After six months of homoerotic longing and seventy-eight trips to the grocery store, Mark decided to talk to Collins.
"If it feels right, then ask him," Collins said, his career goals forgotten for the sake of the plot. Collins was self-sacrificing like that. "We've been waiting for you to to figure it out for months now. And by the way -- it's been making me hot." He laughed jovially and faded into the background. Mark thanked Collins, swallowed manfully, and walked directly into Roger's fist.
"You're not my mother, Mark!" Roger snarled, since snarling is hot. Mark staggered back, his pale skin bruising immediately. He opened his mouth in order to stammer out a quick, obligatory, "Roge," when Roger -- hungry, sleepless, sick and in withdrawal without Mark's constant, careful vigilance -- passed out. And shivered.
"Roge," Mark whispered, dropping to his knees. He threw a convenient blanket over Roger's prone form and tearfully wiped the sweat from his brow. "It's not that you're a man, Roger. That's not why I love you." Roger's eyes' fluttered open. "It's because you're... because you're Roger. You know?"
Roger nodded, coughing. "That's -- that's exactly how I feel. I -- it's not because you're a guy, I, I don't even like guys. It's because you're Mark. You know?" Tentatively, they kissed. Mimi sashayed through the wall.
"Mimi!" Mark's eyes widened. "I-- I didn't--"
"It's okay, Mark," Roger assured him. "Mimi and I have been fighting like cats and dogs for months now. I mean, hell, sure she set my heart alight and I sang a song for her while she lay dying, but... I don't know, the passion's just gone." Mimi nodded in agreement and conveniently died.
"Well," Mark said, pausing for a beat. He glanced at Mimi's dead body. "What's this story rated again?"
"NC-17," Mimi said helpfully, and re-died.
"Right," said Mark. He and Roger kissed gently, tenderly, and completely close-mouthed before the scene faded to black.
* * *
"I'm sick of your shit, Cohen!" Roger barked, shoving Mark into a large mountain of groceries. Under Mark's slight weight, the cereal didn't even crunch. "We can't tell anyone! Don't you get that? If anyone knows I'm a fag, my career will be down the tubes!"
"What career?" Mark groaned, etching a few errant slashes into his elbow.
"After 'Your Eyes' premiered--"
"You mean Mimi's near-death?"
"Yeah! Anyway, Alexi says I have a future. But not if I'm a--" He looked down. Mark. Pool of blood. And Mark's knife, Mutilatey. "Oh, dammit." He knelt by Mark's thin, Christ-like form and immediately sobbed.
"It's not because you're a man," Mark started, weakly.
"Yeah, yeah," Roger said. He bound Mark's elbows. Their first time was gentle.
* * *
"Oh, fuck," Roger said, accidentally knocking over three cans of Prego. "The condom."
"The what-now?" Mark asked.
"You know. The HIV."
"The what-now?" Mark asked again.