Authors' Note: Whether or how far this fic will stray from canon, we don't yet know. One thing we do know is that it is going to be MarkRoger. If you don't like that, don't read. We really don't appreciate reviews telling us that you don't approve of that pairing. (Though we love reviews!)

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson (wearenotworthywearenotworthy)

I don't know what makes me do it. I'm high. I'm high as a kite, higher than the air I'm high high high but being high isn't what people think. I mean, it's... shit, it's just liberation. It's just that I can do whatever I want because I can see and what I want, what I do, is this, is walk into the next room where Mark and Collins are watching some crappy old movie on TV and eating popcorn absently and talking softly and I go up to Mark. I don't say a word. I grab his shirt and pull him up to me and I kiss him, hard, stick my tongue in his mouth and when I open my eyes after I see his eyes, blue and much much wider than usual.

"Roger? What are you doing?" Mark raises an eyebrow at the sleeping boy, me, lying next to him on the couch, my inarticulate muttering progressively becoming louder until I practically moan. We are the only people here, in the loft. Collins is staying with us for the next month or so, but he went out a couple of hours ago. Mark is settled in front of the television. After a while, I joined him, but the show didn't interest me. My eyes were beginning to itch, so I closed them and started a nap.

I awoke when Mark asked me that question, but I kept my eyes closed. I was having such a lovely dream, and prefer now not to leave it. If I awake, I face the cold in the loft. I face the dreary rain that seems to have carried on for years. I face the fact that in a few days I'll have nothing to face but the dreary rain, because in a few days my stash will probably run dry.

"What the hell are you dreaming about?" He pokes my side and laughs when I twitch. What a strange boy. He reaches over and grabs the remote control, flipping through a few channels before turning the television off. I hear the remote clatter as he sets it down.

I liked that dream. Mark tasted good. I moan and writhe, shifting my head into his lap, my nose pressed against his belly. Mmm. I could live here forever...

Mark once told me that his family spoke to him while he slept. They would hold entire conversations, according to their stories, which Mark would later have no memory of. He leans down just a bit, bringing his lips nearer my ear, and asks, "What were you dreaming about, Roger?"

I mumble something unintelligible and squirm a little. Oh, Jesus. He moves. I swear I feel... "Mmmmark..." I whimper. "Mark." And I am thinking of him, wondering how much he'll allow as my fingers slip under the elastic waistband of my boxers.

His eyes widen as he realizes that I am dreaming about him. He watches my fingers slip into my boxers. He gulps, loudly. "R-Roger?"

He places a hand on my wrist, probably meaning well, as Mark often does, but as soon as my skin makes contact with his, his fingers slide along mine. I like that, the warmth of his hand on mine. Just the contact tautens the muscles in my belly. I'm just beginning to really enjoy this when he yanks his hand away.

Ooh, and G-d how badly I wanted him! But I know something now: I know that Mark wants me just like I want him. He wants me to want him. I smile as my hand curls warmly in my pants. This is going to be good. My other arm I wrap around Mark and mumble something involving the word 'teddy'.

Mark twitches, and I know he's watching my movements as I start to pump. He lets out a pathetic sounding whine, like a puppy denied his Milk Bone. I suppose I'm cruel to deprive Mark of the ability to touch himself, but given the location of my head, he can't. He's plenty hard, though.

Mm.. Ooh. Oh. My stomach quivers. "Mark." It's easy to say the name when he's giving me earsex. "Mark..." And I'm getting haaaard and liking this, liking it a lot. I want to wake up and bring his hand down. I want to wake up with a magical slowness that lets him know, honey, I'm here and this moment doesn't need to change. And I'd bring his hand down to touch me and unzip his pants and put him in my mouth and I'd--

"Holy... shit, guys!" My eyes flash open. Collins has arrived.

Mark jumps off the couch, not even turning to look as I am spilled to the floor, and stammers, "I-It's not what you think! I was…" The color rises to his face. "I n-need... Bathroom. Five minutes." With that, he turns and hightails it out of the room, locking himself in the bathroom.

