One Magic Night

Warnings: Contains a NC-17 moment. Between two males. Lovely.

Disclaimer: All things RENT belong to the great and wonderful Jonathan Larson. May he be at peace.

Summery: Roger helps Mark with a film.

Feedback: It’s how authors survive. Feel free to just review or email me at Shin_Cohen@yahoo.com

“Move the fuck out of the way!”

Roger barely had time to shift to the edge of the sidewalk before the vendor rushed past him, his eyes intent on the cart he pushed through the throng of people milling past. Mumbling a now useless apology, Roger hitched the guitar case hanging on his shoulder a little closer as he continued down the crowded street.

The snow that had fallen continuously the entire day was finally settling down into a mild flurry. Winter once again had New York in its firm and formidable grip. The bitter cold managed with ease to bring out the worst in people. The streets were seemingly filled to the brim with coats, scarves, and hats rather than actual citizens; heads remained bent, and bodies remained hunched over in a futile attempt to escape the harsh wind. The populace of New York City seemed to be in a permanently foul mood.

Roger loved it.

The season’s severity seemed an outward manifestation of his own sulky disposition. He enjoyed winter’s chilled air; the way it took your breath away with a gasp, the way it left a stinging remembrance when it drifted by, the way its icy fingers flitted across your spine and left you trembling. Winter was a scorned lover that he was only too happy to embrace.

Glancing up at the light tinkling of bells, Roger realized he was standing in front of the door to the unmarked building that was his destination. The tall blond pulled the door open quickly, sprinting up the stairs that greeted him as he stepped inside. Roger couldn’t help grinning at his own excitement. He had been pulled from his sleep that morning by the sound of his band mate's urgent voice screaming into the answering machine. The news had been worth the fanfare; they had been hired in what could pass as a stable gig at a new club that was opening in a few nights. It was the perfect opportunity to get some of their newer songs into the heads of New York’s thriving and tempestuous nightlife. Roger had left the loft after that, planning on meeting up with Mark after his class and surprising him with the news and an early dinner.

410, 411,412...Finally. 413.

Roger glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind him. 4:32. They should be done by now. After giving the door a hesitant knock, Roger opened it slowly, glancing into the room with searching eyes. Empty. Shit. The musician scowled, his disappointment at his ruined plans bringing down his enthusiasm a notch. I thought he said the class ended at 4:30.

“You are Roger Davis.”

Roger’s head snapped up, the resonating voice pulling him from his thoughts. He opened the door wider, stepping into the room as he looked for its lone occupant. A man was sitting quietly behind the main desk, the shadows of the room almost completely hiding him from view. He looked to be in his forties, dark brown hair graying slightly at the temples. Despite the obvious sign of age, his face was smooth, free from the lines of worry and anxiety that Roger would swear he saw emerging on his own visage. Remembering the statement that had startled him, Roger nodded his head, readjusting the strap that was beginning to dig painfully into his shoulder.

“Have we met?” The man smiled at this, standing as he held out a hand to Roger.

“Not yet. I am Neil Grayson, the instructor of the class Mr. Cohen is taking. You are in quite a few of his films.” Roger rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance as he stepped forward to shake the offered hand, a smile pulling at his lips.

“No one can escape Mark’s camera.” Mr. Grayson laughed softly, nodding slowly as he sat back down, gesturing for Roger to take a seat as well.

“A sign of a true filmmaker.” Roger sat at the closest desk as he nodded absentmindedly in agreement. Taking in their positions, the instructor behind his desk with Roger sitting in front of him, the blond couldn’t help but feel as if he were a child again, waiting for his punishment after some fight on the schoolyard. Glancing up, he realized he had dazed off when he saw Mr. Grayson looking at him expectantly.

“What?” The elder man’s gaze didn’t waver, despite Roger’s brusque tone.

“I asked if you enjoyed filmmaking as well.” Roger shook his head, his hand reaching out by habit to rest on the case that lay on the table beside him.

“Not really. I like to watch the films that Mark makes but other than that...” he trailed off as he glanced at his guitar. “I’m more into music.” Mr. Grayson’s eyes went to the case for a moment before once again returning to watch Roger.

“Have you played for very long?” It took the musician a moment to realize what he was referring to before he saw the instructor nod at the guitar. Roger couldn’t help but smile as he answered.

“Every since I was a kid. It’s the only thing I can ever recall wanting to do.” Mr. Grayson’s eyes studied Roger’s face, the close scrutiny making the blond slightly uncomfortable. After a few moments, the penetrating gaze flickered to the papers on the desk, breaking the unbearable contact.

“You play amazingly well. The songs you write are quite excellent. Mr. Cohen is a particularly big fan of yours, as well as many others in my class.” Roger felt heat rise to his face at the unexpected compliments. Mr. Grayson noticed the blush, a grin lighting his own features and making him seem younger.

“Tell me, Mr. Davis: Is Mr. Cohen in any of the films you have seen?” Roger couldn’t help but feel relieved at the focus changing to Mark once again. He thought about the question for a few moments before shaking his head.

“No. He’d kill anyone that touched his camera,” Roger paused before continuing. “That, and he hates being the center of attention.” Mr. Grayson nodded to himself, jotting a few words down onto a sheet of paper. Roger straightened slightly as he tried to read what the words were, but the room was too dim.

“I have noticed that Mr. Cohen seems to be a bit shy.” Roger laughed quietly at the obvious understatement.

“He’s better around people he knows. Then again, he doesn’t try to know many people, so it all works out fine for him.” Mr. Grayson wrote out a few more words before standing, his hands inside of his pockets as he casually walked to stand in front of the musician. After a few seconds of silence, the instructor folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the desk as he fixated Roger with an amused expression.

“Let me ask you another question, Mr. Davis: What do you believe is the moment in which an artist, no matter how closed off he tries to make himself, no matter how well he has managed to disguise his true self, becomes exposed and vulnerable to the eyes.” Roger remained silent, momentarily shocked by the question. How in the hell did we get to this? The musician glanced at Mr. Grayson again, surprised to see him smiling almost challengingly at him. He doesn’t think I’ll answer him. Fuck that.

“I would imagine that would be in the throes of passion, Mr. Grayson.” The instructor’s grin widened, as if that was the exact answer he had been looking for.

“I would have to agree with you in that assessment, Mr. Davis.” Pushing back against the desk, Mr. Grayson straightened from his relaxed position, turning to walk back to his chair. Once again seated, the relentless stare settled back on Roger.

“Now I want you to try and remember that when- or perhaps if- you hear of Mr. Cohen’s last assignment.” Roger couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“He’ll tell me. Mark loves talking about his films.” Roger stopped for a second as he contemplated what Mr. Grayson had said. “Last assignment? I thought this class ran for a couple of more months.” Mr. Grayson shook his head slowly as he began rifling through the stack of papers sitting on his desk.

