Title: Actual Reality
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Warning: Uhh, dub-con? Lots of cussing.
Word Count: 1,494
Summary: Due to a stupid decision on his part, Mark causes Roger to do something stupid in turn.
A/N: First ever fanfic! Whoo-hoo!
Roger woke up from a fitful sleep tangled in his sheets. He was breathing heavy and was drenched with sweat. Opening his eyes, he groaned as they made contact with the sunlight from his window. He brought a hand up to his forehead. A splitting pain was ravaging his head. Fuck... what happened last night? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Roger tried to recall the events of the previous evening.
Roger vaguely remembered yelling... but why? Mimi... he had a fight with Mimi. Something about her job... right? Whatever the fight was about, Roger became increasingly angry. The next thing he knew, Roger was at the nearest bar downing hard liquor. It gets extremely fuzzy after that. Concrete... hard, cold concrete, that's what he remembered; he landed face first on it. Roger had been thrown out the bar for having “one too many.” After that, Roger stumbled his way back to the loft. What happened next?
Mark... yeah, Mark was there to pick Roger up. Roger could always count on Mark to take care of him. He half dragged Roger to his room; Roger's mind was too incoherent to do anything other than mumble. Mark was always caring, safe, reliable... hell, just plain good. Mark then proceeded to put Roger to bed. Roger was flopped halfway onto his bed, Mark falling on him. Kneeling over him, Mark managed to haul Roger completely onto the pathetic mattress.
Mark was now kneeling above Roger's waist. They stayed like that for some time before Mark moved. He slowly slid his hands from Roger's chest to the rim of his jeans. He barely knew how it happened, but pretty soon both Mark and Roger were rid of their pants and underwear. Mark then started to massage Roger's length. All Roger could recall was the feeling of immense pleasure coursing through his body as Mark's strokes became faster. It didn't take long for Roger to become painfully hard. Then, Mark positioned himself above Roger's solid erection. And, with a wince and sharp in take of breath, Mark plunged downward onto. . .
Roger sprang upright, causing his already aching head to whirl. Fuck... fuck, fuck, Fuck! Mark had... No, not his Mark, who was always safe, always constant. That didn't happen. Roger looked over himself for the first time that day. Sure enough, he was bare-ass, sticky, and... had dried blood on him? “Shit!” Roger nearly screamed. He tumbled out of his bed and threw on the nearest pair of sweats he could find. He staggered out of his room into the loft. Roger groaned yet again as his eyes made contact with the sunlight. He looked for any sign that Mark was home. The door to the bathroom opened, creaking slightly. Roger turned around and met Mark's gaze. They stared at each other until Roger found his voice.
“What the fuck, Mark?” Roger's voice cracked . Mark quirked an eyebrow at his roommate's outburst.
“Um, sorry I went to the bathroom?” Mark replied, cautiously walking towards the beat up couch. “How ya feeling, Rog?” He asked in a calm tone, still keeping Roger's gaze. Roger stared in disbelief. How can he act so normal after last night? His head couldn't take this.
“Why the hell did you do it?” Roger asked as he slowly made his way in front of Mark. Roger felt his anger swell as he looked into those dull dark blue eyes. How could he? He has so much to live for. “Well? Why the fuck did you do it, Mark?” After a few moments, Mark finally broke eye contact.
“Why did I do what, Roger?” He asked with a sigh, slouching slightly into the couch's cushions, running a hand over his face. Roger's temper reached it's peak. He reached down and jerked Mark upwards by the collar of his shirt. Eyes met, fiery emerald green with calm sapphire blue. Always so fucking calm. Roger's grip on Mark's shirt tightened as he peered into those calm orbs.
“Don't give me any of your bullshit, you son of a bitch! You know damn well what I'm talking about. Now tell me why.” Roger fought to keep his voice calm and quiet, failing miserably. Mark finally showed emotion in his eyes: anger. He broke free from the grip and shoved Roger out of his way. A few feet away, he turned to Roger, only to give a glare.
“I don't need to take this. You're not my fucking mom.” His voice was still calm, and that served to infuriate Roger even more.
“Mark, tell me now.” Roger growled. He took a step towards Mark. Mark in turn took a step forward, daring the musician to come closer. Anger still appeared in his eyes, though nowhere near as much as Roger's.
“Tell you what, Roger? What the hell do you want to know?” Mark questioned as he crossed his arms over his chest. Roger reached an all time high as his temper rose at that question.
“I want to know why the hell would you fuck yourself on me without a Goddamn condom! Did the fact that I have AIDS slip your mind?” He shouted at his roommate. Roger slowed his breathing as he tried his hardest to calm down. Mark gaped at him with a look of surprise for a split second before his face became expressionless.
“Of course it didn't. I don't forget things like that.” He replied coolly. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets and eyes numb. Roger was dumbstruck. What the hell? He didn't forget, so then why... And it hit Roger like a ton of bricks.
“You fucker! Are you saying you were trying to get AIDS from me?” Mark gave a simple nod. Roger's eyes widened. Fuck... “Why, Mark? Why the fuck do you want a death sentence?” His voice was cracking.
“It's simple, Roger: escape. I'm tired of living like this, being the one to survive. Our family is dying. We hardly talk to Maureen or Joanne. And what will happen when Collins dies? Or Mimi? Or... you? I'll be alone. I don't want to go on after that. Why live the rest of my life alone when I can escape?” He spoke quietly. Roger just gaped at the man before him. He didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His chest had tightened and throat had closed. After what seemed like an eternity, his voice came back.
“Jesus, Mark!” He managed to croak out. “I can't take this right now.” He ran both hands through his hair. Anger swelled in him once more as Mark's words sunk in. “You're such a dumbass. I can't believe you would do something as stupid as that! Christ, Mark!” He turned to leave, spitting a “Fuck you” as he did. Roger stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Mark's almost inaudible reply of, “You already did...”
Roger lost it. He turned so fast he almost lost his balance. Then he did something he never thought he would do: he flat out punched Mark square on the jaw. The force of the blow caused Mark to fly backwards onto the floor. Roger was panting, his being shaking. Mark gradually lifted himself into a sitting position. A bruise was already forming on his pale skin. He brought a hand to his jaw, wincing at the touch. He looked up wide eyed at Roger. Roger glared at him, eyes unforgiving.
“Mark,” Roger said, voice eerily quiet, “I want you to leave.” So quiet, yet his voice held so much venom it was frightening. Mark just sat there, dumbfounded. Roger hit him, Roger just said to leave, Roger isn't shouting. This scared Mark more than anything. Roger always shouted; that's how you knew it would be okay afterwards.
“Roger, you – ” he started, but was unable to finish due to the livid face staring at him.
“Shut up. Just get out. Now.” Still so quietly vicious. Mark staggeringly stood on his feet. He tried to reach for Roger, but was refused contact. “Get the fuck out. I never want to see you again.” There was no hesitancy in his words, only hatred. Mark turned and walked to the door. He had his hand on the knob, but he couldn't turn it. This has to be wrong. Roger wouldn't tell him to leave. Mark glanced back, trying to find some clue that this isn't happening. But he was met with something colder than hatred, a blank face of indifference.
Mark faced the door again. This was real; it wasn't a joke. He took a deep breath before opening the door. Mark stepped out the loft, whispering a small “Goodbye” before closing the door.
Losing his composure, Roger fell to his knees, his entire body trembling. Shit... He wrapped his arms around his quivering being, hugging himself tight. I just lost my best friend... A single tear slid down Roger's cheek.