Title: Minus Camera
Characters: Roger/Mark
Rating: NC-17, M, 18+
Summary: PWP, really.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, and I'm not making any money from this.
Mark's day had been excruciatingly long, and he wants nothing more than to take advantage of the very rare hot water running through the pipes of the apartment. Stripping his clothes off carelessly, he looks in the mirror for only a second before taking his glasses off and stepping through the steam, into the shower.
Groaning at the contact of searing water, he rubs his temples slowly. He's been in a mood for a week now, after relentless disappointments kept coming his way. He kept storming into the apartment at late hours and keeping mostly to himself.
Whenever he was grumpy, his camera would be the first thing to set him back on track. He would put himself behind the lens, focus on beauty instead of chaos, and he would be all right. But he needs to get the damn thing fixed. It didn't need repairs often; it was a reliable piece of machinery, but the jerky capturing of the film meant something was wrong, and he wants to be able to capture life without interruption.
Life doesn't slow down for anyone, and he understands that. But hell, he's going to stand under that water until every knot in his body is melted back into place and nothing but ice water is left in the apartment.
He grabs the softened bar of soap and begins to lather it slowly. Licking his lips, he imagines the perfect scene to capture as a catalyst to help his mood. He visualizes Roger staring at the camera, as it captures his intense gaze perfectly. Mark would slowly pan every aspect of his body, using the camera to memorize everything. Tiny scars, perfect imperfections, weathered hands, bitten nails. Hardening immediately at the thought, he let his hands slowly slide down his stomach, soap bubbles playfully leaving a trail. Reaching his shaft, he carefully begins pumping, and a delicate moan escapes his lips. Messy hair, freckles on the bridge of his nose, a menacing smile captured on camera.
"Mmm – fuck," his hoarse voice breathes out. He lets his mind wander even more. His camera is still in hand as he lets himself touch the smile and he's memorized. Roger parts his lips slowly, licking Mark's ring finger. Mark's eyes roll as he closes them, allowing his fingers to trail across Roger's mouth. Roger's tongue laps Mark's thumb, sucking on it as he relishes in the suction. Suction that could easily be imagined on another part of anatomy...
He is pumping even harder, one hand against a wall to help balance him, hot water trailing down his shoulders. He thrusts against his hand, one name, one person, one spirit on his mind. He is jerking off in the shower and it is nothing but Roger, Roger, Roger.
"Uhhh, God, Roger."
A clatter, and Mark turns his head to find that he is being watched. Roger's face is only startled for only one second, but his hands are immediately going to the buttons of his flannel shirt.
Mark is panicking on the inside, adrenaline and excitement and fear and Roger pulsing through his veins. He is a mess on the inside, but there is no hesitation as Roger slides the clear plastic shower curtain aside, his clothes in a pile on the floor.
Roger's smirk is full of smugness, and it is fucking dizzying. How can be so calm? Mark needs to get rid of it for his own sake, because damn. He grabs the back of Roger's head, pushing their lips together. He's surprised how delicate the first moments are, just taste and feeling and small whimpers he can feel in his toes.
One particular whimper from Mark is a cue, and Roger grabs his waist to bring him closer, their cocks sliding against each other, wet and warm. Their noises become moans, desperate and guttural, and full of need, echoing in the small shower. Roger wants to do this right; he knows they need to take it slow, let emotion catch up with their need, and not do anything they might regret.
They're still kissing, and Mark is getting dizzy. Their lips are open and pressed together as he breathes in slowly, his eyes closed, water rushing everywhere. Roger kisses Mark's jaw, a path of small pecks that lead to his neck. Roger licks it once, before sucking it softly, knowing what little effort it would take to leave an imprint on Mark's soft skin. There is intent in Roger's lips, wanting to leave a mark he would be asked about later. A small smile against Mark's neck, and Roger moves again towards the other boy's lips for an affectionate kiss.
Mark's still not sure this is happening. Suddenly it's weathered hands and Roger's freckles and messy wet hair minus camera and he's relying on his memory to remember this forever. Mark pushes Roger against the wall, his hands cataloging the delicious feel of wet skin into his mind. Bringing his face close to Roger's, their lips touch once more, and he pays close to attention to how fucking beautiful the sight of his mouth is, bruised, red, raw. He commits to memory the look on Roger's face as his right hand slides lower to touch his cock. Roger's breath hitches and it's more erratic as Mark's hand begins to pump slowly, sliding back and forth, creating delightful friction. The site alone of Roger's lips parted, eyes closed, is enough to illicit a moan from Mark. He doesn't stop his movements, watching Roger closely.
Mark is entranced, and notices that Roger's eyes are opening slightly, paying close attention to Mark. Roger's hand slithers between their bodies and closes softly against Mark's shaft and begins thrusting back and forth, mirroring the motions of Mark's hand. Roger's glad he doesn't miss the response Mark gives, because it's probably the most stunning thing he's ever seen. And Roger tells him.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
They're both touching each other like boys exploring for the first time, despite both of their experience. They're pumping each other quickly, opening their eyes only to catch quick glances of each other, their bodies soaking wet, and it's only a matter of minutes before they cum together, moaning each other's names. The slam of pleasure and it's Mark, Roger, Mark, Roger and exploding stars accompanied by a full orchestra.
They slide together to the floor of the tub, Mark between Roger's legs. The water is cooling, but neither of them wants to move. They are listening to the water rushing over them, until...
"So, when I get my camera fixed, do you think we can do this again?"
He's got his memory, sure, but a little help from his reliable piece of machinery for the finer details couldn't do any harm.