“It does, but not for Mr. Cohen. He will either pass this final assignment, and I will move him to a job that is worthy of his talents and time, or he will fail and have no more need for this class. I will give him a full refund and send him on his way. Otherwise, he is wasting his time here. There is not anything more I can teach him.” Roger found himself stunned into silence for the second time by Mr. Grayson’s words. He knew Mark was good, and he certainly didn’t need to be taking this class, but...Mark loved it. He came back to the loft each week with at least an hour of information about the lessons or other oddities about the class. It was one of the times that Roger could recall seeing Mark truly happy and excited about something, the emotion sending his small friend’s hands into a fit of tremors as he babbled on about things the musician had no idea how to comprehend. But he listened because it was Mark’s passion, and he knew he was just as bad about his music, of which Mark had an almost equal devotion to.

The loft had been devoid of tangled pains and sorrows for about three months now after nearly half a year of being overfilled with the memory of Mimi‘s death. Roger and his band had started going to several auditions as the blond had been struck with a sudden and immediate desire to write. The songs piled up and, luckily, so did the gigs. Mark had saved enough money to take a class on filming. The filmmaker had thought it would look better if he had references should he ever decide to actually work for a company. A peace had settled over the two and their routines; a day of work and then home. A relatively normal life. It surprised Roger how well it suited them both. He still went to clubs of course, but the need to drink himself into an unfeeling stupor was gone. The need to stay out for endless hours during the night was gone. For the first time in his life, Roger could describe himself as content. Would it be the same way with this sudden change? Would Mark actually want to take the job offered by Mr. Grayson? The thought that Mark would fail the assignment never entered his mind.

Roger glanced up from his thoughts, realizing the silence had been going on for several minutes. The instructor was now fully engrossed in his work, completely oblivious to the other man’s presence. The musician took that as his permission to leave. The blond stood, grabbing his case as he made his way to the door.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis.” Roger didn’t look back. Waving his free hand in acknowledgment, Roger exited the classroom quickly, surprised by the sudden sense of relief he felt now that he was out of Mr. Grayson’s company. The door clicked as it closed behind him, causing Roger to pause as he glanced back at the room.

What the hell was that all about?

***********************************************************************************

Where the hell could he be? Roger glanced at the clock again, the scarlet 6:43 glowing back at him almost tauntingly. The musician sat on the long table that was the piece de resistance of the small loft, his long legs resting on the seat of a chair as he plucked out a random melody on the guitar resting on his lap. The notes were harsh and impatient, matching Roger’s mood as he waited in frustration for Mark to return home.

It wasn’t particularly unusual for the filmmaker to come back late from his class; Mark never really paid attention to the time, and he would get caught up in his filming on the way back to the loft. But ever since winter had fallen across New York, he rushed to get home, his scarf and jacket doing little to protect his small frame from the bitter wind. The loft did not exactly radiate a plethora of heat, but one could escape the wind and wrap themselves in enough blankets to be considered mildly warm.

The sound of a key turning in the lock brought Roger back to the present, the door opening to welcome in an icy wave of cold air and the slight filmmaker. Mark stepped inside the loft quickly, struggling to close the door as the wind howled against it. Shaking the snow off of his jacket, Mark almost immediately headed for the kitchen, oblivious to everything except the pot of tea he made each evening. Roger watched this custom with an amused smirk, clearing his throat in an attempt to make Mark aware of his presence before the musician simply startled him. The sound of running water echoed in the small area before he stepped out of the kitchen, a tiny smile on his face as he greeted Roger.

“How long have you been home?” Roger shrugged, turning slightly to glance at the clock he had been watching for the past two and a half hours. The blond had been in a surprising hurry to get home and talk to Mark about his class. The odd conversation he’d had with Mr. Grayson had stuck with him the entire week, and Roger was insanely eager to find out what film Mark might have to do that would fit with the discussion he’d had with the instructor. Roger had decided not to tell his friend about it until after the filmmaker had been given the assignment.

“Only for about- twenty minutes.” Mark nodded, turning to go back into the kitchen.

“So...what’s your new assignment, Mark?” Sharp blue eyes went wide at this, turning to stare at Roger in what looked like shock as the musician gazed back innocently.

“Wh-why do you ask?” Roger shrugged again, feigning nonchalance as he looked back down at his guitar, tapered fingers brushing against the strings as he thought of how to tell Mark about his talk with Mr. Grayson.

“I met your instructor last week. I was going to see if you wanted to go get dinner, but I guess your class left early or something because he was the only one in the room. He mentioned your next assignment.” Roger continued strumming the guitar softly, waiting for Mark to respond to his explanation. When silence was the only reply he received, the musician brought his head up to glance at Mark.

The filmmaker was still looking at Roger, but instead of the shock his eyes had held before, a quiet fear was emitting from the cobalt orbs. His entire body had become tense, the rigidity of his stance making him appear ice-like as he remained silent. Roger quickly moved from his seat on the table, walking to stand in front of Mark as his guitar dropped to rest at his side. The blond reached out a hand to lay on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“What happened, Mark? What’s wrong?” The gentle questions seemed to break the paralysis that had frozen the filmmaker. He took a nervous step back, barely avoiding Roger’s touch as he brought an unsteady hand up to run through his hair.

“Nothing...nothing, Roger. Everything’s fine. It just...surprised me.” Roger looked at Mark in exasperation, letting his hand fall to his side.

“You know better than to try and pull that shit, Mark. I always know when something’s wrong.” Mark opened his mouth, obviously about to argue the validity of that statement, before closing it again in resignation.

“How is that?”

Roger hesitated for a moment, reluctant to give the secret away, before pointing to Mark’s hands.

“They shake.” The answer was simple, but Mark reacted as if Roger had hit him across the face. He glanced down at his hands, watching as the normally eerily steady appendages trembled with his agitation. The filmmaker blushed, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture.

“It’s New York in the dead of winter, Roger. Of course my hands are shaking.” Roger raised an eyebrow at the feeble excuse, giving Mark the full brunt of his suspicion as he stepped closer to the filmmaker. Mark didn’t seem to notice his roommate closing in on him as he rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt to get them to stop quivering. It wasn’t until Roger was face to face with Mark that he became once again aware of the musician’s presence.

“What are you...” The question was cut off abruptly as Roger grabbed the front of Mark’s sweater, sweeping a quick foot behind the smaller man and pushing him backwards. Mark’s expression became panicked as he fell, his hands frantically reaching out to grab Roger’s arms. The musician smiled as he lowered Mark toward the ground, his grip firm on the filmmaker’s clothes before letting go and allowing him to fall the rest of the way to the floor. Mark lay there for a moment, his eyes still tightly shut as he had closed them to prepare himself for the pain that would follow his crash. It wasn’t until he felt Roger sit down on his stomach that he opened his eyes. The blond smiled down at him, fingers once again strumming chords from the guitar. Mark watched him, an incredulous expression on his face.

“What the hell are you doing, Roger?” The musician’s smile only widened at Mark’s indignation.

“Until you tell me what your assignment is, I am going to remain sitting here. And what’s more...I’m going to be playing Musetta’s Waltz.” Soon the maddeningly familiar tune filled the loft, causing Mark to laugh despite himself.

“Anything but that.” Roger kept playing as he wiggled his eyebrows at Mark, slowing the song down to prolong its ending.

