Authors note: I bring about 5 points.
1. This could be considered either a getting together a story or not. I wrote it as one, but reading it over a couple years later, it's doesn't really come across that way.
2.I like to make my Marky break down.
3.I don't really like this story, but I wanted to put something RENT up here and this is my only finished one.
4.I don't like Mimi. (which really has nothing much to do with the story.)
5. I am aware that I use some form of the word "shift" a lot.
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Rogers Hands
Mark loves to watch Roger play. He watches secretely, hidden behind his camera or the Village Voice. Actually, what he really pays attention to are Roger's hands.
Mark loves the way Roger's finger flex and twist over the strings. The way all that movement makes music completely amazes him.
Roger caught Mark staring a few times. Well, he only mentioned it a few times. He saw it all the time.
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The filmaker sat on the couch, tucked up into a corner. He was sipping at tea to stay warm, but it was useless - the New York winter winds had already blown through the flat and turned Mark's tea cold.
The songwriter flopped down next to him, coffee in one hand, guitar in the other. In the winter they usually sat next to each other, hoping to find some warmth. It was one of the Unwritten Laws of Mark and Roger's Flat. Many times, this Unwritten Law turned to almost snuggling.
Roger took a sip of coffee. Apparently something was wrong with it, because he made a face and set it down. He was about to pick up his guitar when he saw Marks eyes dart towards Roger's hand.
"Okay," The blonde man stated. He sounded more annoyed than he had meant to, but he couldn't fix it now. "Is there a reason you watch me so intently when I play?"
Mark dropped his tea in surprise. The ceramic shattered, leaving the cold liquid to creep across the floorboards. Nobody moved to pick it up.
"Yes." Mark whispered. Roger turned to face him.
"Are you going to tell me why?"
Mark's pale face was already tinted with pink from the cold, but it turned to red.
He shifted so he and Roger were face to face. "It's your hands."
Roger almost laughed, and that put Mark on the defensive. "Don't give me that look! I knew I shouldn't of told you."
The red-haired man took off his glasses and rubbed them with his scarf. Roger was surprised to see tears forming in the corners of Marks eyes. He sighed and said "Mark, don't cry. It's fine."
Mark was enveloped in a warm hug. Roger had wrapped his arms around Mark's shoulders. Mark scooted closer and put his arms Roger's waist.
Reaching behind him, Roger moved his guitar to the floor. His heart was racing and he could tell Mark's was, too. He shifted them both until they were laying down, Roger almost on top of Mark.
"Would you rather have my hands on my guitar or you?"
Mark smiled shyly. "Me, definitely."
Roger put one of the afore mentioned hands on the back of Marks neck and the other on the side of his face. Their lips met in a warm kiss, and Mark decided he had a new favourite thing for Roger's hands to do.
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Thanks for reading!
Crope