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Ombra Mai Fu	By : thewayoutis Category: Musicals/Plays > RENT Views: 1159 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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072. kink

    Being a realist is difficult. Normally Mark has no problem pushing his desires aside, especially if they get in the way of more important things. When he realized that being friends with Roger wasn't exactly enough for him anymore, he put it out of his mind, because that way, it was easier to deal with Roger's standoffishness, and then his relationship with Mimi, and then his relocation to across the fucking continent. Then Roger came back, and then Mimi came back, and Mark, for some reason, had to try harder to reconcile his desire to see Roger happy and enjoying his life for once with the desire to fuck his friend softly into a mattress, listening to moans and pleas and ...
    It was difficult, sure, but by that time Mark was used to forgetting his desires and focusing on his friends'. Part of being a realist is believing that just because you want someone doesn't mean they will - or even should - want you, so if they don't you'd better fucking get used to it.
    Of course, it eventually turned out that Roger wasn't quite satisfied with just being friends anymore either, and Mark didn't have to deal with those stupid feelings of unrequited attraction anymore. He didn't have to feel quite so pathetic.
    Sex actually came first. They didn't really talk much about anything - why they were doing it, where this was headed - they just did it, and it was surprisingly easy to skip the subtle struggle for power and get to the more satisfying parts. Mark figured it was a good indication that, since they got past the first time so easily, and since neither of them was drunk or rebounding, their relationship after this would be better, easier, than most of his previous relationships.
    He was right in some ways, and wrong in others. Being a realist in a relationship with a romantic is more difficult than being a realist alone, and if that romantic is HIV-positive ... well. When things get hard for one of them, it's hard for both of them, by default. It's hard for one to get the other to talk, because neither of them sees the point. So they become reclusive, and it only lasts for a while, but for both of them, the fear of losing control is always there. More and more frequently it feels like that monster is just around the corner.
    Mark has never asked why Roger owns handcuffs. He saw them early on, digging through Roger's nightstand for condoms and lube, but didn't manage to make the correlation until later, after they were both spent and he was just about to fall asleep. He'd wondered, briefly, but Roger was already sleeping and soon after he was too.
    They've moved from the drawer to the top of the nightstand. He might have missed them if the light didn't move so sharply across the edge, twisting Mark's stomach into knots in a way he can't explain. He wonders who Roger has used them on, and it bothers him a little before he stops himself, and then begins to wonder why Roger's moved them. It's so jarring, seeing them and feeling this rush of complicated emotions - resentment and arousal were always difficult to deal with at the same time - that he forgets why he came in here in the first place and turns to leave again. He nearly slams into Roger on the way out, coming back into his room. Nothing is said, and Mark moves past him to go into his own room. "Mark?" Roger calls but Mark doesn't respond and continues through the door to his room, closing it behind him.
    Hey. Realist, remember? Mark knows he's not the first person Roger's fucked, but that's not the problem, not really. Maybe those handcuffs are an artifact, a reminder of whoever it was he bought those for - or who bought them for him - and that does bother Mark. Realist or not, he doesn't like feeling like Roger is settling for him when he really still wants Mimi or - god forbid - April.
    Knock, knock.
    "Yeah?"
    "Can I come in?" Roger knows something's up. He'll only ask for permission when he knows it's serious. Mark thinks about it, deciding whether this is a conversation he really wants to have.
    "Yeah." The door opens slowly, and Roger closes the door behind him, and though there's obviously not going to be anyone else wandering through their apartment, it makes Mark feel marginally more comfortable.
    They avoid each other's eyes for a moment, not saying anything, and Mark knows that Roger knows what's bothering him. They're at the end of one of those stretches where Roger became reclusive and so Mark did too, and they haven't seen much of each other in the past few days. So they're talking now, maybe that's good. Maybe they'll get better at it if they keep it up.
    "I was going to get rid of them, you know."
    "Get rid of what?" Mark replies, playing stupid, acting like it's no big deal.
    "You know what. The handcuffs." He figured Roger would call him on it, though. It was worth a shot.
    "You don't have to do that."
    "I definitely have to do it now, if it's bothering you."
    "No." He pauses. "I mean, I knew you had them, for a while. It doesn't really bother me."
    "Would you have said anything if they had?"
    Probably not, he doesn't say. "You wanted to use them, didn't you?"
    "Kind of," Roger admits. "But I figured you wouldn't."
    "Why not?"
    "I just ... had a feeling." There's disappointment in his voice, and that makes Mark angry, inexplicably. Like maybe if Roger is going to try to hide this kind of thing he should do better or just not bother at all. Like if he's going to compare Mark to his other lovers then he should be honest about it, come out and say that this isn't about kinky sex. This is about Mimi, or April, or whoever it was.
    "You were wrong," he replies, even though he wasn't, not until now.
    Their eyes finally meet, Roger's questioning, surprised, Mark's determined. A part of him knows that he's being ridiculous. That just because Roger may not be over Mimi and/or April yet doesn't make their relationship less valid. He knows some things take forever to get past. And he hates himself for feeling like he has to live up to them, and he hates that there's little - if anything - that he can do if Roger does feel that way.
