Disclaimer: RENT is the property of Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with his characters.

Mark sighed. It was late, the room dark, and he awoke to a thickness in his mouth. "Yulch."

"Mark?" Roger asked quietly. He had never before slept in a stranger's bed. He had never before slept so close to anyone, shared the warmth under the blankets, and he found it a strangely comforting sensation. He felt the same warm embrace of elements as sinking into a warm bath. Roger rarely bathed-- he preferred the violent swiftness of showers. "You awake?" he asked.

"Yeah," Mark whispered. He faced the wall. "What's up?"

"I, uh… I wondered if you were awake," Roger replied, "that's all."

There was a moment of silence filled with noises of a large living space left to its own devices, some settling and dripping, mostly the rush of blood pumping through ears. Then there was a rustling of blankets, a squeaking of springs, and Mark barely knew what was happening until Roger had moved away, and the nape of Mark's neck was damp from Roger's sloppy kiss.

Roger stared away, blushing, heart pounding. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of Mark.

Mark pulled Roger into his arms and pressed his erection against Roger's backside. A smile crept onto his face as Roger shivered, his breathing reduced to whimpering gasps. Mark's hands wandered across the light muscle of Roger's abdomen. He lifted Roger's shirt and felt the trail of fuzz leading into his boxers.

Roger smiled. He liked this. He liked Mark's touch, the closeness, Mark's erection against his bottom making his eyes roll. He liked the loud, hot gasps of Mark's breath on his neck. He liked the way his heart thudded, the way his throat twisted and his penis moved in his shorts. He was smiling so widely he knew in seconds that smile would break into a thousand giggles.

So Roger was as surprised as Mark to hear his voice ask, "Mark?" Because a part of Roger-- though he knew not which part of why-- wanted Mark to stop. "I…" He needed to talk. He needed what happened tonight to be something he wanted, surely and openly.

"Do you…?" Mark was frozen, his fingertips on the waistband of Roger's shorts.

Roger coughed. "Maybe I… should sleep on the couch."

---

A week later, the boys had not spoken. Mark glanced at the ringing telephone, shook his head and sipped his coffee. He had given Roger his number, but the lack of call was hardly surprising. What had Mark been thinking, trying to make a move on someone he had barely known for four hours? Roger was probably traumatized, convinced Mark was some sort of sex maniac. The call was probably his mother. Mark shivered. He did not want to speak to his mother.

"Hey," said Collins' recorded voice on the answering machine. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Mark laughed. He loved Collins' joke. "Look, if anyone's there-- leave a message after the beep." Beep.

"Hey, Mark, are you there?" Mark looked up from his coffee cup. "Okay, I guess you're out. It's Roger calling-- uh, we met on your birthday, remember? I--

Mark picked up the phone. "Roger. Of course I remember you! Hey."

"Hey! You- you're home!" Roger was grinning hugely.

"Yeah. We always screen our calls. Um, so, how are you?" After being felt up by a complete stranger...

"Great! I... uh..." As Roger mumbled, trying to scrape together an ounce of courage, Mark bit his lip. He glanced at Collins, who was laughing quietly. Thanks for your support... "Gooutwithme!"

"What?"

Roger slapped a hand to his forehead. That had gone poorly. "I... I just wondered if you might like to go out sometime. On a date. Is this Wednesday good for you?" Or was what happened on your birthday just a drunk mistake?

Mark blushed. He turned to Collins, who shrugged. "Don't ask me, ask the boy's parents!"

It was not funny to Mark, but he gave a chuckle for Collins' sake. "Yeah," Mark told Roger. "I'll be free then."

"Great! I'll pick you up around six o'clock, then."

"Six is great."

---

Mark paced. He had agonized over this moment. Having no idea where Roger was taking him, he had not known how to dress, and so bit his nails to stubs choosing clothing that was nice, neat, but not too neat. After all, he first met Roger in a club wearing worn blue jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. If such clubs were Roger's scene, Mark had nothing to wear. But if Roger took him somewhere even vaguely sophisticated, his neat button-down shirt would be fine.

After two days of agony, Mark had resigned himself. He was proud, satisfied… and beginning to crack! "He's late!" Mark told Collins.

Collins, stretched out on the couch, looked up from Voltaire to remind Mark, "It's 6:02."

"He said six." Mark's sweaty fingers dug into the arms of the chair.

When the telephone rang, he leaped to his feet and froze. "Mark, hey, it's Roger--"

"He's canceling," Mark told Collins.

Collins rolled his eyes. Have you ever been in a relationship? "Give him a chance."

"I'm outside the building--"

Mark grabbed the receiver. "I'll be right there." He hung up.

When Mark hit the street, Roger lit up like a streetlamp. He looped an arm around Mark's waist and pulled him close. "Hey," and he kissed him.

"You're late," Mark said.

Roger snickered. "I said around six. I'm sorry. Are you horribly angry?" he asked, jesting.

"I'm sure you'll think of some way to make it up to me," Mark said. Is he wearing eyeliner? "Where are we going?"

"Out to dinner. Come on." Roger slipped his fingers into Mark's back pocket and led him out of Alphabet City.

