Pairings: (now) sexual tension/implied/actual MR, MarkOC, RogerOC, MarkRogOC.

A/N: I wanted a love triangle and massive confusion! I promise it's going to get raunchy soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

He went back to that damn place.

Roger dragged him again. Tonight they were doctors; Roger opted for the headband with the metal circle on it, while Mark preferred something normal – a stethoscope. It hung low, bumping his secured crotch while he wove in and out of the crowd. His white coat had the name Dr. Wellhung stitched on the breast and a few pens peeking out of the pocket. He had opted for glasses tonight, because it made him look – dare he say it – sexier.

"Hey there." A few men had brushed their fingers gently past his lower stomach, thigh, any place he'd allow them. They pushed a few dollar bills into the waistband of his pants and he ventured to wink at them, sashaying back to the bar. He grabbed a small order, two gin and tonics, and walked over to a corner table. He stopped.

"You're here?"

It was the waitress. She smiled, nodding. "Someone said you'd be here again tonight."

"Oh." He set down the two drinks and didn't move. "Are you here with someone?"

"A friend," she replied, "but could you take a break for a minute? That drink's for you."

Mark swallowed and sat down, setting his serving tray beside him. He picked up the glass and drained it quickly, exhausted. He looked at her.

She wasn't really fat, but her face was full and she had a dimple on her right cheek. Her mouth was kind of lop-sided but her lips were nice, all framed by a head of golden brown hair and darker eyes; Mark really couldn't tell what color they were in the pulsating light.

"How much are you making tonight?" she asked, tracing the bottom of her glass with her finger.

"A lot, as a matter of fact…" he extracted the bills and she raised her brows.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

She looked around. "Where's your friend?"

Mark touched his glass again, "Who knows?"

She looked back at him and her eyes darted to his jacket. "So, are you?"

"What?"

"Dr. Wellhung?"

"Oh," Mark laughed, "um, I guess."

"That's what every man says."

"Well, I'm Wellhung tonight."

She laughed at his joke and he chuckled lightly. It was a good joke. Maybe he did have a sense of humor.

"I'm Estella." She held out her hand and he took it.

"Mark. Mark Cohen."

A young man approached the table and slid in next to Estella.

"Is this the guy?" the man asked, pointing to Mark and Estella turned her head.

"No," she replied slowly, "this is just the waiter. He brought me two rounds." She pushed the empty glasses to Mark, who stood and placed them on his tray. She took out a few bills and scooted over to him.

"Thanks." Her hand gently brushed the stethoscope, fingertips pressing hard on his genitals as she inserted the money. Mark smiled lightly and hurried away. Awkward. Completely and utterly awkward.

But a definite turn-on. Wait until Roger heard!

"She touched your dick?" Roger dipped his spoon deep into the vat of cookie dough and emerged with a monster ball sitting on the end of his spoon. He licked it like a lollipop, eyes darting from Mark to the spoon.

"Her hand just sort of…brushed up against it."

"And?"

"And I think she might be interested."

Roger sat up. "You said she was with a guy who got all defensive right? Is the boyfriend alert not registering in your stupid head?"

"But why would she do that to me?"

"Um," Roger feigned thinking, "maybe because she's a tease. Mark, you're too gullible."

"I know." His head drooped. Leave it to Roger to be the killjoy.

The Life smelled like beer. Freshly brewed, steaming as it came out of the boiler and into the refrigerator.

Yeah, that's how he liked his alcohol – cold, still fizzy, smooth. The smell was enough to move him to sit down in the exact spot Mark had taken and raise his hand for a waitress.

She was cute, overweight, skin flushed as she made her way over to Roger's outstretched hand. She smelled like fresh bread and beer and she took out her pad of paper.

"Hi." Roger flashed a toothy grin and she smiled, jotting down the time and her name on the pad.

"Hello. What can I do you for?"

"A beer. Biggest one you've got."

"Anything else?"

"No." He grinned again and she took a deep breath, taking his menu and tucking it under her arm. She flounced away and Roger lifted his chin in accomplishment. He wasn't really fond of women – in a completely bisexual way, he reasoned – but it would be fun. April was in and out of his life, only when he needed a good fuck or a nice fix.

She brought around his drink and he gently leaned into her.

"I know you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I know you, too."

"What was with the boyfriend last night?"

"He's not my boyfriend. Just a date."

Roger rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"No, really," she laughed, "we went on a few dates and I lost him last night."

"Okay, okay," Roger held up his palms, "I believe you."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Your number." He sets up, flicks his wrist, ball flies in the air…

"My number?" Looks a little wide…

"Yes." Sweat drops down onto the wood…

"Okay…" Swoosh. He shoots, he scores.

She clicked her pen, jotted down a number and gave it to him. "I hope you're not a pervert."

Roger laughed. Pervert, no. Dirty…yes.

"Roger..."

He was pushing her into the back, hands up her shirt, fondling what she pushed into his chest. His nails raked against the sensitive skin and she arched her back, knocking over a few Styrofoam cups and she laughed against his ear. He kept kissing, biting, licking until she propped her legs up and he was able to position himself. It went quick and she swallowed, letting out a deep breath as he buttoned his pants up.

"Listen, I have to get back to work," she swept her hair back into a ponytail and adjusted the apron.

"Okay."

She looked at him for a minute then brushed past him, leaving the back room and returning to the kitchen. Roger grinned, ran a hand through his hair and exited out the rear entrance, zipping his jacket and rounding the corner.

"Roger, I want to go back to that fetish club." Mark had his hand gripping Roger's collar, nose to nose. Roger would have been turned on if Mark's breath didn't smell like scotch and if his skin wasn't so papery and white you could see every vein in his forehead.

"Why?"

"Because I told her I'd be there."

Roger's heart began to race a little faster. "You went to Life today?"

"Yeah," Mark released Roger's coat and stepped back, "and I told her I'd be there! So take me out tonight."

"What did she say?"

"Does it matter?" Mark was gathering his coat and wallet, brushing the chip crumbs off and taking a sniff of the fabric.

"No, I just think it's…" Think Roger… "cute that you have a little crush on her."

"Don't call me cute, Roger."

Roger grinned and pulled on his leather jacket. They weren't asked any questions as they entered in the staff door, Roger given a policeman's uniform while Mark became a firefighter.

Roger watched Mark all night. She was there, hair in curls and eyes gleaming every time Mark would come around, his red helmet sitting back and exposing his blonde hair. Roger turned back to the bar. For the first time in his life, a girl was using him as a sex game. Just hours before he had been screwing her in the back room of the Life and now she was fawning over his sexually mistrusting and confused roommate. He grabbed the next drink order and sulked to the table.