My back stings from the sudden contact with the ground. Nothing to kill a buzz like a short drop and a sudden stop! Collins helps me up, hauling me by the T-shirt. "Sorry," he says. "If I'd known what you two were up to--"

"I'll make you a fucking sign," I mutter. I'm not being fair, and I know that. Collins is a good guy. He's just trying to make light of the situation. But dammit, I want Mark so bad and I almost had him, and he wants me... "Give me a minute." I go into my room and close the door and think of what Mark's doing in the bathroom, and I'm not exactly hard but I stroke myself a little, just to feel better.

I'm not in the mood to get hard, but I also want to keep petting a little, though it's getting boring. I pull my guitar into my lap. The chords resonate, vibrating in my lap. I touch myself with my art.

When Mark finally steps out of the bathroom, Collins looks up from the couch.

"So..." he says, "what were you two doing?" I hear through the walls, the squeaking springs as Mark plops down on the couch.

I can't think of any chords, so I play the first melody I ever picked out, three chords again and again, like for a harp. There's a knock at the door. "What's up?" I call.

Collins opens the door. "Me and Mark are gonna watch some movies. You want to?"

I shake my head. "Thanks the same." I need to be alone for a while.

Mark begins making popcorn. Collins pops in the movie and rewinds the tape. "They're supposed to rewind the tapes so that you don't have to…"

"You have popcorn?" There is a note of skepticism to Collins' tone.

"No," Mark replies sarcastically. I only hear so much because I'm listening for it, trying to pretend this ache of fear in my gut doesn't keep me alone. "I'm making fried ants. The theatre specialty in India," Mark quips. Collins laughs.

"No, I meant, you two are always starving, yet you have popcorn." Collins makes himself comfortable on the couch, placing his feet on the table in front of him. He doesn't officially live here, but he behaves as though he does, a trait I love and envy. I always feel out of place. Collins is constantly at ease.

"You gotta have your staple foods."

I can hear the movie running. It's a good one, too. Collins knows I'm a sap for it, knows I can't hear the name Edmond Dantes mentioned without getting a little thrill. And it's exactly my dream. Suddenly I wish I hadn't woken up. I wish I had gotten to know what Mark would do, because I have a strong urge to run into the next room and kiss him, and I would do it if I just knew how he would react. I would do it in a second.

I need to know. I do. I need Mark and at least if I can't have him I need to know and not be bobbing like a fucking kelp raft, useless and powerless and I'm too chicken to go out and ask him, because though I wish to know, I am afraid to learn. But I know what would make me brave.

I take a quick chase, then I feel gooood. I mean, you don't know good feelings until you've done it. You think you've been happy? You're only level and don't know but this, this is good and free, and who gives a damn, yeah I want Mark but the world won't end if I can't have him. And I fling open the door and walk into the next room.

Mark and Collins look up. I grab Mark by the shirt just like in my dream. He momentarily wears an expression of panic, then I pull myself onto him and kiss him with my tongue."

A moan escapes his throat. And he's kissing back. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, wanting to feel more of this, until suddenly, rationality hits hard back home. He pushes me off him. He sees my face, my eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I laugh. "It's not obvious?" I ask, casting a meaningful glance at the bulge in his pants.

"Roger, you're high," he explains. "This isn't right." He throws a look at Collins, who's watching this and making sure it doesn't get out of hand.

"It's okay," I say. Mark never understands... The drugs aren't bad, they aren't. Junkies are bad. Addicts are bad. Drug abuse, bad, anything abuse is bad, but the drugs themselves, they don't change us. They just make us more ourselves. I've tried telling Mark this but he never listens. "You wanted me earlier..."

"Roger...this isn't going to work. Not like this. Not with you acting upon impulses released by… that."

"Hey man, how about you just watch the movie with us?" Collins asks.

I want to. In a way, I really want to sit down with my friends and watch the movie, and I mean, I shouldn't've sat like that just liking it before coming out here because it must've been a couple minutes, though I swear I just blinked, and I'm coming down now and that's… ugh. I mean, it's bad enough when the good good feeling fades, and I don't need that compounded by just having been rejected by Mark and my eyes are getting a little itchy, anyway, so I say, "Thanks anyway. I think I'll go lie down."

It's easy to do when you're coming off smack and your bones turn to lead.

Mark collapses back onto the couch. "What was that?"

Collins places an arm around his shoulders and gives him a tight hug. "Hey," he says. "You made the right choice, okay? Don't think about it too much. Let's finish the movie."

I dream.

TO BE CONTINUED!