Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playin' with the characters.

Collins' joke rang through the loft, his recorded answer, followed by the beep and Roger's cheerful voice. "Hey, guys, are you there? If you're there, pick up! It's me, Roger, calling for Mark... Mark Cohen..."

Mark practically leapt for the receiver. "Roger, hi!" Behind him, Collins mock-shouted, "Touchdown!" Mark threw him a dirty look, which only made Collins laugh.

"Mark!" Roger grinned ear to ear. Just hearing Mark's voice made him smile.

"Hey, I heard you called earlier. Sorry I wasn't home," Mark said. Again his roommate laughed. Please tell me Collins hasn't traumatized you…

"Yeah, I talked to Collins. He's pretty cool. So you were out filming, right?"

"Mmhm, I hadn't filmed in a while. I guess I was in a sort of filming slump." Mark smiled wryly. His 'slump' had lasted for some time, long enough to be more a trend than an abnormality.

Roger wanted to know, "Will I get to see any of what you filmed?"

"Probably not until they're cut and edited and made into a movie."

Which will be never, right? Roger gave himself a mental punch in the mouth. Dammit, Roger, don't do that! Don't fucking do that! "Well, I'm on pins and needles. Anyway, I'm pushing, sorry. I'm sorry. I was calling to ask when you... if you... wanted to get together again."

Mark teased, "I don't know...are you asking me out on another date, or a platonic 'get together'?" He twisted the phone cord around his index finger.

Roger blushed. Someday you can ask me out on a date... "It's a date. Probably a cheap date--sorry. Probably... yeah," he babbled. "But I miss you."

"I miss you, too. And I'd love to go out on another date."

"Great! Where do you want to go? Or should I surprise you?"

Roger's awkwardness relaxed Mark. The last of his doubts were dissipated-- Roger had not lied last time. Not only had he called again, he had definitely been a virgin. His constant habit of referring decisions proved that. "Well seeing as how you asked me out, you decide the place," Mark prompted. "Which reminds me, I realized I don't have your number..." There was an extended silence. "Roger? You there?"

"Yeah. Sorry, lousy line. Did you say something?" Roger asked.

"I don't hear any static... can you still hear me?"

Mark heard a series of high-pitched beeps and frowned. Was Roger dialing? He then heard a muffled shout of, "I'm on the phone!"

A woman's voice replied, "I need the line now, honey! You'll have to call back!" Mark's frown deepened. Roger lived with a woman? What was going on? His heart twisted. Was he being played? Suddenly every affection Mark had felt towards Roger doubled back as a punch in the gut.

"Okay! Hang up so I can say 'bye."

"You're not saying anything you can't say to me."

"I need my privacy!"

She hung up.

"Sorry, Mark, that was my grandma. I live with my grandma, that's why I can't give you my number, she... she's a little crazy, you know?" Roger asked.

"You live with your grandma?" I swear you told me you lived alone with a cat... Mark had liked the image of his awkward boyfriend in a small, well lit but somehow small and drafty at once apartment with a messy bed, a crusty sandwich, his guitar and white socks. "I understand."

"Yeah. My grandma, it's her cat, the one I have to feed every day. Anyway, I should go before she picks up again. You doing anything a week from Sunday?" Roger asked.

"Nope."

"Can I pick you up around two-thirty?"

"You can indeed." He smiled, already excited for this date.

"Great! 'Bye."

---

At five minutes before two-thirty, the telephone rang. Roger waited for the machine with a silly grin and said, "Hey, Mark, it's Roger. You there? Well, I hope so, since we agreed on the time... come on, pick up!" he whined, laughing.

Mark rushed over to the phone from his room and picked up the receiver. "Hey." He was not ready for Roger. His sweater was half over his head; he pulled it on as he listened for Roger's answer.

Roger grinned. "Hey. You coming down, or should I call back in..." he checked his watch "... four and a half minutes?"

"You're usually not that punctual." Mark laughed. "I'm coming down now."

"I was two minutes late!" Roger protested.

"So you admit you were late!" Grinning, feeling victorious, he said, "See you in a few." He attempted to hang up and in the attempt realized that he had pulled on his sweater over the telephone. Mark took off the sweater, hung up the phone, and the pulled on his sweater and his scarf, and hurried down the stairs. He had kept Roger waiting long enough to make him officially late for their third date.