“Well?” Mark sighed unhappily, the trepidation once again returning to his eyes. Roger felt his smile fall away at the dread on Mark’s face and the slight shudder he felt run through the slim body beneath him.

“It’s not really that important, Roger. Just...please drop it, and get the fuck off of me.” There was real anger and pain in that demand, causing Roger to stop playing and stare down at the pale face below him. Mark had turned his head to the side, glaring at the wall as if it alone was the cause of his frustration. Roger reached down to touch his cheek, gently but firmly guiding the face to look back at him. It was paler than normal, the features beset with the full-blown fear that seemed to have come over Mark. He must think he’s going to end up telling me without meaning to. Damn. The filmmaker’s eyes sparkled as they caught the light, the bright sheen of tears trapped behind furiously blinking eyes as Mark fought to not let them fall. This has gone far enough.

“Hey...it can’t be that bad.” Mark remained silent, attempting to turn his face away from Roger’s constant gaze. The musician took Mark’s chin in an unyielding grip, keeping their eyes locked as he brought his own face closer to the filmmaker’s.

“Since when are you afraid to tell me something?” Roger couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty as the tender query crumbled Mark’s remaining defenses. He knew it was an unfair jab; there had been a time when Mark would have done anything to get him to talk about what was bothering him, and yet he had remained tight-lipped. But they were past that now; Roger didn’t want them to take a step backwards where either one of them would suffer in silence.

“I can’t do this film!” Roger started at Mark’s blurted confession, worried at the distraught tremble to the words.

“Why can’t you do this film, Mark?” Roger struggled to keep his voice patient and smooth, hoping to calm Mark enough to where talking wouldn’t be painful for him. Mark twisted nervously beneath him, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Roger.

“I...I just can’t.” Mark finally met Roger’s eyes again, pleading with the musician to drop the subject and accept his elusive answers. But Roger knew there was something deeper bothering Mark. All this fear couldn’t have come from having to do a difficult film.

“What is the film about, Mark?” Roger continued to talk softly, his words slow as if calming a child after a horrendous nightmare. Mark’s breathing became shallower as he broke eye contact again, his chest rising and falling with each painful gasp. He’s going to hyperventilate if he doesn’t calm down.

“Mark, look at me.” Roger placed both of his hands on the sides of Mark’s face, willing the terrified eyes to meet his own. Mark responded to the severe tone, his gaze returning to Roger’s as he panted slightly with alarm.

“You have to calm down. Everything’s going to be fine. Just relax, alright? You need to breathe.” Roger continued to whisper soft commands, relieved when Mark finally got his breathing back under control. The musician allowed him a few more moments to relax before trying again.

“Mark, you need to tell me what’s wrong. I can help you if I know.” Mark remained tacit, obviously struggling to form the words to explain his trouble. After a few seconds, Roger felt him take a deep breath.

“I have to film a truly intimate moment between myself and someone I love. I also have to be the main focus of the film.” Roger blinked at Mark, surprised more by the rushed admission than the actual assignment itself. In fact, after the conversation he’d had with Mr. Grayson, Roger had been expecting the assignment to be like that. The musician had known Mark would be uncomfortable about having to do that type of film for a class, but he had never expected the near panic attack Mark had just suffered. There had to be something more that was worrying Mark about this project. It would take awhile to wring it out of him, and Roger knew that they had to deal with the immediate problem first.

“You don’t think the Drama Queen would be more than willing to help you?” Mark laughed bitterly at this.

“Unfortunately, it has to be “true” intimacy. I guess that’s what keeps it from being straight porn and changes it to art.” Roger slowly brought a hand up to discreetly cover his mouth, amused at Mark’s sudden qualms with art. It’s all fun and games until it gets you into a compromising position; isn’t that right, Cohen? Roger had no doubt that he would have considered the situation very entertaining if Mark hadn’t been so traumatized by it. Roger felt his smile slip. I can’t let him get hurt by this. Roger once again rested his hand on Mark’s cheek, coaxing the face to meet his gaze.

“I know you can do this film, Mark.” The smaller man shook his head resolutely.

“No- Roger, I can’t...”

“You can. I’ll help you.”

“...what?”

“You and me. We‘ll do this film.” Mark’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, his shocked eyes searching Roger’s in an attempt to find an explanation.

“What? I mean...why?” Roger smiled softly as he shrugged. He began to trace Mark’s cheekbone with his fingers, allowing his eyes to fall as they followed the lazy trail.

“Because you know me. You trust me. There’s certainly the love between us that you need to capture on film; it will just have to become a bit more...passionate.” Mark’s eyes had lost all trace of the fear that had clouded them since the moment he had stepped into the loft. Now they glowed with a mixture of gratitude, nervousness, and ...anticipation.

“You’d...you’d be willing to do this?” Roger allowed a sigh to escape his lips as he rolled his eyes at Mark.

“Would I have offered if I wasn’t?” Mark shook his head slowly as he continued to watch Roger somewhat warily, almost as if he was expecting the punch line of this cruel joke to be coming any second.

“You can do this, Mark. You apparently need to do this.” Mark hesitated for a moment before nodding timidly in agreement, the relief in his eyes thanking Roger more than any words ever could. It was that pure acceptance that caused Roger to lean forward, his hands firmly against the floor beside both sides of Mark’s face as he pressed his lips delicately against the filmmaker’s. It was a simple, chaste kiss; undemanding and tentative. Roger could taste the sweetness of the peach Mark had snacked on for lunch; he could also taste the softly bitter flavor of the tea that had no doubt accompanied the food. It was a heady combination, and it took all of Roger’s willpower to back away from deepening the kiss into something more. He watched Mark carefully, looking for any sign that he had rushed the smaller man. The slightly dazed but pleased expression on the filmmaker’s face caused Roger to grin as he chuckled softly.

“So am I going to be allowed in your class on the day you show this film?”

************************************************************************************

There‘s never anything to eat! Roger impatiently made his way through the small kitchen, opening up cupboards and then shutting them with a frustrated sigh when only their empty depths stared back at him. After five minutes of futile searching, Roger sat back down at the table, his hunger forgotten as he caught a glimpse of the closed door to Mark’s room. The two had spent a full hour on the ground in their relative positions: Mark sprawled against the hard floor and Roger sitting comfortably on his stomach. The conversation had ranged greatly in its topics, drifting from what they were going to have for dinner to sporadic memories of the past. Neither the kiss nor the film had come up in their talk. Roger was surprised to realize he wasn’t truly avoiding either subject but rather giving Mark the time he needed to sort his difficulties out. It had been a badly hidden yawn that sent Mark to his room to rest, the firm urgings from Roger silencing the filmmaker’s weak protests.

