Disclaimers and summary on first chapter
Notes: Um. . . Rated: R!!!!
Chapter 17 - Shamelessly Indulging-
+Roger's POV+
It's cold when I wake up and I realize quickly it's because Mark isn't there. He's not far, however, he's on the other side of the small room, watching old film with a very sad face. He doesn't know I'm awake yet, so I pretend awhile longer, watching him.
It's really old film, from high school. The camera is on Maureen who is dancing along with music coming from out of the picture. The camera pans over then, and I see myself, with my guitar, providing the music. Mark zooms in on me and I smile at him and wink. I don't remember this, not at all.
Mark looks over at me, catching me with my eyes open, barely pretending. His eyes are sad.
"What happened to your guitar, Roger?" He asks softly.
"It's gone. I left it in an alley. . . and I don't know. It wasn't there when I got back."
He nods and turns back to the film.
"Look at yourself, Roger. Look at what you were, and what you are now."
I sit up and lean against the cushions. "Am I not good enough for you?"
He looks horrified. "I didn't mean that."
"What did you mean, Mark?"
He comes back across the room and sits beside me on the bed. His arm goes around my shoulders and I lean against his body, my head on his shoulder.
"You're perfect, Roger. If I ever say anything else I don't mean it."
"How do I know you mean it now?" I ask him quietly.
"You'll just have to trust me." He says, laying his head against mine.
I've missed this so much, this casual contact between us. So commonplace before, so easy now. It's all returning, even the feeling I've always remembered, from the first time I saw him. It had been backstage, during the musical my junior year. I had been late getting to my place backstage to wait for my entrance because I didn't have my mic. Terrified, it was opening night and I was fucking up already, I frantically tried to get anyone backstage to listen to me and help. I had to be onstage in about 30 seconds.
A small, blond guy was sitting next to a large prop piece, talking with another techie through his headset. I ran frantically over to him.
"Please, help me. I don't have a mic, I need to be. . ."
I didn't even finish before he was up and gone. I saw him grab a body mic from an ensemble member near the dressing rooms and then he ran back over to me.
"I'll figure out the mic problem, just go onstage." He told me, quickly situating the mic on my collar and putting the mic pack on the back of my pants. He pushed me toward the stage and right before I went on I turned and smiled at him, my heart still pounding.
"Thanks!" I called out in a half whisper. He waved me away, talking into his headset.
"Chris, it's Mark. Turn on mic G when, uh, the next lead gets on. Yeah I know that's not his mic, there's a problem. Just do it, he's going on now." He snapped at me and pointed to the stage. For a second he half smiled and that's what I remember, that smile that may not have even been there. I thought about him the rest of the night and many times afterwards till I finally saw him again at the talent show a week or so after the final performance. Something about him had stuck in my mind, had always stuck in my mind.
I pick my head up and he turns to look at me and I kiss him, softly, but not being quite as cautious as we have been these past couple days. It doesn't faze him at all, he deepens it, his tongue seeking entrance to my mouth, which I grant, until we're locked to each other, shamelessly indulging in the other's taste. This can't happen yet, I'm telling myself, not yet. Mark pulls my body closer and I'm moving closer, laying on top of him, pinning him down. No, not yet. One of his hands on my shoulder, the other on the back of my neck. One of my arms around him, the other moving down his body, his chest, his waist, his thigh. And his face, his beautiful face that I'm spreading my kisses over, that's flushed and red, my own that surely matches. His body feels so familiar, yet it's different. He's grown, filled out. He's still small, still thin, not a boy, a man now. That's real stubble I feel on his chin when I touch his face again, the Mark I knew never had a need to shave. I feel a strength in him that wasn't there before, a power. He's never been so appealing and at the same time so. . ."
"Mark, no." Every part of my body resists me as I move away, sitting up and looking away. I can't look at him.
"Roger, what?"
"No, not yet, Mark. We said. . ."
"Now, Roger. When else is better?"
"But. . ."
He lays his hands on my shoulders from behind and I feel his lips on my neck. I moan softly, letting my head roll to the side.
"I love you, Mark." I say, my breath caught in my throat, it's a strangled whisper.
He's kissing my jaw now and I turn my head so our lips again meet. When one of his hands starts to move down my chest I pull away again.
"No!"
"Why? What's really wrong, Roger?" He smiles gently. "I've never known you to turn down sex in the past."
I wrap my arms around my body, move farther away from him.
"How can I possibly be attractive to you, Mark? Look at me, really look! I probably weigh less than you!"
He's shaking his head at me.
"It doesn't matter, Roger. I've never loved you because of how you look."
