Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jonathan Larson. I'm just playing.

WARNING: SEX! In this chapter, the Boho boys "do it".

One of the biggest disadvantages to unemployment, Mark found, was that he had no reason to leave the house. If he wanted to stay home all day, staring at the telephone and wishing his boyfriend would call him, he could. For the first few days, he did, all the while wondering what had happened to scare Roger off. The date had not gone well, Mark knew that, but there had been some passion, some fusion, and then--

"If you don't get out of the house today, I'll disconnect the phone," Collins threatened.

Mark turned to him. "What did you say to him?" he asked.

"Why do you assume it's something I said?" Collins asked lightly. You're obsessed, he thought, amused.

Because otherwise it's something I did! The fact was acknowledged wordlessly by both men. "You kicked him out of the apartment," Mark said.

Collins nodded. "Just like I'm gonna kick you out if you mope around all day. Just for a few hours," he added. So Mark got out and filmed. Collins suggested he find a job, but Mark didn't. Being out those few hours was enough, and not finding Roger's voice awaiting him on the answering machine was worse.

Ten days passed before Roger called again, and he sounded like hell on the answering machine: "Hey, it's Roger. Listen, I'm sorry I haven't called..."

Mark was curled up on the couch trying to focus on the book Collins had leant him, but if anyone asked, he would not even be able to give the title. He looked up and debated picking up. Instead he listened for Roger's excuse.

"I was sick. I can... hell, I can bring the hospital papers by if you don't believe me. Um, or I can just... fuck off and die. Give me a cue, huh?"

"Holy shit," Mark swore as he stumbled off the couch and picked up the phone. "Holy hell, baby, are you okay?" What the hell happened? he wanted to asked. Why were you in the hospital? Are you okay now? Tell me everything. He forced himself to hold back.

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. He's not angry. "Yeah. I'm a lot better now, thank you, I... I thought you'd be pretty pissed."

"No, no… I thought you were mad at me or something. Or at Collins, I don't know." Does it matter? What's wrong, dammit! "Oh g-d, Roger, can I go visit you or something?"

"No, I'm out now, they released me... day before yesterday? I'm still pretty sick, I don't want to infect you guys, but I had to talk to you."

"What happened to you?" Mark was clutching the phone tightly, trying not to freak out. His baby was in the hospital and no one would tell him anything. Frustration boiled behind his eyes.

Roger took a deep breath. "I... I did something stupid, and... I woke up in the hospital. Just pneumonia."

"Just pneumonia!" Mark repeated. His fingers twisted around the receiver. "Oh g-d, tell me you're in bed right now."

"Uh... no. The phone isn't next to my bed. I'm in the hallway."

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "Roger, I appreciate you calling me, I'm really glad you did, but right now I'd rather you be in bed resting. Please, I don't want you to have to go back to the hospital."

Roger rolled his eyes. "I'm much better," he said. "I'm still showing symptoms--" All right, he was still tired and had a light fever and, yes, he hadn't been eating enough, but that would worry Mark. The last thing Roger wanted was to upset Mark in any way. "--but really I think moving around is best. Anyway, how are you?"

"Worried. Wishing you'd listen to me and rest." Mark sighed. "Also missing you. Wishing you were here. Imagining our last date ended... differently."

Sarcasm flared in Roger's mind: Oh, you don't know. "I miss you, too. That's why I called. I thought you must be pretty upset with me, since you didn't know, and now... well, I can't exactly go out for another few days, but we can re-do the date--properly. Without Beth and with the happy ending. I promise."

Mark smiled into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great. Now please, please rest. I'm worried for you."

Roger didn't want to hang up. Grudging it, "All right. I'll write you a letter, then, and call again when I can. 'Bye, Mark."

"Bye."

Roger hung up and trudged back to bed. He expected not to be able to sleep, too busy thinking about Mark and what they would do next time, but within seconds of pulling the covers over his body Roger felt his eyelids close and his breathing deepen. He fell asleep before two minutes were up.