When did you get tired of running, Davis? The musician smiled softly at the thought, leaning backwards in the chair to reach down and grab his guitar off the floor. Maybe it was when he realized he had run out of problems. There was still the disease, but life did not stop because of a sickness that could be lived with. There were still the deaths of his friends, but love did not run cold as there were always others who needed to be loved. Roger began to quietly play the opening to “Your Eyes”, the song failing to fill him with the drowning sorrow it had months ago; instead, he simply felt a fond affection tinged with the sadness of loss. Caught up in his thoughts, Roger almost missed the slight noise that broke through the hushed song. The blond stopped playing, listening intently for any sound that could have dragged him from his reverie. A muffled scream caused his head to snap in the direction of the filmmaker’s room. Shit...it’s Mark!

Roger rushed to the door, his mind whirling as he pushed it open and unfolded the scene that froze him with confusion and fear. Mark thrashed violently against the bed as he fought against some unseen horror, the room filling with his harsh breathing and heartbreaking pleas. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his panic growing as they rendered him completely immobile. It was the broken sob that escaped the terrified filmmaker that spurred Roger into action, the blond falling to the floor beside Mark’s bed as he reached out to grab onto the flailing arms. The action seemed to only further agitate the smaller man, who fought against the hold with the full brunt of his remaining strength.

“Mark, calm down! It’s only a nightmare- come on, Mark, it’s alright. I’m right here.” Roger continued the encouraging litany, trying desperately to soothe the distraught filmmaker as he moved to sit beside Mark. He could feel the exhausted tremble in Mark’s arms, breathing a sigh of relief when the inevitable collapse came and the shaking young man fell against his chest. Roger held him there, feeling fierce sobs wrack through the slim body as Mark continued to push weakly against the musician's hold.

“Mark, stop. It’s ok. Look up, Mark. Come on... it’s ok.” Roger continued to speak quietly, reaching down to gently lift the filmmaker’s chin as the blond held him steady with the other hand. Mark blinked back up at the musician, the horror in his eyes melting into confusion as recognition finally settled into his terror-hazed mind.

“Ro...Roger?” Roger couldn’t help wincing at the rasp in the normally smooth tenor, nodding at the hoarse question. Mark slowly closed his eyes, a rattled breath escaping his lips as he finally allowed himself to relax into Roger’s hold. A few silent moments passed before Mark pushed lightly against Roger, disentangling himself from the musician's comforting embrace. As he scooted to the head of the bed, Mark once again avoided Roger’s eyes, pressing his back against the headboard as he wrapped his arms around his knees. The blond sighed as he took in Mark’s shielding posture. That can’t be a good sign.

“You want to talk about it, Mark?” The quick shake of the filmmaker’s head seemed to come before Roger could even finish the question. The musician leaned forward, taking Mark’s chin caringly and lifting the bowed head.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Mark’s mouth formed an annoyed frown as he once again shook his head, pulling his chin free from Roger’s grasp. But the withdraw had come too late. Roger had seen Mark’s eyes and the small request for help shining in them. Roger fell gracelessly against the inflexible mattress, propping himself up on his elbows as he continued to stare at Mark.

“Do you remember our first kiss? Our very first kiss?” A few moments of silence passed before the filmmaker finally looked up, a small grin causing the corners of his mouth to twitch as he tried not to smile.

