Cracktastic!

[bluetears07]

Title: Preoccupied
Fandom: Rent
Parings: Mark’s Camera/Roger’s Guitar, Mark’s Glasses/Roger’s Ring, Mark’s Scarf/Roger’s Plaid Pants, Mark/Roger
Summary: Kiss and makeup as well as a new couple!
Rating: Chapter Seven: R
Disclaimer: So not mine.
AN: Why is the Fender an ass? Read to the last line and find out! *wink, wink* More crack!fic, inspired by notapopstar’s icon. Still Mark’s Camera’s perspective.
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Preoccupied

Chapter Seven

Makeup sex is the best.

Even for an inanimate object.

Even without the real soft little, open mouthed kisses my Mark is rather fond of receiving from his Roger.

It really is amazing. There is nothing like it on earth. Well, possibly chocolate. But since I’m rather lacking in the whole taste bud department I’m not really qualified to make a comparison between the two. But still, I cannot think of anything like the feel of hard, varnished wood and taut strings pressed against me, catching on my crank and turning painfully slow until I’m begging for more. The low humming of a sinfully seductive melody, expression of sheer pleasure. Golden notes pouring from his body, resonating throughout the loft and sending my little sprockets spinning into a virtual tailspin of orgasmic proportions.

Undeniable.

I mean, it’s all raw, pent up emotions spilling over, dousing you both in a sticky sweat, well not for acoustic and myself, but my Mark and his Roger seem to be drenched from head to toe on Roger’s old spring mattress. An unstoppable torrent of love and passion. Everything is about comfort, every kiss, every lingering touch. Sweet forgiveness, atonement for your sins and trespasses. It’s beautiful. Just contact and release, nothing more is needed.

Beyond words.

But, I digress.

After my Beautiful Acoustic produced that breathtaking chord an eerie silence fell over the loft. The world stood still for one single moment. I swear not even my Mark and his Roger breathed, clinging to the heartbreaking beauty of that split second before it passed us by. I could still feel the lingering remnants of sound resonating within my body as Roger finally moved his fingers away from the strings, allowing them to loosely wrap around the acoustic’s neck. Both boys basked in the afterglow of perfection before my Mark broke the stillness.

“Wow,” my Mark murmured in a breathless voice, utterly mesmerized by his musician. I could hear the tiniest of smiles creeping into my Mark’s voice as he spoke. Slowly, he rose from the foot of Roger’s bed where he had been filming the private performance. The no doubt rusted, coiled springs shifted, shattering the calm with an odd clunking noise. “Rog…” my Mark whispered again as he stepped towards his wordless Roger. My Mark was holding tightly onto my little body with white knuckles, still filming the scene around us. Pressed against his leather-clad chest, I guess Roger had wrapped his coat around my Mark while I had been slightly distracted by my little Kamikaze attempt on the Asshole Fender, I watched the acoustic become larger as my Mark stopped in front of his Roger.

“Was that for me?” I found my voice somehow and managed to squeak out those few words before my film wound extra tight, attempting to steel myself against whatever the acoustic said. My voice sounded hesitant, pathetic and all too weak to truly belong to me. It was the complete reverse of the intense vigor I had been feeling only seconds before my heated confession. Waiting anxiously for the acoustic’s answer I heard Roger’s quiet reply to my Mark.

“Yeah,” Roger mumbled in disbelief. I cannot remember hearing a chord as clean, clear and perfectly executed as that since before the first Needle Girl and that nasty white powder. Eyes a little glazed in bewildered surprise were still glued to the acoustic lying soundlessly against his sharp hipbone. His long fingers anxiously unwrapped and rewrapped around the guitar’s neck. My Mark’s Roger finally spoke, a bittersweet laugh pulling up the corners of his mouth in a smile. “Was ‘fraid I’d totally lost my touch…” His bright eyes, full of life and happiness unlike I’ve ever caught on film before, looked up at my Mark from beneath a few wayward strands of messy bleached blond hair, all full on love and exhilaration.

My sweet, silly Mark gasped quietly, feigning to be affronted by Roger’s claim to have lost his ‘touch,’ musically or otherwise. Smiling brilliantly, a bit of mischief glinting in his eyes, my Mark scolded him mockingly with a whispered, “blasphemer!” His voice trailed off as he leaned his small frame against Roger’s, standing on his tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to the taller boy’s lips. After a few moments of slow kisses Roger pulled away to slip the guitar strap off his shoulder and carefully place the acoustic on the floor, he did not have a nice old dresser like my Mark.

