Okay, be kind. I'm not good at writing hot Mark/Roger smex.

Dedicated to Don'tBelieve A Word, who inspired this little ficlet (and kept insisting I actually finish it). And to GayApparel and iheartscrawnyjewishboys for writing M/R better than I can.

...Er, hope you don't mind it.

Disclaimer: Characters are totally Jonathan Larson's.

"So, what do you want for your birthday, Mark?" Roger lounged on the couch with his empty beer bottle, smiling.

Mark looked up at him, and cocked his head slightly. "What do I want for my birthday?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I said," Roger quipped, and Mark flushed, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not too into birthday presents," he said, shrugging. Roger stared at him. Mark glanced up, and after a few seconds of Roger's intense staring, squirmed uncomfortably. "What?"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'I'm not too into birthday presents'!" Roger said, making a face. "Everyone loves birthday presents. It's an excuse for people to get you stuff. Birthday presents fucking rock."

Mark shrugged again. "I guess it's because my parents got me pretty shitty presents when I was young. I mean, I wanted a Game Boy, and they got me a desk set. I wanted a movie, they got me a calculator." Mark stared down at the floor. "I always got things I never wanted, and after a while, I just said I didn't want presents anymore. They gave me money instead." Roger looked at him, frowning deeply.

"Jesus, that bites. I'm sorry, Mark."

"Ah, it's okay, Roger."

"Nah, nah," Roger said, putting his bottle down. "You see, that's shit right there," he continued, leaning forward. "That was fucking weak of your parents. I mean, kids make it pretty obvious what they want, you know? Your parents were just pissing you off, and that's not right. I mean, that's almost as worse as getting a pencil set at Christmas." Roger smiled, to motion that the last comment was a joke, but Mark blinked at him, and Roger's jaw drop. "You're fucking kidding me, Mark. They got you a pencil set for fucking Christmas!" The rocker leaned angrily back against the couch, crossing his arms. "See, that, that isn't right, Mark. Your parents should give you toys, not a damn school set." Mark laughed, and Roger gave him a questioning look. "What?"

"You're getting all serious about it, that's all," Mark said, chuckling.

"It's a serious thing!" Roger protested, pouting a little. "Your parents fucked with your childhood! That isn't right!" Mark's smile turned a little sad, and he shrugged for a third time, as if to agree. Roger bit the inside of his cheek. Sure, he liked poking fun at Mark, but it's no fun to make someone awful on their birthday. "Look, you're not with your parents now, right? And they can't get you any damn desk sets. So, what do you want for your birthday, Mark?"

Mark looked up at Roger, a bit surprised. "You're being unusually nice tonight, you know."

Roger scoffed. "Only 'cause it's your birthday, bitch. Any other night I would just rub it in your face." Mark laughed.

"That sounds more like you, Roger." And he sat back, letting his head rest on the back of the threadbare chair Roger had before Mark had come to the loft. "What would I like..."

"You're fucking eighteen, man," Roger said eagerly, leaning forward again. "Make it something good."

"I'm seventeen, Roger," Mark corrected, and Roger shrugged.

"Ah, who cares. You're basically eighteen anyway, right?" he commenting, waving his hand around as if dismissing the subject. "Just wish for something!"

Mark sat in thought, musing about anything he could have. Closing his eyes, he smiled gently. "...A nice camera." Roger snorted, and Mark opened his eyes. "What? What's wrong with a camera?"

"Well...it's a camera," Roger said, and Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Your point, Roger?"

"If I were you, I'd wish to have a hot chick or something like that." Mark blushed, and Roger smiled. "When did you last get some, Mark?" Mark muttered something, and Roger leaned a little more forward, the grin becoming ever so playful on his face. "What? I didn't get that."

Mark fidgeted with his scarf. "Er...I haven't yet." Roger laughed, and Mark pouted lightly. "So?"

"You're eighteen—"

"Seventeen."

"Whatever. And you haven't done the dirty with anyone yet?" Mark blushed, and Roger sighed. "Mark, you know what you need? You need a good fuck, that's what you need." Mark practically had a nosebleed. He looked at Roger sarcastically.

"And where just would one get said..."

"Said fuck?" Roger said, his grin twisting on his face, becoming mischievous (which scared Mark a little, to be honest). "Well, you look around. You hit on women, or you could go to a strip bar, I guess."

Mark's face flushed. "In case you haven't noticed, Roger, I'm not that good at flirting. Hell, I'm hardly good at talking with you." Mark paused. "That could be just because you're an asshole, or I'm just terribly shy."

"It's probably both," Roger quipped, raising an eyebrow. "An asshole, huh?" Mark laughed.

"For lack of a better term, sure." Roger then commenced to pout.

"Sure, just shoot me down by calling me an asshole."

Sudden guilt washed over Mark. He didn't mean to make Roger feel bad. He would never try to do that. "Hey, I'm sorry, you're—"

"Nah, I'm just pulling your chain, Mark," Roger said, grinning. "But you forgot to mention I'm incredibly hot as well." Mark rolled his eyes.

"Oh, how could I forget that?"