When Mark emerged, Roger kissed him. "Hey."

"Hi." He leaned forward and planted a kiss of his own.

They walked. Roger looped one arm around Mark's waist and slipped his hand into Mark's back pocket. Mark shivered and suppressed a moan. It's obscene how much I love you. It's something out of a cheesy made-for-TV-movie aired on Valentine's Day on The Women's Network. As they were going into the subway, Roger said, "I love this about the city. You can get anywhere."

Mark nodded, agreeing. "They didn't have subways back where you grew up?" he asked.

"Uh... some of it. I mean, we moved out here when I was maybe nine or ten but... sorry." He laughed a bit, blushed a bit. Roger stepped away from Mark to buy their tickets. To improve his mood and because it bounced into his mind, he hummed the first few bars of The Beatles' Ticket to Ride. The usual rush of envy and admiration churned in his gut.

"You don't have to apologize. Every place is different, you know?" Mark stepped up and pecked Roger's cheek.

"I know. Definitely." They sat side-by-side on the subway and Roger wrapped an arm around Mark's shoulders. He wanted to drape himself across Mark completely--but didn't dare. "You ever live outside New York? I mean, you lived in... Rhode Island, right? Sorry, I'm no good at college geography."

Mark nodded. Had he mentioned Brown? Their conversations blurred. Roger asked so many questions, between the deluge and the flattery Mark could only be candid. "Yeah, I lived there for a few years."

"What was college like?" Roger knew he would never get to college, and a part of him was starting to regret that. "Were you happy there?" He wanted to know every tiny detail. At the same time, he wanted to know nothing. He wanted to ignore it, to be on a level with Mark, instead of inferior. Roger cringed internally. He hated being inferior, and he was.

Mark sighed. "College was...I spent my whole life working hard to get into college. I mean it, my whole. damn. life. I was so eager to go...I thought it would be the best years of my life, you know? Elementary, junior high, and high school were all hell and without realizing it, I had placed so many expectations on college life..." He sighed. "When I finally got to Brown, it wasn't anything like I'd thought it'd be. It was more work, more high school. Only harder. I wasn't very happy, so I left."

Roger hugged Mark, protective. Swallow guilt like a snake… swallow envy, swallow bitterness, and let it all boil down to hate. Hate yourself. Hate will set you free. "Poor Mark." Roger nuzzled Mark's neck lightly. "I can't imagine how you must have felt, leaving that behind. Everything you knew, everything you wanted."

Mark leaned into the special embrace Roger offered and asked, "How about you? Why didn't you ever go?" Yikes, this boy can hug. Mark had never been with anyone who relaxed him quite as thoroughly as Roger did.

"I... wasn't the college type. I mean, I always knew I wouldn't... school wasn't for me," Roger mumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Mark would not notice.

Mark did notice. He pulled Roger onto his lap, pressing a soft kiss on each closed eyelid. He whispered, "Hey...we don't have to talk about it. It's okay."

"I love you so much." It's true. All Roger could think about was how upset he iwa, how he wanted to go to college and only now realized how much he wanted it. How he fell into that trap of believe what they told him, believing he had no worth. But Mark cared and loved him, Mark never shouted, and knew he could never say enough times how much that matters.

Mark held Roger close, instinctively knowing it made Roger feel better. After a moment of silence, he commented, "It's never too late, you know." Mark didn't want Roger to feel like this. He wanted Roger to live every one of his dreams without any regret. It was the feeling Mark had chased, leaving Brown.

Roger sighed. He had new dreams now, dreams about his guitar and about Mark--separately, of course. "Let's not talk about this." No need for you to hear my dreary angst. "Tell me about Scarsdale. About being a kid in settled life in the suburbs."

I'd really rather not. "There's not much to say. I probably hated Scarsdale more than I hated Brown."

"I'm sorry." Roger tilted his head to looked Mark in the eyes. He wormed one arm free of the embrace, loath though he was to do so, and rested his fingers against Mark's cheek. Hm. Needs a shave… "Are you happy now, Mark?"

