Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.
A/N: Mark is a tad OOC...I made him an ass because he has plenty of reasons for being one. He's taken for granted a lot. Plus, asshole Mark just gets my juices flowin'.
"Roger, I hate you." Mark frowned as he looked in the mirror. He had never seen something this hideous since that time Aunt Francis made him wear that stupid jumper with the dreidel on it for Hanukkah. Even at five years old he understood the word ugly, but now it was beyond that.
"Oh, it's not that bad. Quit whining." Roger adjusted his bunny ears and tie.
"Easy for you to say," Mark grumbled, trying to stretch the lavender spandex as far as it could possibly go over his chest. "Roger, has it ever occurred to you that this is the most degrading thing a male could ever do?"
"Listen," Roger turned around, pointing his finger at the filmmaker, "this is paying our rent. Plus, I think it will help you get in touch with your sexuality."
"I am in touch with my sexuality!" Mark stomped his foot and the bunny ears fell off, "I like girls!"
"But girls aren't sure about your sexuality, Mark Cohen. You kissed me the other day and confused that girl at the Life."
"I kissed you on the head and it was solely because you were able to find that piece for my camera!" Mark whispered harshly, "It wasn't because I wanted to screw you."
"There's nothing wrong with being curious, Mark. I love women, but I experiment…sometimes."
"Roger," Mark huffed, "I really don't want to hear about this. You're sounding like my mother, but in a perverted sort of way." The blonde pulled down his top and took a deep breath. "This isn't a gay club, is it?"
"No," Roger sighed, "it's fetish."
"What the fu –" But Mark was being pulled out of his hole-in-wall dressing room and into a dark hallway. The smell of booze and neon lights and sweat filled the area and Mark tried to pull away. He didn't want to be a fetish. He wanted to go home and take a hot bath.
"Here." He was given a serving tray and directed toward the bar. The club was dark, with the exception of a few strobe lights and strategically placed black lights, and he was just getting used to his glasses.
"You okay?" Roger shouted above all the noise and Mark gave a firm nod…if he had to be stuck here, he was going to be better than Roger. He was going to be the sexiest bunny he could be, even if it meant flirting with some men. The first table he went to consisted of a circle of older businessmen, who took an obvious interest in him. He was skinny and pale, easily submissive and they lapped it up. One man gently touched his thigh and Mark flinched.
"What? You don't like older men?" The rest of the table chuckled and Mark grit his teeth.
"Honey, you just aren't my type." Did he just say honey? Mark couldn't believe his mouth. He left quickly to go pick up another order at the bar. He stumbled over to a separate table which was flanked by young women.
"Wait," one called as he turned around, "aren't you the guy that kissed that other guy in the coffee shop?"
If Mark had ever blushed before, it was mediocre compared to the blushing he did now. It was that same girl from the coffee shop, the one who had witnessed the friendly exchange between Mark and Roger. "Um, it wasn't exactly a kiss…"
"No, I mean…" She shook her head, trying to think, "your friend just brought us some drinks and…"
Mark waited for her to continue. Her friends were silently laughing and she frowned at them all, displeased at their reaction. "And, um, never mind."
"Enjoy." Mark turned away fast. He wanted to cry…or break something. Preferably Roger's neck. He returned to the bar and loaded his tray.
"Wait!" The girl approached him at the bar, flushed and out of breath, "Listen, that was stupid…"
"No, it's okay," Mark cut her off and pushed back his bunny ears, "just leave me alone." Before she could protest, he left. He had never been like that to a person, especially of the opposite sex. Girls were mean. No, they were heartless. He continued his serving, only to gain two phone numbers and a bruising pinch on his ass. Roger seemed to be doing much better; dollar bills were draped in his shorts and he was grinning from ear to ear.
"Who's Debbie?" Roger picked up the napkin that had smudged lipstick on it with a frantically scribbled down number that was smeared by Mark's nervous sweat.
"Oh, I don't know." Mark peeled off the purple skin that clung to his torso. Roger tossed the number in the trashed and pulled on his jeans.
"So," Roger whistled, "how was it?"
"I'd rather starve to death and gut myself so I can eat myself than do that again," Mark sighed, removing his shorts and glancing at the developing spot on his right buttock. The bruise was flowering into a brilliant purple and Mark whimpered.
"That made no sense at all."
"Probably because you enjoy things like letting strangers fondle your crotch and have eye-sex with you."
"Yeah," Roger scoffed, grabbing his jacket and exiting the dressing room.
"One." He held up a solitary finger and the host at the Life seated him to a single table in the middle of the café. He set the ratty bag on the chair across from him and pulled out a pen. He had told April he'd do her taxes on the promise that she'd clear up his bill at the bar she worked at; trying to pick up girls never really played to his luck and all he had left over was a tab full of cosmopolitans and cocktails.
"Bunny boy." He looked up. The waitress was the same girl who'd embarrassed him at the fetish place last night – he could barely sit down this morning because of the dreadful place.
"Oh, hi."
"Now I guess I'm serving you drinks, right? Minus the thong and fishnets."
"It wasn't a thong and I don't wear tights," Mark mumbled and she rolled her eyes.
"Whatever," she sighed, "what would you like?"
"A tea, lemon, sugar."
"Anything else?" she grinned, "a carrot perhaps?"
Mark flared his nostrils, upset. "What's your problem? Yes, I was there and yes, I was dressed up, but I didn't make any mention that you're some fat waitress over at the Boho coffee shop for queers and artists."
"Go fuck yourself." She ripped off the ticket and tossed it on the table, leaving him to rethink. Asshole Mark Cohen. Did he really mean it? She wasn't exactly fat but not thin by any standards and wasn't he an artist?
He stood. She was behind the bar, keying in an order on the register and he slowly leaned against the edge.
"I didn't really mean that." Yes I did, but I'm just trying to wipe that awful frown off your face. I'm not really an ass all the time, just when my roommate manages to grab me by the nuts and make me go to fetish clubs like that one.
She cocked an eyebrow and went back to flipping through the orders.
"I don't really have a sense of humor today." Actually, it's not any better when I do have one…it's almost non-existent.
"Listen," she whispered, "all I wanted to say was I'm sorry about the whole thing last night. I said it wrong and whatever, I'm sorry, you make a great bunny. There." She pulled the lever on the register and shoved the receipts in the drawer.
"Do I still get a tea?"
She laughed. "I've already spit in it."
"Oh." He backed up from the bar, "Then you better make it a coffee. Tea just doesn't sound as appetizing."
"What were you doing at that club anyways?" she poured him a coffee and walked back to his table.
"Oh, paying rent."
"You pay rent by letting people handle your genitals while you serve shooters?"
He sat down. "Um, that was my first time."
"That other guy was really good. Hot, too. Is he gay?"
Mark sighed, "The jury's still out on that one."
"Are you gay?"
"Oh no, I'm completely interested in women." He nodded. "I like vaginas."
She stifled a laugh and smiled, "Well, that's nice. Have a good one."
"The check?"
She shrugged, "It's on me."
I like vaginas? Mark was sure that would be a low point in the book of his life.