Title: Between Friends
Word Count: 1,772
Disclaimer: I own nothing! All crack belongs to me, though...
Summary: During-Rent. A chipper Angel. A brooding Roger. An empty loft. Spells trouble, no?
A/N: I have nothing to say for this! Well, except: Warning! May cause brain damage and/or obsession.
Angel bobbed her head to music only she could hear as she sauntered up the stairs to the loft. When she arrived at the door, she was all but humming the tune. Upon opening the it, however, she stopped. The tension in the air was seriously dampening her mood.
Looking over to the silver table, she spotted Roger sitting cross-legged with his acoustic resting in his lap; his back was facing her. He was playing a rather slow, somber version of Musetta's Waltz. Angel rolled her eyes. Walking over, she smacked him upside the head.
“Ow!” He growled, a hand going to his head on reflex. “What the fuck – oh... Hi, Angel.” He greeted when he realized his company. The musician turned around fully, still cradling his guitar, a blank expression on his face.
“Roger! You could show a little more excitement when you see me.” A snort was the reply. Angel sighed. “Really, that sullen mood effects a girl's attitude. Brighten up!” She smiled, raising her arms in the air.
Roger rolled his eyes. “I'll cheer up as soon as I see a girl around.” He almost smirked when Angel pretended to be insulted. Almost.
Angel flipped her long, blond hair. Roger briefly found himself wondering why his friend was wearing her Pussy Galore wig today... though it did look good on her. “Hon, you know I'm all woman!” She twirled to show off her outfit. She was wearing a plastic, bright green short dress (it looked like it could have been an old shower curtain to Roger) and newspaper print stockings. She stopped and struck a pose. Nice.
Roger sighed, clearly irritated. “Why are you here?” He asked, scooting away from the cheery drag queen. Bad move. Angel took this as an invitation to sit. Roger inwardly groaned. He just wanted to be left alone.
As she plopped herself on the table, she replied. “Collins and I had a fight, so I thought I'd come hang with my favorite boho boys.” She spoke in her same preppy tone, causally letting one leg hang off to the side of the table. Roger quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, Mark's not here... Wait. You're happy about it?” He asked incredulously. Angel chuckled as she smiled warmly at him.
“Of course not, but it'll pass. We just need a little time away from each other.” At the disbelieving stare she was given, she continued. “I know it's hard to believe, but we do have a few relationship problems of our own.” Roger huffed.
“My ass you do...” Angel smacked him again. “Why do you keep doing that?” He growled, rubbing the side of his head.
“Why are you in such a pissy mood?” She countered. The musician didn't make to answer, instead glaring at a particular spot on the couch. Angel followed his gaze until she spotted a black jacket. “Ah, I should've known she was the cause. What happened this time, honey?” She gently rested her hand on his shoulder. Roger tensed at the contact.
Shrugging her hand off, he replied. “Nothing. I don't want to talk about it.” He jumped off the table. Drop the subject already... But of course, he was never that lucky.
“Roger,” she warned, “don't bottle things up.” She turned, following Roger's movements as he gently laid his guitar on the couch.
“Angel... I'm serious.” You have no idea.
“Just talk to me. Words between friends, is that so hard?” Yes. Extremely.
“I'm warning you...” He stood in front of her and the table now. A staring contest had begun. “Don't make me do something you won't like...” Or that I'll regret. Back down.
“What would you do? Not tell me anything?” Angel snorted, still not breaking eye contact. “Talk to me or some – hey –!” Roger grabbed her wrists and yanked her into a fierce kiss. Angel gasped in surprise, allowing Roger to thrust his tongue into her mouth, rough and dominant. An involuntary shiver went up Angel's spine. After a moment, they broke apart. Angel was flushed and breathless.
The corner of Roger's lips twitched a bit in a would-be smirk as he turned to leave. That's when he felt a tug on his shirt. He paused in his movements. Well, this could get dangerous. Roger doesn't want to be there, doesn't want her to be there. All he wants is to be left alone. Why can't anyone ever give him that? Knowing nothing good would come out of it, he turned around.
Damn it all! He nearly groaned at the sight before him. There she was, face flushed, lips bruised and wet, panting slightly with a growing sign of arousal. He could see it in her eyes. Worse, he could feel it himself. He wasn't suppose to feel this way toward her, toward Angel. But he was. As she gently tugged on his shirt, Roger moved. Fuck it.
