AN: Another one-shot? What? Yes. Sorry, but I fear Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth won't be updated this weekend... 6 hour play practice followed by 20 pages of notes to take for class? Yeah, no thanks.

So instead I wrote this, a little highschool one(possibly two?)-shot for Katie, my friend, whose birthday was...last week. Heh, I love you Katie! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Rent isn't mine, though if I could I'd wrap it up in a delicious box and give it to Katie for her birthday!

Notes: Morrissey equals The Smiths equals not mine. Clear?

"Mark Cohen?" I raise my hand, moving it out from under my chin where it had been previously holding my head up. The teacher nods towards me and checks my name off before pointing me to a seat in the front row.

Moving sluggishly (it is only 3rd hour…) I pick my bag up off of the floor and carry it with me to my new seat. I hate seating charts designed around last names. I always get the front row.

School started a few days ago, taking with it my carefree days of sleeping in until noon, waking up, walking around outside all day taking pictures of random things, before falling back into bed and doing it all over again the next day. Nobody said summer vacation had to be eventful.

In any case, I think I can safely say that I haven't missed waking up at ungodly hours of the day, and I've heard from Cindy, my sister, that sophomore year is one of the worst, homework-wise. Another reason to get excited for this school year.

"Roger Davis?" I yawn loudly behind my hand, resisting the urge to fall asleep right here, in this uncomfortable plastic chair without a desk. I guess desks aren't really useful for choir.

My mom signed me up for choir, insisting that, since Cindy had gotten a scholarship due to a recommendation letter written for her by the choir director, I, too, have a wonderful voice and should use it to my advantages. I tried to reason with her; I don't have a good voice, I'd rather have 6 hours and not be in choir, I don't like to sing, but all of them were quickly, and easily, shot down with a glare and threatening to ground me. Or take my camera away. Whichever comes first.

And so here I am, sophomore year in high school with a 7 hour day and little social life. Not like I ever had one to begin with.

My sister's always been the popular one, the pretty, fun, smart, well liked girl whom everyone wishes they could be. She's nice enough to me, I suppose, but we've never been close.

Freshman year, last year, Cindy was a senior, and I, being her little brother, was immediately expected to live up to her. To be exactly like her. I'm sorry to say I disappointed a few teachers in that aspect.

I'm not unpopular, just quiet. I don't talk much during school, or outside of school. I have friends, sure, people who wave to me in between classes and who I talk to sparingly inside of classes, but other than that I generally keep to myself. I don't mind it, and over time teachers and friends of Cindy have accepted me as the complete opposite of my sister that I am.

"Susie Derrick?" I glance over my shoulder, eyeing the chair with the desk I had been sitting in previously. Why is there only one chair with a desk? My eyelids droop heavily, remembering the 3 hours of sleep I'd gotten last night and knowing that I would give anything to sit in that seat with my head nestled in my arms on the desk.

And so begins another school year.

I hear some annoying creaking noise come from my right, and when I glance over I see the boy sitting next to me stretching, his back curving against the chair, his arms high in the air behind his head. The person sitting behind him makes a face when his hands almost hit them, but otherwise ignores him as he brings his arms back to himself.

I focus again on the elderly teacher who is calling for attention, but continue to watch the boy next to me out of the corner of my eye. This kid lives in Scarsdale?

He's got messy, bleach blonde hair that sticks out sloppily, and I half wonder if maybe it's unintentional, like he just rolled out of bed this morning. Four earrings line his left ear and a few, tight choker-necklaces are wrapped around his neck. Thick leather bracelets are clasped around his wrists, and I watch as he drums his hands idly on the side of his chair. His fingernails are painted black.

My eyes fall to his jeans, which are ripped and tattered, holes showing skin at his thighs, his knees, his shins… I watch as one of his giant, black boots taps heavily on the floor, and I distantly wonder if he ever sits still.

"Alright, class, since we've had a few days to get to know each other…" I mentally roll my eyes, remembering the first few days of school. Ice-breakers, and get-to-know-your-classmates games and classroom rules and school rules and itineraries…most boring days of my life. I don't remember seeing the kid who sits next to me, either. I guess he was smart and decided to skip out. "Today we're going to do some exercises with rhythm."

A silent groan fills the room, each kid sighing lightly under their breath and muttering empty curses in their heads until you can actually feel the complaints rolling around the room. Nothing needs to be said, and the teacher quirks an eyebrow at us.