He comes over to me, takes my hands. I watch him turn them over. Gently, he pushes my sleeves up and kisses my wrists. He sees what he didn't notice before, the little fading scratches and scars that cover my wrists. How insane I went after I discovered April and at the same time, my fate. I was constantly pricking myself, would stare at my blood as it welled up, imagining the deadly disease within it. It would fascinate me and I'd watch it till it clotted and dried and then I'd make another cut.
He kisses some of the old tracks on my arms, then lifts his head. I've been watching him soundlessly, and his eyes meet mine. He shakes his head again.
"Why can't you just let me love you, Rog? Is it that bad?"
His eyes are open, honest. The only eyes I've ever loved. The only eyes I ever will, certainly. If I don't trust Mark, if I don't let him take care of me and appreciate him and be with him and love him I might lose him and then I'd be lost as well. I start the slow, awkward lean toward him. He does the same. Our lips meet in a tender kiss. He leans back on the bed and pulls me on top of him. It's not the same passion as it was only a few minutes earlier, it's much to gentle and kind for that. He pulls his lips away for a moment.
"Not here, Rog." He makes a gesture toward his bedroom and we get up together and go in, our lips meeting again as soon as the door closes behind us. I pull the shirt off of his body, laying my hands on his back and pulling him close. We kiss gently, I feel him tugging on my own shirt and I step away only enough for him to get it off. I start to move back towards him but his lays a hand on my chest, forcing me to stay back. I watch his eyes move over my upper body and mine land on the ground, embarrassed. Then he's right up next to me again, and he kisses my chest, my chin, my lips.
"You're perfect." He whispers.
Moments later Mark leads me to his bed, pulling me down on top of him. He stuffs something in my hand while my lips are still on his and I tear open the condom without breaking our kiss. He lays back and I position myself, laying one hand on his stomach, again appreciating the new, subtle power beneath his skin.
I'd forgotten it could be this way, what it was like to share this with him.
I lay in his arms, my head on his chest. He kisses my hair and I hold him tighter.
"I love you, Rog." He whispers to me.
I smile to myself and close my eyes.
+++
Notes Continued: Happy now that we have a little action? Lol. Well I assure you it won't be long until mini-Mark and mini-Roger get their freak on as well. Oooh secrets I shouldn't tell! Thanks reviewers/readers!
Notes: Um. . . Rated: R!!!!
Chapter 17 - Shamelessly Indulging-
+Roger's POV+
It's cold when I wake up and I realize quickly it's because Mark isn't there. He's not far, however, he's on the other side of the small room, watching old film with a very sad face. He doesn't know I'm awake yet, so I pretend awhile longer, watching him.
It's really old film, from high school. The camera is on Maureen who is dancing along with music coming from out of the picture. The camera pans over then, and I see myself, with my guitar, providing the music. Mark zooms in on me and I smile at him and wink. I don't remember this, not at all.
Mark looks over at me, catching me with my eyes open, barely pretending. His eyes are sad.
"What happened to your guitar, Roger?" He asks softly.
"It's gone. I left it in an alley. . . and I don't know. It wasn't there when I got back."
He nods and turns back to the film.
"Look at yourself, Roger. Look at what you were, and what you are now."
I sit up and lean against the cushions. "Am I not good enough for you?"
He looks horrified. "I didn't mean that."
"What did you mean, Mark?"
He comes back across the room and sits beside me on the bed. His arm goes around my shoulders and I lean against his body, my head on his shoulder.
"You're perfect, Roger. If I ever say anything else I don't mean it."
"How do I know you mean it now?" I ask him quietly.
"You'll just have to trust me." He says, laying his head against mine.
I've missed this so much, this casual contact between us. So commonplace before, so easy now. It's all returning, even the feeling I've always remembered, from the first time I saw him. It had been backstage, during the musical my junior year. I had been late getting to my place backstage to wait for my entrance because I didn't have my mic. Terrified, it was opening night and I was fucking up already, I frantically tried to get anyone backstage to listen to me and help. I had to be onstage in about 30 seconds.
A small, blond guy was sitting next to a large prop piece, talking with another techie through his headset. I ran frantically over to him.
"Please, help me. I don't have a mic, I need to be. . ."
I didn't even finish before he was up and gone. I saw him grab a body mic from an ensemble member near the dressing rooms and then he ran back over to me.
"I'll figure out the mic problem, just go onstage." He told me, quickly situating the mic on my collar and putting the mic pack on the back of my pants. He pushed me toward the stage and right before I went on I turned and smiled at him, my heart still pounding.
