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Notes: Rent obviously does not belong to me and I am making no profit from this story. This fic is based off of the film version, as I have never seen the actual musical.
WARNING: DARK. Also, rather lime-y.
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Drunk. Tumbling over, stumbling over drunk. Legs criss-crossing themselves over themselves and crossing back around behind themselves, stumbling over his own feet.
Dark. Where? Oh. The apartment. Dark in here. Why so dark? Power out again? He blinked in the black. Dark. Trip, stumble.
Caught. Oh. Someone holding him? Mark. Right. Mark. Good old Mark. Carried his sad ass to the bar, carried him back. Good old Mark. Leaning on Mark's shoulder. That was right. Went out drinking with Mark, after Mimi... after Mimi...
Went out drinking with Mark. To forget something. Didn't matter what. Very drunk. Mark wasn't drunk. Was Mark drunk? Mark wasn't drunk. Not much drunk. Not Mark. Not too drunk. Mark was standing. Sideways. On the floor though. On the floor sideways standing... not right. Oh. Wait. Slumped again. Stand up. There. His head on wrong, not Mark. Now Mark was standing on the floor and the floor was the floor again instead of a sideways wall.
Yes. Definitely very drunk.
But Mark would take care of him. Mark was there. Mark was good to lean on. Lean-on Mark would take care of him. Mark was good. Mark wasn't drunk, not like Roger was drunk. And Roger was very- Oof. Floor. Mark would take care of him.
Lifted him. Sighed. Oh Mark, sighing. Sorry Mark. Good old Mark. Have to take care of drunk old Roger. Ridiculously drunk world swoosh, Mark lifting dragging not quite carrying over to the bed. Soft plop onto the mattress. Nice. Soft. Sleep. Sleep would be good, so drunk.
Mark above him. Smile at Mark. There, smile. Good Mark, takes such good care of you. Smile Roger. Smile up at your friend taking care of you.
Hand under his shirt, tugging. Up. Raise your arms up. Like Mommy did for you - raise your arms up shirt comes off. Like Mommy getting you ready for beddy. Beddy-by, good night time good friend Mark. Like the book. Good night moon! Good night stars! Couldn't remember the rest. Good night Mark!
Shirt off. Nice and cool now. No air conditioning. Summer time but night is cool and it's dark and there are no lights. Mark didn't turn on the light. Nope. The apartment's all dark. Bedroom's all dark. Funny. Mark usually likes lights. Oh, silly Roger. Of course Mark didn't turn on the light. Mark had his hands full of Roger. Full of Roger hands don't make for good turning-on-the-light-ing-ness. Nope nope. Like the dinosaur in that movie: nope nope. Old movie. Little kid movie. Something like that.
Mark's hands again. Pants off now. Pants are harder than shirts. Shirt. Wait. Only one shirt. So, only one pant? Pants? Pants. Pant. Something.
Nope. Two pants. Roger's pants off, like Mommy, getting you ready to sleep. Mark's pants off. Roger didn't blame him. It was hot. Too hot for pants. Didn't blame Mark not wanting pants. Roger was nice and cool now, no shirt, no pants. Almost all naked in the bed, except boxers. Undies, you called them, when you were a kid. Grown-ups didn't have undies, no sir. Grown ups had big-boy man pants, and you didn't show people your undies because only kids had undies and you had underwear, when you were grown up. Stupid. Undies was more fun to say.
Couldn't stop giggling. Didn't think Mark appreciated that. He frowned. Probably didn't appreciate Roger giggling while Mark was trying to take off the undies.
Which was kind of weird because Mommy never took off your undies; usually she let you sleep in them. But Mark was taking them off, so it must be okay because Mark was his friend and Mark took care of him and he trusted Mark so it was okay that he was taking off his undies. Not undies. Underpants. Big-boy undies.
Stopped giggling, which was good. Giggles fully under control. Mark had no pants either, no undies - underwear - either. But he was shivering, so he must be cold instead of hot like Roger was which was probably why he still had his shirt on.
Dark, dark. Couldn't see much. Moon through the window, but not much, but enough to see Mark. Mark, Mark, good old Mark, kneeling outside him. Not outside. On both sides. Over? Over him. Hands reaching out.
Good hands, hands on his body, hands felt good. Good hands on his body making him feel good. Soft hands on his chest. Good hands down, oo, down there, touching him, felt good, felt so good.