"Where I am?" Mark asked. "Piss poor and unemployed with no promising career ahead of me?" Mark closed his eyes. "I am, if you find that hard to believe. I'm especially happier now." Mark tightened his hold on Roger to get the point across.

Roger held him right back. "I'm glad," he said. "Really glad... that you're happy. Is it horrid that I'm glad you're here with me?"

"Horrid...no. Absolutely not."

"Good. Because right now, I feel... like the luckiest guy in the world." Roger kissed Mark, trying to make himself feel less like a romantic fool.

Mark slipped his hands up Roger's shirt, but only just, returning the sweet kiss. "When is our stop?"

Roger's stomach trembled. "Central Park Station," he said. His eyes tore away from Mark's face to watch the scrolling bar above the door. "We're nearly there."

"Okay." He kissed Roger again. "As long as you're keeping watch for our stop."

"I dunno. Some day I think we should ride the train... just ride the train. Back and forth, all day." Roger flinched. How had he done that, let slip something so thoroughly bald? How had he let his guard down for those few seconds?

"I've done that before," Mark admitted. "I wouldn't mind doing it again."

Roger laughed. "You know, we have food and everything... let's live here, on the subway. Forever, just... totally... suspended. Nothing's real. Just us. Just now."

"That'd be great, wouldn't it? But I'm afraid it's nothing more than a wistful fantasy."

A part of Roger felt the same thing he felt when his parents told him to grow up and stop living in dreams of rock grandeur, but he knew Mark had simply been through the seasons and needed a little cynicism now and again. "Some people think all life's a dream," he offered quietly, bringing his face close against Mark's chest.

Mark kissed Roger soundly, his hands slowly starting to explore the hidden skin underneath his shirt. Roger moaned. He liked Mark's hands there, on his skin, touching him.

Mark shivered. He loved it when Roger moaned. It was so sexy so... so. Mark had begun to nibble on Roger's earlobe when he stopped abruptly and looked up. "Next stop's ours."

Roger groaned. No… "Promise me we'll pick this up again."

Mark grinned. "Maybe."

"Cruel, cruel man." The train ground into Central Park Station. "Come on." Roger stood, shook himself, and helped Mark up.

Once they had exited the subway, Mark asked, "So, where are you taking me today?"

Roger's hand moved of its own volition, his fingers twining themselves around Mark's. "This is... I like to come here. It's pathetic and touristy, but I like it anyway." Roger led Mark by the hand through Central Park.

"I've been here only a few times before. Never on a date, though. Mostly just for filming."

Roger knew he was taking a big risk, being a pathetic romantic, but he stopped before the angel Bethesda. She stood alone, proud, her blank eyes sending a loving chill through Roger. The usual handful of tourists was absent by some cupid-induced miracle. "This is what I wanted to... to share," he stammered. His mouth had gone dry.

"The Angel Bethesda. It heals, supposedly." Mark smiled. It was cute, affectionate, a softness he enjoyed associating with Roger.

Roger nodded. He watched the angel as he started to tell Mark, "I was... born... west. In Los Angeles and I... came here, I... I thought... I was... and things just got so bad... by the time I was eleven, I... and then I... I came here. And I saw her, this one night, after running away. I slept in the park, here, at her feet. And I've always felt like she could... protect me."

Mark was quiet while Roger told a piece of his past and when he finished, Mark commented softly, "Then I guess I'm extremely grateful to her. If she hadn't protected you... I might not have you here today." He blushed at his own words, sounding forced to his own ears even though he truly meant them.

Roger hugged Mark from behind. He could not tell him what she protected him from, how many times he dashed the water over his arms and prayed, as he never did or believed in church.

Mark leaned into Roger's embrace, wishing he could pry further into Roger's story. "I haven't visited her in a long time."

Roger kissed Mark's neck. "Does she protect you, also?" he wondered aloud, eyes on the angel. "What a woman."

Mark squirmed slightly. He liked it when Roger kissed him there. "I don't know if she's appointed herself to protect me… I don't think I've ever asked her to. She must have a million people to look over. I wonder what it feels like to be her."

Roger snickers wickedly. "Well, I don't think you'd like it. For one thing, I'd never do this." He kissed again and again, breathing in the taste of Mark.

