Categories > Theatre > Rent > Cutting Room Floor


by Camera_Doesnt_Lie 2 reviews

A few twists of fate--and a couple of the wrist--lands Mark and Roger in the same bed. Mild fluff.

Category: Rent - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor - Characters: Mark, Roger - Published: 2005-11-22 - Updated: 2005-11-22 - 558 words

Disclaimer: You guessed it. I don't own RENT or anything related to it. It all belongs to the late Jonathan Larson and his family.

When it came right down to it, Mark really did have terrible luck.

As if it wasn't enough that Collins would choose tonight to come home from Richard's, Benny'd already taken four blankets for himself. That left two, one each for Roger and Mark.

But, well, Collins couldn't be allowed to freeze. Especially not being sick like that. If they couldn't afford blankets, how would they pay for a hospital?

Or a funeral, for that matter.

So, surprise, Mark'd given up his. Which would, any other night--/any/ other night--not have been a problem.

Except that it had rained and Mark's coat was soaked. Sleeping through the night in that wetsuit was just short of legalized suicide.

"Just grab one of Benny's," Roger said, wrapping tighter in his quilt and turning his back to the shivering cameraman that had prodded him awake.

Mark would taunt him for that advice later, he decided and nursed his wrist--he'd definitely feel that in the morning, but at least Benny'd let him keep it. If Benny wanted four blankets, Benny got four blankets.

"Roger-" Mark poked him again with his good hand and shivered. "Wake up, hm? You've gotta share your blanket."

A hand appeared from under the edge of the blanket. Then four fingers on that hand vanished.

Fine. Two could play.

And Mark, his extremities now numb, clamped a hand on either side of Roger's face. Roger woke with a yelp and a string of swears that would probably have sent anyone not used to it scurring away.


Mark removed his hands when Roger nodded grimly, every inch of him looking as though he'd like to grab Mark right back. Maybe a few inches lower and a lot tighter.

"Good." He held up his hands again. "Now, scoot over and share, or I put these somewhere else to warm them up."

Grudgingly, Roger shifted to one side of the mattress and Mark jumped under the quilt. He pressed as close to Roger's back as he could, trying to leech as much residual warmth from his friend as he could.

"Watch it!" Roger squirmed away when Mark's body, still cold, made contact with his own. "You want me to freeze?"

"No, of course not."

"Then stay on your side."

Mark turned over, put his back to Roger, and tucked the blanket up under his chin. Curling into a ball, he tried to rub the feeling back into his hands and arms.

He'd almost fallen asleep, comfortably cool if not warm, when Roger tossed, flinging an arm against Mark's shoulder. Without waking, Roger seemed to sense that there was another warm body near him and rolled closer.

"What a laugh this will make," Mark muttered and scooted away.

But, even asleep, Roger was nothing if not persistent. After only a minute or two of shifting, Mark was presented with a difficult choice.

On the one hand, he could cling to his best friend--his very male best friend-and stay warm. Or he could fall out of the bed and freeze. In the end, he sighed and scooted back against Roger, let them warm each other.

Upon waking, neither spoke to the other for three days.
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