    "Let me know if, you know. You get uncomfortable," Roger tells him, looping the chain around the bars on the bedframe. Mark's already uncomfortable, to say the least. The cuffs are a little too tight and his heart's beating a little too fast and he's feeling a little too exposed with his sweater off and his wrists chained to his bed to be comfortable, exactly. But that's sort of what this kind of thing is supposed to be about, isn't it? Pushing you outside your comfort zone. Forcing you to trust the other person.
    And it occurs to him that maybe that's what Roger wanted all along, and even if they never talk about this, it's something he can tell himself. Even if he's wrong and this really was about that other person. Whoever it was.
    As uncomfortable as he is, he's still getting hard, watching Roger get undressed, dropping his clothes to the floor, feeling the mattress give as he gets in bed, smelling his cologne as he leans down to put his lips to Mark's. As familiar as Roger's kiss has become, there's still something odd about it now, since Mark's hands are tied, literally, and he can't touch Roger at all, which he doesn't realize until he tugs against the cuffs and remembers that they're there in the first place. He growls a little, frustrated, and Roger pulls back. "You all right?"
    "Yeah, sorry." It's getting harder to speak now, with Roger's tongue and teeth on his neck and his ear and his collar bone, fingers trailing down, tweaking Mark's nipples, moving down his stomach and lingering just above his cock before shifting down to his thighs, stroking the skin there. "You fucking tease," Mark mutters, his hips arching, trying to get closer to Roger's fingers and failing. Roger doesn't normally do this kind of thing, and Mark hates it at the same time that he loves it, and he has to admit that if he were in Roger's position and Roger in his position, he'd be doing the same thing. Teasing.
    Then again, would he have that much willpower? Would he be able to stand not touching Roger, not fucking him? Would he be able to stand watching Roger thrashing and moaning, like he's doing right now?
    Well, maybe.
    His eyes have been squeezed shut while Roger's been going down on him. His hands are clenched, his fingernails digging into his palms, and he's still struggling against the cuffs a little, wanting to touch Roger so badly he could die, wanting to sink his fingers into Roger's hair, but having to settle for pressing his fingernails into his own scalp. He's got nothing to hold onto and it's making him crazy, crazy enough to start tugging at his own hair.
    He assumed that Roger would be fucking him tonight, and that would have been fine. It would have gone along with this whole kinky game, where he's immobilized and helpless and Roger is free to do whatever he wants. He's surprised when he feels the sudden cool of lube on his cock, still a shock despite the condom, and he finally opens his eyes, looking up at Roger, who is straddling him now, lowering himself onto Mark's cock. It's all Mark can do to keep his hips still, to let Roger take it at his own pace, because he'd hate for this to have to stop because of his own excessive enthusiasm. But after a minute, Roger's saying, "Fuck me," and it sounds more like a request than an order, and it's almost enough to make Mark come right then. And now Roger's the one who has to hold on to something, pushing the heels of his hands into his forehead, dragging his nails down his chest, gripping Mark's hips, muscles seizing and tensing and breath hitching in his throat, streams of obscenities falling from his lips.
    Roger's orgasm seems to catch him by surprise, and he shudders and growls, still swearing ("Fuck. Fuck."), and Mark soon follows. Roger lies down next to him, kissing him almost lazily, as if this were all routine - this kinky mindfuck sex where neither of them can tell who is seducing who. Despite the haze that's rapidly setting in, as Roger's unlocking the cuffs, Mark manages to say, "I'm not her, you know." The smile leaves Roger's face and Mark hates to ruin it for him, but for once he feels the urge to talk.
    "Who, exactly?"
    "I don't know. You bought those for someone, though, and I don't think it was me."
    "Is that what you think this is about?" His words should be harsh and angry, but they sound more hurt than anything.
    "I don't know what this is about. Boredom, maybe. But you were hiding them, and why else would you do that unless they reminded you of someone?"
    The corners of Roger's mouth are pulling down, and he hesitates for a moment before saying, "My T-cells are low."
    "Your -"
    "Too low."
    "You -"
    "And I'm losing it."
    "What?"
    "And I don't think I'll have much longer to do everything with you that I wanted to."
    Mark's throat is dry and he swallows, hard, shutting his eyes. He can't tell whether he wants to scream or throw up, so he doesn't do anything.
    He feels like a bastard. Of course it wasn't about him, but it wasn't about her either. Whoever she is. It was about Roger, and how his life and his health are beginning to fall out of his control. He wouldn't have known about the specifics but if he'd quit thinking about himself for two fucking seconds -
    "And, I mean, for Angel it was ..."
    Oh God.
    For Angel, it was ... Long. Brutal. Ugly.
    "And I just ..." He looks up at Mark, helplessly, and he doesn't finish his sentence.
    Mark feels just as helpless, and can't even bring himself to look at Roger. He's thought before what he would do when this happened, things he needs to say, things they need to do, and everything just falls flat. He can't say the things he needs to say. He can't say anything, and he can't think about anything except Angel, and how he was barely able to speak those last few days, watching Mimi put ice chips into his mouth when he couldn't lift a glass of water, watching Collins trying so hard to keep it together and failing.
    He can't even keep it together now, now that he knows the time they've got left is being measured in months, not years.
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Ombra Mai Fu

072. kink