In the restaurant, Mark caught an entirely fresh glimpse of Roger. Gone was the dirt and grunge of their first encounter, replaced with blue button-down shirt and combed hair. Mark shivered. He had thought Roger looked good onstage. Who was this strange, this gentle, beautiful being who had replaced the feel-it-in-your-groin rock g-d? Mark wanted Roger. Badly.

"Does this place serve meat?" he teased.

Roger grinned. It seemed to be a new grin, but he had one arm wrapped around Mark's waist and had been grinning inanely since leaving Alphabet City. "Yes," he said. "Oh-- I'm sorry, I should have asked… they only have Singha, is that okay with you?"

Mark nodded. "I don't even know that that is."

"Beer."

"I can go a night without beer. I'm not an alcoholic." Would I have been in the club if I was?

"Oh, good! I mean-- not-- well, of course good, but…" Roger stammered.

"It's okay," Mark told him. "Just relax. I'm having a good time."

"Oh, good." Roger sighed. The exhale sounded harassed. "So, do you like spicy food?"

Mark nodded. "Yes." It's sexual. Delicious and horny. "Let's get vindaloo."

Roger chuckled. He leaned across the table to kiss Mark's cheek, and when he sat again in the spindly metal chair, he was blushing. "Vindaloo is Indian," he said. "This place is Thai. But I'll take you for Indian next time," he added, not to sound as though he was gloating. "That is, if you want there to be a next time."

A shiver raced up Mark's spine. Good thing it's you and not the curry that I want. He smiled. "Okay. Hey, is mee krob Thai? I had that once, it was good."

After they had placed their order, Roger said, "So-- Jewish, but not kosher."

"How do you…?"

"You ordered mee krob. Mee krob has shrimp." Roger shrugged. "And I love Sherlock Holmes," he added.

Mark grinned. Was there anything about this boy that was not one hundred per cent adorable? "Deliciousness before kosher," he said.

---

As the two walked back into Alphabet City, Mark's mind raced. He could not remember the last time he felt so strongly attracted to anyone. Should he invite Roger up? He certainly wanted to, but what if that was moving too quickly for Roger? What if he asked and Roger denied the offer?

"I'll walk you to the door," Roger offered. Mark nodded and laced his fingers through Roger's, taking silent note of Roger's tented trousers. Suddenly Mark knew exactly how he wanted this evening to end. Roger knew, too, up to the point at which he stood before Mark and lost his nerve. "W-well, I hope you had a good time--"

"Yeah."

"Great! Good. So, I guess I'll-- mmmf!" Mark had pushed Roger against the wall and sealed his mouth with a kiss. As he continued, their kisses were hot and desperate, lips locking and pulling apart with loud smacks. When Roger let out a particularly throaty moan, Mark pulled back enough to whisper, "Want to come inside?"

Roger practically purred at the innuendo. "I'd love to." The words hurt. Roger felt the thud of his pulse throughout his entire body, heavy as a hammerstroke straight to his groin, but pleasant, like a sugar so sweet he wanted to cry.

He jittered as Mark unlocked the door, at the prospect suddenly harder, desperate. Roger didn't just want Mark, he could have him. The nearness stoked the fire. Roger's stomach tightened. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck. This hurt; Roger was suffering and wanted Mark to make him suffer this ecstasy so pure it hurt.

They stumbled into Mark's bedroom. Mark pushed the door shut with his foot. He could not take his mouth off of Roger's, drawn by the contact of spit against spit, probing harder at Roger's reluctance, as though he would move more if he knew how.

After, when the two had caught their breath and the sheets would never be the same, Mark looked to Roger, lying beside him. He smiled. Hey, beautiful… Mark reached over and stroked Roger's cheek. It was damp. "Roger!" Mark propped himself up on one elbow. "You should have told me! I would have stopped."

"No." Roger shook his head. "I… I liked it. It was good. It was… wow. I… it's just… you were…"

And Mark understood. "Oh my G-d. Roger, you're a virgin?"

---

beepbeepbeep. beepbeepbeep. beepbeepbeep.

Roger moaned; his watch alarm beeped from somewhere nearby. Where…? Oh. Now he remembered. He was in Mark's arms, happy and safe and warm. Roger would gladly have stayed there for hours, had his watched not woken him. He groaned, realizing what he had to do, and left the bed.

After silencing his watch, Roger pulled on his boxers and pants. He was buttoning his shirt when Mark opened his eyes. "Wha… Roger… come back to bed."

Roger hurried to the bed and kissed Mark. "I love you." Roger meant that. He jumped to his feet. "But I have to run."

"Why?" Mark reached out an arm and caught Roger. He pulled him back to bed. Roger allowed this, even played into it, giving Mark playfully little kisses across his face.

"I need to feed the cat before work," Roger said.

"Fine. Have a good day at work, then."

"I'd say the same, but…" Roger laughed. "I'll call you."

Mark tried to squelch a growing feeling of dread. This was sounding more and more like the talk following a one-night stand. And he had believed every word. Was Roger even a virgin? "Can I call you?"

Roger planted a final kiss before saying, "Of course you can," and heading out.

Mark sank back into his mattress. He heard the door close and imagined Roger hurrying down the stairs. It was then that Mark realized that he had permission, he had a telephone, but he was lacking the vital seven digits.

"Fuck!"

TO BE CONTINUED!

Credit to LondonBelow for the "deliciousness before kosher" rule.

Reviews would be most awesome!