“How could I forget? Truth or Dare. We should have known Maureen had something planned the moment she suggested it.” Roger chuckled as he nodded in agreement, wondering how a day that seemed that long ago could be so vivid.

~~~ “Now, remember: There has to be tongue, and it has to be for at least a minute. Of course, it can last longer if you want.” Mark said nothing as he sat there staring at Maureen, his expression melting from disbelief to alarm as he realized that the dare hadn’t been made in jest. The loud cheers and whistles from the others washed over Mark as he struggled to keep himself from blushing, glancing over at Roger to gauge the other’s reaction. To the filmmaker’s infinite surprise, Roger was laughing wholeheartedly along with the others, looking at Mark suggestively as he blew him a kiss. Mark tried to smile back as he slowly got to his feet, his throat feeling as if it was being crushed under the weight of his panic. He’ll know. Oh God, he’ll know!

The day had been like all winter days in New York had been since the beginning of time and would forever be; blisteringly cold and miserably windy. Maureen and Joanne had come over a few hours ago with lunch, their presence and the meal providing a comforting warmth to the loft. Mimi had left for work, and Collins had arrived only a few moments after her departure. Roger had claimed the entire couch for himself, stretching one leg out along the overstuffed cushions and letting the other one lay on the ground as he rested an arm against the back of the beaten down sofa. The others had sat close around him, the girls squeezing onto the one chair and Mark and Collins taking the floor. It had been that atmosphere of happiness and familiarity that had caused them all to go along with Maureen’s ludicrous suggestion of playing Truth or Dare, placing Mark in the daunting predicament he faced at the moment.

Why the fuck did I pick dare? I should have known better than to believe Maureen when she said it was perfectly “safe”. Mark was content to stand there for all eternity, wallowing in the despair that was only deepened by Roger’s voice.

“I hate to break it to you, Mark, but you were the one dared to kiss me, not the other way around. My ass isn’t moving from this couch, so just start making your way over here.” The filmmaker moaned inwardly as he started toward Roger, his feet feeling as if they were glued to the floor, and he had to force them to lift and move. When he finally reached the couch, Mark realized he had no idea how to lean against the musician, hovering uncertainly as the blond stared up at him with a mischievous smirk. After a few seconds of Mark’s indecision, Roger rolled his eyes and reached up to grab one end of the filmmaker’s scarf, giving it a firm tug that sent the smaller man falling on top of him. Mark raised his head to meet Roger’s laughing gaze, momentarily blinded by the light dancing in the other’s gray eyes as he spoke shyly.

“Just like ripping off a band-aid, right?” Roger stared back at him with what was now an expression of mock horror, his eyes still glowing with pleasure.

“Well, I can tell this kiss is going to be pleasant.” Mark couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that rose in his throat, relieved to feel his painfully tense shoulders relax minimally at Roger’s humor. The musician must have sensed Mark’s trepidation, his face softening with understanding as he smiled gently.

“It’s ok, Mark. Really.” The filmmaker breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling some of the oppressive weight slip away as he leaned forward to claim Roger’s mouth with his own. And for a brief moment, Mark could almost believe.

He could almost believe that Roger was kissing him back because he truly wanted to, not because of some childish game. He could almost believe that Roger was in love with him as he felt a rush of desire when the blond gently ran his tongue across his lips. He could almost believe there was no one else in the world but him and Roger as his mouth was expertly assaulted, sending waves of passion and arousal through his craving mind. He could almost believe Roger wanted this as much as him as the tongue now grazed the roof of Mark’s mouth, pulling a small sigh of pleasure from the filmmaker. He could almost believe everything was perfect.

Almost.

The sound of Maureen calling their names broke the spell, causing Mark to pull back from Roger with a startled gasp as he quickly struggled to break the contact between him and the musician. Roger’s face was frozen with shock, his eyes silently questioning Mark as the filmmaker stumbled a few steps out of reach.

“I’m-I’m sorry. I’m just...I’m just tired. I think I’m going to get some sleep now. Sorry, Roger.” The mumbled apology tore itself from Mark’s still tingling lips, the lingering taste of Roger tearing at his heart as he practically ran to his room, ignoring the voices that called for him to come back.~~~

“You looked like you were about to faint.” Mark grinned sheepishly, remembering the momentary light-headedness he had felt when he’d stood up.

“I thought I was going to. I didn‘t get very much sleep that night” Roger laughed lightly, pushing against the bed as he sat up to meet Mark’s eyes, taking the small opening he saw in their words.

“You don’t sleep much, do you ?” The words were spoken cautiously, their true question obvious despite their innocent tone. You don’t sleep much because of the nightmares, do you? Mark’s eyes dropped to the blankets that were being battered by his nervous hands as the filmmaker tried desperately to get them to stop shaking.

“I’ve had this... nightmare... before.” The whispered confession was said quietly, as if Mark could hide the admission if he spoke it softly enough. Roger’s hands slid up the sheets to grasp Mark’s, enveloping them as he tried to calm the tremors still.

“What brought it on this time?” Mark flinched as if the question had caused a physical pain. Roger’s questions were direct, aiming for the center of the problem instead of beating around it as he used to do. Used to do... Mark empathized with the position Roger was in. He himself had been in it for years while Roger hid his suffering through addictions, harsh words, and running away. But not anymore. Roger had learned to deal with things he would rather have not faced; it hadn’t been easy, but he had tried and succeeded. Now he was asking Mark to do the same thing the filmmaker had asked him to do.

“The film.” Mark took a deep breath as he risked a glance at Roger, trying to decide how he should tell the blond a secret he had worked to keep hidden for so long. When he saw only the glimmer of love and concern in the musician's eyes, he knew it would all work out in the end if he just let it go.

“It’s- it’s something that happened a long time ago.” Mark’s voice had taken on a distant tone, his eyes clouded as he tried to remember things he had worked to forget. “I didn’t have...many friends. But there was this one boy...Kyle.”

//Warm smile...an arm around his shoulder...“Stick with me. Everyone will love you then.” //

He was new to Scarsdale, but people liked him the moment he got there. And...he liked me. He even invited me to the parties he would have at his house nearly every weekend. I could never figure out why. Then...he invited me to stay longer ...

// “Don’t leave now. The party has yet to begin.”...reluctance...tension //

... said he would take me home after a while. Most of the people had left; the only ones that stayed were the kids whose parents would disown them if they were caught smoking. Most of them were high, I think. Especially Kyle. He was sitting next to me. That’s when he leaned over and told me to relax...

// “Just loosen up, kid.”...a breathy whisper against his ear...a warm body pressing close...discomfort //

...Then he... he just kissed me. I didn’t want him to...there were still people there. They were just sitting around Kyle, watching us with these odd looks on their faces. But he didn’t...he wouldn’t stop. I finally managed to push him off of me. He just kind of laughed and stood up, walking to the door. At first I thought he was going to leave, but then he...he pulled out this key and locked the door ...

// “Wouldn’t want anyone to leave before the fun starts.”...laughter...hands pushing to the ground //

...He threw the key to his friends while I was still on the floor. He grabbed my hair when I tried to stand up...

// I don’t think Mark likes our party, guys. Well, if he wants to leave he’s going to have to do something for us.”...cruel laughter...tears //

They wouldn’t let me leave. They just kept...pushing me to the ground, saying I had to do something for them...

// Eyes staring at him...taunting hands holding the key out of reach...humiliation //

They...they made me do things. They made me...touch myself... while they watched...

// Pain...struggling to escape...defeat...leering eyes...hands //

“Mark...”

// “Please...please don’t make me do this.” ...tears...laughter...terror //

“Mark!” The filmmaker snapped violently out of his memory, his breath ragged as he turned beseeching eyes toward Roger, clinging to the musician’s arms.

“Make it go away! I don’t want to remember!” The plea came out as a grief-stricken wail, scaring Roger almost as much as the unresponsive state Mark had been in when the memories came too quickly. He struggled to think of what to say that would quell the utter terror that was coursing its way through the filmmaker’s body.

“You’re done, Mark. You don’t have to say anymore; you don’t have to think about it anymore. It’s over.” Roger repeated the words, relieved when he saw the fear start to fade from Mark’s eyes. The filmmaker was starting to catch his breath, relaxing the nearly unbreakable grip he’d had on Roger’s arms. The minutes passed silently as Mark slowly felt himself calm down, the memories beginning to wither as he concentrated on the solace the musician provided. Roger still held Mark’s hands tightly between his own. Somewhere along the story the musician had moved forward on the bed, sitting nearly inches away from Mark.

“Are you alright?” Mark nodded quickly, watching Roger’s thumb glide across his fingers and allowing himself to be comforted by the blonde’s presence.

“I am now. Thank you.” Roger shook his head slightly at the words, a smile brightening his face.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Mark shrugged carelessly, returning the smile as he timidly leaned toward the musician. Roger noticed, his smile turning into a smirk as the smaller man slide closer, sensing that Mark was eager to change the mood. That he needed to change the mood.

“So all this talk about mucho masturbation was just a facade.” Mark looked stunned for a moment before grinning widely, pushing the musician away as he got off the bed.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.” Roger rolled off the bed, running his fingers through his hair as he got his jacket and followed Mark out of the loft.

**********************************************************************************

“Tell me, Mark: What’s so fascinating about me coming up the stairs?” Mark lowered the camera slightly from his face, flashing Roger a sheepish grin as he turned to unlock the door.

“Don’t feel too honored; I film everything.”

Roger rolled his eyes in response, stepping past Mark as he headed for the couch. No shit. Sinking into the worn out cushions of the sofa, he felt a sigh crawl from his throat as his body was allowed to relax. It wasn’t until he heard Mark softly clear his throat that he opened one eye. The filmmaker was standing in front of him, his face uncertain as he studied Roger warily.

“You want... to watch a movie?” The quiet voice wavered slightly, as if Mark was expecting and dreading an instant rejection. Roger stared at him quizzically, confused by the sudden tension that seemed to have taken over the other’s body. Realizing that he had yet to answer the tentative question, the blond nodded slowly, watching carefully as Mark knelt by the box that held their small supply of videos. The television set and the VCR were absurd luxuries the two had acquired when their careers had looked to become a bit more stable.

“Anything in particular or just luck of the draw?” Roger thought a few moments before shrugging, waving a tired hand at the box.

“Let’s leave it to chance.” Mark gave him a small nod as he turned back to the tapes, an arm disappearing into the depths of the box before withdrawing a single video. He quickly read the title, wrinkling his nose as he turned back toward Roger.

“ It’s a Wonderful Life.” The musician groaned softly, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes as he gestured to the VCR with the other.

“Can’t cheat fate, Cohen. We can suffer through it.” Mark chuckled quietly, placing the cassette into the VCR before moving to collapse beside him on the couch. The two were nearly an arm’s length apart, but it wasn’t long before the filmmaker began inching his way closer to Roger. The blond smiled to himself, knowing the closing gap between them had nothing to do with the evening’s earlier events. Mark was always cold. His body could never seem to contain the natural amount of heat a person needed to be comfortable. It made him a natural cuddler, despite his tendencies to shy away from touches during the normal course of the day.

Mark had finally reached his side, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he rested contentedly in Roger’s warmth. The movie played on, the volume turned so low it was nearly inaudible, the two watchers unconcerned with the dialogue of a film they had seen so many times before. Neither spoke as they kept their gazes on the flickering screen, waiting patiently until the rolling credits informed them that their time was up. Roger was about to lean forward to turn the television off when he felt a slight pull of resistance at his shoulder. Glancing down, he realized Mark had eventually fallen asleep, his head moving to rest lightly against Roger’s arm. The blond reached a tender hand across to lay on his friend’s shoulder, shaking the slim frame as he spoke quietly to the sleeping form.

“Hey...wake up, Mark. Movie’s over. Wake up...that’s it.” Cerulean eyes blinked blearily at him, confusion glowing brightly in them as they fought to focus.

“Did... did I fall asleep?” Roger grinned at his friend’s dazed state as he moved him to lean against the back of the couch, shaking his head ruefully as he stood up and made his way to the set.

“Yeah. Don’t worry; you didn’t miss much.” Mark mumbled something incoherent in reply, the muffled words sounding vaguely like an apology. Roger simply shrugged before settling back on the couch, his eyes meeting the smaller man’s suddenly intense gaze.

“What’s wrong, Mark?” A few moments of silence passed before the filmmaker’s rushed words broke the loft’s hush.

“Are you in love with me?”

Roger felt his eyes widen in shock, his surprise at the abrupt yet earnest question freezing whatever immediate answer he may have given to quench the look of fear and pain in Mark’s eyes. He gave the question that had come to his mind several times in the past a few more seconds of thought before answering.

“Yeah. I think that I am.” The response did nothing to settle the other’s concern; if anything, the reply seemed to further his agitation.

“You think? Shouldn’t you...know? You were in love with Mimi, weren’t you?” The questions hit his ears as hesitantly as they were spoken, their urgency to be answered almost lost in their caution.

“Of course; it just... felt different than this.” Roger turned to stare out the window, rubbing his neck in frustration as he thought of how to explain his thoughts. “You know when you go back to the town you grew up in and visit friends and family...there’s that feeling of comfort and familiarity. But then you come back to the place you’ve learned to call home, and it just feels...right. Like it’s where you really belong no matter where else you may have been. That’s the sort of feeling I get...when I think about being with you.” Mark studied the musician’s striking profile before responding.

“When did you think of this?”

Roger looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. He had been thinking about it for awhile now. They were so comfortable together and so...right. But he could also remember the exact moment his love for Mark had made itself aware. It had been a month since Mimi’s death...