Mark giggled and squirmed.

Roger enjoyed that very much. He glanced around the park; there was no one around. It was not exactly a pleasant day: cold, snow on the ground. "Hey, Mark, guess what else we're gonna do here?"

Mark suddenly groaned. "If you suggest hot dogs, I'm going to have to hurt you," he warned.

Roger snickered. "Naw. Picnic. I hate hot dogs. Ketchup is good... hot dogs, no."

"Picnic? We're gonna have a picnic here?" He turned his head and smiled at Roger. "You gonna serenade me with your guitar, too?"

Dammit! I should've brought the guitar! "...I can serenade you a capella if you want."

Mark turned around to face Roger and slipped his arms around Roger's waist. "Only if you want. Though there really is no need." He leaned in to whisper in Roger's ear, "No need to court what's already yours, you know?"

"That mean you don't want me to cook for you?" Roger asked, teasing. "Or are you mocking my singing?"

"Neither, both, who knows?"

Roger laughed. Not you, college boy. The light teasing thought comforted him. "Come on. Let's picnic and... frolic and... romp." He opened his bag and pulled out a picnic blanket.

Mark laughed and said softly, "I'd rather romp in the sheets, not out in the streets." He settled down next to Roger and eagerly waited to see what Roger would pull out of his bag. This was a side of Roger previously concealed from Mark, and that excited Mark immensely. It seemed at every meeting Roger revealed something else he was: rock, taste, and now a (hopefully) talented chef. Mark suddenly wished it was the next date, just so he could know a new side of Roger.

"Hey, romp can be innocent... I'm fuzzy on kosher laws, so if this breaks them in any way, I'm sorry." He upended the bag, spilling out plastic utensils and tupperware containers, blushing at the whiteness. Roger's racial lack of culture had always embarrassed him, but since Collins' nickname at their first meeting, Roger had blushed at his white-middle-class background. "It's, um, fried rice. And cookies. Separately."

"Deliciousness before kosher," Mark said in a singsong voice. He scooted closer to Roger and picked up the romp conversation, still not willing to let it die. "But Roger.. what if I don't want it to be innocent?"

"Then I am slave to your will." Roger kissed Mark's nose. "And you know it."

"So what else did you bring?"

"Um, Cokes and pastries. Have I... mentioned that I like to bake?"

"You mentioned it at the restaurant. I've yet to see if you can bake as well as you moan though." He opened the container with the cookies and took one out.

"Bake as well as I moan," Roger repeated. He blushed. "I'm sorry about... that night. I got a little carried away and... I mean, it was my first time and all, but I do want to... please you." Oh, no, did I just say that out loud?

Mark chuckled. "You don't have to apologize. Unless... oh g-d." Mark put down the cookie. "Did I move too fast for you? Did you not want it? Oh g-d, why didn't you tell me? I would have stopped..."

"No, no, I wanted it. I... I just wish I had had the presence of mind to... do things to you like you did to me."

"Roger..." Mark leaned over and kissed him several times. Roger said nothing. He blushed and lowered his half-closed eyes, unable to keep from smiling at the rain of kisses. "Don't worry about that. There's always next time."

Roger felt better. Less like a stupid virgin. "Thanks, Mark."

Mark couldn't help but tease. "But you know, if you want instruction so you can feel better prepared for the next time we have a good romp, there are these workshops that are being held..."

Roger laughed. "Try the fuckin' cookie."

Mark did and immediately scrunched his face. He forcefully swallowed and repressed a regurgitative spasm. "They're peanut butter cookies!"

"Some of them are." Roger did not know exactly what he had done wrong. Was Mark allergic to peanut butter? Oh, no… "Some of them are macadamia nut..."

Mark tried to forget the horrible taste in his mouth and inquired about the rest of the cookies. "Do any have banana in them? Coconut? Honey? Ginger?"

"No... macadamia nuts, two kinds of chocolate chip, maple sugar, normal sugar, flour..."

Mark picked up the other type of cookie, setting the peanut butter one down. "Remind me to make you a list of all the foods I don't like." He laughed and ate this cookie happily.

