(no subject)

[bluetears07]

Title: Preoccupied
Fandom: Rent
Parings: Mark’s Camera/Roger’s Guitar, Mark’s Camera/Mark’s Scarf, Mark/Roger
Summary: When Roger and Mark get a little preoccupied with each other their ‘accessories’ also get better acquainted.
Rating: Chapter Three: PG-13
Disclaimer: So not mine.
AN: More crack!fic, inspired by notapopstar’s icon. Still Mark’s Camera’s perspective.
+++++++++++++++

Preoccupied

Chapter Three

Okay. I’ll admit it.

I’ve always had a particularly large weak spot for Roger’s Plaid Pants. They’re just, well, to be honest, they’re hot, like everything my Mark’s lucky boy Roger owns. However, that does not mean that my Beloved has permission to go around getting himself zipped into the fly of Roger’s Plaid Pants. Plus, I have always just assumed that the Plaid Pants were pretty much obsessed with Roger. I mean what pair of tight pants a guy wears everyday wouldn’t be, especially when it gets hot in the summer and Roger decides that it’s ‘a good idea’ to go commando. And, had my Beloved simply asked, I would have gladly done a three-way with him and the Plaid Pants.

But that is irrelevant now since I’ve had the chance to get to know Roger’s acoustic guitar a lot better in the past two days. The acoustic guitar, however, is still back in the loft’s ‘living room’ on the small table seated before the couch. I let out a small giddy laugh thinking about Roger’s guitar, sounding in my Mark’s ears like spinning film as he begins to wind me up to film his usual ‘day in review’ before going to sleep. My Mark cradles me in his hands as he walks to his room while his Roger is busy brushing his teeth down the hall in the bathroom. The metal base of my body makes a dull clunking noise as he sets me down on the plastic crate he uses as a bedside table. He tugs off his pair of black-framed glasses and places them beside me on the makeshift nightstand.

“Busy day, eh?” My Mark’s glasses ask with a tired tone lacing her voice. This is something I have always found rather interesting; my Mark’s glasses are actually unisex, meaning that either sex can wear them. However, after the first day of being pressed against my eyepiece it was well established that they definitely leaned more towards the feminine spectrum of the unisex category. She would go on and on about all the lovely boys my Mark should be going after instead of that crazy and far too female, Maureen. I was quite thankful for this turn of events because there would be no sexual tension between us while my Mark filmed since I am solely attracted to other inanimate objects of the masculine persuasion, like Roger’s tough acoustic guitar.

“Definitely,” I replied with a stifled snicker. It was hard not to think of what dirty little deed had just transpired between my Mark and his Roger only a few moments ago when there are still a few wayward droplets of condensation on the lenses of my Mark’s glasses.

“It was well worth it, thought,” a dirty grin. “And I have to say, I quite enjoyed the view,” though it was quite obvious in her voice, I could just picture her winking had she proper eyes. “I’m guessing you and Roger’s acoustic did too?” Another would-be blush on my behalf. That strange piece of framework knows far too much for her own good sometimes. “Don’t worry, I approve of him,” she pauses, glancing around the room before continuing in a lower tone. “Much better than that striped nympho.” The hairline crack in my lens splits the fraction of an inch wider. Blinded by love? Apparently everyone saw it but me, that is until now. “Goodnight,” she whispers as my Mark picks her up and folds her neatly, that always puts her right to sleep.

My Mark begins whispering excitedly to me, recapping the events of the entire day but emphasizing his own personal views on what he saw and filmed. Unwound and placed neatly on the old dresser the two boys had found in a back alley one year, my Beloved watches as my Mark speaks to me. I just know that this little ‘conversation’ will only piss him off even more.

“I wish I could explain it better, but that’s part of the beauty of Roger,” my Mark pauses as another goofy grin, the one I am really starting to adore, flits over his face. “For the longest time I was still hung up on Maureen…but then last month and yesterday,” he trails off and I wish I could zoom in closer on his face, but he would notice the odd jump in perspective when he reviews this particular reel of film. “And tonight at the Pyramid.” A breathy sigh that makes my film skip a few single frames. My Mark’s eyes wonder away from my lens, not focusing on anything in particular as his mind pulls up memories from his Roger’s performance tonight at the club. “I’ve never seen him play like that, especially for a pretty big audience.” I can tell there are so many things that my Mark is trying to say that he just can’t find the right combination of words to express himself.

