(no subject)
Title: Camping
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Genre: general
Rating: PG-13 for kink
Summary: Mark doesn't think Roger's well, so he asks him to lie down. But when the boys wake up, everyone's gone...
Notes: I am so sorry, I got started late. It's short and written in an hour. But I tried! I'm sorry, Greens. I really wanted to write more.
Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson.
I tried to keep it from him. "Nothing's wrong," I insisted. "Just a dry throat." And for the third time in half an hour, I went to get a cold, clear drink from the water fountain.
"You're not okay," Mark insisted. He directed me over to a bench. "Sit down here." He rested his palm against my forehead. "Are you hungry?"
"Mark." I would have swatted his hand away, but it felt so good there. I like when Mark touches me. Maybe I should fake a cold. I bet he'd cuddle me. "I'm neither sick nor an infant. If you don't know the latter, you need therapy to correct your sexual impulses."
He frowns. "Still... why don't you lie down a bit?"
"On a bench?" I ask. "That's not going to be comfortable!" I look around. There's a camping site set up nearby, an attempt to sell tents and sleeping bags and lanterns.
Mark has the idea as I do. "How about in here?" he says, already helping me up. We walk over to the tent, and as we do so a salesgirl walks up. Mark stiffens a bit, and I can tell why: her mouth may be smiling, but her eyes sure aren't.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asks.
Mark opens his mouth. I know he'll send her off. He'll be polite, and self-sufficient. "Thank you," I say. Mark squirms. "We're fine." I sling an arm across his shoulders and say, smiling so wide my face hurts, "You see, we're planning a camping trip for our honeymoon. We're very much in love," I say, then turn Mark to face me and give him a long, slow, deep and sloppy kiss. Mark plays into it, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. My hands slide down to clutch his ass.
The salesgirl is gone when we break the kiss. I smile, and Mark laughs. "You're horrible," he says. "That poor girl."
"That poor girl is an idiot."
"So are you, if you don't lie down."
I get inside the tent. It's a nice model. You can't see shadows or anything, and it's all set up with sleeping bags and a lantern. "Mommy!" I whimper. "Mommy, aren't you going to give me a good night kiss?"
Mark chuckles. "You've already had one," he says.
"What about a story?" I pretend to cry. "Mooommmeee! Mommy, please tell me a story!"
"Okay, okay. Jesus. Just shut up already."
I guess the store patrons are looking at him strangely, because Mark climbs into the tent with me and zips it up. He lies down. I wriggle up and kiss him. "I love you, Mommy."
"You're a bad boy who should be sent to bed without his supper."
"You're right." I squirm. "I deserve a spanking."
"Just go to sleep," he says. I close my eyes, and I'm surprised how tired I am.
*
"Roger. Roger!" Mark insists. He shakes me.
I moan. "What?"
"Get up."
I do, because Mark sounds serious. What's wrong? Oh, God. Not Collins! Please. Maybe it's just the-- huh? Then it comes back to me. The store, the tent, camping. I rub my eyes. "Closing time?"
"I'm guessing closing time was a few hours ago," Mark says.
"Shit, it's dark." I crawl out of the tent. The store is dark, so dark I can't even see Mark, though I feel him beside me.
There's a small sound somewhere in the darkness and Mark screams. "What was that?" he demands, as though I'd know.
"I dunno," I say. "Maybe a rat. Shit, wasn't there a lamp somewhere nearby? Like a lantern?" I feel around for it. "Ah." A wide cylindar, probably glass. I run my fingers along it, find a switch, and on comes the light. I stand. "Better?" I ask. Mark nods. "Good. First thing, let's find some food, okay? I'm starved."
"Yeah, sounds good. There's a Starbucks on the ground floor. We'd be stealing," he points out.
"Sandwiches," I say. "They're overpriced, I have AIDS, and these assholes don't even have security cameras."
"Don't say that," Mark says.
"Assholes?" My swearing never bothered him before. He swears, too.
"You don't have AIDS," Mark says. "You're HIV positive."
"I'm hungry is what I am," I retort.
Mark doesn't answer. He just tugs me to a shelf and gets himself a flashlight. It's fat and yellow with a wide beam, and luckily it comes with the batteries already installed. "Now," he says. "Food."
That was my problem earlier, really. I didn't want to worry him, not when he couldn't afford to buy me anything and we had some tins of spaghetti-in-sauce at home, so I kept drinking the water. But now, who cares?
Mark presses the button for the elevator. I kiss his cheek. "Love, if there's no lights, I doubt htere's an elevator. Come on."
As we troop down the stairs, our footsteps seem to fill the entire shop. We reach the first floor without saying a word. I wonder if Mark is as scared as I am. It's so dark here, and so big. The place feels like it's breathing.
Mark turns to me. I see my fear on his face, and we both begin to chuckle.
"Okay," Mark says. Does he feel better? I don't. "Let's feed you."
I'm the one who hops over the counter. Mark finds the proper entry and he comes through that way. "What do you want?" I ask him.
Mark takes a salad and a bottled tea. I grab a sandwich and a chocolate milk. We sit on the floor and tear into our pilfered picnic. Somewhere along the line, we begin giggling.
"This's good," I say.
"Mhm."
"We should do this more often."
Mark laughs. "It wasn't intentional," he reminds me.
"I hope they sell chapstick."
"Why?"
"Some of those beds look comfy."
Mark frowns. "Is that related?" he asks.
I give him my naughtiest grin. "Chapstick," I say, "is Vaseline."