"Oh, come on. It won't be too hard," she says enthusiastically, smiling broadly from her position at the front of the classroom. I never understood how teachers can be so awake and cheerful in the morning. It's like they get pleasure from giving their students meaningless and useless simple tasks to do. Like rhythm exercises, for example.

"What I want you all to do," she says, turning her back to us to draw something on the chalkboard, "is to clap this rhythm." She steps away from the chalkboard, obviously pleased with the complex and intricate notes she's created, all of them strung together to form a complicated rhythm exercise. Basically it's four dots in a row.

"Christ…" I hear the kid next to me mumble, and look over to see him rubbing his hands over his face in a tired way. He looks up to see me watching him, and I smirk and roll my eyes. He grins and turns back to watch the teacher as she demonstrates what we're supposed to do.

"Now, here's where it gets a little tricky," she says, drawing more dots on the board that are strung together by a line at the top, "these are eighth notes." She taps her foot to a beat and claps the eighth notes in sharp, quick sounds as she brings her hands together. Someone raises their hand.

"Um…Ms. Frasier?" she says timidly, and the teacher lowers her hands.

"Yes…what was your name…" she goes back to check the seating chart before smiling once she's found the correct name, "Yes, Bethany?"

"I think everyone in this classroom knows what half notes, quarter notes, and eighth notes are…" Bethany trails, and the look on Ms. Frasier's face turns sour.

"Oh? This is Concert Choir, not Symphonic Choir. I know most of you have taken some form of music lessons before, but I'm forced to go over the basics in this class," she says, emphasizing the word 'forced' and saying the word 'basics' like it were poison, spitting it off of her tongue. The room falls silent again. "Now, please, clap this next rhythm with me."

Some laughing is heard from the back as everyone shifts in their seats to get ready to clap, and I glance over my shoulder to see the girl, Bethany, blushing as her friends turn to whisper excitedly with her.

"Alright, ready set, here you go," Ms. Frasier says each word in time with the beat, and everyone claps together. Everyone that is, except for me. Shit…

I blush furiously when I realize that I'm probably the only kid in this class without the ability to clap a few quarter notes. I forgot to mention how completely not musically oriented I am.

I glance around, hoping no one noticed and breathing a sigh of relief when I see no one has. Thank God.

"That was good. Are we ready for eighth notes yet?" Ms. Frasier asks, and a few mumbled 'yes'es are the only answer she receives.

I almost say 'no', but decide against it when I notice the completely bored, blank expression on everyone else's face. So instead I sit up in my chair, furrow my brow and square my shoulders, determined to get the next rhythm right.

Ten rhythms and half an hour later I'm fake clapping my way through class. This shit doesn't make any sense to me, and it bugs the hell out of me but after I accidentally once clapped after everyone else was done with the rhythm I decided to just forget about it and pretend to clap. Who needs to know how to clap in rhythm, anyway?

I cast a sidelong glance to the kid sitting next to me, feeling even more inadequate when I see that he's practically asleep while still clapping the newest rhythm. Oh well…

The bell rings, giving more substance to the phrase 'saved by the bell' as the teacher turns to have us clap a newer, more difficult rhythm than before.

"Alright, class. See you tomorrow," Ms. Frasier says warmly, smiling as she watches us grab our things and head out for lunch.

I turn to leave when I see the kid who sits next to me still in his seat, his chin dropped onto his chest with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach. His chest rises and falls gently every time he breathes, and I quickly realize he's asleep.

"Hey," I say, nudging his boot with my toe. I watch as he opens his eyes blearily, squinting as he looks up at me. "Class is over."

"Oh…" he trails, yawning loudly before standing up. The teacher makes a disapproving noise, and both of us glance at her for a moment. "Yeah, thanks…um…"

"Mark," I reply, tapping my hand nervously on the strap to my bag that runs over my shoulder and down my chest and stomach. His voice is lighter than I would have imagined, not deep at all, and it's got a rougher edge to it from having just woken up.

"Mark," he repeats, smiling broadly and sticking his hand out for me to shake. "I'm Roger." I smile back and briefly shake his warm, callused hand before letting go. "Right, well…thanks again. See you tomorrow," he says, turning his back on me and shoving his hands deeply into his pockets, his boots sounding heavily on the floor.

"See you…" I trail, watching his retreating form interestedly.

"You're Cindy Cohen's little brother, aren't you?" I sigh as I turn around to face Ms. Frasier, knowing that it was dumb of me to think that I could escape answering this question for much longer.