"Thanks!" I called out in a half whisper. He waved me away, talking into his headset.
"Chris, it's Mark. Turn on mic G when, uh, the next lead gets on. Yeah I know that's not his mic, there's a problem. Just do it, he's going on now." He snapped at me and pointed to the stage. For a second he half smiled and that's what I remember, that smile that may not have even been there. I thought about him the rest of the night and many times afterwards till I finally saw him again at the talent show a week or so after the final performance. Something about him had stuck in my mind, had always stuck in my mind.
I pick my head up and he turns to look at me and I kiss him, softly, but not being quite as cautious as we have been these past couple days. It doesn't faze him at all, he deepens it, his tongue seeking entrance to my mouth, which I grant, until we're locked to each other, shamelessly indulging in the other's taste. This can't happen yet, I'm telling myself, not yet. Mark pulls my body closer and I'm moving closer, laying on top of him, pinning him down. No, not yet. One of his hands on my shoulder, the other on the back of my neck. One of my arms around him, the other moving down his body, his chest, his waist, his thigh. And his face, his beautiful face that I'm spreading my kisses over, that's flushed and red, my own that surely matches. His body feels so familiar, yet it's different. He's grown, filled out. He's still small, still thin, not a boy, a man now. That's real stubble I feel on his chin when I touch his face again, the Mark I knew never had a need to shave. I feel a strength in him that wasn't there before, a power. He's never been so appealing and at the same time so. . ."
"Mark, no." Every part of my body resists me as I move away, sitting up and looking away. I can't look at him.
"Roger, what?"
"No, not yet, Mark. We said. . ."
"Now, Roger. When else is better?"
"But. . ."
He lays his hands on my shoulders from behind and I feel his lips on my neck. I moan softly, letting my head roll to the side.
"I love you, Mark." I say, my breath caught in my throat, it's a strangled whisper.
He's kissing my jaw now and I turn my head so our lips again meet. When one of his hands starts to move down my chest I pull away again.
"No!"
"Why? What's really wrong, Roger?" He smiles gently. "I've never known you to turn down sex in the past."
I wrap my arms around my body, move farther away from him.
"How can I possibly be attractive to you, Mark? Look at me, really look! I probably weigh less than you!"
He's shaking his head at me.
"It doesn't matter, Roger. I've never loved you because of how you look."
He comes over to me, takes my hands. I watch him turn them over. Gently, he pushes my sleeves up and kisses my wrists. He sees what he didn't notice before, the little fading scratches and scars that cover my wrists. How insane I went after I discovered April and at the same time, my fate. I was constantly pricking myself, would stare at my blood as it welled up, imagining the deadly disease within it. It would fascinate me and I'd watch it till it clotted and dried and then I'd make another cut.
He kisses some of the old tracks on my arms, then lifts his head. I've been watching him soundlessly, and his eyes meet mine. He shakes his head again.
"Why can't you just let me love you, Rog? Is it that bad?"
His eyes are open, honest. The only eyes I've ever loved. The only eyes I ever will, certainly. If I don't trust Mark, if I don't let him take care of me and appreciate him and be with him and love him I might lose him and then I'd be lost as well. I start the slow, awkward lean toward him. He does the same. Our lips meet in a tender kiss. He leans back on the bed and pulls me on top of him. It's not the same passion as it was only a few minutes earlier, it's much to gentle and kind for that. He pulls his lips away for a moment.
"Not here, Rog." He makes a gesture toward his bedroom and we get up together and go in, our lips meeting again as soon as the door closes behind us. I pull the shirt off of his body, laying my hands on his back and pulling him close. We kiss gently, I feel him tugging on my own shirt and I step away only enough for him to get it off. I start to move back towards him but his lays a hand on my chest, forcing me to stay back. I watch his eyes move over my upper body and mine land on the ground, embarrassed. Then he's right up next to me again, and he kisses my chest, my chin, my lips.
"You're perfect." He whispers.
Moments later Mark leads me to his bed, pulling me down on top of him. He stuffs something in my hand while my lips are still on his and I tear open the condom without breaking our kiss. He lays back and I position myself, laying one hand on his stomach, again appreciating the new, subtle power beneath his skin.
I'd forgotten it could be this way, what it was like to share this with him.
I lay in his arms, my head on his chest. He kisses my hair and I hold him tighter.
"I love you, Rog." He whispers to me.
I smile to myself and close my eyes.
+++
Notes Continued: Happy now that we have a little action? Lol. Well I assure you it won't be long until mini-Mark and mini-Roger get their freak on as well. Oooh secrets I shouldn't tell! Thanks reviewers/readers!