I guess this is also set two years after the end of Rent in the NYTW universe like my other Rent fic. Why? Just because I can.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Rent boys and I never will. They're property of the wonderful Jonathan Larson, may he rest in peace. If I did own them, you can bet all of this would have happened in the show.
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Roger frequently complained about how tight his pants were and how uncomrtable it was to wear them. And yet he never seemed to wear anything else. Day after day, it was those insanely tight plaid pants. The ones that clung to his thighs and ass and made it a little more than difficult to not stare at the slight bulge in the front.
Whenever Mark filmed Roger, he regularly found the focus of the shot drifting from Roger's hands...to his chest...to his hands, as they strummed senseless notes on his guitar...and finally coming to a stop at the crotch of those damnable pants.
They'd caused assorted embarrassing situations, usually when Roger caught Mark staring. He would always grin slyly, knowingly, and ask, "Looking at something, Cohen?"
Mark would always blush and find something else to look at. Something on the opposite side of the room. "No, nothing," he'd say.
But when Roger was feeling amorous and was picking something up off of the floor, and he would bend at the waist on purpose just to give the filmmaker an eyeful, Mark couldn't help but grin and think to himself, "Thank God April bought him those plaid pants."
Fin.