"Yeah," is all I offer, nodding my head for a moment as she looks at me quizzically.

"Oh, how's she doing at college? What college is she at?"

"She's at Syracuse, and she's having a nice enough time, I suppose." I can't really answer this, as I honestly don't know. The last time I talked to Cindy was right before she left, sharing a brief and awkward goodbye with my only sibling.

"Oh, well, isn't that nice? What's she majoring in?" I resist rolling my eyes. How the hell should I know?

"I think she's still doing choir stuff," I pause when Ms. Frasier makes a satisfied sound, "but other than that, I'm not really sure."

"That's good," she coos, and I can't help but compare her to a dove. Gray hair tied loosely into a bun, some stray strands of hair sticking out of the back and making it look like her bun exploded, or something. The way her eyes squint when she smiles, how she peers down at me…it's enough to send a chill down my spine. "Well, you tell her I said 'hi', alright?"

"Yeah, sure," I say quickly, already knowing that I have yet to say 'hi' to Cindy for Mr. Saberin, Mrs. Redding, Mrs. Fisky, and Ms. Pollsnik. I guess being the little brother automatically means I get to play the role of messenger.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mark," she says kindly, turning around to flip through a few loose sheets of paper on her desk.

"Yeah, see ya," I reply before hurrying out of her room, clutching the strap to my bag tightly. Gah, I hate it when they corner you like that…

"Mph!" I run smack into someone, and I blush furiously as I look up to apologize. "Oh…sorry, Roger," I say, taking a few quick steps back away from him.

"You're Cindy's brother?" he asks, his eyes wide. I guess he overheard…

"Yeah, and no, I'm not going to say 'hi' to her for you," I say curtly, wondering why I'm being so rude to the kid I just introduced myself to a few minutes ago. Usually I'm not so terse with people…I guess it's because I'm so goddamn hungry and people keep on stopping me on my way to lunch.

To my surprise, the other boy laughs quietly under his breath.

"Nah, I hated Cindy," he replies bluntly, and I have to stop myself from laughing.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically, feeling his hand clap me on the shoulder a few times.

"Mm, welcome, anyway…" he continues, and I wonder if he's just ignoring me or being completely oblivious, "I remember. I thought I remembered you from somewhere, and now I do." I raise an eyebrow at him, knowing that I haven't been in any of his classes previously.

"Yeah? I don't remember you."

"No, I do. I remember you, you were the kid who spilled soda on me last year during lunch." I duck my head and try to hide the blush that I'm sure is making its way onto my face. Oh, yeah…

"Oh…" I laugh nervously, gripping the strap to my bag tightly, "yeah. Sorry about that…"

"Nah, it's cool. It just bugged me that I couldn't place you." He shrugs loosely, and I stare at his giant black boots, noticing the thick, bright red shoelaces.

"Yeah, I was sort of spastic freshman year," I apologize again, this time glancing up to see a smirk on his face.

"I think we all are. Anyway, I'm headin' out to lunch. Wanna catch a ride?" he offers, but I quickly shake my head.

"Nah, that's alright. I've got a lunch in my locker, and I sort of promised someone I'd meet them." I'm lying, but I already feel sort of nervous around Roger. Maybe it's just memories from spilling that soda all over him, but I'd rather spend lunch alone than cooped up in a small car, feeling awkward and dumb around him.

"Whatever," he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "Later."

I watch as he walks away from me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter before shoving it back in.

I sigh and make my way to my locker, dialing the long since remembered com before reaching in and grabbing my paper sack filled with a sandwich, an apple and a bottle of juice.

It's going to be a long year.

"Mark Cohen?" I raise my hand for the substitute teacher, hearing her call off Roger's name next. Why she doesn't just check the seating chart is beyond me, but I guess since she's wasting class time I really can't complain.

"Alright, Ms. Frasier went home feeling sick earlier this morning, and all she left in the instructions is to do a few rhythm exercises, otherwise you've got a free hour." The disgruntled noises and frustrated sighs are soon replaced by cheers upon hearing the rest of the instructions.

Rhythm exercises again? It's the third week of school! She said we wouldn't have to do anymore. Somewhere in the back of my head I think Ms. Frasier did this just to get back at me for never saying 'hi' to Cindy for her.

Okay, well…I guess I'll just have to fake clap some more.