Their lips crashed together, Roger completely claiming Angel's mouth. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Angel moaned when a hand found her panties, roughly ripping them off. Fuck, this is really dangerous. He's teasing her cock with one hand, his calloused fingers sending jolts throughout her entire body. She's moaning softly, her breath hitching when Roger began to suck and bite at her neck.
He pulled her back by her hair suddenly, almost yanking the blonde wig off. She whimpered from the loss of contact and slight pain. Roger then placed his index finger of his free hand before her mouth. “Suck it.” Angel hesitated before taking it in her mouth. Her tongue ran along the sides in circular motions before she began hollowing out her cheeks to take it in fully. God, her mouth is hot and wet and Roger could only imagine what it would be like around his growing erection.
With his other hand, Roger pushed Angel roughly down, completely parallel with the table. Angel moaned loudly when Roger entered her with his makeshift lubed finger. He stretched her, probing for that spot, the one that will make her scream. And scream she did; he found it. Roger looked over the beautiful creature laid out before him. She was panting hard, her golden hair sticking to her nicely flushed face, her hands clutching the edges of the table tightly, her hips rolling to meet Roger's finger, and, fuck, it was too much. He didn't care anymore. He wanted her now.
Both Angel and Roger groan when he pushes his cock into her. A string of Spanish flows from Angel's mouth, but he doesn't care. He grabs her hips tightly, roughly, knowing that there would be bruises later. He thrusts into her, making sure to hit that one spot every time. God, it felt so good being inside her. He reaches for her swollen member and starts to pump in time with his thrusts. Angels moans louder, arching off the table as Roger renders her senseless.
Roger blames Mimi for this, for fucking that guy in some bar, as he leans over and claims Angel's neck with kisses and bites. He blames April for this, for bringing him young boys with pretty faces for a quick blow job or fuck after a performance, as Angel wraps her legs around Roger's waist. He even blames Mark for this, for not telling him no on those few occasions, as Angel grasps fistfuls of his shirt and hair. Most of all, Roger blames himself for allowing it, for getting lost in their pants and moans, for enjoying the way Angel cries out in release, for letting the sound and feeling send him over the edge.
Roger didn't move for a few seconds, allowing both of them to catch their breath. He just laid there on top of Angel, breathing in her scent. She softly ran her fingers through his hair. He shook his head, pulling himself up off her. She gazed at him, a trace of pink in her cheeks. Damn it. Way to go, Davis. He has to say something, anything, or the silence would kill him. There's a first.
“Angel...” he sighed. He was cut off, however, by the sound of the door opening. Angel and Roger froze. Oh God...
The door shut and a soft thud was heard. “Hey, Roger, you awa...” A gasp was then emitted. Roger closed his eyes in a slight relief. It's Mark... it's only Mark. “Um... I'll... I'll be in my room...” Hurried footsteps were sounded as Mark quickly left the two alone. Good ol' Mark.
“Sweetie, mind if I clean myself up?” Angel's voice startled Roger out of his thoughts. He looked down and seemed to just realize their position. He tenderly pulled himself out, fighting off a blush. Rockers do not blush! ...He was losing the battle. She smiled as she picked up her panties, her only clothing that was discarded, and made her way to the bathroom. The musician then looked down at himself and sighed.
Roger lazily walked into his bedroom. He stripped out of his now sticky clothes and put on the nearest sweats he could find. He was about to go back out when he heard the bathroom door open. Man, this sucks. He took a breath and walked out of his room.
“Hey, hon.” Angel greeted. Her clothes were neater and her wig wasn't askew. That was fast. Must be a drag queen thing. She smiled sweetly at him. Ugh.
“Angel...” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. Damn, what the hell do I say? A chuckle emitted from Angel's mouth..
“You don't have to say anything, Roger.” Good. “After all, it was just words between friends, right?” Roger eyed her warily. Oh, what the hell.
“Yeah, whatever.” Angel giggled as she made her way to the door.
Stopping suddenly, she yelled, “See ya later, Mark!” The drag queen turned to wink at Roger, earning her an eye roll in return. Just as Angel left, Mark resurfaced from his room.
The roommates froze, staring at each other. Well... this could go bad. Mark was the first to move. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “you know... if Collins finds out he'll kick your ass, right?”
Roger paled slightly. Fuck. “You're not gonna tell him, are you?” He was slightly pleading with his roommate. Mark was silent for a moment before smiling. Roger paled even more. Oh shit...
“Don't play Musetta's Waltz for a month, and you got yourself a deal.” Bastard.
“Fine.” Mark smiled triumphantly. Roger glared. “Jew.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Slut.” Roger shrugged as he grabbed his guitar. Let's see if a song can come out from this.