~~~ The rain pounded almost violently against the window panes, rattling the glass as the storm poured its fury onto the loft. Autumn's moderate temperatures had dropped steadily as the downpour had hit the city with raging winds and hail. Roger sat quietly on the table, his guitar a comforting weight in his hands as he watched the thunderstorm rip through the night. Mark had left just a few hours before it began to rain to visit Maureen after her wailing on the answering machine had started to drive him mad. Another fight with Joanne. Not too much of a surprise. Even less of a surprise that Mark had agreed to keep Maureen company for the night. When will he learn...

Roger had just decided to head to his room for the night when the door flew open, the screaming wind blowing the stack of papers the musician had set near his guitar case around the room. A drenched Mark rushed forward to catch them, leaving a small river of water in his path. Roger just stared at the dripping figure in astonishment, his expression stunned as he waited for his friend to notice him. The paper had finally been placed back in its original spot, leaving the slightly breathless filmmaker standing with a bewildered expression in the middle of the room. His brow furrowed as if he was trying to remember what he had been about to do.

“I thought you were staying the night at Maureen’s?” The question managed to startle Mark back to the present, the smaller man moving quickly to stand in front of Roger as he rubbed his shaking hands together.

“I was...I mean, I am but...have you taken your AZT?” Roger didn’t answer at first, thrown off by the change in subject. Looking back at the kitchen, he realized he had indeed forgotten to take the medicine. With an apologetic grin, he made his way toward the stove where a couple of the tablets and a glass of water were waiting for him where Mark had left them. It wasn’t until he had swallowed the pills that it dawned on him that this was why his roommate was back. He moved back into the living room just as the filmmaker was walking out of his room with a comforter in his hands.

“You walked all that way in the freezing rain only to remind me to take my AZT? Why didn’t you just call?” Mark tilted his head to the side, sending small drops of water to the floor as he gestured toward the phone.

“The lines are down. The city really is a mess.” He continued to talk to himself as he walked up to Roger with the blanket he had retrieved off of his bed, throwing it around his friend’s shoulders as he began to give orders to the incredulous blond.

“Make sure you sleep with all the blankets on you. And make sure they are tight around you; you always manage to kick them off half way through the night. And don’t leave the loft tomorrow unless it is an emergency. The cold will no doubt bring all sorts of shitty viruses that you shouldn’t be around. I’ll bring you something to eat in the morning. Don’t forget to...what?” Mark had finally taken the time to look up at Roger, noticing the small tremors of laughter shaking his frame.

“You. You’re insane; you know that, right?” Mark just stared back at him, his mouth opening to say something before he was cut off as Roger pulled him into a tight hug. A few moments passed before the musician felt the arms hanging loosely at his sides wrap themselves around his waist and squeeze back.

“Thank you.” He felt Mark nod against his chest before pushing against the hold to take a step back as he glanced around the room, careful not to meet the other’s gaze. He seemed strangely flustered by Roger’s gratitude, sending a spike of guilt through the blonde’s mind. I don’t show him how much he means to me very often.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Roger. Get some sleep.” A quick smile was thrown in his direction before the still sopping figure went out the door, shutting it firmly behind him as he prepared to walk once again through the storm. ~~~

“I had forgotten about that.”

Roger turned to watch Mark’s reaction, finding himself unsure now that he had revealed how much the memory meant to him. Time to turn the tables...

“So how long have you been in love with me?” He had meant the question to be somewhat teasing, but he knew, when Mark’s gaze met his own, that the longing vividly showing had been there for quite some time.

“I think since I’ve known you.” The answer came without hesitation, the honesty of the words striking a certain pain in Roger‘s heart. All that time, and I had no idea.

“What about Maureen?” The filmmaker looked baffled for a moment before the words broke through, understanding lighting up his face as he stared at the floor.

“When you’re with Maureen, and she’s not thinking about herself at the moment, she can make you feel as if you are the most important and wonderful person in the world. It feels...nice now and then.” He paused for a moment, drawing in a breath as he glanced up at Roger. “She’s a good person with more enthusiasm for life than I’m ever going to be able to muster up. It draws people to her. I was no exception.” The blond nodded slowly, absorbing the vital information, all the intricate details about his friend that he had somehow missed.

“How did you know you were in love with me?” Mark laughed faintly in reply, turning his gaze downward as he slowly shook his head.