“Hey,” Roger murmured my Mark’s lips between kisses, voice husky and thick with lust against. His large hands slipped beneath the worn material of his own leather jacket that was resting on my Mark’s thin shoulders, caressing the warm skin under. “You know, this is kinda hot,” he said with a smirk as he pulled away to admire the image of my Mark clad only in a pair of unbuttoned blue jeans and a leather jacket that was obviously not his own. A deep flush quickly crawled up my Mark’s neck, tinting his cheeks a soft pink color. “That’s even better,” my Mark’s Roger whispered as one hand wrapped around my Mark’s waist and the other took hold of me.

“Roge-” My Mark began to protest as Roger gently pried me out of my Mark’s fingers.

“Don’t worry, Mark,” Roger replied with a grin and a quick kiss against my Mark’s parted lips. I stopped filming, the last imaged of celluloid being that little kiss as I was turned off. “I’ll put him right by the acoustic,” he bent down to place me beside the Beautiful Acoustic, close enough to see him trembling but not enough to touch him. “Safe and sound,” he purred into my Mark’s ear just before sliding both his arms around my Mark’s waist. They stumbled backwards towards the mattress that lay on the floor without any semblance of a bed frame whatsoever. I tried to move closer to the acoustic once Roger and tumbled my Mark into his bed, stripping him of his jeans and boxers but leaving the leather on.

Odd child.

“A-acoustic?” I called to him tentatively. I cursed myself for awkwardly fumbling with the familiar word as I tried desperately to sound confident. Trying as hard as I can, I look at him with a solid expression, hoping that I’m not somehow giving my every emotion away through my transparent lens. Good luck with that one camera. That ship had already sailed, a long before I had even made a sound.

“You love me?” His voice was quiet but level, unlike my stammering tone. However, I heard the telltale undercurrent of insecurity running deep within his melodic tone. I could feel the apprehension radiating from his body as I shifted closer to where he lay on the hardwood floor.

“Yes,” I whispered, finally pressing myself against his warm side. He did not move away, if anything I feel him move closer. I always fit perfectly into the little curve of his body. “Is that so hard to believe?” I asked, looking up at him with sorrow and hope twisting my words into odd sounding syllables.

How could he not have known? Oh, doubt poisoned his mind by that damned scarf and the fucking Fender.

“I-I wasn’t sure if y-,” he started to lose his composure, an odd lilting quality twists his voice. He realized he almost lost me; he almost jeopardized what he had because of a silly assumption he had made without asking me first. I watched as he began to nervously fidget, his strings going painfully taut before relaxing and going slack. The anxious compulsion appeared so similar to Roger cracking his knuckles in his jacket pocket tonight at Joanne’s apartment.

How utterly and completely Roger Davis of him.

“You know now.” I reassured him in a soothing tone, my voice glossed over with flimsy film clogging up my body as I try to rein in my emotions. I wish more now that ever that I had lips like my Mark so that I could press a gentle, comforting kiss to my Beautiful Acoustic. If only I had hands to brush away all the hurt and misunderstanding and arms to hold him, but I can try in my own way. Pressing close against his body I tried to show him all the love he had not seen before.

“I just,” he began, pausing to sigh at his own irrational thoughts. “I didn’t want to put you through Strat.’s shit for nothing.” I could feel him look away from my body pressed against his. The hard wood heated up a fraction of a degree and I know he would-be blushing if he could, embarrassed beyond belief for everything that I would reject him. “I mean, if you didn’t love me…I didn’t want…” He trails off, not wanting to linger on that subject. “I thought it would be easier if I took the brunt of his ignorance, breaking things off between us before he had a chance to hurt you.” So he had been defending me, in his own way.

“You don’t have to stand alone, Acoustic.” I told him with a small smile, nuzzling against his curved body. Spinning my film a little so that the turn crack will move, I pulled it over the taut strings, plucking out a quite tune. Based on the rhythmic sound of the springs bouncing behind us and Roger’s whimpering, I’m pretty sure that my Mark and his Roger are a little too caught up in one another to notice anything that we are doing on the hardwood floor.

“Mmmmh, Camera,” he moaned, low inside his hollow body so that it resonated all throughout his body, the waves of vibrations transferring into mine as I pressed tighter against him.

“Shhhh,” I hushed him with a giddy laugh as he managed to tip onto his side so that he could snap a cord more easily. I feel the cool metallic string wrap around my screws, tweaking and twisting them so that all I can focus on is the rough sensation of cold, hard metal on metal. A shiver runs through my body and I know that there is no way I’m going to be able to preserve my Mark’s film tonight.

“I love you,” the acoustic whispered. My would-be heart is about to burst out of my tiny body as I hear him finally say it out loud. Only for me to hear as he press an intangible kiss against my body hugging me tight to him. He loves me.

The Beautiful Acoustic Guitar loves the Dorky Little Nothing Camera.

“I know,” I murmured back as we both hear my Mark’s low, hiccupping moan of completion, followed shortly by Roger before the two collapsed in a heap of sweaty limbs and whispers.