Roger shook his head. "Picky," he said, chomping into a cookie of his own. "I still love cookies... I'm such a kid, it's pathetic."

"Not picky. I just know what I like and what I don't."

Roger couldn't help but wonder, "Which list am I on?"

Mark licked his lips. "Mm, definitely under 'favorite dish'."

Roger shivered and took another bite of his cookie. "So, what kind of cookies do you like?" he asked, desperate to think of anything but the stirring in his groin.

Luckily, Mark's taste was specific and complicated enough to distract him entirely from Roger's uncontrolled libido. "Um.. that's a tough one. Cookies that are too sweet or too dry I won't eat. Chocolate cookies are a safe bet. I'm not a big cookie eater." Mark admitted, sheepishsly.

"Sorry." Roger felt somewhat miserable. He had wanted to make their date perfect, after how well last time went. Yet he had gone and cooked something Mark wouldn't even eat. Idiot. You tried to rush things, and look what happened! "I guess... I dunno. I guess I'm clinging to my childhood or... trying to do it right or something. I don't want to harp on or anything, I mean, if I'm boring you, you'll say, right?"

"Roger! Really, I'm having a great time. You're not boring me and these cookies rock." Mark moved to straddle Roger. "What can I do to persuade you?"

Roger's throat tautened. He forced himself to focus on the question and shrugged. "I guess I just assume... I mean, since you don't ask about my past I assume you'd rather not... this is bad. This is a bad time to say it. I was... purely negligent not to say so earlier, but I have baggage."

Mark laughed. "Yeah, you and the rest of the world. Roger, I don't ask because I assume you only say as much as you want to say. I am, well I thought I was, respecting your wishes and your pace to reveal yourself to me."

"I guess I'm... needy. Sorry. Oh, Christ." Roger pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He sobbed dryly, then shook his head and brought his face up. He was not crying. "Sorry. It's a perfect day... let's just... eat. There's stuff other than cookies. These aren't as good, they're bastardized croissants, you know, those French things. They puffed up but the shapes are weird. They have chocolate in them... do you like chocolate, or is that on the 'evil' list?"

Mark simply stared at Roger, sad that Roger was having a hard time enjoying himself in his presence. Is that how I make you feel? Nervous and uncomfortable? Mark shifted on Roger's lap and tentatively leaned forward to plant a slow and gentle kiss on his lips, desperately hoping he could do something right to calm Roger.

Roger didn't move, just let instinct take over. He hugged Mark, which he enjoyed, and fought off the urge to cry. He glanced up at Bethesda. "It's her fucking fault," he muttered. "I always let myself just be around Beth and... sometimes who I am isn't very nice. I'm sorry, Mark. This won't happen again, I promise."

Mark shook his head. "Stop." He trailed one fingertip along Roger's jawline, making Roger tremble with a nauseous mix of nerves, self-loathing and arousal. "Stop apologizing. You don't have to apologize for everything, Roger. You have every right to be who you are. Don't feel that you have to be someone else around me."

I can't be myself. You wouldn't love me. "Do you like who you are, Mark?" It was a question, not a challenge.

Mark, unfortunately, read that as a challenge. "Not always," he said defensively. "But I always try to stay true to myself."

Roger picked at a loose thread on his jeans. "I love you. A lot. I... feel like I've really fucked up today, it's... I had a fight with my... grandmother and... I'm sorry. I've never been in a relationship like this, it's just... I love you. Can we start the date over? We're meeting here, we've just seen each other... can we pretend, Mark?"

"Okay. I can do that." Whatever will shake this mood off you. "We've just met, then, huh? Well then, hello stranger," Mark purred.

"Hey. Did anyone ever tell you that your ass looks fabulous in those pants?" Roger nipped Mark's neck.

"A few, actually." Mark grinned and pressed closer to Roger.

"You really do have a spectacular ass," Roger said. "I mean… wow." He patted the area in question.

Mark blushed and slipped the tips of his fingers under the hem of Roger's pants. "From what I've seen, yours is better…"

Roger laughed and shivered and tried to ignore how hot he felt despite the cold. "Hey, it's better than it was a week ago..." he snickered. "I couldn't sit down!"

Mark smirked and nibbled on his ear. "Tell me it was worth it."