"No, not incredibly hot," Roger continued, smiling. "Incredibly sexy. I'm a fucking sexy beast." Roger posed, and Mark laughed.

"Sure, Roger. Just keep telling yourself that." Roger's head whipped around to glare at Mark, who doubled over with laughter.

"Fuck you. I am damn sexy, I know it!" As Mark kept laughing, Roger walked over, and bent down, his face inches from Mark's. "See this face? This turns people on. This face is sexy as a motherfucker." Mark opened his eyes, and as ice blue met emerald green, something sparked, something jolted both of them. They both felt it, something about being so close to each other, something about feeling the other's breath fan across your cheek. Something about that millisecond between them, where anything could happen...

"Roger," Mark murmured, and Roger looked at him. Oh, shit, shit. What was going on? Everything was fine just a second ago, everything was normal. But somewhere between a second ago and now, something had changed. God, it had changed.

Roger thought about saying something. Saying something funny to set them both at ease, saying something rude so Mark could just push him away and call him an asshole. Saying something to just break the tension. How the hell the tension got there, Roger was unsure. But, jesus, it was there. Roger thought about saying something, but he didn't.

Instead, he just put his lips to Mark's.

The newly seventeen-year-old was very surprised and nervous. Surprised because his roommate just kissed him, and nervous because Mark had no idea what the hell he was doing. Sure, he had kissed girls before, but he never had any heavy make-out sessions. Mark's guess was that Roger had plenty of previous make-out sessions, so he was probably looking like a complete dumb-ass right now. He jumped when he felt Roger's tongue gently slip across his teeth.

Roger broke the kiss, and pressed his forehead to Mark's. "Let me guess. You've never French kissed, have you?"

"Not really, no," Mark said in a rush. Roger chuckled. "I'm...not used to it."

"Just...let go," Roger said, looking at Mark, and the bespectacled boy felt a shiver run quickly up his spine. "Don't think about it. Just let yourself move."

Mark looked at him hesitantly. Was this really such a good idea? Neither of them said outright that they were...gay. Mark had just figured Roger was straight; he'd never seen Roger flirting with a guy. And Mark? Well, Mark wasn't sure which way he swung. He always gone out with girls, but he didn't pull away when Roger kissed him. "Roger–" Mark started to say, but Roger cut him off.

"Don't talk," he said, and Roger met Mark's eyes again, and in that jaded green something was there, hiding beneath the surface, but the film maker was unsure what it was. "Just...don't." And before Mark could say anything else, the musician again pushed his mouth against his friend's, a little stronger, a little more forcefully.

Roger had no idea why he started this. He wasn't deeply attracted to Mark, but hell, Roger would admit the boy was good-looking, despite the fact he didn't really care what he looked like. But in that moment—why lie, many moments before—something clicked. Some primitive attraction, some kind of carnal lust. It could be that Mark felt it too, but he wasn't terribly in tune with his sexuality. He probably just shrugged the feelings off, knowing Mark. But this was it. He pushed into the smaller boy lightly, closing the space between them.

Mark's nervousness started to become fear. Roger was getting more insistent, and Mark wasn't sure how to respond. Should he keep going? Should he do the smart thing and stop this before it went too far? But, god, this felt special, this was something else. Roger's tongue brushed against his teeth, and a jolt of pleasure rocked his spine, making him grab Roger's shirt and pulling him forward to deepen the kiss. Time to let go, time to stop thinking, time to rock and roll.

Two halves to make a whole; here's a piece of the puzzle, look how smoothly it fits into this piece. But how slow it was, and they felt it needed to go faster, so fast that neither of them could regret what was happening. Only love and lust, baby, there's no room for anything else.

Mark grabbed Roger's hair lightly; his hair wasn't terribly long, but thick enough to get a good grip. Roger's hands went over Mark's chest, over his shoulders, down his back. A small, breathy moan escaped Mark, which egged Roger on. He started kissing the Jewish boy's jawline, down his neck, nipping his ear. Mark thought he was going to explode. He had never gone this far, never felt like this. "Oh god," he gasped slightly, glasses slipping down his nose.

Roger chuckled. "You're pretty tense, Mark," he taunted, hip lips right next to Mark's ear. Mark clutched Roger's shirt. "What's the matter?"

"Jesus, just kiss me," Mark said, and Roger did so, surprised at the urgency in his voice, the meek teen gone, erased by what was happening. Whatever was happening. Oh, this was much more than making-out, it was more than boy kissing boy. Roger slipped his hands under Mark's shirt.

"Lift your arms," Roger managed to say, and Mark complied, Roger slipping the top easily off and tossing it to the side. God, he was so skinny. But he did have some muscle on him, surprisingly. Roger ran a hand up Mark's chest and grinned. "Working out a little, Marky? Got workout tapes hidden in your closet or something?"

God, Roger knew he couldn't stand it, and he couldn't. Mark pushed off the chair suddenly, knocking both to the ground. Roger cursed, landing hard on the floor with the extra weight of Mark on top of him. "Fuck! Want to warn me before you do that?" Anger and surprise registered in his voice, and Mark just looked at him, glasses dangling from his ears, in danger of falling off.