“I’ve seen you after you’ve been drinking all night and can’t even stand up straight without someone’s help. I’ve seen you when heroin had you under its complete control, and then I have seen you through the process it has taken to break that control. I’ve seen you hurl things at me and scream insults at me. I’ve seen you...at your very worst, Roger.” Mark took a deep breath, sliding his hands between the cushions of the couch when he realized they were beginning to shake. “And yet...I can’t remember one moment where I didn’t want to be with you. I can’t remember ever not...loving you.”

Roger couldn't pull his eyes away from the other’s now unmoving lips. Reaching out to grasp Mark’s chin, he quickly brought the two of them together, their lips meeting in an almost frenzied kiss. He slowly leaned back against the side of the sofa as he wrapped an arm around his friend’s waist, the slim body falling against his own as Mark rested on top of him. Breaking the kiss with a slight moan, he felt his body responding as the smaller man began to make his way to Roger’s neck, gentle teeth nipping at his chin before soft lips grazed over the hurt soothingly. Sparks of arousal began rushing their way through him as he ran his hands down Mark’s spine. It wasn’t until he reached the top of the filmmaker’s pants that he realized where they were heading.

“Mark...Mark! Aren’t... aren’t Joanne and Maureen coming over later? As much as I want this, as much as I need this...if you don’t stop now, I’m not sure we will be able to.” The urgent words finally seemed to reach Mark as he snuggled against Roger with a sigh, his head lying gently against the blonde’s chest. A few moments passed before the musician felt enough control to speak again.

“One last question: why exactly does this video have to be physical intimacy...not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Roger felt a small thrill as he felt rather than heard Mark’s soft laughter, relishing in the feeling of the other man lying on top of him.

“It’s not exactly a surprising assignment from Mr. Grayson. He gives it to most of his more introverted students. He says we allow ourselves to shy away from people physically and emotionally, and that sort of distance and misunderstanding would always show in our films.” Mark lifted his head to meet Roger’s gaze. “I learned to not shy away emotionally when I showed the film of Angel’s funeral.”

The musician nodded in understanding, his face softening at the raw pain he saw flicker through Mark’s eyes. Tightening his hold on his filmmaker, he was relieved when he saw the pain dim slightly.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

***********************************************************************************

“Just remember what you always tell us: Pretend the camera isn’t even there.”

Mark shot Roger a dubious look, his expression clearly showing his doubt as he set up his camera on the small table in front of his bed.

“I film you guys talking and...and... hanging out. This is just a bit different, Roger.” The words came out harsher than Mark had intended them, his frustration and anxiety mounting as he readjusted the camera for the fifth time. It wasn’t until warm hands encompassed his own that he looked at Roger, allowing the other to see his apprehension as he was pulled into a tight embrace.

“If you don’t calm down, you’re going to make me nervous, too.” Mark sighed against his chest, willing his body to relax as he rested in the musician’s arms. The minutes ticked slowly by before he felt himself calm down, leaning back to see the concern etched on Roger’s face.

“Are you alright?” Mark nodded immediately, taking a step back as he turned to check over the camera one last time. Roger smiled at his back, shaking his head at the strain still evident in the other’s posture.

Maureen and Joanne had left an hour ago but not before thoroughly harassing the two young men about their inability to keep their eyes off of each other. Roger had broken the stream of jokes when he had stood up with a loud yawn, walking over to his bedroom with an exaggerated sashay before casting a seductive glance at Mark and asking him if he was coming. The filmmaker had quickly ushered the now tittering girls out the door as they demanded answers, his face a vibrant red as he glared at the laughing man standing in the bedroom doorway. A sudden bout of sexual horseplay had followed, the rough kisses and clumsy touches leading Roger to breathlessly remind Mark that he had only a few days to complete his assignment.

Roger continued to watch Mark work on his camera, a burgeoning feeling of restlessness causing him to fidget. Got to go do something...can’t just jump him...can‘t jump him. He suddenly straightened, tearing his eyes away from the bent figure in front of him.

“I’m going to go get a quick drink of water.” He stepped out of the room, heading toward the kitchen where the usual glass of water and pills awaited him. Quickly picking up the prescription, Roger turned back to the bedroom, calling out to Mark after he had hastily swallowed the tablets.

“Did you get the camera all set up?” There was no reply; only a brief shuffling of feet was heard before silence once again fell over the loft. He moved hurriedly back to the doorway of the bedroom, the following questions dying on his lips as he took in the almost comical scene.

The white shirt and jeans that Mark had been wearing earlier were now crumbled on the floor next to the bed. Roger smothered a chuckle as he also spotted the boxers he had given Mark one Christmas; it was a deep blue with tiny, smiling cameras dancing across it. He was lying silently on the mattress, a single white sheet wrapped tightly around his body as he removed his glasses carefully. Roger smiled gently, moving to lay beside him after swiftly removing his shirt. Mark flashed him an uncertain grin, his shaking hands running up and down the blanket as he smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles. The blond raised an eyebrow at him, reaching out a hand to tug on the sheet in a silent question. A blush rose to stain Mark’s cheeks as he moved to even out the crinkle caused by the slight pull.

“I just thought I’d be more...comfortable with it on in the beginning. Then we can remove it...later.” Roger nodded in understanding, his eyes dancing with laughter at the filmmaker’s bashfulness, given with what they were about to do. He patiently waited a few moments, allowing Mark the opportunity to make the first move. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to take the initiative, the blond pushed himself to his knees, moving deftly to straddle the smaller man. Not giving him the chance to protest, Roger leaned forward, delicately caressing the inviting lips with his own.

The kiss reminded Roger of the one they had shared while Mark lay beneath him on the floor: painfully hesitant and questioning. He could feel the other’s heartbeat through the shuddering gasps that filled his mouth, the jaws disturbingly tense beneath his hand as he gently nipped the pouting lower lip. He was rewarded with a small gasp of pleasure as some of the stress was released, providing him with the opening he had been waiting for.

// Hot - hot - hot - sweat - sweet - Wet - wet - wet - red - heat //

Mark moaned softly when Roger’s tongue moved heatedly against his own, the gentle sweep across his teeth causing him to shiver. Mark returned the passion timidly, his hands leaving the safety of the blanket to run through Roger’s hair before falling to skim down the sculpted back as he scrapped gentle nails across the skin. The kiss deepened as the blond bent his back to press against the uncertain touches, waves of desire pulsing through him as his tongue learned the sensitive places in his filmmaker's mouth that caused him to abandon his usual tentativeness.

// Hot - hot - hot - sweat - sweet - Wet - wet - wet - red - heat //

Roger finally allowed himself to draw away from the other’s mouth, moving lower on the slender body beneath him as he rained kisses along the boyish face, leaving a moist trail down the exposed neck. His tongue lapped heatedly at the tender spot just before Mark’s collarbone, smiling into the skin as the smaller man responded vehemently, his body taut as he leaned into the skillful administrations. It wasn’t until he felt the shy touches grazing his chest that Roger broke the contact between their bodies and sat up straight. He quickly caught the errant hands between his own, moving them above Mark’s head as he carefully pinned them against the mattress. His playful reprimand slid instantly into mounting lust as he looked down to see the pure longing in the other’s eyes.

