head to the side so that his tongue can have free reign of the hot, eager mouth below his.

He could pull away any second and laugh at Mark's surprise. It would be so easy to just stop right now.

Before Roger can do anything a low moan is rumble through their bodies, and he's pretty sure it's Mark. He might have smirked if he weren't otherwise occupied. Mark leans forward, hands clutching Roger's shirt, not even thinking about breaking the kiss, whihc is a good enough reason for Roger not to.

With his eyes closed Roger can almost see Mark. Hips moving slightly, chest rising and falling to an erratic beat, lips trembling under the pressure of Roger's mouth. He's moaning again, and Roger can feel eyelashes fluttering and hands convoluting around the fabric of Roger's shirt as he tries to stay in control of himself. Like he has the choice.

Roger has a choice. He can pull back any second, ruffle Mark's hair and tell him he needs to get laid. He could even tell April about it later. She's weird. This kind of stuff might even turn her on.

What's a few more seconds going to hurt, Roger figures. It feels good, and Mark seems to be into it. It's not like it means anything to Roger. He has a girlfriend, after all. He's not like that. Still, what's the point in stopping when they're just getting warmed up?

Warm doesn't begin to describe Mark. Roger's free hand travels up Mark's leg until it reaches the hem of the orange sweater. His fingers find Mark's skin and he can feel the other boy's body tremble as he teases the waistline of Mark's jeans. He can feel the heat rolling off of his friend, the sort of heat that is addictive to touch. It can't hurt to stay just a little bit longer.

Roger keeps kissing Mark, and the other boy isn't just sitting there. He's got his tongue sliding against Roger's, pushing in and out of his mouth, biting at his lower lip. Mark is eager and responsive, enough to drive anyone insane, Roger figures. It's enough to make him wonder if he really ever needs to breath again.

When he does pull back he doesn't mind one bit. Mark whines, a low whimper in the back of his throat, and if Roger weren't so fucking hard already that would do it. Mark's eyelids begin to flutter open before a light touch is pressed to them.

"Hold on," he whispers. Mark obeys, keeping his eyes closed and his lips parted. Roger's earlier imagination had been right on track. Wet and bruised lips, flushed cheeks, like some sort of dream. The kind you woke up unable to breath properly. The kind you couldn't even tell your own girlfriend about.

Mark gets impatient and starts to open his eyes again. In retaliation, he gets pushed back against the couch. Roger leads his body down until he's flat on the furniture. His eyes are opened and he can see exactly what's happening, but he doesn't look any less willing.

Roger holds Mark's wrist together in one hand, pinning them to the armrest. His can't help but touch Mark's lips, wondering why he doesn't get kissed more often. He looks good kissed.

"I just want to make you scream," Roger says, watching his finger dip behind Mark's lower lip, tracing the hot, wet insides of the other guy's mouth.

Mark swallows. "Please." His voice is broken with pants and whimpers. Roger wonders why Mark doesn't get fucked more. He sounds like he needs it. Roger needs it He kisses Mark again, because kissing Mark has become quite the treat. The way Mark struggles to fight against Roger's hands. The way he pushes their mouths together, whimpering and moaning and biting. The way his hips jerk up, and his whole body screams for more contact. It's a fucking art, the way Mark kisses.

Roger hand snakes lower, down Mark's jaw, making a stop at his neck to study the racing pulse, over Mark's sweater, dragging harsh fabric against skin, and lower still.

It's Mark who pulls away this time, taking in enough air that he can moan, "Roger."

Roger growls, letting go of the bulge in Mark's pants. "Shut up," he says. He leans back down to kiss Mark again, just as passionate as the first time, maybe harder. Both of them are going end up bruised.

Mark tries to comply, but he can't stop the whimpers and groans as Roger squeezes him through a thin layer of jeans. His kissing gets more frantic, trying to push against Roger's palm while still staying quiet. Afraid to do anything that will make Roger stop again. Roger gets a little high off that power.

He doesn't break contact, but he does manage to stop kissing Mark long enough to ask, "More?" He lets go of Mark's pants, dragging his fingers along the outline of his erection.