"Worth it? Worth it. Whenever, wherever you want, I'm yours! ...sorry. Was that too fast? It's not just sex, Mark. I mean, the sex is great, but it's you I love."

"Roger, it's fine." Mark sighed. "Just enjoy yourself?" Mark felt horrible but at the way this date was playing out, he had started to wish he was back home.

Roger knew this wasn't going well and tried to bring things back up. "Okay. Cookie? Careful, some of them are peanut butter! Man... I used to eat so much peanut butter, but then... I can only eat it cooked now, 'cause I once threw up almost entirely peanut butter." He laughed at himself. "Um, that's... not exactly what I meant to say."

Mark laughed. "When I was a kid, my mom used to pack my lunch. One year in elementary, she packed me peanut butter sandwiches for a year straight. So now I can't stand the stuff."

"Overdose. I remember leaning out the car window when we were moving, and... it's the strangest thing. Do you want to hear a weird-childhood story?"

"Yes. I do."

"Okay. So my mother and I left Los Angeles when I was eight and we moved, and we were supposed to go all the way out to New York. But halfway there... I mean, we were a mess. I hadn't eaten in days, then I got a tub of peanut butter and ate the entire thing and I just started puking it up, so badly Mom had to stop the car and take me to the hospital to make sure I was okay. And that's why we lived in Taos with her first boyfriend after my dad. Because I ate too much peanut butter."

Mark laughed. "And you can still eat the stuff? Grooooss," he moaned, tossing his head for emphasis.

"Yeah, I know, that's kind of funny. But, when I got older, about fifteen or so and I figured out what actually happened in Taos, I mean remembered more than just being the boy in the photo who stands at the edge of a desert wearing nothing but khaki shorts--very safari--I kind of... I don't know, took revenge? I started eating it again and now I'm hooked."

"I get really random urges to eat peanut butter, I'll admit. Same thing with bananas. But I generally can't stand peanut butter. Especially the crunchy kind."

Roger nodded. "I agree. Mostly because the crunchy kind reminds me too much of puking. I like peanuts, though. And butter, on toast and noodles and things."

"Do you like peanut butter on toast?"

"No. Or cheese. I hate melted cheese on toast, though I like cheese. How about you?" Roger felt a little better. This was going okay--and, surprisingly, because he talked about his past instead of holding back.

"Cheese is great. Cheese on toast is, too."

"Ugh. Not for me. Haha, one time when I was a kid, I tried to eat bone marrow."

"How did you manage that?"

Roger blushed and picked at the loose thread on his jeans. "I... didn't," he admitted. "I tried. I... it was in Taos. I found this bone in the desert and I had seen this documentary on television about our ancestors eating marrow and I thought it seemed neat. Didn't you do stupid stuff as a kid?"

"I was actually really picky about what went into my mouth and what didn't." Mark laughed. "I didn't even like to play in the sandbox with other kids."

"Yeah, well, sandboxes are full of piss and other kids are dirtbags, if you have a childhood anything like mine."

"That's exactly why I hated sandboxes. I never played with dirt, or mud, and I never liked insects."

"Really? There goes my image. I saw you in the science museum, looking at really big bugs. Dead and pinned, but bugs."

"Ugh, no way! In 10th grade I had to dissect a worm and I nearly threw up."

"You don't usurp my status as Vomit King," Roger said, mock-competitive.

"Definitely not. You won that title, hands down. I was a violent kid, though. I chased down a girl on a tricycle."

Explaining the title, Roger said, "My mom used to call me that to tease me to her boyfriend in Taos. Then I puked all over some important stuff. She had such a fit... I liked the name after that. So, a trike, huh? What'd she do to you? And what'd you do to her?"

"I don't remember. But I do remember thinking it'd be excellent revenge. I hit her with the tricycle. She fell, she cried, I was "benched"--" Mark's fingers drew quotation marks in the air "--and banned from using tricycles without adult supervision."

Roger couldn't help it: he laughed. "Excellent. I think I would've liked you when we were kids. I was a bully, but I cried all the time. Not in public, only in private. I was labeled 'disturbed' pretty early on, and..." He shook his head and returned to the loose thread. No more angsty emo bullshit, he scolded.