Strange, not usually Mark and feeling this good. Usually Mimi, but Mimi... not usually Mark feeling this good. But it felt good. Felt very good, Mark's hands, that's why he took off his underwear and Mark took off his underwear and now his hands felt good.
Hard to get hard, when you were this drunk. Hard, but Mark was trying. Mark was doing a good job. Felt good, felt hard. Hard to keep it there, but Mark was doing his best. Mark always tries hard. Mark knows what he's doing. Weird, Mark knows what he's doing. Didn't think Mark knew how to touch a guy, but silly, silly Roger. Of course, Mark's a guy. Mark knows how to touch a guy. Guys can touch guys because they're guys and they know. Silly Roger. Should have known that.
Touches felt good. Getting hard, getting very hard, even though he was very drunk. Mark was better than he should be. Better at this than he should be, since he was Mark.
Mark on his knees, Mark getting up, rising up above him on his knees, over him where he was hard. Mark breathing hard, reaching behind himself with his fingers. Roger recognized it, faintly. Had seen people reach before, reach like that behind them. Saw Mark wince. Remembered. Mark's fingers were inside himself, which meant something, meant he was doing something that people do before they do something else, but Roger couldn't remember. Not sure he'd seen this before, or maybe seen it, not sure he'd done this before, didn't think so.
Mark taking his hand out, twisting back around. Mark kneeling up and up and putting himself, placing himself over Roger where Roger was still hard and now slightly worried, slightly confused. Placing himself above Roger where Roger was sticking straight up and positioning himself, going to sit, going to sit down on top of him and-
NO! NO! WRONG! STOP! GET SOBER NOW!
Roger jerked backward, his whole body, all of his body cold now and his mind furious and in the present and cold, cold all over. Dark eyes seeking through the darkness of the bedroom, across the ocean of sheets, meeting a dark, shadowed face.
"What were you doing?" His voice hoarse, mind racing. "What were you about to do?"
Soft, very soft: "Nothing."
"Bullshit!" Petrified, terrified adrenaline rushed through him, tightening his veins, pushing back the alcohol. "You were going to fuck yourself on me. Without a condom - what the fuck were you thinking - without a condom!"
A stone cold steel gray voice, dark in the darkness. "I thought I might try."
"Does the word 'AIDS' mean anything to you, fucktard!"
"Yes. Not what it means to you."
His veins were cold, head spinning. Couldn't deal with this with the alcohol still waiting in his brain. Couldn't cope with this shadow reality. Couldn't possibly be real. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about death. I'm talking about the fact that Maureen and Joanne have left. Angel dead. Collins dead. You and Mimi dying. I'm talking about being the last one alive, the last one left alone. I'm talking about escape."
"Fucker! You were trying to get AIDS from me?"
"Yes."
Cold stones in his heart. Cold stones in his stomach. Icy chunks breaking off, swirling through his veins. Chest tight and cold and ice in his lungs stopped him from breathing.
"Fuck. Get out. We'll talk about this in the fucking morning, I'm not dealing with this now. Get the fuck out of my room."
"No, we won't."
So calm, so calm. How could his voice be so calm?
"We won't talk about it, Roger. Because I know how drunk you are. You won't remember this tomorrow, or if you do it will seem only like a bad dream. You'll remember your fight with Mimi and you'll find her and apologize and the two of you will get back together. And I'll be alone again with everyone around me dying."
"Get out, fucker!" Choking. Choking on fury and pain and how could he be thinking that way? How could Mark, poor Mark, poor cheesy optimistic Mark be thinking that way?
"I just thought I'd try. I don't... want to live like that. After you died? I don't want to keep living, year after year after year with you gone. I can't do that. I can't... not you, Roger. Not you."
"Get out." Like a fucking broken record, like a fucking broken record. Couldn't say anything else. He was too terrified to say anything else. Only watch Mark get up from the bed. Calmly pick up his clothes - so calm! So calm! How could he be so calm! Smile so coldly, like stone and then the stone cracked and underneath it was so sad, so full of pain that Roger couldn't breathe looking at the pain.
Then closed eyes, a turned back, the door shutting behind him.
And Roger alone in a dark, cold bedroom, alone in his bed in the dark.
- THE END -