---

ROGER

When I next called, the first thing Mark asked was, "Are you better?"

I laughed. "Yes, Mama," I replied sarcastically. Actually my own mother had been less concerned for my health than Mark-- once I was out of the hospital, she only kissed my forehead each morning and told me if she thought I was still feverish. Having someone actually care filled my belly with a warm feeling of comfort. It meant so much to, his concern. I nearly wept.

But guys don't do things like that.

"Completely?" Mark persisted.

"Completely," I affirmed with a nod Mark could not see. I clutched the telephone tightly. "I want to see you again."

"Come over tomorrow," he said. It was a Saturday.

"Do you have anything in mind that you want to do?" I asked.

You… "Just be on time," Mark said. "Six o'clock?"

"Six," I agreed. "Hey, Mark… let me cook for you." You don't eat enough. I can tell. You're too skinny. "No peanut butter," I promised, "very romantic."

"Here at the loft? Um, okay. And that's six o'clock sharp!" he teased.

At 5:52, Mark was lounging on the couch once more not reading the Sartre Collins had leant him. In his mind, I was over-- or, more accurately, under, on the couch, panting Mark's name, and Mark… "Mark!" A shout broke from his dream and infiltrated his consciousness. "Ma-ark! It's Roger!"

Mark climbed out onto the fire escape and immediately broke into a grin. "Impostor!" he called down. "Roger Davis is never on time!"

I laughed and held aloft a tupperware container. "I brought your dinner!" Mark blew me a kiss and tossed down the keys. In a matter of seconds I was in the loft, pressing my lips hard against Mark's. All the missing we had done in the past two weeks flared behind that kiss, twining our fingers in one another's fingers and hair and belt loops. When we broke apart, I gasped, "I missed you."

Mark pecked my cheek, almost platonically. "I missed you, too," he said. "You can go ahead and use anything in the kitchen."

I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows---wish I could raise one, but alas!--and say, "Would you mind going in the kitchen for me, Mark?"

Slightly perplexed, Mark walked into the kitchen and planted his feet firmly. I kissed him, long and hard, holding him tight against me, ruffling his hair with one hand. "You said," I told him after the kiss, "that I can use anything in the kitchen..."

He laughed. "I meant it," he said, planting a kiss on my lips, "so make use of it while you still hold this freedom."

Jeez. Mark, in my arms, kissing me... do I really want anything more? Well, sex, yeah, but I was not terribly horny right then. I was a little too hungry to be horny, but no way was I releasing Mark until he told me to. I kissed him again and if I knew how, I would have stuck my tongue in his mouth. Instead I sucked his lip as I pulled away. Hm. He had been drinking orange juice.

Mark sighed. He had a goofy smile on his face as he hopped up onto the counter and sat there, watching me explore the kitchen. "What are you going to make?"

I find a big pot (also a big stash of pot, probably Collins' if I dared hazard a guess) and poured out the contents of my Tupperware. "It's Irish stew," I told Mark. "It's... have you ever had it?" I took out another Tupperware and drained the water into the sink as the stew heated.

Mark shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Never even heard of it till now."

"Well, it's... it's the same basis as most British foods. I'm sort of a history nerd. In my sophomore class, I used to... well, I just loved it." That's okay, right? I don't sound too close to it, do I? "Anyway, British foods always have an emphasis on starches--like Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, that kind of thing. Do you cook a lot?" He certainly did not seem to, but I said nothing, lest it offend him.

"I'm afraid I don't.'"

I had to stand on tiptoe to peck his cheek. "Good thing you met me, then. I love cooking. And, wow, I love having someone to cook for!" Which is my way of saying I love you.