The first few rhythms fly by easily enough, me brining my hands closely together so that it looks like I'm clapping, but also so that my palms don't touch and make the noise.

It isn't until the fourth rhythm do I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I glance over to see Roger watching me, his green eyes fixed on my hands as a slight smirk plays about his lips. I mentally groan, wondering why, of all people, it has to be him to find me out.

Roger and I are, I guess what you could call 'friends' now, although really it's more like Roger attempting to talk and be friendly with me while all I can do is stumble over my words and pick nervously at the strap to my bag whenever I try to talk to him. I don't know why, but I'm always nervous as hell when I'm around Roger.

"Thank you, class," the young, chubby substitute says, smiling at us, "That's all Ms. Frasier had planned for today. The rest of the hour you may have, but stay in the room and don't get too out of control!"

The substitute's last words are drowned out as everyone begins to move at once, the popular girls and guys sliding their chairs across the floor to sit off to the side of the room, chatting, giggling, and flirting like happy, dull witted chipmunks. The less cool kids stick to themselves, three or four guys with bad haircuts and five or so girls with even worse skin. They talk quietly among themselves, quietly scoffing at the popular people while secretly wishing they were them. And then there are just the 'kids', those who get along with everyone and float from group to group, liked by everyone but fitting in nowhere. The one loner sits by herself reading a book. I have half a mind to go and talk to her when I hear someone clap sharply, twice in my ear.

"So…how long've you been going incognito with the rest of us clappers?" Roger asks, grinning down at me when I scowl at him.

"You're an ass," I reply, hearing Roger chuckle underneath his breath.

"I see Marky has a tongue today," he continues, his grin widening when he sees me blush and duck my head.

"Shut up…" I mumble half heartedly, feeling him ruffle my hair. I quickly push his hand away from me and glare at him as I smooth my hair back down. Roger calling me 'Marky' and ruffling my hair are some things he picked up in our three weeks as 'friends'.

"Anyway, we should totally get outta here. Go to lunch early," he suggests, and I glance worriedly at the teacher only to see her in conversation with the loner. "You wanna come with me?" Why is he so goddamn persistent in getting me to go out to lunch with him?

"Um, I think the sub said that we have to stay here…"

"Do you always do what your mommy tells you to?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I shrug, looking up when I hear him laugh.

"Well, come on. Bend the rules a little. I promise you won't spill your soda on me this time," he adds, smirking as I glare at him through my blush.

"Okay, fine," I sigh, standing up and lifting my bag over my shoulder.

"Excellent," Roger says, his eyes shining excitedly as he turns to casually stroll towards the door.

I glance nervously over my shoulder one last time before following him, watching as he tosses something in the garbage can before turning around and pressing his back against the door.

I shift my weight from foot to foot, not knowing what to do next before I feel Roger's hand grab mine as he quickly opens the door and slides us both out into the hallway. A quick glance through the window shows the substitute's back turned towards us as she reads a piece of paper that she had picked up from the desk.

"Nice," I say, my heart thudding heavily in my chest, though whether it's from our possibly getting into trouble or the fact that Roger is still holding onto my hand, I can't tell.

"Thanks," he grins, letting me go and shoving his hands in his pockets before heading down the hallway. "Where do you wanna eat?" he asks, and I quickly jog to catch up with him.

"I dunno," I shrug, not really feeling all that hungry anymore, "Wherever you want is fine."

Roger chuckles and shakes his head, his boots hitting the floor heavily, and I start to get nervous, wondering if maybe we'll get caught. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

"Alright, well, we'll just drive around until we find something that looks good," he offers, veering off to the left and quickly opening his locker, not even bothering with a com as he probably leaves it unlocked all the time.

"Holy shit! You're in advanced Bio?" I ask, catching a glimpse of his textbooks that are stacked haphazardly on the small shelf.

"Well…yeah," he shrugs, pulling out a large, tattered leather jacket.

"I hear Mr. Cam's evil," I say, impressed that Roger's even taking advanced Biology. He doesn't look like the type of kid who'd care about grades or school or any of that.

"Yeah, he can be a bitch, but most of the time he's pretty cool. He's sort of crazy," Roger laughs, slamming his locker shut after putting his jacket on. "Lead the way," he says, and I start walking down the hallway towards my locker, realizing that his isn't too far from mine.

"What other classes are you in?" I ask, suddenly interested.

"Eh, algebra 2, government, psych, western lit and choir," he says, and I nod. All higher level classes.