“They’re so sweet together!” The adoring voice of my Mark’s glasses cut through the sound of my Mark and Roger and I just know that she is referring to the acoustic and myself right alongside our Mark and his Roger. Even from the makeshift nightstand she sounds content and head over heels in love.

“None as sweet as you,” a low tinny voice replied as I heard my Mark’s glasses reply with a sweet laugh. Roger’s ring. The two are probably canoodling over there on the bedside table, just thrilled to be together again after a long time apart. My would-be heart swelled again at the thought of my friend finally with getting the chance to be with her longtime love.

So that’s how I got to the here and now, tangled up in a sweet labyrinth of snapped cords and metallic strings, some caught in loose screws and several wound about my turn crank. Slippery sweet film exploded all over the place, a few inches once again woven into the two lone cords that are still strung along the acoustic’s long, sleek neck. I know that both my Mark and his Roger are going to freak when the see us tomorrow morning. I can just hope they’ll both be in a good, sated mood.

But, just on the brink of falling asleep, pulling me down beneath the tempting waves of warmth and solace that I’ve found in the warm afterglow of make up sex with my Beautiful Acoustic, I hear Roger speak.

“Mark?” His voice lilts through the air, sounding muffled because his face is pressed against my Mark’s naked back. The sound of lips smacking against wet skin echo through the room as he trails a few kisses along the soft skin just beneath my Mark’s sharp shoulder blade. I hear rustling sheets, though both boys are lying on top of the dirty rags, and slick skin sliding over skin. One of Roger’s large hands presses against the smaller boy’s hipbone as he props his head up with the other hand, arm bent at the elbow and pressing into the old mattress. My Mark has now finds himself rolled on his back so that he is looking up at his Roger.

“Mmmmh?” My Mark moans, apparently not in favor of being moved from where his back was molded against Roger’s warm chest. However, I see his silhouetted thin wrist and hand move from resting on his stomach to press against his Roger’s cheek. My Mark’s thumb sooths the delicate skin beneath his Roger’s eye. Soft skin, in comparison to Roger’s callused fingers, drags over the light stubble covering Roger’s cheek. My Mark’s hand moves lower, playing with the thin beads of the tight necklace that Roger wore, fingertips dipping into the hollow of Roger’s throat.

“We’ll tell them on Friday at the Pyramid club,” he pauses and I can just see the little grin pulling at his lips, positively wicked. A short laugh rings through the musician’s room before he continues with that smirk contorting his words. “I mean after 10pm it is Gay 80’s night.”

All I hear of my Mark’s reply is a delighted squeak and the hard slap of naked flesh as he pounces on his Roger, smothering him with sweet little kisses.

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A strange, low wailing sound drags me away from the warm contented world of afterglow a few hours later. Glancing at the clock I see that it is around four o’clock in the morning, that is only if the power is on today and the clock is actually working properly. I pause to wonder why I’m awake when the odd sound comes again, muffled by the loft’s paper-thin walls. However, it seems like the sound is not only being muted by the walls but by something heavier, thicker.

Almost like a heavy cloth material.

“Camera, you hear that?” The acoustic asks quietly, his voice still laden with sleep but tinged with a bit of slight unease.

“Yeah, what is that?” I ask, more confused than before when I hear the sound again, longer this time and a lower pitch than before. As I snuggle closer to the side of the acoustic guitar I feel an intangible force, the same one as before, wrap protectively around my little body.

“Plaid Pants, Scarf, can either of you guys see what that sound was?” The acoustic calls to the Plaid Pants and my ex-Beloved who are a little ways away from where we were placed near Roger’s mattress. The ever fuck-happy couple had been discarded on the floor of Roger’s bedroom, close to the doorframe so that a pant leg was lying across the threshold and the scarf was belted around the waistline. Wiggling a little bit in an odd fashion that I know is bound to drive my ex-Beloved crazy, the Plaid Pants manage to slide into the hall to get a look at what is going on in the small living room.

“Dude,” is all he says in a low murmur, surprise and complete shock.

“Oh my!” I hear my ex-Beloved gasp. “Now that is truly scandalous,” he whispers with intrigue before all he can do is dissolve into a quivering ball of silly giggling yarn and would-be blushing fabric.

“You are never going to believe what I am seeing here dudes,” the Plaid Pants continue as they soundlessly slink out of sight and further down the hall to investigate the matter.

I glance up at the acoustic, silently asking if we should also go have a look at what is so unbelievable. He starts to shuffle closer to the door, taking it slow so he won’t scuff up his wooden body or wake up my Mark and his Roger. Following suit, I slide against the floor and am about to reach the doorway when I hear the acoustic mumble something that sounds like, “oh you have got to be fucking kidding me…” I watch as he does not go out into the hall to follow the Plaid Pants but instead waits for me.

