Disclaimer: I do not own or have anything to do with Rent. I am not affiliated with Jonathon Larsen. This is a work of fiction.

Summary: Mark gets laid! By someone other than Roger! Pre-RENT fiction. How Maureen met Mark. Not exactly stellar quality writing, but there's some cute imagery of a Maureen dominated Mark.

Other Notes: I'm very new at writing fanfiction. Please review any of my junk for me. And let me know if I make any mistakes anywhere. I'm looking for some fellow RENT addicts (you know, when it takes the place of important people in your life) to share my love for Adam Pascal and to help me proofread my crap since I suck at it. Wanna be RENTaddict buddies? Email me at Slash_Hammer64@hotmail.com

Notes Specific to This: Now I love my Mark/Roger more than I love some people, but I do really like the idea of Mark and Maureen together. I think they could have been really sweet if Maureen wasn't such a cheating bitch. Oh well. Tune in next time for more of my favorite boys. Oh, Mark is a little OOC, I kind of exaggerated a few aspects of his character. Forgive me. I figured he's kind of a nerd, he's younger in this story than in the musical and he probably doesn't get laid often. Plus Maureen is supposed to be hot. Therefore you get what I refer to as: Sweet Little Marky. Forgive me Jonathon Larsen.

In the Early Hours of the Morning

That one.

Tall, strong. He's got great arms from what I can see.

Blond hair, looks bleached.

I approach the bar and take the empty stool next to him.

"That's taken." He says. Sexy voice.

"Oh well. I can find some other gentleman to spend my evening with then."

He smirks. I wish he'd just look at me.

He doesn't.

Irratated, I lay a hand on his arm and he turns abruptly. I feel his eyes go over me, and I smile suggestively. He gives me another sarcastic leer and looks over his shoulder. I steal a glance at those arms and take my hand away. He's a user, that much I can tell. Maybe not a total junkie, yet. Bad is good, but drugs aren't my thing. He turns back in my direction, but he's not looking at me, he seems to be searching for someone.


He turns his head to his left and smiles, genuinely.

"Mark!" He looks relieved.

I look over at Mark, and wonder why Roger is talking to him. Mark is small, barely larger than me. He's got blond hair, real blond, not bleached. I notice his thick glasses, and the gentle blue eyes behind them. Not my type. But cute, yes, very cute.

The band is announcing their last song and Roger suddenly gets up.

"I've gotta go to the stage, we're on next. If you see April anywhere tell her not to wait up." He says to Mark.

Mark's eyes darken at the mention of April.

I'm interested, I love drama.

As Roger rushes away I turn my attention to Mark.

"Who's April?" I ask him.

He looks startled. "His, uh, girlfriend."

I smile, not really caring about Roger and his girlfriend anymore. I focus on how nervous Mark is talking to me. It's sort of sweet.

I gesture towards Roger's barstool. He hesitates, then eagerly sits down.

"So, Mark." I toss my hair and lean forward. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

He blushes and looks at the ground.



I have a sudden image of me feeding him strawberries while he's handcuffed to a bed.

I bet I could totally make it happen.


He leaves the bar with me and when we're outside I grab hold of his hand and pull him towards me. He's surprised, especially when I lay a hand on his face and bring my lips to his. He doesn't respond at first and I'm worried my little cutie is a dead fish. Then he relaxes and kisses me back and relief washes over me. He's fine. In fact, he's really, really good.

I bet I can make him do anything.

He's so cute, almost pretty.

I can imagine him wearing rubber pants and a wig.

This will be so much fun.


He hesitates when I inquire if he'd like to join me upstairs. I understand, he's not a one night stand kind of guy. I kiss him again, pulling away too soon and he stutters an agreement.

I'm so bad.


I move to my fruit-stocked fridge. I love fruit, it's my main food group. I take the bowl of strawberries out, wishing I had cool whip or something. He stares at me.

"What are those for?"

I smile playfully. "You'll find out. You like them right?"

You better.

He smiles and blushes. I love that look on him. He nods.

I pull him into my bedroom.


The look on his face when he sees the handcuffs is priceless.

"Don't worry, I've got the key right here." I hold it up to show him. I can see a flash of false confidence in his eyes. Aww.

I lay the cuffs and key on the table next to my bed near the strawberries. I move towards him, laying my hands on his chest. He's short, but so am I so he's almost perfect, about an inch or two taller than me. I usually like them a little bigger, but this is strangely nice. He lays his camera on the table as well, his face turning red when he sees the giant pile of condoms I unashamedly keep on top of it. How awesome is the camera? I asked him about it in the bar and he told me he was a filmmaker. I fight the urge to ask him to turn it on now. When he finally turns back to me I kiss him and feel his hands go to my waist.

I reach to the bottom of his sweater and pull it over his head. It knocks his glasses askew.


He moves to take them off, but I push his hand away gently and fix them. He's too adorable when they're on.

He takes a cue from my action, and his hands go to hem of my shirt and I raise my arms to make it easier for him to remove. My lacy pink bra is revealed. I take his hands and put them on my chest. His touch is gentle, almost too much so. I know I make him nervous. But as before, he recovers from his uncertainty.

I kick off my shoes myself and lean in to kiss him. His hands leave my chest and go around me. In another moment he's struggling with my pleather pants. His brow gets all scrunched and he bites his lip trying to determine the best way to remove them. Normally I would be impatient with someone who took this long, but with Mark I find it sweet.


Despite my reassurances, he still looks terrified with I cuff him to the bed.

I move to take off his pants. He bites his lip.

"Don' t worry hun, I'm a sweet girl." I smile devilishly. "Promise."

He smiles nervously. Aww.

I reach for his zipper and when my hand brushes against him he gasps. I love that I have that power over him. I go slowly, making sure to initiate more 'accidental' contact. I pull his pants, holding my breath as I always do, but of course sweet little Mark would be perfect. Of course, because if I've gone to all the trouble of dragging this little nerd up to my apartment he better be. But, there have been ones I've kicked out in the past.

I release my breath. Perfect. I'm only wearing my underwear now, but I decide it might be more fun to leave it on. My intentions have shifted and for once I'm more concerned about my partner having a good time than myself. Strange feeling.

I straddle his stomach and run my hands over his chest, before leaning down to brush my lips against his. Pulling back I reach over to the table to pick up a strawberry. I hold it to his lips and he bites into it, a little stream of red juice running over his jaw. I giggle and kiss him again, he tastes sweet now, more so than before. I love what he does with his tongue.

He still has that shy look when I grab a condom from the table, and I'm still savoring the effect I have upon him.


When I wake up it's still in the crazy early hours of the morning. Surprising myself, I didn't kick him out afterwards, but invited him to stay. I'm glad, because I kind of like the feeling of his arms around me, his breath against my neck.

I feel him stir behind me and a small moan escapes his lips. I turn my head to look at him and he wearily opens his eyes and smiles at me. Aww, I think I wore him out.

Even without his glasses he's adorable. His eyes hold my gaze, they have a way of reaching out in a similar way his arms do. I feel comfortable and safe when I look in them. I turn myself more so that I can kiss him.

We make love again, without the handcuffs, rubber pants, wigs or the fruit. Just him and me and I like it. It's gentle, and I feel myself caring for more than about the pleasure we're creating. I wonder what it's like to have this all the time, to come home to this. I care about him, and as my lips touch his again he cries out against them. His head comes to rest on my chest and I hold him.

I'll regret this. I know I'm going to hurt him. I hope he can forgive my wrongs because I really do want to change for him. I know I won't, but I want to.