Mark laughed as well. "Yes, I think we could have gotten along pretty well. But you used to cry? Why?" He sidled close against Roger.

Roger frowned, not at Mark but at a distant past he knew he would never make peace with. "I was really unhappy. I mean... my dad died before we left L. A. and my mom never seemed to like me much after that, she... well, she made me take her maiden name and she... I dunno, I guess Dad was the one who wanted kids. He was great." Roger took a bite of cookie and immediately felt nauseous. "Mom..." and he shook his head.

"Mom..." Mark prompted.

"She used to yell at me if she caught me crying," Roger said. He blinked rapidly, at sunlight glaring off the snow, he told himself, despite the heavy cover of clouds. "She would say mean things. And she didn't seem to give a crap how her boyfriends treated me, though my stepdad, he was okay. He evened her out a lot, too. But by that point, damage done, you know? I mean, I only fought because kids were nasty to me and I wanted them to stop. So I was having a shit time at school and a shit time at home and I... couldn't deal, you know?" Roger hoped Mark did know. The last thing he wanted was to be labeled a freak... again.

Mark nodded. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I was mean for different reasons, reasons that were certainly not justifiable."

Roger shook his head. "Any shit that's been done to me, I've negated it with shit I've done to myself. How about you? Just angry? Dumbass parents? Don't feel like talking about it?"

"Well.." Mark looked away, suddenly interested on the cloth they sat on. It was a series of beach towels sewn together. He sat on the seam between blue sharks and green trees with a little red car at the bottom. "I'm going to sound like a total brat."

"No, you're not. I promise."

"When I was a kid, I was taught values and to be respectful and whatnot, but I also figured on my own how to be manipulative. How to always get my way and indirectly control those around me. I was kinda bossy. Hell, I still am. And that's exactly how I was at school. I was the assumed leader in all groups. I felt I had every right to be. I was smarter, I knew what was best for everybody, I knew how to control. I wasn't a tyrant, I didn't tell people what to do, but if I wanted something done, it had to get done. And if anyone ever got out of line... I'd get mad."

Roger grinned. "I think we would've been great friends," he said.

Mark blushed. "Maybe. But anyway, that's why I hit the girl with a tricycle. She threatened my power." Mark shook his head and laughed. "And I was only four!"

"Yeah, but she threatened you! And you triked her ass. No, I know I would've liked you. I wanted someone to boss me around."

Mark kissed Roger suddenly with a passionate force. "Do you still want that?"

Roger pulled Mark nearer and kissed him back. His hands groped for hold; one found Mark's shoulder, the other his hip. "Yes," Roger gasped between breathy kisses.

"I'm more than happy to oblige, you know."

Roger kissed Mark again. "Yes." It was all he could think to say.

Mark ground into Roger.

Roger shivered. His hips thrust without his telling them to. He waited for Mark to tell him what to do, eager to obey. He was eager to fuck and be fucked.

Mark moved his kisses from Roger's lips to his neck, grateful when Roger tilted his head back to offer more skin, more than a little aroused at the helpless moan raised from Roger's lips.

The pace twisted Roger in two. First the grind to get him jumping, and now kissing? His hand moved to his too-tight jeans.

Mark felt Roger's hands move and he pulled back, shaking his head. "Romp in the sheets, not in the streets." He gave Roger a meaningful look.

Roger's hands immediately clasped together, and he nodded. Sorry, Marky. "So... back to your place?" he asked, hoping he was not pushing his luck. Was Mark just teasing him?

"How fast can this be packed up?"

Roger scooped everything into the bag. It bulged, but closed. "That fast."

"Then let's go." Mark bit his lip when he found himself aroused. His plan to simply flirt had backfired and he was hot, his pants growing tighter by the second.

Mark and Roger were locked in a heated mass of fumbling fingers, fused lips and freeing buttons, when they tumbled into the apartment. A full laugh interrupted them. "Have a nice date, Mark?" Collins asked.

TO BE CONTINUED!

This is probably the longest chapter you'll get... but hey, it's pretty damn long! I tried to split it somwhere, but that didn't work well.

Next chapter: the date will end and you will learn a truth about Roger.

Please review?