"It's a good thing you're good at cooking," he said, "or else I'd have to force feed myself to keep you happy." After the cookie fiasco, it was a relief to hear. I shot him a quick smile, but just as I was moving away to return to the stew, Mark threaded a hand through my hair and guided me in for another kiss. He certainly did not hurt me, but he was stern-- Mark would have that kiss. Bolts of heat tingled in my limbs. I wanted him.

But he released me, so I withdrew. "You make me happy. The you-ness of you." Have I mentioned that I love Dr. Seuss? "Oh--my stew's boiling." I jumped over, added thyme from a little canister I brought, added the potatoes, stirred, covered, simmered. "Ok, so that simmers for about an hour now. How can we occupy ourselves for an hour? Hmm..."

Mark wondered aloud, "Oh whatever will we do to pass the time away?"

I couldn't help myself: I pulled Mark into a kiss, not a chaste kiss at all, pressing my lips hard against him and doing things, hopefully the right things, with my tongue. Oh, G-d, Mark, I want you!

Mark moaned. "Roger, I want you."

"Here or the bedroom?' I asked quickly. I really wanted to unbutton his fly and start sucking, but if that wasn't what he wants, or if he only likes it in bed--whatever he wanted, I was willing.

He kissed me again, hot kisses spiking a fever in my groin. "Don't care, just want you now," he responded while planting kisses down my jawline. He slid slowly off the counter, ultimately landing softly on his feet and pressing himself against me.

I nodded slowly, trying to work within his kisses, opened my mouth to his while my fingers fumbled blindly with his fly. We were so tight against one another I could barely move my fingers, but... aah. And I slid down to my knees.

His fingers found my short hair again as I took him in my mouth.

I had never done this before. I wanted to tell Mark that I'm sorry if I'm not good, but instead I just began. I didn't take all of him in my mouth, but apparently it was enough because after a couple moments' sucking and teasing with my tongue, Mark was getting hard.

He moaned. His hands tugged at my hair, knuckles pressing into my scalp, enjoying the way my tongue and cheeks pressured him gently. My mouth was warm and wet and soft, and Mark shivered before thrusting into me. I welcomed him, moaning in my muffled way as I continued to bring him harder. I raised my hands and slid them up Mark's shirt. I touched his nipples before my hands come to rest, wrapped gently along his sides, holding onto him as he holds on to me. I turned my head and pressed closer, letting him have as much of me for his as he pleased, and he pleased!

Mark moaned. I continued sucking. He thrust again, repeatedly, bringing his pelvis into my face until he came into my throat.

Mark panted and pulled his hands from my hair to lean heavily on the counter. "Oh G-d… Roger…"

I didn't know what he wanted me to do, but he released me which I took as a cue to take him out of my mouth. I swallowed as I buttoned up his pants; it was too deep to bother spitting. Oh, G-d, I hope he liked it! He sounds like he liked it. I liked hearing him say my name in that breathless whimper.

About the time his breathing evened, he blushed. "Y-you didn't have to swallow it, Roger."

It was not that big a deal. I mean, it was just so deep already, and I didn't really mind. I just shrugged and said, "It doesn't matter." I liked giving him a blowjob. I hadn't expected to enjoy sucking dick, but the tug at my hair, the moans of my name, they made me more than a little hot.

"Um, Mark, would you..." I tried not to glance down. How do you ask someone something like this? "Could you..." give me an orgasm? "...do something to me? Just... I mean... touch me or, or something?"

Mark groaned. "I want to fuck you," he said.

I didn't need a second to think about it. I nodded. "Yes." I wanted him inside me. I may have been young, but I was ready. I felt it. I was ready for this.

"Bed."

This guy's really dominant. I wonder if he's the same with women... I assumed he had been with women because of what he said last time. Is it just men? Just me? I could be too much a Severin, maybe that's why... but I liked it. When he ordered me into his room, I felt a rush of blood to the groin.

In Mark's room, I took off my jeans and began folding them.

He pushed me down onto the bed, growling, "Fold them later." For a moment, before I obeyed and lay down, I felt him hard against me and I groaned. I wanted him so badly it hurt.

