Mark blinked. Then again. Then one more time, for shits and giggles. Then sat up and stared down, frozen and afraid to shatter the moment.
Roger. Is in. His bed.
Actually, is this his bed? No? He looks around helplessly, hyperaware of the silence. Except for Roger’s snores the loft is as muted as ever, sunlight filtering in through the broken gaps in the blinds.
Mark is pretty sure he remembers passing out on the couch last night. He distinctly does not remember getting himself tangled up in Roger’s limbs, tucked under the covers with him, being hugged like some giant teddy bear in a sweater-
He pauses. Then feels slowly down his chest.
His bare chest.
Okay. Okay. So what exactly is missing here, besides his clothes? He remembers falling asleep to Roger’s laughter around his cigarette, and he remembers mumbling at him to put it out or at least take him outside, and something about Roger’s fingers in his hair and something about what color it was, what the fuck even is your hair, Mark, it’s like a hybrid or something-
But he definitely does not remember taking his clothes off. Or getting into bed with Roger, for that matter.
He shakes his head experimentally just to be sure but nothing aches, except maybe his neck from the way he’s been craning it. Nothing. He’s not hungover.
He lies back down slowly, allowing Roger to sleepily pull him back to his chest. His breath puffs out against the back of his neck and Mark feels his entire body flush like a fire hydrant.
He would wriggle, at least try try to get away and flee to the safety of a cold shower and then his bedroom, but Roger doesn’t like being woken up and Mark really doesn’t want his head bitten off first thing in the morning. Especially with Roger’s nose brushing his jugular as he nuzzles closer.
The room isn’t blurry, so he must have slept with his glasses on. Roger isn’t snoring, so he’s probably not actually asleep. At least not fully. His hands twitch down Mark’s stomach, though, and then he has to say something.
“Roger,” he hisses, stilling entirely as the hand stops just as his fingers start to creep beneath his waistband. “Roger.”
“Mmmh?” The musician just sighs, but he can feel those lips curving into a mischievous grin against his neck and he wants to die. Those damn fingers, calloused and warm with sleep, brush across his hipbones and damn it, that is not where he wanted them.
But then, he’s not allowed to want them, there… is he?
“Roger,” he says desperately when the other man shifts behind him and presses his hips against the blonde’s in what had better be a pointed fashion. “Where are my clothes-“
“Calm down. I didn’t take your panties off,” Roger purrs, voice still rough with sleep and it sort of sounds like he’s onstage growling to Mark in the audience, eyes fixed on him the whole time he plays, just like it was when he first came to the city a few months ago. He shivers, arching back against him almost involuntarily.
Collins and Maureen and the rest of them must still be asleep, or else they’d have already come in here to taunt them for cuddling. Or whatever it is they’re doing. This doesn’t seem quite that innocent, especially once Roger’s hand returns to it’s task, sliding down the front of his boxers to curl around him.
He really shouldn’t be so surprised about this, if he’s honest. The way they move together, the heat that builds between them so effortlessly, it all seems like the climax of a long and arduous wait, and Mark whimpers when he comes, and Roger laughs, and it’s not weird at all.
It’s not weird when Roger rolls on top of him and kisses him. It’s not weird when he winds his arms around his neck and pulls him closer, gasping, mind still foggy with sleep.
And when they lie there together, and it’s quiet again, and Roger rests a hand over his heart he kind of wants to cry.
Roger might not want Mark doting on him, but he sure as hell knows how to take care of Mark. Maybe someday he’ll let him return the favor. For now, this will have to be enough.
Mark quietly thinks to himself that if this was all he got for the rest of his life, it would still be enough.