Light My Candle 1_0
Rating: General
Length: 684 words
Pairing: Roger/Mark
Summary: Roger gets back to the loft after a bitter night out, and finds a surprise waiting for him.
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson was brilliant, these guys are not mine.
Roger entered the loft quickly, seeking relief from the bitter cold of winter. He had just gotten back from a gig, nothing too big but work was work, at a local bar and had not expected the temperature to drop so low so fast. He flinched as the door pulled back, and his eyes were forced to shut against the glare from hundreds of candles mysteriously strewn about the room, filling it with light and warmth.
“Mark?” Roger called, confusion filling his mind as he wandered into the room. Taking in the candles and the warm scents filling the loft his mind was drawn to only one conclusion and he began to pray he was wrong. He began praying that the filmmaker didn’t have someone else over. The irony would be too perfect, he had finally decided that he was ready to risk it all and tell his friend that he was in love with him, that he had been since they first met.
“Roger my man,” Collins exclaimed, clapping an arm around his shoulder and dragging him to their cafeteria seats. “This is Mark; he’s in my English class. Mark, Roger.” Collins said, pushing Roger into a seat and sliding in beside him and across from the pale, nervous boy. Mark smiled awkwardly and mumbled a brief hello before ducking his head and returning to his sandwich, bologna and pickles for some reason.
“He’s really shy.” Collins whispered into Roger’s ear “Took me ages to get him to open up, figured this was more your territory.”
Roger smiled and took another look, causing Mark to turn a bright pink as he pretended to ignore the scrutiny “I think we’ll get along great.”
It had taken all year to get Mark to trust him and so many more since then to admit to himself just how much the man meant to him. He uttered a quick prayer that his friend felt the same as he did, that he wasn’t imaging the sly looks and lingering touches Mark gave him, and that, at this moment, Mark wasn’t in another’s arms.
When Mark’s cheery voice didn’t return his greeting, Roger steeled himself, certain that he'd see the blond had finally found love without him. He hesitantly followed the trail of candles, their light leaving pale shadows against the walls, to Mark’s room. After pausing to listen at the door for sounds of activity he hesitantly nudged open the door, slamming his eyes shut to give plenty of time for the occupant, or occupants as it might be, to react and shout out at him. When no complaints were forthcoming, he edged inside, and his eyes nearly left sockets at the sheer impossibility of what he saw. Things like this just… did not happen outside of the privacy of his mind.
Mark lay surrounded by a ring of candles, gently sleeping amid a sea of deep red fabric, like some offering upon the altar of a God of music. The material was carefully placed; surrounding his pale body likes waves upon the shore, and just barely concealing anything that Roger would want to see.
Stirring from his slumber, Mark raised his head, and grinned a slow, seductive smile that caused Roger’s spine to melt. He’d never seen Mark look at anyone with such desire in his eyes before. Come to think of it, he’d never had anything like this happen to him before, and he was damn sure that Mark had never done this before.
The blond rolled over onto his side, fabric shifting, and dipping dangerously low as he extended his hand, which held a single, unlit yellow candle.
“You’re… just in time. I… ran out of matches.” Mark smiled, that adorable grin of his lighting up his face and making the guitarist flush.
Roger grinned, wolfishly, as he moved towards the bed and it’s offering, with the filmmaker’s hand extended towards the musician in entreaty. Taking his hand, Roger sat down beside him drawing it to his lips.
“So, will you… light my candle?” Mark managed a quick grin before Roger crashed their lips together.
Length: 684 words
Pairing: Roger/Mark
Summary: Roger gets back to the loft after a bitter night out, and finds a surprise waiting for him.
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson was brilliant, these guys are not mine.
Roger entered the loft quickly, seeking relief from the bitter cold of winter. He had just gotten back from a gig, nothing too big but work was work, at a local bar and had not expected the temperature to drop so low so fast. He flinched as the door pulled back, and his eyes were forced to shut against the glare from hundreds of candles mysteriously strewn about the room, filling it with light and warmth.
“Mark?” Roger called, confusion filling his mind as he wandered into the room. Taking in the candles and the warm scents filling the loft his mind was drawn to only one conclusion and he began to pray he was wrong. He began praying that the filmmaker didn’t have someone else over. The irony would be too perfect, he had finally decided that he was ready to risk it all and tell his friend that he was in love with him, that he had been since they first met.
“Roger my man,” Collins exclaimed, clapping an arm around his shoulder and dragging him to their cafeteria seats. “This is Mark; he’s in my English class. Mark, Roger.” Collins said, pushing Roger into a seat and sliding in beside him and across from the pale, nervous boy. Mark smiled awkwardly and mumbled a brief hello before ducking his head and returning to his sandwich, bologna and pickles for some reason.
“He’s really shy.” Collins whispered into Roger’s ear “Took me ages to get him to open up, figured this was more your territory.”
Roger smiled and took another look, causing Mark to turn a bright pink as he pretended to ignore the scrutiny “I think we’ll get along great.”
It had taken all year to get Mark to trust him and so many more since then to admit to himself just how much the man meant to him. He uttered a quick prayer that his friend felt the same as he did, that he wasn’t imaging the sly looks and lingering touches Mark gave him, and that, at this moment, Mark wasn’t in another’s arms.
When Mark’s cheery voice didn’t return his greeting, Roger steeled himself, certain that he'd see the blond had finally found love without him. He hesitantly followed the trail of candles, their light leaving pale shadows against the walls, to Mark’s room. After pausing to listen at the door for sounds of activity he hesitantly nudged open the door, slamming his eyes shut to give plenty of time for the occupant, or occupants as it might be, to react and shout out at him. When no complaints were forthcoming, he edged inside, and his eyes nearly left sockets at the sheer impossibility of what he saw. Things like this just… did not happen outside of the privacy of his mind.
Mark lay surrounded by a ring of candles, gently sleeping amid a sea of deep red fabric, like some offering upon the altar of a God of music. The material was carefully placed; surrounding his pale body likes waves upon the shore, and just barely concealing anything that Roger would want to see.
Stirring from his slumber, Mark raised his head, and grinned a slow, seductive smile that caused Roger’s spine to melt. He’d never seen Mark look at anyone with such desire in his eyes before. Come to think of it, he’d never had anything like this happen to him before, and he was damn sure that Mark had never done this before.
The blond rolled over onto his side, fabric shifting, and dipping dangerously low as he extended his hand, which held a single, unlit yellow candle.
“You’re… just in time. I… ran out of matches.” Mark smiled, that adorable grin of his lighting up his face and making the guitarist flush.
Roger grinned, wolfishly, as he moved towards the bed and it’s offering, with the filmmaker’s hand extended towards the musician in entreaty. Taking his hand, Roger sat down beside him drawing it to his lips.
“So, will you… light my candle?” Mark managed a quick grin before Roger crashed their lips together.