Temptation, Rent, Mark/Roger, PG
Title: Temptation
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG
Word Count: 695
Notes: Lee has robbed me of my angst. I need to go find it again. Which shouldn't be too hard because I have mostly the tail end of the alphabet left. Only bad things can come from X, V, and Z. For letter_love.
Roger remembers the first night he feels it, the first night there’s this pull in his stomach drawing him inexplicably toward Mark, and it takes every bit of willpower he has left to not act on it. The problem is that after losing two loves and battling his way through addiction, he has very little willpower left.
Mark walks home with him from Life Support, elbows brushing due to hands shoved in pockets to ward off the cold. Mark chatters away about something, and Roger hates that he can’t even focus enough to listen to him because all he wants to do is shove him against the wall and kiss him, and where the hell is this coming from is what Roger wants to know.
“Roger?”
Roger stops when he realizes that Mark’s voice is coming from somewhere behind him. He turns around.
Mark is looking at him with a confused smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure! Fine!”
“Okay. Then I just wanted to remind you that we still live on the same street as we did when we left an hour ago.”
Roger looks at where he’s standing and looks at where Roger’s standing and sheepishly jogs back the last few feet.
“Sorry.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Let’s get home. It’s freezing out here.”
He hopes Mark doesn’t notice that that isn’t really an answer.
“It’s not any warmer at in the loft,” Mark reminds him as he turns down the street. “But we might have some firewood buried somewhere under the mountains of trash and laundry...and we should probably do something about that at some point. But you’re not listening, are you?”
Roger isn’t. He focusing on the ground, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the numbness in his fingers, and even all this is an act because all he can think of is Mark and if he should say something or do something and-
“Roger?”
Roger snaps his gaze up from the ground and looks at Mark.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
And Roger can’t take it anymore, is sick of this tug of war inside of him that reminds him of high school, and so he just grabs Mark and kisses him. There are no sparks, no fires licking at his insides, but he never expected them. Instead, he feels the tranquility of the ocean, like the beaches his mom took him to as a kid when she played hooky from work and pulled him out of school. Content and not needing anyone or anything else in the world.
And Mark, good old Mark, his expression hasn’t changed, and when his eyes open, he asks, soft but not surprised, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Roger answers. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
Mark shrugs and says nothing, a slight smirk on his lips and his eyes wandering away from Roger’s.
“No, Mark, you really need to say that I shouldn’t have done that,” Roger insists, “because otherwise I’m just going to do it again.”
Mark shrugs again, and Roger can see a deeper color rising in his already cold-reddened cheeks.
And Roger turns and walks down the street toward home, feeling the pull in his stomach once more and knowing they might both be in over their heads if he doesn’t resist this time.
“It’s okay, Roger!” Mark calls after him.
“It’s not!” He yells back over his shoulder. “It’ll fuck everything up. I’ll fuck everything up! I always do!”
And Mark’s jogged up beside him now, the loose sole of his sneaker slapping the pavement as he matches Roger’s strides. “You do not,” he says.
Roger stops abruptly and turns to him, fists shoved in his pockets. “Name one time when I haven’t. Give me one example of something I haven’t managed to screw up in my life by giving in to some stupid, fleeting desire for a little excitement.”
And even as Mark’s fingers curl around the front of his coat and gently tug him forward the few inches left between them, the anger is draining from him, and he’d smile if Mark’s lips weren’t so firmly pressed against his.
“Mark…”
“Let’s get home. It’s freezing out here.”
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG
Word Count: 695
Notes: Lee has robbed me of my angst. I need to go find it again. Which shouldn't be too hard because I have mostly the tail end of the alphabet left. Only bad things can come from X, V, and Z. For letter_love.
Roger remembers the first night he feels it, the first night there’s this pull in his stomach drawing him inexplicably toward Mark, and it takes every bit of willpower he has left to not act on it. The problem is that after losing two loves and battling his way through addiction, he has very little willpower left.
Mark walks home with him from Life Support, elbows brushing due to hands shoved in pockets to ward off the cold. Mark chatters away about something, and Roger hates that he can’t even focus enough to listen to him because all he wants to do is shove him against the wall and kiss him, and where the hell is this coming from is what Roger wants to know.
“Roger?”
Roger stops when he realizes that Mark’s voice is coming from somewhere behind him. He turns around.
Mark is looking at him with a confused smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure! Fine!”
“Okay. Then I just wanted to remind you that we still live on the same street as we did when we left an hour ago.”
Roger looks at where he’s standing and looks at where Roger’s standing and sheepishly jogs back the last few feet.
“Sorry.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Let’s get home. It’s freezing out here.”
He hopes Mark doesn’t notice that that isn’t really an answer.
“It’s not any warmer at in the loft,” Mark reminds him as he turns down the street. “But we might have some firewood buried somewhere under the mountains of trash and laundry...and we should probably do something about that at some point. But you’re not listening, are you?”
Roger isn’t. He focusing on the ground, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the numbness in his fingers, and even all this is an act because all he can think of is Mark and if he should say something or do something and-
“Roger?”
Roger snaps his gaze up from the ground and looks at Mark.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
And Roger can’t take it anymore, is sick of this tug of war inside of him that reminds him of high school, and so he just grabs Mark and kisses him. There are no sparks, no fires licking at his insides, but he never expected them. Instead, he feels the tranquility of the ocean, like the beaches his mom took him to as a kid when she played hooky from work and pulled him out of school. Content and not needing anyone or anything else in the world.
And Mark, good old Mark, his expression hasn’t changed, and when his eyes open, he asks, soft but not surprised, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Roger answers. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
Mark shrugs and says nothing, a slight smirk on his lips and his eyes wandering away from Roger’s.
“No, Mark, you really need to say that I shouldn’t have done that,” Roger insists, “because otherwise I’m just going to do it again.”
Mark shrugs again, and Roger can see a deeper color rising in his already cold-reddened cheeks.
And Roger turns and walks down the street toward home, feeling the pull in his stomach once more and knowing they might both be in over their heads if he doesn’t resist this time.
“It’s okay, Roger!” Mark calls after him.
“It’s not!” He yells back over his shoulder. “It’ll fuck everything up. I’ll fuck everything up! I always do!”
And Mark’s jogged up beside him now, the loose sole of his sneaker slapping the pavement as he matches Roger’s strides. “You do not,” he says.
Roger stops abruptly and turns to him, fists shoved in his pockets. “Name one time when I haven’t. Give me one example of something I haven’t managed to screw up in my life by giving in to some stupid, fleeting desire for a little excitement.”
And even as Mark’s fingers curl around the front of his coat and gently tug him forward the few inches left between them, the anger is draining from him, and he’d smile if Mark’s lips weren’t so firmly pressed against his.
“Mark…”
“Let’s get home. It’s freezing out here.”