Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson
Before he brought Mark home, Collins warned Roger, "Leave him alone."
Roger had blinked innocently and asked, "What are you talking about?"
He was ready to defend his honor-- okay, yes, he slept around and, he admitted, sometimes things got rough, but he had never had any complaints.
"Just leave Mark alone," Collins said.
That rankled. Roger Davis did not like to be told what to do. "What, he doesn't like cock?" he asked, looking for a fight.
But Collins just shook his head and said, "Roger." So Roger let Mark alone.
At least, he made no advances. But he watched Mark move in, standing at the entrance to his room holding back the blanket that served as a door. He watched a tiny boy, not more than five-two, in a clinging, too-bright red sweater and corduroys shuffle into the loft with Collins' hand on his back.
Roger felt his eyes widen. This wasn't a roommate. This was just a kid, probably fresh out of college if that. How could Collins fear that Roger would harm someone like this? How could anyone?
One thing was certain: Roger wanted him. But would he ever be anything but gentle with a little thing like Mark, a trembling, pale dandelion boy? Of course not. No, Roger already knew what he wanted from Mark: he wanted Mark on his knees. He wanted to pet Mark and reassure him as Mark sucked his cock.
That was what Roger wanted from Mark.
"Hey."
Mark looked up. He had been unpacking the clothes he had into a couple of stacked milk crates. Now he rose, a little too quickly. Stars burst, and he reached out to steady himself. To Mark's surprise, his hand did not fall on the crates but instead into a warm, hard palm.
"Those won't hold you," Roger warned, absently rubbing Mark's hand with his thumb. He smirked. "Even skinny as you are."
Mark blushed.
After a moment's pause, Roger said, "I'm Roger. I live across the loft." He shook Mark's hand. Dumb, Mark allowed this. "Now you say your name," Roger prompted.
"Oh! Mark. Mark Cohen."
"Hi, Mark. So you're another one of Collins' street-rats, huh?"
Mark's blush deepened. So did Roger's smile. He definitely had this boy pegged. "I… I'm not a…"
Roger grinned. "That's all right," he said. "Didn't mean it derogatory. So welcome to the loft."
"Oh. Thank you. I'm… um…"
"How old are you?" Roger prompted. Mark looked anywhere from fifteen to twenty, and Roger was not going to do anything statutory. He was a slut, maybe, definitely liked to have fun, but he was not immoral.
The answer surprised Roger: "Twenty-five." Mark said it with a minor blush, as though he had expected by the age of twenty-five to be some world-renowned doctor or something, not a geeky kid in a grungy flat.
Twenty-five? This kid was older than he was! Not by much, but nevertheless. And he hardly looked a day of fifteen! Before Roger had a chance to comment, Collins stepped into the room. He took one look at the scene and sighed. "I see you've met Roger," he said.
"Oh!" Mark quickly took his hand back. "Yes," he said. "Hi, Roger."
Roger pasted on a dopey grin. "Hi, Mark!"
To be continued!
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