"You shouldn't tease like that," Mark gasped, a little guilty about hurting him. Roger motioned to his glasses.

"Can you see without them?"

"Well enough," the shirtless boy replied, and Roger took them off, placing them gently aside. After he had done that, Mark softly kissing Roger's cheek, his lips, as if apologizing. Roger leaned up and planted a line of kisses near Mark's collarbone, making him groan softly. Roger smiled to himself. Jesus, he was so sensitive it was funny. But when he ran a hand up Mark's hair and Mark grinded his hips hard into Roger's, the rocker was reminded of just how sensitive he was as well. Roger moaned, and wrapping his arms around Mark, kissing him deeply. Oh, this was pleasure, this was ecstacy.

All thought escaped Mark's mind as he tugged Roger's shirt off, starting to kiss his chest. So drunk off these feelings, and he wanted more, more of this, more of Roger, more of anything he had to give. Roger couldn't laugh. "Eager, aren't we?" Mark wasn't paying attention. He was impatient, and Roger smiled. "Jesus, I created a monster."

"You never shut up, do you?" Mark mused aloud, a half-smile creeping onto his face. Roger frowned, and abruptly knocked Mark on his back, pinning him to the floor.

All right, enough talk. A few more kisses, grope and touch. Roger pressed his hand against Mark's crotch, and he moaned. Roger start to unbutton Mark's pants.

This seemed queer, didn't it? Probably. But...both Roger and Mark weren't thinking that. Even when Mark blushed as Roger pulled his pants down, even when Roger put his lips to the bulge between Mark's legs to make him gasp, it wasn't gay to them. You couldn't label this with that. This was...

This was...

Mark stuttered when Roger slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of his underwear. Roger looked up, raising a questioning eyebrow. "I...I don't think I'm ready for this, Roger." The rock star smiled.

"Didn't you just say I talked too much?" Mark blushed, his cheeks a deep red in the moonlight. "I won't hurt you," Roger assured him. "I swear, okay?" Mark nodded, and took a deep breath. Just...let go.

There was embarrassment. Mark didn't like this feeling of being vulnerable, exposed. But when Roger started to kiss him—god, what a drug this was! Roger hadn't done this many times before, to guys or girls. But when he heard Mark breathing heavily, trying to say something but failing utterly, Roger knew he must be doing something right.

Mark tried to tell Roger to please go slow, be careful, he hadn't done this before, this was all too much...but it all came out in gasps and unintelligible syllables. Roger took him in, and Mark couldn't do anything but moan, his voice lost. Roger—oh jesus, that was his tongue, oh god, what was he doing to him? Mark thrust into his mouth, crying out, feeling like he just might die, feeling like he was screaming. Roger kept twisting and turning his tongue, and Mark yelled Roger's name, finally letting go, is this what parents were so afraid their kids were doing in the dark rooms in the middle of the night?

Roger pulled away just before Mark came; even though this was something else, Roger couldn't muster up the strength to swallow. That would be just a little too much right now. He looked at Mark, his eyes closed, heavy breathing, and kissed him gently. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you." Roger might have been an asshole, but sometimes he knew when to be nice. Mark smiled softly, content. No wonder his mother was afraid, no wonder she sheltered him so. He grasped Roger's shoulders, a deep kiss, wanting more, tugging at Roger's pants, and Roger backed away. "Okay, all right, just hold on." But Roger kept on kissing him as he fumbled with the zipper, messed around with the buttons.

Mark had no clue what he was doing. Really. Not having sex before was a huge disadvantage. Roger just laid down, and Mark softly kissed the head. Roger arched forward—how long had it been since he had done this? Too long, probably. Mark remembered the things he heard in school, things he never thought he'd actually use later on in his life. He tried remembering how, hoped he was actually doing something right. Roger groaned. The boy may have not done anything like this before, but he was doing okay. Mark moved his tongue around, and realized he was too tense. Just let go, right? No one knew what they were going to begin with, right? He took him in deeper, and Roger moaned, burying his hands into Mark's hair.

This was pleasure, this was ecstacy. This was the number 8 rocked on its side, this lasted forever. But what was it? This was...

This was...

When Roger finally cried out, let go, Mark backed off, hoping to god he did well. He lay hesitantly beside Roger. A few seconds past, but it seemed like hours. Roger looked at Mark, saw the worried look in his eye, and lightly kissed his forehead. Mark curled next to Roger, and what a sight that would have made; two well-built boys lying naked in the moonlight, curled up like cats. Mark nestled into Roger's neck, and Roger wrapped his arms around Mark. Usually, he would have gotten up, gotten something to drink, have a smoke, but he felt like Mark would be crushed if he did. Mark needed that comfort, that contact, needed to know everything was okay. And this had gone perfectly.

What was this?

This was perpetual, everlasting, boundless. Eventually, the memory would fade for both of them, only in the deep recesses of their minds would it surface every now and again. But right now...right now, this moment would last forever.

-fin.

Review if you like.