"Only six hours?"

"Nah, advanced bio's a two hour block."

"Oh yeah…" I remember, turning the dial on the lock to the correct numbers before opening my locker and grabbing my own jacket.

"What about you?" he asks as we make our way out of the building, heading towards the student parking lot.

"American lit, U.S. history, choir, geometry, chemistry, speech and Spanish." I shrug, knowing that they're all expected courses, much like his were. Nothing special, just to get credit.

"Oh yeah? What year Spanish?"

"Three."

"Say something," he grins, and I sigh.

"No," I reply, smirking when I see him frown.

"Why not?" he asks, squinting his eyes into the sun as we continue down the parking lot.

"Because… Jesus, how far back did you park?" I try to change the subject, trying to see if I can guess which car is his before we get there.

"I was a little late this morning," he grins at me, and I see something catch his eye as he looks away from me and over to my left.

I glance over to see a girl walking by, wearing tight jeans and clutching a jacket closely around her shoulders, obviously hurrying to get back to school. Or to get to school…maybe she never went this morning.

I've seen the girl before, in the hallways, and every time I do I always think of a whore. Maybe it's the way she dresses, or how her eyes are always ringed in dark, thick eyeliner, or that she has large, dark circles from lack of sleep that she tries to cover up with make-up, but I dunno. I say as much to Roger, watching as he turns to regard me strangely.

"Mark, that's my girlfriend," he says, his eyes narrowing at me. I feel my heartbeat increase and I subconsciously reach for the strap to my bag, gripping it tightly as I glance down and away from Roger.

"…really?" I ask, my voice sounding small and pathetic as I force the sound to come out of my throat. Shit, shit shit…this is why I always stay quiet. Why couldn't I have stayed quiet?

"Nah, not really, but she gives great head." My head snaps up to see Roger grinning, and I scowl at him as he starts to laugh at me. "Shit, you should've seen the look on your face," he laughs, reaching out to lean against an old, beat up car.

"Is this your car?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as he nods his head enthusiastically.

"Yeah! Doesn't she kick ass?"

"She?"

"Yeah…" he shrugs, and I shake my head slowly. I watch him unlock the door before he hops in and I move to the passenger side as he leans over the two seats to unlock my door. I can't even tell what color it is… Whatever color rust is, I suppose.

I sit down lightly on the passenger seat, sinking into the ancient cushions as my feet step on papers that are scattered all over the car. Empty soda cans litter the floor as well, and I can't help but wonder when the last time he cleaned his car was.

"Alright, let's get going," he says, turning the key a few times before the car roars into life. He puts it in reverse and backs out of his parking space, glancing over his shoulder for only a moment before putting it in drive, quickly speeding down the parking lot.

The car jerks, and I hastily throw on my seat belt.

"I think you just ran over a small child," I comment dryly, hearing Roger snort.

"Ten points," he says, giving me a cheeky grin before focusing back on the road.

"…you're sick," I reply, smiling wryly as he laughs.

He turns left, and slowly I relax, deciding that maybe this doesn't have to be so bad.

The sun shines brightly through the window, and I press myself farther into the car seat to escape the bright glare. The car quickly starts to warm up as Roger turns on the heater to get rid of the cold, autumnal air, and I feel my breathing slow as I start to drift off to sleep.

"Holy shit I haven't heard this song in forever!" Roger exclaims suddenly, and I jump slightly as he turns the volume up, hearing a piano playing quietly before the unmistakable voice of Morrissey accompanies it.

I settle back and am a little surprised to hear Roger's voice as he sings quietly along with the song, his eyes focused on the road. I haven't ever actually heard Roger sing before, since whenever we do sing in choir it's in a group and I know the other boy tends to sing more quietly, since it's so early in the morning. His voice is good, though…really good. The rough, untrained voice is hushed, softened as he sings lightly under his breath, and I concentrate solely on how it mixes nicely with the piano, subconsciously tuning out Morrissey so that I can hear Roger better.

Christ…

Suddenly my heart is racing in my chest as I take in the way his lips are parted, his long, slender fingers curved around the steering wheel, his soft voice filling my head and leaving me wide eyed. Shit…

Now I know why I'm so nervous around the other boy…

"You sing really well," I compliment once his voice falls silent, once he's noticed me staring raptly at him.

"Mm, I'm not lead singer in the band because I play a mean fiddle."

"…what?"

"…never mind."

