Part 2: What Else is There to Do?
Posted 7.4.02


"Alright, so I'm panicking! What else is there to do?"
--Arthur Dent


Now Wednesdays...Wednesdays Mark could grow to enjoy. Like this one. He smiled to himself at the memory, rolling over slightly to rest his cheek on Roger's shoulder. The musician had been so nervous and guilty about the dinner with Mark's mother that the day was filled with make-up sex and pitiful little "I'm sorry!" puppy dog looks.

"Bad puppy," Mark murmured softly into Roger's shoulder.

"Snore," Roger replied. Mark couldn't help but feel a little slighted. He was hoping that maybe the night could mirror the day, wherein they would fuck each other senseless before passing out wrapped around each other. He prodded Roger's shoulder. All he got was another snore and a distant mumble about rabbits or something equally random.

"Roger, I'm trying to be seductive here!" he muttered, irate. Roger rolled over and pulled Mark close before going back to snoring. As Mark felt his eyelids droop, he figured they'd have plenty of time to shag in the morning.


*beeeeeeeep!*

Blink.

*beeeeeeeep!*

"Fuck."

*beeeeeeeep!*

Why, oh, why had he forgotten to turn off the alarm clock yesterday morning?

*beeeeeeeep!*

"Fuck!" He groped around, trying to turn it off without opening his eyes or fully waking up.

*beeeeeeeep!*

Where the hell was that button?!

*beeeeeeeep!*

It had to be around somewhere...

*beeeeeeeep!*

In one swift movement, Roger sprung up from beside Mark, yanked the alarm clock out of the wall and pitched it across the room. Mark paused groggily as Roger immediately went back to sleep and pondered for a moment. Deciding that was probably a good thing, he went back to sleep himself.


Hours later, Mark stretched himself out and glanced at the clock. It wasn't there. He rolled over onto Roger and blearily ran his fingers over his lover's chest.

"What time is it, baby?" he mumbled sleepily.

Snore.

"Roger, wake up," he said, shaking the musician.

Grunt.

"Get up, you big baby!" he grumbled.

"Look at the clock!" Roger finally groaned in reply.

"I can't, you threw it into the wall." Roger stopped rubbing his eyes momentarily.

"I'd forgotten about that." He groped around over the edge of the bed and pulled his watch from the floor. He dropped it unceremoniously on Mark's chest and rolled over with a snore. Mark glanced down at it and then tapped Roger's shoulder again.

"Baby, my glasses are inside," he whispered.

Snore.

"Roger-"

"Then get up and get them and leave me to my bloody sleep!" Mark gave Roger his best pouty face, but Roger had already closed his eyes.

"Well," he muttered, getting out of bed with a huff. "We'll see if you score tonight." Roger snorted.

"Love, if I don't get laid, you don't get laid. Remember?" Mark scowled, looking through the pile of clothes on the floor for his boxers.

"Fuck you."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." And with that, Roger snickered and pulled the blankets tightly around his shoulders. Roger was right, of course. Mark trudged into the main room of the loft and grabbed his glasses off of the table where Roger had dropped them the night before. Or, maybe it was the afternoon before. He couldn't quite remember at what point his lover had deemed them unnecessary. He squinted at the hands of the watch. It was almost noon. Roger had a quick band practice at twelve thirty which meant that sleeping beauty would have to be blasted out of bed soon.

With revenge on his mind, Mark placed the watch down where his glasses had been and padded over to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet to get his razor, humming to himself as he replaced the mirrored door and turned on the sink. He glanced up and froze. At the base of his neck was a large, slightly purple splotch.

He gaped at it, refusing to believe it was there. He hadn't gotten a hickey since he and Roger had spent their first night together and of all the days for one to reappear...

He snapped the feeble plastic of his disposable razor in his hand. It was time to wake up Roger...


Roger didn't open his eyes as he felt something soft fall onto his side. He smiled a little to himself.

"Cute, Mark, I'll get up soon," he mumbled. He did look up, however, as something heavy slammed into his side. "Ow..." It was a book. A smack on the wall over his head proved to be an empty film canister and the one to his right was a shoe. He sprang up, trying to see the cause of the commotion and was hit in the chest with the other shoe. Mark was standing in the doorway, fire burning in his eyes, pulling up everything within reach and throwing it. Roger's instincts kicked in and he ducked another book, putting his arms up in front of his face.

"What the hell are you doing, Mark?" he spat through the confusion in his head. A belt barely missed his ear.

"I should ask you the same thing!" he shouted. "Or maybe what the hell you thought you were doing last night!" A pair of pants tangled around Roger's head. "You left a little something behind!" Roger had only heard that once before in his life and he spoke without thinking.

"You're pregnant?!" A sandal, a glass, a hair brush, the alarm clock... things were coming a lot faster now.

"You fucking moron, that's impossible!" he bellowed. Roger blinked.

"Oh yeah-" An empty bowl nearly lobbed his head off. He dove behind the bed as it shattered against the wall.

"Shit! Now I'm breaking our china!" This did not stop him from throwing things however and Roger quickly recovered his head with his arms.

"Mark! What did I do?" he pleaded. "Whatever it is, I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! I love you!" At that, the objects stopped flying. Roger waited a moment before venturing up from the ground. Mark was perched on the bed, still looking angry, but resigned to the fact that Roger hadn't meant to cause so much trouble. He pointed wordlessly towards the spot on his neck. Roger leaned closer, but the confounded look on his face quickly melted into a smile.

"Hey, isn't that a-"

"Yes, and if that's a note of pride I detect in your voice, you're a dead man." Roger smiled warmly and kissed his forehead, pulling himself onto the bed next to Mark.

"I haven't given you a hickey in, like...a year. I thought your skin was impenetrable or something." He smirked a little and took Mark's hand. "Why is this a problem?" Mark gave him a skeptical look.

"Darling," he said in a sugary sweet voice just oozing with sarcasm. "What day is today?"

"Uhhhh...what day comes after Wednesday?" Mark gave him a pointed look. "Oh. OH. Shit." After a moment of consideration Roger jumped up and sifted through a pile of clothes on the floor. He finally emerged victoriously with a red ribbed turtleneck sweater. "See? Easily fixable. We're just lucky she didn't invite us over in July." Mark was still giving him a wary look as Roger returned to his seat next to Mark and placed the sweater on the filmmaker's lap. And now for the clincher. "I've always thought you looked positively delectable in red." He said it in his best seductive purr.

He had never seen Mark change clothes so fast in his life. Mission accomplished.

He stood up again and hunted for some of his own clothes.

"Where are you going?" Mark asked him, frowning.

"Band practice. We can finish getting ready when I get back. It won't be long, I swear." He kissed Mark gently and continued to climb into a pair of plaid pants. Mark sunk back into the mattress with a groan.

"Why do I already have a bad feeling about today?"

"It'll work out for the best, love, I'm sure," Roger said reassuringly, dipping down for one last kiss before he left.

If only they knew...


To Be Continued...

Get the Hang of Thursday...

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