I blinked. It was insane how hot this was making me. I rolled onto my stomach and hiked up my shirt so it didn't get in the way of anything. This is how pandas have sex. I mean, the woman does this thing called 'presenting'-- squashing my dorkiness, I tried to think of something to say, but there were no words. Some poet I am...

He asked me what I wanted; is that a normal question when someone's stretched naked on your bed? I responded as such. Mark snickered, assuming I was joking which I half was.

He pushed his fingers into me a little less than gently, a little more urgently than lovingly. I wasn't expecting that, and I gasped. That felt good. "Do that again," I muttered. Mark slipped in another finger. "Oh my G-d. Please." I could feel my stomach heaving with each breath. I needed him. "Oh, G-d, Mark, please."

Mark paused. His fingers ware inside me, but they didn't move, and it took every ounce of will I possessed not to thrust up against him. "Please what?" he asked.

Oh, dominating. Okay, I think I get his kink now. "Please..." I didn't want to say fuck, but sodomize is too formal. I settled on the archaic, "...take me." And he did. He was bigger than I remembered.

He was acting on passion and he didn't treat me badly, just a little roughly. He was in so far that his hips ware pressed up against my bottom, and Jesus, Mary and Joseph it hurt so good I wanted to cry. I imagined I felt him against the skin of my belly as he thrust. A couple of times it was just motion inside me, then he hit the right spot and I cried out. My skin arched and tingled; I want him, I want him! I'm hard and I'm Sisyphus, inching closer but I have no control, it's Mark, and I realize my metaphor is faulty. I'm the boulder and he is Sisyphus, Sisyphus thrusting inside me and there are lulls when he doesn't quite hit right for three or four thrusts, a torture of empty motion inside me…

My chest was tight. I couldn't make my lips form any word but his name, and the words 'please' and 'yes'.

Is he intentionally making me wait? I want to come, this is sooo good I want him to take me higher, harder, faster, Mark, please, please, don't stop, please, Mark, please, please... oh. Oh. Oh! Almost, almost, I can feel it, I can feel dynamite in my gut, oh, Mark, ouch, Jesus Christ, I've never felt... was it like this last time? Was he this big, this hard, this rough? It was a burst of pure glory as he tore me up inside, and it was the pain that makes this so good I could hardly breathe, and then it's--

"Mark! Ma-ark..." His name sounded like a sob because I couldn't catch my breath. I came and my eyes shut and, oh, G-d, I lay still while he finished on top of me, and it was so good I think I was crying. Don't stop. It's beginning to hurt as he rolls off of me, but I don't want him to stop, not yet, not ever.

MARK

After a long while of lying together, each feeling the heat rolling off the other, I cleared my throat and asked, "Are you okay?" I wanted to ask him if he enjoyed it, but my pride wouldn't allow me to. I looked over at him and it hit me: another hot wave. Fuck, I can't possibly want it again, can I? I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. Anything else. Like... the starving, AIDS-ridden children of Africa.

"Yeah," he told me. "You're... wow." And he chuckled breathlessly.

Not helping! I groaned and turned away, repressing an urge to pull him into my arms and beg him to sate me, to fuck me like I just did him.

Roger rested a hand on my shoulder. "You okay, baby?"

"I'm… fine," I breathed out as I slowly slipped my hand southwards. I didn't want to come off as some really needy, really horny boyfriend. I'd rather take care of it myself.

Roger's fingers trailed down my chest, following the soft fuzz into my groin. "If I make you hard," he asked quietly, "would you want to... to... do that again?"

Without thinking, I found myself nodding vigorously, answering him without a second thought. "Only if you promise we can switch roles."

"Um... I've never... If you're sure," he said.

I nodded again. "I would really like that."

"Okay." He withdrew his hand and I felt the brush of his arm as he began to stroke himself.