"No, you're in a band?" I ask, chuckling lightly as I notice with some interest his cheeks redden slightly at my compliment.

"Yeah…" he says slowly, turning his head to glance at me quickly, "You mean you didn't know?"

"No…" I trail, sitting up in my seat, "Where the hell are we going?"

"Oh, shit. I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention…"

Roger turns into a parking lot and puts the car into park, casting a sideways glance at me before yawning slightly.

"So…where to?" he asks, and I feel the air become heavy and awkward.

"I don't care…I'm not really that hungry," I confess, seeing him nod his head.

"Yeah, me neither," he says, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

We sit in silence for a moment, me gripping the strap to my backpack and Roger gripping the steering wheel and staring into the lines of traffic.

"Listen, Mark…" "Hey, Roger…" we say at the same time, both of us turning to look at the other. Our eyes connect for a brief moment, and I feel my face getting hot as I stare into his bright green eyes.

Oh, God he's gorgeous…

"Y…yeah?" he asks shakily, and I blink a few times before I realize he's prompting me to continue.

"No, no…that's alright, you can go first," I offer, seeing him narrow his eyes at me.

"Um…it…it really wasn't anything…" I watch as he pauses to take a deep, steadying breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again. "Mark…I think…I…I'm going to….would you mind?" he breathes, and my eyes widen as his hand presses against my cheek, his thumb trailing down to the edge of my mouth.

"Would I mind…what?" I ask nervously, watching as he quickly kills the engine with his other hand before turning sideways.

"If I…did this," he explains, quickly leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. My heart pounds in my ears, my heart racing in my chest as I hastily respond, moving my lips softly over his.

Oh god…I quickly remember to breathe, my breath catching in my throat as I feel his fingers thread through my hair, pressing lightly on the back of my head.

The kiss only lasts for a few seconds, though it seems to last forever, but as soon as he pulls away I find myself wanting him to kiss me again, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips against mine once more. His warm breath spills lightly over my cheek, and I start to move towards him when his voice stops me.

"Mark," he breathes, his hand pressing to where my neck meets my shoulder, his fingers curling underneath my jacket. I suppress a shiver when his callused fingertips touch the side of my neck, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. "Is this okay? Is this what you want?"

"Yes, god yes…" I say without a moment's hesitation, and I see Roger raise an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" he asks, and I know why he does. If we stop now, we can go back, we can still be friends. One kiss can be forgotten, one kiss doesn't have to mean anything.

"Kiss me again and I will be," I smirk, seeing him flush slightly before a smile finds its way onto his face as well.

Roger's lips connect with mine again gently, and I let out a breath I wasn't even aware that I was holding. This kiss is more sure, his mouth pressing against mine firmly before pulling slightly away, the other boy giving me sweet kisses that make my head spin.

"Get over here," I say quietly, my back starting to ache from the awkward position we're kissing in, and I feel myself blush when Roger pulls away to give me a slow, searching look. He leans forward again, unbuckling the seatbelt from around me and pulling it over my head and off of me as he climbs over to my side, the passenger side of the small car.

"Mm, good idea," he whispers, and I feel my chest constrict at the way his voice sounds in my ear, his hot breath washing down the side of my neck.

Roger sits himself in my lap, his knees on the car seat on either side of my legs as he runs his fingers through my hair and kisses me again, and I choke back a moan as his tongue brushes over my lips.

My mouth opens to his, and this time I allow a breathy moan to escape me as he slowly slips his tongue in between my lips.

Oh, god…

The way his tongue moves inside of my mouth is enough to send me spinning, and I distantly feel myself push forward, my hands tangling into his bleach blonde hair in an attempt to hold onto something to keep me from falling. Roger's a really good kisser, I realize as I feel his tongue skillfully explore my mouth, and that thought drives me further, pushing farther and farther into Roger.

He smirks against my mouth and takes his tongue back into his own, and instead presses a chaste kiss to my lips. I moan softly, hungrily, somewhat frustrated at the lack of feeling as soon as Roger's tongue is no longer in my mouth.

Irritated, I quickly push forward against him, shoving my tongue roughly past his lips and hearing him gasp softly before letting it turn into a moan as I take my turn to explore his mouth, brushing my tongue over teeth and the insides of his cheeks.

Roger pushes me roughly back into the seat, and I hear something creak loudly in my right ear as the other boy rubs his tongue against mine, and I let him lick his way back into my mouth.