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Genre: general
Rating: PG-13 for kink
Summary: Mark doesn't think Roger's well, so he asks him to lie down. But when the boys wake up, everyone's gone...
Notes: I am so sorry, I got started late. It's short and written in an hour. But I tried! I'm sorry, Greens. I really wanted to write more.
Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson.
I tried to keep it from him. "Nothing's wrong," I insisted. "Just a dry throat." And for the third time in half an hour, I went to get a cold, clear drink from the water fountain.
"You're not okay," Mark insisted. He directed me over to a bench. "Sit down here." He rested his palm against my forehead. "Are you hungry?"
"Mark." I would have swatted his hand away, but it felt so good there. I like when Mark touches me. Maybe I should fake a cold. I bet he'd cuddle me. "I'm neither sick nor an infant. If you don't know the latter, you need therapy to correct your sexual impulses."
He frowns. "Still... why don't you lie down a bit?"
"On a bench?" I ask. "That's not going to be comfortable!" I look around. There's a camping site set up nearby, an attempt to sell tents and sleeping bags and lanterns.
Mark has the idea as I do. "How about in here?" he says, already helping me up. We walk over to the tent, and as we do so a salesgirl walks up. Mark stiffens a bit, and I can tell why: her mouth may be smiling, but her eyes sure aren't.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asks.
Mark opens his mouth. I know he'll send her off. He'll be polite, and self-sufficient. "Thank you," I say. Mark squirms. "We're fine." I sling an arm across his shoulders and say, smiling so wide my face hurts, "You see, we're planning a camping trip for our honeymoon. We're very much in love," I say, then turn Mark to face me and give him a long, slow, deep and sloppy kiss. Mark plays into it, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. My hands slide down to clutch his ass.
The salesgirl is gone when we break the kiss. I smile, and Mark laughs. "You're horrible," he says. "That poor girl."
"That poor girl is an idiot."
"So are you, if you don't lie down."
I get inside the tent. It's a nice model. You can't see shadows or anything, and it's all set up with sleeping bags and a lantern. "Mommy!" I whimper. "Mommy, aren't you going to give me a good night kiss?"
Mark chuckles. "You've already had one," he says.
"What about a story?" I pretend to cry. "Mooommmeee! Mommy, please tell me a story!"
"Okay, okay. Jesus. Just shut up already."
I guess the store patrons are looking at him strangely, because Mark climbs into the tent with me and zips it up. He lies down. I wriggle up and kiss him. "I love you, Mommy."
"You're a bad boy who should be sent to bed without his supper."
"You're right." I squirm. "I deserve a spanking."
"Just go to sleep," he says. I close my eyes, and I'm surprised how tired I am.
*
"Roger. Roger!" Mark insists. He shakes me.
I moan. "What?"
"Get up."
I do, because Mark sounds serious. What's wrong? Oh, God. Not Collins! Please. Maybe it's just the-- huh? Then it comes back to me. The store, the tent, camping. I rub my eyes. "Closing time?"
"I'm guessing closing time was a few hours ago," Mark says.
"Shit, it's dark." I crawl out of the tent. The store is dark, so dark I can't even see Mark, though I feel him beside me.
There's a small sound somewhere in the darkness and Mark screams. "What was that?" he demands, as though I'd know.
"I dunno," I say. "Maybe a rat. Shit, wasn't there a lamp somewhere nearby? Like a lantern?" I feel around for it. "Ah." A wide cylindar, probably glass. I run my fingers along it, find a switch, and on comes the light. I stand. "Better?" I ask. Mark nods. "Good. First thing, let's find some food, okay? I'm starved."
"Yeah, sounds good. There's a Starbucks on the ground floor. We'd be stealing," he points out.
"Sandwiches," I say. "They're overpriced, I have AIDS, and these assholes don't even have security cameras."
"Don't say that," Mark says.
"Assholes?" My swearing never bothered him before. He swears, too.
"You don't have AIDS," Mark says. "You're HIV positive."
"I'm hungry is what I am," I retort.
Mark doesn't answer. He just tugs me to a shelf and gets himself a flashlight. It's fat and yellow with a wide beam, and luckily it comes with the batteries already installed. "Now," he says. "Food."
That was my problem earlier, really. I didn't want to worry him, not when he couldn't afford to buy me anything and we had some tins of spaghetti-in-sauce at home, so I kept drinking the water. But now, who cares?
Mark presses the button for the elevator. I kiss his cheek. "Love, if there's no lights, I doubt htere's an elevator. Come on."
As we troop down the stairs, our footsteps seem to fill the entire shop. We reach the first floor without saying a word. I wonder if Mark is as scared as I am. It's so dark here, and so big. The place feels like it's breathing.
Mark turns to me. I see my fear on his face, and we both begin to chuckle.
"Okay," Mark says. Does he feel better? I don't. "Let's feed you."
I'm the one who hops over the counter. Mark finds the proper entry and he comes through that way. "What do you want?" I ask him.
Mark takes a salad and a bottled tea. I grab a sandwich and a chocolate milk. We sit on the floor and tear into our pilfered picnic. Somewhere along the line, we begin giggling.
"This's good," I say.
"Mhm."
"We should do this more often."
Mark laughs. "It wasn't intentional," he reminds me.
"I hope they sell chapstick."
"Why?"
"Some of those beds look comfy."
Mark frowns. "Is that related?" he asks.
I give him my naughtiest grin. "Chapstick," I say, "is Vaseline."