Rating: PG-13 at the moment, could and probably will change
Word Count: 1,029
Mark groaned in protest as he felt Rogers weight leave the bed. He opened his eyes and glared at Rogers blurry figure before speaking.
"What time is it?" He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, wrapping the blanket around his t-shirt and boxer clad body.
"Almost nine. You better get up before Collins decides now would be a good time to visit, you know how he loves mornings," Roger said as he walked over to the kitchen counter and gathered his AZT.
Mark shrugged, not really caring if Collins walked in. He'd caught Mark and Roger in more compromising positions than this and had never said a word; Mark assumed that Collins simply chose to ignore whatever went on behind the loft door. He yawned and got up carefully, trying to remember where he had left his glasses the night before.
"Lose your glasses again?" Roger asked, noticing that Mark looked confused and helpless as he shuffled around the room, squinting at everything that could possibly hold his glasses.
"I haven't lost them. They're here somewhere, I just don't know where," Mark said with a laugh, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to where Roger was standing.
"Doesn't that mean that you've lost them and are just too stubborn to admit it and ask for help looking for them?" Roger asked with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew exactly where Mark's glasses were; he just wasn't going to tell unless Mark asked for help.
"You know where they are don't you?" Mark asked with a groan, not in the mood for Roger’s games.
"Fuck you Roger," Mark muttered, beginning to slowly walk around the room, searching for his glasses and vowing not to ask Roger for his help.
"You're never going to find them," Roger teased from his position on the couch almost an hour later. Mark ignored him, having managed to get dressed without being able to tell much about what he was wearing. "Come on Mark, just ask and I'll tell you where you left them," he said, strumming his guitar idly as he tried yet again to write a song that didn't suck.
“What do you want Roger? Do you want me to beg?” Mark ranted; frustrated that Roger was amused by this.
“You beg? Hmm, now there’s an idea.” Roger pretended to ponder making Mark beg, watching Mark throw his hands up in frustration.
“I fucking give up. Please tell me where they are Roger,” Mark said through clenched teeth, knowing it was too easy.
“You said you were going to beg. On your knees,” Roger said with a smile, pointing to the floor in front of the couch.
“Fuck no. I’m not begging,” Mark said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting a dirty look at his best friend.
“Want your glasses back?” Roger asked, sitting his guitar aside so all of his attention was on Mark. When Mark nodded slightly, Roger shrugged “Then all you have to do is get on your knees and ask. Don’t forget, you gave me the idea.”
Mark stared at Roger for a few minutes longer before sighing. “Fine, have it your way,” he muttered, walking over to the couch. He got down on his knees beside Roger, his eyes focused on the floor. “Please tell me where my glasses are Roger,” he said softly, unable to believe that Roger had talked him into this.
Roger laughed and planted a kiss on Marks forehead. “There, was that so bad? Your glasses are in the refrigerator.”
Mark paused; shocked by the kiss, then Roger’s words sank in “The refrigerator? Why did I put them there?”
Roger shrugged, “No clue, but that’s where I found them this morning. You always leave them in weird places,” he said as Mark scrambled to the refrigerator and emerged wearing the missing glasses.
“They’re cold,” he complained with a pout taking them off as he tried to warm them with his hands.
“No shit Sherlock, they’ve been in there since last night,” Roger said ducking as Mark through a pillow at him. “Attacking an unarmed man? Mark Cohen I’m ashamed of you,” Roger complained, throwing the pillow back at Mark, smacking him directly in the chest.
“That was payback for making be beg dammit. I should hide your precious guitar and make you beg for a while,” Mark said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Do it and you’re dead Cohen it’s as simple as that,” Roger explained, grabbing his guitar and hugging it to his chest protectively.
“You and that damned guitar, what do you two do when you’re alone all day huh? Do you have a small collection of tiny hot women in there somewhere?” Mark asked, talking the guitar from Roger and pretending to examine it.
“Of course I do, but I’m not sharing them with you. They’re all mine,” Roger joked as Mark sat down beside him on the couch both of them staring at the empty space in front of them.
“I’m hungry,” Mark said as Roger’s stomach chimed in with a growl of its own. “And apparently, so are you.”
Roger shrugged. “No money for breakfast remember? Wonder if anything in the refrigerator is edible,” he mused to himself just loud enough for Mark to hear.
“Is that a hint for me to go look? Why don’t you get off your lazy ass and look yourself,” Mark said, making himself comfortable as he glanced over at Roger who shook his head.
“You’re the one who said he was hungry, my stomach was just agreeing with you,” he said as he stood up and walked to the practically empty kitchen cabinets.
He rummaged around for a few minutes before announcing his findings. “We have cereal with only a little milk, half a Twinkie, and what looks like it used to be Chinese food.”
Mark sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Yay, cereal again,” he muttered, getting up and fixing him a bowl, leaving most of the milk for Roger.
Roger smiled to himself as he poured the last of the milk onto his cereal, sometimes Mark was too good to him.