ROGER

Just as I was beginning to rise, there was a loud ringing in my ears and oh! It's the timer. A sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it. I wouldn't have minded giving Mark what he wanted, but I felt so worn out. I needed a break.

I fumbled with my jeans, my arms limp as spaghetti noodles, clumsy fingers slipping with the buttons, but I was finally dressed and I wandered into the kitchen.

By the time Mark arrived, I was busy mixing the last herbs into the stew. I overcooked it perfectly. I always overcooked it, let the potatoes lose their essence and become a sort of delicious potato-y mush that's hot and feels good on the throat. "Hungry?" I asked Mark. I was. I didn't realize how hungry I was!

Mark's stomach growled before he has a chance to respond. He blushed and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

I found the utensils and bowls. He could hadve been a bit more helpful here! "Do you have a ladle?" I asked. Mark just shrugged. "...you don't know?" How can he not know? He lives here! "Um, okay." I dug through a few more drawers. "Why are there condoms in here?" I asked. The ladle was in the next drawer. I doled out dinner, enjoying the vapors that settled on my face.

Mark didn't take the bowl when I offered it. He was playing some game that I didn't completely understand, so I just set the bowls on the table, set the spoons beside them, and sat. I didn't eat, though. I was waiting for him. He joined me, before sitting down commenting, "Next time you should wear an apron."

I spooned up a bite of stew. I didn't eat it, still waiting. I may have been a misfit, a bad son, a failure, but I had good manners, dammit! I smiled. "You really make me want to analyze gender roles in the gay community," I told him. I glanced at my jeans and wondered, "You meant instead, didn't you?"

Mark just smiled and tasted the stew. "This is really good."

He did mean instead!

"Thanks." I thought of all the things I like to cook, all the things I wanted to cook for him, and suddenly realized--"I bet I could make you hot with my cooking." I was thinking of a very strong drug, one no one even knows is a drug. I was thinking of chocolate.

Mark sputtered, "Y-you can what?"

"Make you hot," I repeated. I could, too. I was thinking me, topless (not naked, lest I should make cum-and-chocolate candies), the usual streaks of raw ingredient-- melted bitter and semi-sweet chocolate slashed across my chest and my arms, and Mark licking… I shivered with a sudden desire to feel his tongue on me.

"How?" Mark asked.

And liked that, having the upper hand. If I hadn't grown inhibitions from our Venus in Furs unit, I might have smirked. I didn't gloat, I flirted. "Invite me back," I told him, "and I'll show you." Mark smiled and went on eating. I grinned. I was definitely going to be invited back. And I was eating, feeling much less exhausted, though still a little sore back there. "I love you," I told him casually, then filled my mouth with stew. And I really meant it.

MARK

Our dinner was filled with an easygoing conversation and I was glad it wasn't forced at all. We were falling into a comfortable state of just being around each other and I loved every moment. As soon as we both finished our stew, Roger immediately whisked away the bowls.

"That was really good, Roger." I began to stand up, thinking dinner was over and ready to help him wash up. He was a guest, after all!

"Sit," Roger said from the kitchen. :Dinner's not over yet." I complied.

He set a plate in the middle of the table, a plate piled with… "Red cupcakes?"

He nodded. "Red velvet cupcakes," he said, then a look of vague horror crossed his face. "You... don't like them?"

I smiled. "There's a first time for everything," I told him and I took a bite. It's weird to have someone stare at you when you're eating, so I made a point to avert his gaze. The cupcakes ware moist and just slightly crumbly. Roger was watching me out of the corner of his eyes, and good G-d... this boy works miracles in the kitchen. "These are really good, Roger."

He grinned. "Thanks."

This date was quickly turning out to be one of my favorites, I mentally decided as Roger initiated another kissing session. We'd slowly traveled to the couch to sit and chat and digest, but I guess he was done digesting, and for that matter, so was I.

"Do you still want me to...?" he asked, his hand hovering above my fly.

"Only if you're willing to."