“Don’t worry, Mark, I understand completely,” I reply even though I know it’s pointless since he’ll never hear me, but it makes me feel, I don’t know, actually alive. Of all the times I’ve tried to talk back to him I wish he could hear me now. Wish my Mark new he is not alone. He lets out a nervous laugh, realizing his Roger has in fact rendered him speechless. We hear a dull sputtering sound coming from down the hall where the bathroom is located, old pipes rattling in protest to the water pressure, and then the running water is shut off.

“I guess that’s it for today.” My Mark whispers with a short wave before shutting me off with a gentle flick of his wrist. I feel his fingers wrap around my body and he is picking me up. There’s a gentle padding noise of bare feet against the exposed floorboards. Suddenly I’m being incased in soft white and blue fabric. My mechanical body is wrapped up, leaving only my lens exposed as my Mark fiddles with the material. It’s a very familiar sensation, and yet now it feels disgusting, sickening.

“Mark,” Roger says in a quiet voice as I watch him move from where he had been leaning against the doorframe. Dressed in the ever-popular pajama combo of sweatpants and a white beater, I pause to wonder for a moment where my Beloved’s little buddy the Plaid Pants have wondered off. He crosses the small bedroom to stand behind my Mark. Roger’s long, musician fingers slip through the belt loops on my Mark’s loose pants. Large hands gripping thin hips as Roger presses his face into the crook of my Mark’s neck. The air of intimacy between the two men is enough to make me would-be blush. I can see his chapped lips pressing gently against my Mark who simply smiles in response to the affectionate display from his usually brooding roommate.

I wish his acoustic guitar had a real mouth to kiss me with.

“Mark, what are you doing?” He inquires, pulling his face away from the pale skin of my Mark’s throat and turning his attention towards my Beloved and me. One of those large hands pulls away from my Mark and tugs at my Beloved, almost undoing all of my Mark’s hard work; for the first time I want him to.

“Please, Roger!” I yelp again in vain, hoping somehow he’ll understand me and pull the scarf off of me. The fabric tightens around me in protest, clinging to the cool metal of my body.

“Wrapping my camera up to protect it,” my Mark replies calmly as gently pushes his Roger’s hand away. Taking the piece of material from between Roger’s fingers, my Mark tucks the corner of my Beloved around the bottom half of my lens. My vision is obscured and all I can see is my Mark turning his face to press a short kiss against his Roger’s rough cheek. “Hopefully,” my Mark sighs, “Nothing strange will happen like last night.” Roger’s coarse laugh is all I can hear as my Mark finishes ‘protecting’ me. There’s a moment of silence as I’m incased in darkness, all white and blue fibers suffocating me until I nearly blackout.

“It’s cold,” Roger whispers in the darkness, and it’s all I can focus on to keep from falling into the softness of my Beloved. Think about Roger’s voice, Roger’s low, crooning voice singing alongside his beautiful guitar. “Come to bed.” I shiver, screws rattling and film jamming.

“In a sec,” my Mark replies distractedly as he carefully places me back down on the hard surface of the dresser. “Hey, Roger, tomorrow do you want to watch what I got on film tonight?” I feel my entire being light up with that proposition. One of the most pleasurable things in my life has got to be when my Mark extracts my film, usually replacing it with a new reel, and then watches it with me beside him. Oh, and a chance to see the performance all over again, this time my Mark and mine’s version.

Maybe Roger will be tinkering with his acoustic tomorrow while we watch…I mentally cross my fingers.

“Loved to, but now is bedtime, Pookie,” he says with a grin obviously curving his words. I hear the distinct sound of my Mark’s arm colliding with Roger’s chest as Roger drags my Mark away from the dresser. Then there’s the telltale sound of lips moving against skin followed closely by the quite creak of bedsprings. The kisses continue for a short time before I hear my Mark sigh contentedly. After a few minutes of rustling bed sheets wrapping themselves around my Mark and his Roger I hear two distinct breathing patterns level out as both men fall asleep.