Roger wants to hear him beg. Mark should need Roger. He should depend on Roger. He should to want Roger to make him scream.

He'll grow out of this stage eventually, but right now Roger has Mark all for himself. The other boy doesn't fail him. He takes in a few shallow breaths, closing his eyes and trying to talk around a choked cry when Roger fingers brush along the fabric. "Y-Yes..." It's a breath. It's a moan. It's barely a word. Mark swallows and tries again. "Please? Roger?"

Roger tells himself it's not impossible to say no. He's just messing with the new boy. It means nothing.

He can't stop his hand from working the zipper on Mark's jeans. He can't stop himself from pushing down the pants, a little to fast and eager. He can't stop himself from smashing their mouths back together, forcing another searing kiss on Mark.

It's not like Roger has never done this before. A boy has to experiment, right? He has a good idea of what to do to make Mark tremble. Hell, if Roger wants to he could make Mark pass out by the end of it, but with Mark in his hand and the young man kissing him like he needs this and Roger's own erection pressed against Mark's thigh he can't think that clearly. All he can do is move, his weight holding Mark down enough that he couldn't thrust into Roger's palm, and his finger nails digging into Mark's wrists. He's in total control, he thinks, but he can't stop.

Underneath him, Roger can feel Mark's body buckling. He drops the other boy's wrist just when Mark tosses his hand back, grabbing onto Roger's shoulders as he comes He screams Roger's name, and even in his currant state, Roger can manage a smirk.

Roger's free hand reaches between their bodies, shoving his own jeans aside. It doesn't take long for him to come. He doesn't scream, but he's staring at Mark the entire time. If there was a name on his lips, he's pretty sure who's it would be. Mark looks kissed and satisfied and like he still needs someone to fuck him. Who could have stopped themselves?

Then Mark opens his eyes, and reality starts in with its sane reasoning. Bright blue eyes are staring up at Roger, trusting and idol worship and a few other things.

Shit.

Roger wipes the mess of their activates down on Mark's jeans. "Shit." His thoughts are too jumble to process much more than that. He crawls off of Mark, adjusting his clothes so that he doesn't have to look at Mark. What he really needs is to get away from here as soon as possible. "I'm late."

Mark props himself up on the couch. When he frowns he looks like a teenager with a broken heart, but Mark's a smart boy. Roger can already see the acceptance setting in. He just doesn't want to be here when the hurt really hits full force.

"April's party," Roger explains. He's already heading for the door, not even stopping for his guitar. He does grab his jacket, just long enough to hide the wet spot running down the front of his jeans. "She's going to kill me." He avoids looking behind him, racing out the door before Mark can get a word in.

It's better that way. Mark is going to have to learn about this sort of thing sooner or later. Maybe he shouldn't have had to learn about it from Roger, but sometimes that's just how things work. New York's own fucked up way off introducing you to the community.

Roger runs into Collins before he can even pull his jacket all the way on. He's dressed like a pirate. There's a fairy in his arms, complete with glitter and wings on his back.

Collins smiles, swaying slightly to some music that only him and the young man in his arms can hear. He stops just as he was reaching to open the loft door. Roger says a small prayer he doesn't see Mark and just knows. "Where are you headed on this evening of ghosts and ghouls?"

"April's Party," Roger says, fishing in his pockets for a cigarette. He casts an anxious look at the loft door. Any moment now Mark could burst out, demanding answers. Roger wouldn't have any.

"Thought you were above those sorts of things," Collins laughs. "Seeing as you're not five years old anymore."

Roger nods towards Collin's date. "I haven't sunk that low, yet." The fairy boy sticks out his lower lip. Is not all that adorable. "I hate this fucking holiday," Roger explains when Collins gives him that look. It's a patented Collins look that asks too many questions. Roger wants to scream that he has no fucking idea what's wrong with him. He has no idea why he'd do that too Mark.

Instead he says, "It plays tricks with the mind." He hurries off to April's party, where there is a beautiful woman waiting for him without some cute little pout or too clear blue eyes. He needs that right now, and maybe some of that smack she's always carrying around. If he's not going to bother thinking, anyway, he might as well go headfirst.