ROGER

Well, I've had some really kinky thoughts over the course of the meal, but... "Um, the only thing is, I didn't bring any condoms." Because I don't own any.

"There's some in the kitchen," he said before pulling me in for another kiss.

I know this is awkward, but, "Please tell me they're your condoms." Because I think your roommate just might kill me.

Mark paused. After a few seconds I knew I wouldn't like the answer. "No, they're not."

"Uh... I'm not comfortable with that," I told him. "I'm sorry. Um, we...we can still... if you don't mind that I'm not wearing one." It's not like he wore one in me.

"There's lube in the bedroom. All I ask is that you use something."

Okay, I can do that. And since he had done it twice to me, I knew how to use it. I slid off the couch and scooped Mark into my arms. He was a bit heavy for such a scrawny thing, but I had done weight training at school. I carried him into the bedroom and set him down on the bed, where he immediately began to unbutton his pants.

"It's in the first drawer," he informed me.

By the time I found it, Mark had stripped himself and-- oooh, G-d. I thought I would have to touch myself, but no, I was hard just looking at him, all smooth, milky skin, and, oh, G-d, I can't explain what's happening to me. He was so pale, so… so beautifully curved. I swallowed and sat on the bed. I wanted to touch him, I needed to. I reached out, but lost my nerve. I stroked his thigh with three fingertips. It was not enough.

It was difficult to unbutton my jeans, thanks to my penis deciding to go erect before I wanted it to. "If I hurt you, say. I've never done this before," I reminded Mark.

He nodded. "I trust you."

I wouldn't trust me. I had never done anything like this. It was different. I felt responsible now. My nails weren't sharp-- I bit them-- but my fingers ware callused, and I wished there was a gentler way to lube up than sticking my fingers into Mark's ass. I only used one finger, afraid to hurt him. I wiped the excess onto my erection. "If you're not liking this--"

"Roger, I want it," Mark said.

I didn't know if this would be clumsy. What if I didn't put it in right? But then, there was only one way to go, and that's how I went in. I felt Mark move under me, and I wanted to ask if it was hurting him, but he moaned and there were no two ways about the sound he made. I kissed his shoulder. I thrust gently. I was not keen to do this, suddenly. I was hard, I wanted him, but... I made little circles with my hips.

"Roger… oh G-d, move," he begged.

I don't want to... what if he doesn't like it? But he wanted me to. I thrust hard. Mark moaned loudly. "That's good…" Bolder, I thrust again, a healthy medium between my earlier shyness and my enthusiasm. I conjured my electronic metronome. Duple? Too fast. Triple? Too slow, made me think of a waltz. Quadruple it was, then, 12341234 and Mark was moaning and writhing, saying my name in a way that told me he definitely liked this. I kept the steady rhythm until it was lost and I rose to the treble clef, each heartbeat a chord, a thrust, a steadily increasing rhythm. My eyes began to roll and I knew I was close; he cried my name, gasping, and I thrust once more, harder, deeper; he gasped out an '"Oh!" Thrust again, again, moving my entire body with the rhythm and the pulsepulsepulse into him and oooh. I came. I barely have the energy to collapse on the bed next to him. My arms were trembling.

"Was... that good for you?" I asked Mark.

MARK

Ignoring the sharp pain that shot up when I moved, I rolled onto my side and pulled him into an embrace. It had been a while since I'd last been sodomized, and I had forgotten how good, and I suppose how painful, it could be. "It was really good," I told him. "You can do that to me any time." And I meant it.

Roger smiled. His chest heaved and he kissed me. His eyes told me that he was not ready to sleep yet. Exhausted, I pulled him in a bit closer so I could rest my head on his chest. If Roger wanted to talk after sex, I wouldn't know, I was fast asleep in seconds.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Reviews would be awesome! Not as good as Roger in my bed... or Mark... or Maureen... or Collins... you get the idea. Not as good as not sleeping alone at night, but definitely good!