“Hello, Darling,” sweet and low, right into my mic. The soft fabric of my Beloved wraps tight around my body, pulling at the dulled edges and trying his best to be seductive and far too brazen. He should know by now wanton is not my type. I like soul, depth, melody, syncopation and hardwood.

Ignore him.

Find away out.

I have to get out. Now.

I try in vain to somehow wiggle out of the damned Gordian Knot my Mark has made out of my Beloved. He even tied the tassels to one another in some strange attempt to protect me from whatever he thinks happened last night.

“We’re even,” he whispers with a smug grin in his voice.

“What?” I want to scream in frustration but I think of my Mark and bite back the urge and reply calmly. My mind, however, spins, 16mm film pulled taught and threatening to snap in pure shock.

“Darling,” he mocks me with an old ‘sweet nothing.’ “You had your little,” I can hear the condescending tone lacing his voice as he pretends to be searching for a euphemism. “‘Slip up’ with that silly old guitar and well, you saw me with the Plaid Pants.” “We’re even, and I’ll find it somewhere in my heart to forgive you.”

“We’re not even, my Beloved,” I spit the endearment like venom. How I wish my Mark had listened to me and his glasses when we told him to do this to Maureen the first time she flirted with some waitress right in front of all of us. Well, I’ve learned from his mistakes. My Mark is much happier now with his Roger than he ever was with Maureen so I think I’ll be okay.

I know I will.

“We’re over.”

+++++++++++++++

After nearly a half hour of attempting to set up the white bed sheet, myself and Roger’s acoustic guitar directing the sheet to give the two boys a hard time, both of us taking great pleasure each time the broke out laughing and fell into one another’s arms, my Mark and his Roger finally had a screen set up.

Switching the projector on, my Mark settles back down on the duct-tapped couch next to his Roger. Lucky little camera that I am, I’m currently snuggled beside the acoustic guitar. For some reason my Mark’s Roger, bless his HIV ridden lithe body, had decided that it would be fun to put me right under the long neck of his guitar so that neither of us would be ‘lonely’ without our respective owners. His precise words being, “they’ll be so lonely without us holding them all day while we watch the film, we should at least put them together.”

My Mark has wonderful taste in men, if I do say so myself.

The first scene rolls onto the screen, the old projector sputtering to life as my film whips through its larger mechanical body, very similar to mine. Projected several times its normal size, is a shot from the early morning, a few minutes after my Mark put me back together. The image is of Roger tuning up the acoustic guitar, tightening the cords that I helped to loosen the night before. I feel the slightest nudge against my body and I know the guitar would-be smiling, just as I would-be too, if we could.

I look over at him, snuggling closer under his neck.

Out of the corner of my lens I see Roger with his head resting on my Mark’s shoulder. Resting on my Mark’s knee is the two boys’ interlocked hands. Roger’s beautiful silver ring, who I have on good authority has quite the infatuation with my Mark’s glasses, go figure, is sliding over the back of my Mark’s hand as Roger caresses his pale skin. My heart, if I had one, would be swelling to a bursting point.

Roger turns his face, pressing his lips against my Mark’s neck again. Unlike last night, this time he runs into the inevitable barrier of my ex-Beloved. He pulls away with a twisted grin on his lips. That boy’s deranged mind is thinking of something. I watch with bated breath as his hand unwind from my Mark’s, my Mark of course being totally oblivious as he has been sucked into the film. Roger’s hand travels up my Mark’s arm and grasps the fringed edge of the scarf and pulls.

I watch, zooming out so that I can catch the entire arch of the motion in my lens, as Roger yanks my ex-Beloved off of my Mark’s neck and tosses it halfway across the loft.

I love that boy.

My Mark yelps in surprise as a rush of cold air touches the usually protected skin of his throat. However, the sound dissolves into a gasp as I see Roger trail a few open mouth kisses along the side of my Mark’s neck.

My ex-Beloved lands in the pile of dirty clothing the boys are going to take to wash at the nearby Laundromat this afternoon. Right on top of.

The.

Fucking.

Plaid Pants.

+++++++++++++++
AN:…hate it? Like it? Want more? Want to know where I get my crack? Want more characters? Hable! (There will be more explination about the asshole Fender later.)