Our breathing is heavy as Roger continues to push heavily against me, our chests practically touching as he keeps my hands pinned to the seat on either side of my head.

Suddenly the seat creaks again loudly before snapping, and I feel myself fall back, a muffled yelp escaping me as Roger's mouth is still covering mine.

The head of the chair hits the back seat heavily, and I feel Roger's weight on top of me, my eyes watering as his teeth roughly clip my bottom lip.

"Shit…" I hear the other boy laugh, and I feel his heart pounding in his chest against mine. Whether this is from the surprise of falling or from what we were doing before, I can't say.

I slowly lift my hand from his, unlacing our fingers and reaching up to lightly touch my bottom lip, pulling my fingertips away to check for blood. Nope, but it hurt like hell.

"Are you alright?" Roger asks, pulling his head back in order to see me better. His cheeks are pink, his lips red and wet, his hair tangled, his dark green eyes staring down full of concern into my own.

"Yeah…you bit my lip," I explain when I see him glance at my fingers after having pulled them from my lower lip again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his hand running through my hair before he kisses me again, continuing our play from before.

Soon enough his tongue is in my mouth again, which is exactly where I want it to be, and his hands are slowly sliding down my sides, his entire body covering mine, his weight pressing down on top of me. And everything feels right and good and perfect.

Roger takes my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks on it, his tongue lavishing it before he gives me another open mouthed kiss, my moans becoming less quiet and coming more easily out of my throat as my mind registers two things. The first one being that lunch is probably over by now. The second one being that both Roger and I are hard, his hips pressed against mine as I feverishly try to hold onto the kiss that he is quickly pulling out of.

The other boy's lips are immediately pressing to my neck, and I gasp at the feel of his mouth fluttering over the sensitive skin.

"Roger," I moan, his name tumbling off of my lips and I feel his mouth pause before his tongue flicks out, trailing along the curve of my neck.

"Mark," he whispers, his breath hot in my ear, his voice rough and filled with lust and desire. "What do you want? Tell me what you want." I gasp when he licks my ear before gently nibbling on my earlobe, apparently waiting for an answer.

"I…God, Roger," I breathe, throwing my head back only to feel his lips and tongue and teeth move to my neck.

"Do you want…this?" he asks, rolling his hips against mine, and I moan loudly, my fingers clutching his shoulder tightly.

"Yes, please, god yes…" I mumble, feeling him smirk against my neck before grinding into me again, our moans mixing this time as Roger's fingers grip tightly to my waist.

My eyes snap open when I hear something knock at the car door, and I absentmindedly try to pull Roger over me like a blanket or something as soon as I see the middle aged man standing outside the window, his back turned towards us.

"Roger," I whisper, pulling his face out of my neck and directing his line of vision towards the rotund man outside.

"…the fuck?" he growls, and the man outside turns around, glaring down at us as Roger reaches behind him to roll the window down. "What?" Roger snaps, not bothering to move off of me but leaning his elbow on the back of the seat next to my head, letting his head rest against the heel of his palm.

"You're going to have to leave," the man says, running nervous fingers over his long moustache.

"What? Why? It's a free goddamn parking lot," Roger growls, and I grip the bottom of his jacket tightly.

"No, it's for paying customers only. You're going to have to leave." I look past Roger to see a bright sign advertising for a barber shop before looking back to the mustached man.

Roger glares at him for a moment before reaching back to roll the window up again, ignoring the man's startled protests as he firmly presses his mouth against mine again.

"Roger," I say quietly, pulling back after the man storms off into the barber shop. "I think we should go."

"No, I intend to finish this, and then we can go," he mumbles, and I sigh heavily.

"He said something about calling the cops."

"…no shit?"

"No shit." Roger groans and leans his forehead against my shoulder, and I feel the same frustration he does.

The other boy slowly climbs off of me, holding my gaze for a moment before sitting himself back into the driver's seat. I sit up, the now broken passenger seat offering no support for my back.

Roger starts the engine and, after a moment of sitting, pulls out of the parking lot, turning in the opposite direction, away from school.

"Where are we going?" Roger grins and looks over at me before taking my hand in his and squeezing gently.

"We're going to see what else these hands of yours can do, besides clap out of rhythm," he replies suggestively, and I blush, diverting my eyes to the road.

Sounds good to me.

AN: Review with a happy birthday wish to Katie! Sing it with me now...happy birthday to Katie! Happy birthday to Katie! XD