“Roger, please. I need...I need to touch you.” Roger felt another torrent of arousal rush through him, the passion shooting unerringly toward his groin. He shifted uneasily as his pants grew uncomfortably tighter, inadvertently grinding his pelvis against Mark’s. He grinned deviously as the other gasped loudly, bending toward the filmmaker as he attempted to capture the pleasure dazed eyes with his own.

“I know, babe. But not tonight. You’ll get your chance, believe me.” The statement ended with a brief but poignant kiss, the blonde’s gaze returning to vigilantly watch Mark’s face as he moved to lay beside him. The sheet had slipped from the smaller man’s tight grasp, sliding down to pool around his waist. Roger gradually moved the blanket lower, revealing the lean body beneath it. He let a cautious hand trail between the other’s trembling thighs, wrapping a hand loosely around the hardened flesh.

// Please - don't - stop - please - Please - don't - stop - stop //

Mark’s lips parted with a moan, his back curving slightly as he arched into Roger’s touch. The hand lightly caressed the throbbing erection, fingers moving along the burning skin until they were brushing against the tip. The musician’s calloused fingertips rubbed gently against the sensitive head, spreading the liquid he found there along the pulsing shaft as he stroked softly. The small noises coming from Mark sent caused him to shiver as he leaned closer, whispering tenderly into his ear.

“Tell me what you want, Mark.” The filmmaker blushed impossibly deeper, his flushed cheeks glowing brightly as he panted harshly, struggling to draw in a breath.

“Please...I need...harder!” Roger smiled as he willingly complied with the breathless demand, tightening his hold around the aching erection as he pumped faster. The whimpers deepened into low moans as Mark’s thrusts became quicker, any nervousness forgotten as he neared the impending climax. His firm grip on the blonde’s shoulders tightened as the he rocked against the solid body, attempting to gain as much friction from the movements as possible.

// Stop - stop - stop - don't - Please - please - please - please //

It was a lightly restraining hand on his hip that caused him to pause, a fierce groan of denial falling from his lips as he felt the other release him. A quick kiss silenced his protests as Roger propped himself up on an elbow, leaning slightly over Mark to take his hand in his own. The musician met his confused gaze steadily as he entwined their fingers, running his other hand against Mark’s cheekbone.

“Do you trust me?” The piercing eyes were unflinching as they waited for a reaction. The filmmaker nodded quickly, still unable to draw enough air into his lungs to find his voice. Roger answered the nod with a warming smile, his face reassuring as he drew their interlocked hands lower, until they were resting on the inside of Mark’s thigh. The questioning expression on the smaller man’s face slowly melted into dawning panic as his hand was opened and securely wrapped around his erection, held there by the blonde’s unyielding grip. Mark stiffened with alarm immediately, attempting to pull his hand out of the other’s grasp as he struggled to move away.

“What...what are you doing?” The frightened question nearly caused Roger to wince as he gently kissed the filmmaker’s forehead, hating himself for being the cause of the terror in his eyes, even as he knew it was the only way.

“Touching yourself doesn’t mean pain, Mark. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Understanding quickly dissipated the remaining confusion in the sapphire eyes, but nothing could quench the fear now visible as Mark continued to resist.

“No...I can’t. Please-don’t make me, Roger. I can’t!” The broken plea nearly crumbled the musician’s resolve, the plaintive admission hurting him far more than the drugs or the withdrawal ever had.

“Yes, you can. It’s all right, Mark. I’m right here. I won’t let anything hurt you.” Roger quickly stopped any response by drawing him into a kiss, once again warming the mouth with his own. The body pressed up against his remained tense, fear emitting from every pore as he slowly coaxed the hand into moving. He soothingly guided the trembling hand, mimicking the movements he had made earlier as he continued the kiss, gently sucking on the tentative tongue that moved to meet his own.

// Sticky - licky - trickle - tickle - Steamy - creamy - stroking - soaking //

Relief coursed through his body when he felt the hand begin to move of its own accord. Roger carefully released his hold, bringing his hands up to gently cup the face that was once again flushed with arousal. He has no idea how beautiful he is. The blond knew the end was fast approaching; Mark’s panting was becoming more ragged as his actions became faster, his body aching for release.

// Hot - hot - hot - sweat - sweet - Wet - wet - wet - red - heat //

Roger quickly leaned down to lick kiss-swollen lips, swallowing his filmmaker’s moans of pleasure as he came. Gathering the still shaking body into his arms, their lips met with frantic kisses, muffling the exhausted murmurings coming from Mark. It wasn’t long before the slim form relaxed with the promise of sleep, only mumbling a word of protest when Roger slipped from the bed to turn off the camera. Warm arms drowsily surrounded his waist when he returned, pulling him close as he dragged the thin sheet over their bodies.

// Take me - I love you //

************************************************************************************

Mark walked quickly down the crowded sidewalk, trying not to let the argument going on in his mind distract him from dodging the many people bustling past him. A part of him wanted to arrive to class early, allowing him some time to calm himself before showing the film. The other part of him wanted to delay the inevitable, procrastinating as much as possible before having to reveal so much of himself to so many people.

Looking up at the sound of bells, Mark realized he was standing in front of the door to the building that housed his film class. He glanced down at his watch. 15 minutes early. So much for dawdling. Opening the door, he walked up the now familiar steps, feeling a slight pang as he realized this was probably one of the last times he would be coming up these stairs.

The class had somehow come to play an intricate role in his life. It would be hard to not miss something that he felt was so much a part of him. Mark laughed softly at that, shaking his head ruefully as he opened the door to the classroom. Love has turned me sappy. Mr. Grayson sat in his chair like usual, his eyes critically reading over the papers that lay haphazardly across his desk. Mark walked quietly into the room, breathing a slight sigh of relief when he felt the warm air greet him.

“How are you doing, Mr. Grayson?” The older man looked up in surprise, a smile lighting up his face at the sight of Mark.

“I’m doing quite well, Mr. Cohen. How have your days been?” The filmmaker found himself unable to respond, the amazing events of the past week blurring in his mind as he grappled for some semblance of an answer. After several seconds of silence, he simply held out his hand, displaying the film he was carrying with him. Mr. Grayson raised an eyebrow as he took the case from him, his eyes narrowing as he carefully studied the smaller man. Minutes passed before he handed the film back to Mark, who took it uncertainly, causing the corners of Mr. Grayson’s lips to twitch as he repressed a grin.

“I don’t think I need to see this, Mr. Cohen. Your eyes tell me everything. Congratulations.” Mark blinked up at him, a stunned look crossing his face before he responded with a bewildered voice.

“Thank you.” The instructor nodded absently, dismissing the gratitude with his hand as continued to watch the filmmaker.

“I trust Mr. Davis is happy as well.” Mark looked at him in shock, his mouth falling open slightly as he stared at Mr. Grayson’s bemused face. How had he... Does it matter? The astonishment faded as he answered his own question. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that he and Roger were together. He smiled contentedly, nodding slowly as he met the older man’s satisfied gaze.

“He’s happy as well.”

// It’s over //