“What is it?”

“Look,” he instructs but does not move from where he has propped himself up against the doorframe.

I carefully slide my little body out into the hall, only a fraction of an inch to just peek around the chipped doorframe. The living room of the loft is bathed in pale moonlight. At first glance my lens falls upon my Mark’s Plaid Coat, a circumspect sweet little boy who barely speaks to anything and is always fidgeting nervously when he was not wrapped around Mark’s thin frame. Heaven knows I’ve tried to talk to him a few times but he always replies with short one word answers, though he’s always amiable just not talkative. Perhaps he’s more like the introverted side of my Mark.

Anyways, he was lying across the living room where Roger had tossed him after unceremoniously stripping my Mark while pressing him up against the loft’s sliding metal door. Of course the poor little dear is moving again, fidgeting like normal when he is left alone. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Except when I zoom in, focusing my lens as I strained to see in the dimly lit room. That’s when I notice what everyone else did before me. Beneath my Mark’s favorite part of his coat, fuzzy collar, peeks out the very head and tuners of Roger’s unplugged Fender Stratocaster.

A very aroused Fender Stratocaster.

A Fender Stratocaster that is definitely moaning for my Mark’s Plaid Coat.

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AN: *hums Dirty Little Secret* A classic ending! :D Oh, and Crack!Icons are <3!
Example:

Comments

[misskass.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, me likey! *grins*

Okay, I only discovered this crack!series today, but I'm in love. I read them all in order, just so I knew what was happening, and practically broke my squeedneys with every story. Camera/Acoustic is so adorable, and the naught Fender/Plaid Coat. And Ring/Glasses is so cute ^__^

You really need to write crack!fic more often, even if it turns into a less cracktastic series. xD

♥♥♥

[angel1828.livejournal.com]

OMG OMG THAT IS FANTABULOUS! That had better notbe the end of the story!!! I wannaknow maureen and joanne's reactions and more love for camera and acoustic!

[rabidfangirlism.livejournal.com]

AAGGGHHHH I LOVE THIS SERIES. SO MUCH. SO MUCH. I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE.

anyway, i love this fic SO MUCH. eeeeeexcellent! ^_______^

ps. fender, that hypocrite!

[musettaswaltz42.livejournal.com]

This is officially one of the best things to read right before a long day of university classes. I squealed, loudly, when I say you'd updated. And I'm agreeing with rabidfangirlism...."Fender, that hypocrite!"

Excellent *claps* ^_______^

[juxtozyest.livejournal.com]

I love your icon! Too good!

[musettaswaltz42.livejournal.com]

Thankies! It was made for me by the amazing Macavity_Hime.

[qahtte.livejournal.com]

The Beautiful Acoustic Guitar loves the Dorky Little Nothing Camera.

LOVE.

Nothing more to say.

[juxtozyest.livejournal.com]

You NEVER cease to amze me, keep it up, love it!

[tolavieboheme.livejournal.com]

I was just thinking today, I WISH I HAD SOME GUITAR/CAMERA TO READ.

Anyways, awwww. I love it.

AND STOP HUMMING DIRTY LITTLE SECRET. (Late at night, I listen to that. I hate the All-American Rejects...)

[freak-thankyou.livejournal.com]

I love this fic more with every chapter. Camera/Acoustic has quickly become my OTP. This fic has gotten to me. (You can ignore from here on) I was thinking about the comment the camera made about each object showing a part of their owner and I started thinking about me 'cause I live at my computer so I have a lot of my stuff over here and I got onto instruments because I'm a major band geek and they're a huge part and realized that I rent two of my instruments from school and I wondered how instruments that are borrowed, rented or have multiple owners act. (You can definitely ignore from here on. I just like to talk about band. My instruments is one of my favorite topics (tied with pretty much every other topic), but I never have the chance to talk about them.) (Two of the concert baritones at school have two people that share them (because there are people in different bands who play in different periods and we don't have enough baritones for the six of us that play baritone in concert band) and the marching baritones are played for three or four months a year and have someone different play them each year in most cases. I have one at home to practice on. It's a piece of crap. I love my concert baritone though. It's pretty and has great tone and it's awesome. It's not even that good, but I'm a band geek and love my instruments. My trumpet that isn't in desperate need of going to the shop is played by me and then one of the trumpets in concert band every day.)

[bluetears07.livejournal.com]

That is a really good question, what an object would do if it was rented and had multiple owners that were all very different. Maybe the object would become schizophrenic? Like 'act' a different way whenever with a certain person and then on it's own depending on their mood what personality they channel...I don't know that's a really good point! :D

Oh and I'm sooooo glad that you like the Camera/Acoustic love! :D

[freak-thankyou.livejournal.com]

Just curious.

I think everyone does. It's hard not too.