Post RENT/ RogerxMark/ Rated M for language and suggestive themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or any of the characters, no matter how much i wish i did.
Mark rolled over in his sleep, waking slightly only because his fingers grazed something warm. He opened his clear blue eyes. Roger. He cuddled in closer.
"I thought you had a meeting this morning." He whispered in the slumbering rocker's pierced ear.
"Eh… Not 'till later, noon I think. Let me sleep." He mumbled back, pulling Mark to him.
Mark glanced at the digital clock on the shelf near the bed.
"Um, Roger? It's 11:30."
"Shit!"
He lept out of bed, pushing his thick blonde hair away from his eyes.
"Think I've got time to shower?" He asked rummaging under the bed for clean clothes.
"If I help, you might." Mark said playfully.
"I definitely don't have time for that." Roger bit his lip to keep himself from jumping back into bed with Mark. He was being awfully irresistible this morning.
"You sure?"
"As much as I want to, I really really can't."
Mark crawled out from beneath the thin covers and stood in front of Roger, hooking his index finger into the waistband of the rocker's flannel pajama pants, pulling him like a magnet.
Roger leaned down slightly to meet Mark's lightly chapped lips with his own, sliding his hands over his back. Mark moved to push him onto the bed, Roger pulled back.
"Mark."
"Whaaat." The filmmaker panted, clearly wanting more.
"I can't do this now. I have to go. We need the money."
Mark sat down on the nearly flat mattress behind them.
"Fine. I'll be waiting." Mark pouted.
"Don't look at me like that, I won't be gone long." He said swapping his pajama pants for jeans.
"I've got a piece I need to edit for that contest anyway."
Roger couldn't tell if Mark was really pissed or if he was just playing hard to get. Both sides turned him on equally. In his mind he was already lying back in bed with Mark, which explained the fact that he was buttoning his shirt all-wrong.
"Pick up your AZT on the way back."
"Thanks."
With that, Roger left the freezing loft before he got too wrapped up in the gorgeous filmmaker still lying in their bed.
Mark on the other hand needed a shower after that. He was still fantasizing about Roger, as he turned on the water and shed what was left of his clothes. He put his glasses on the counter and tried to forget how close they had been to--.
"SPEEAAK!"
Mark loved that stupid message they had recorded so long ago. Before Roger lost April, before the withdrawal, before they'd become something more. He leaned back into the spray, lost in his memories.
"Hey Mark, it's Collins, man. Maureen's been lookin' for you again. Whatever, that girl drives me nuts. Call her when you get this. Peace."
Mark was oblivious to this as he finished his shower. He turned off the water, slipped his glasses back on and walked out to the bedroom to find some clothes, clad only in a worn and holey towel.
"Hey there sexy."
There was Roger, sprawled on the bed, already shirtless. Mark could see the wanting look in his bottomless eyes.
"Back already?" he managed to choke out, feeling himself starting to blush, among other involuntary functions.
"Yes sir." Roger cracked a huge smile, rare these days. The days since they'd lost Angel and Mimi. He loved catching Mark off guard. A new song, a new gig, a roll of film. This reaction took the cake though.
"Did you pick up your AZT?" Mark asked trying to distract himself more than anything else.
"I would say 'yes mother' but then I wouldn't be able to fuck you." Roger retorted his grin widening.
"Prove it."
"Now that I can handle."
Roger sauntered over from the bed, each step hitting the ground like the water from Mark's still damp hair. He grabbed him around the waist, pulling him tighter. The towel fell to the floor.
"That's what I call timing." Roger said sliding his hands down further.
Mark giggled nervously, before his mouth was covered again.
The loft door slid open noisily.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Maureen shrieked, covering her eyes with her ring-laden fingers.
"Still like the timing?" Mark muttered, bending down to pick up the soggy towel, tying it where Roger's hands had been only moments before. He stalked to the bathroom before anyone could respond.
Roger started towards the bathroom to try to talk to Mark.
"Roger?" Maureen said meekly, which was really unusual for her, concerned, Roger turned around.
"Yeah?"
"I, um, had a teeny tiny favor to ask you guys, that's why I came over and everything, but I can come back if you want…"
"What is it Maureen?" Roger just wanted to get rid of her as fast as possible; he wanted to get back to Mark.
"Joanne and I are adopting a child together, and we wanted to know if you guys would be the guardians if anything happened to us." Maureen exploded.
"Are you serious? Congratulations! Of course we'll be the guardians if you really trust us…"
"Are you sure Mark will be ok with that?"
"Yeah, but I think it's better to just leave him alone right now."
"Ok. Oh my God! Thank you so much! I'm so excited! We're going tomorrow, I'll call you guys. We're gonna have a big welcome home party on Saturday at our place. You, Mark, Collins…. Oh wow I have so much to do!"
She gave Roger a quick hug before running back out through the open door.
Roger walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
"Hey man. She's gone. I've got something to tell you."
Mark cracked open the door.
"What."
"I love you."
"That's it?"
"That's all I'm telling you like this."
"Fine."
Mark opened the door the rest of the way.
"Well?"
"Maureen and Joanne are adopting, they want us to be the legal guardians if something happens to them."
"Holy shit. They trust us with that?"
"Apparently."
Mark leaned on the sink in disbelief. Roger took his hand, and rubbed it lightly.
"You'd be a pretty hot dad." He said, getting Mark to smile.
"Shut up."
"Fine. I won't tell you my other news then."
"There's more?"
Roger laughed. He loved teasing Mark like this; the opportunity didn't come often enough.
"Remember the meeting you woke me up for this morning?"
"Vaguely. I had a couple of other things on my mind." Mark quipped.
"I got the job."
The job he was referring to was a music critic with the Village Voice. He would get paid to hang out at all the old clubs he used to play and write about the latest bands. He knew the scene, he knew what people wanted. Now all he had to do was avoid getting caught up in his old habits.