I want to be a paperback writer

Arrested Development

2008-01-15T20:02:06Z

Title: Five Ways Gob Actually Helped His Brother Michael
Fandom: Arrested Development
Pairing: Michael/Gob. And George Michael/Maeby if you squint and tilt your head.
Rating: NC-17 for sexual stuff and language. Oh yeah, and the incest, I suppose.
Warnings: INCEST INCEST INCEST. Seriously. Don't read if you don't like it. And slash.
Summary: This is actually from the prompt thing from the community bluthcest. I gave it up for a while, and then decided to revive it. The title sort of explains it.

#1. Buster’s Birthday

Michael had gotten used to being there for his family. His mother constantly needed a hand in her manipulations, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, Lindsay needed someone to give her advice about Tobias, and his father’s escape plots were beyond sanity and help. Gob was another story. He didn’t really mind helping his eldest brother anymore. In fact, he enjoyed it sometimes. But what he never expected to need help from Gob.

It started out with a birthday present. A lot of things were going on that week, and for some reason or another, Michael blanked on Buster’s birthday. Maybe it was because the family always avoided throwing birthday parties without Michael’s complete involvement, and this one was his mother’s idea. She thought that Buster needed some cheering up, what with his hand being absent and all that. Besides, his constant complaining was getting quite irritating.

A week later, an invitation showed up at his door in the form of a verbal reminder from George Michael, since writing down a date and time as well as buying stamps would require effort on his mother’s part. He blew it off until the day of the party, when Gob showed up at his door to hitch a ride to his mother’s apartment with his younger brother. A present had been totally forgotten, but for once, his older brother came in handy. Gob bragged about his gift all the way to the party; how he had found it at a joke shop, and although it didn’t sound promising, Michael agreed to reimburse Gob for it as long as he added his name to the card.

Later that day, gathered around Buster and a small table of gifts (which was really one gift and two cards), Michael watched as Buster opened a box that contained a fake hand, moveable fingers and all. He looked alarmed at first, then tried it on, and watched the fingers curl at the push of a button. He giggled happily and looked up at Michael and Gob with a smile. Gob clapped once, and Michael watched his big brother in amusement. For once, Gob did something right.

#2. The Magic Show

Michael had never been used to embarrassment, but he was quickly getting there. That’s why when Gob’s assistant Rhonda never showed for his gig at George Michael’s high school Halloween spook-a-thon, Michael reluctantly offered to fill in. He didn’t know anything about magic but he assumed he didn’t really need to; Gob would hog the spotlight anyways. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure why Gob needed an assistant at all. But he soon found out.

Within hours, he was being led out of the auditorium in an ambulance, his brother close behind mumbling, “I almost had it, almost,” before jumping in with Michael, unprompted. Michael wouldn’t have normally accepted Gob’s company, but as he mulled over not having eyebrows for the next few weeks and a scar that would definitely show if anyone saw him naked, he was surprised to feel his brother’s hand slip underneath his own. He took it hesitantly, and Gob gripped tighter than Michael had thought he would. He couldn’t help but take the comfort and apology, and forgive him. And although pain seared throughout him, Gob distracted him with a stroke of his thumb against his little brother’s hand.

#3. The Sex Talk

When George Michael asked his father how someone would hypothetically make a move on someone they were attracted to, Michael was a little bit surprised. He hadn’t thought of his son as the “make a move” type, but he assumed there were things going on that he didn’t know about; fortunately, George Michael was someone to be trusted. However, when Gob overheard the father and son beginning to talk, he decided that Michael shouldn’t be having that conversation. Especially when Michael started talking about things like love and commitment.

Gob had walked right up to the two, pulled Michael aside, and began spurting his version of relationship advice. Michael truly attempted to listen at first, but when his older brother used the word “stud” to describe his son, his temporary attention was permanently lost.

Michael made his way back to a jittery George Michael, running things over in his head. All Gob has done was confused him, and now, Michael found himself at a complete loss for words. Looking his son in the eye, Michael stammered, and unfortunately, Gob picked things up where his little brother had left off.

“What he was trying to say is that you will know what the right move is when you’re with the right person,” Gob murmured uncharacteristically, surprising the hell out of both his brother and nephew.

Once George Michael had taken this as a sufficient answer to his problem and headed upstairs, Michael questioned his brother’s spontaneous faith in love.

“That’s what you told me when you and Tracy got engaged,” Gob said, avoiding Michael’s eyes. “I had asked you the same question,” he finished. Michael couldn’t help but smile when he remembered a nervous Gob confronting him after learning of his engagement. He had given his elder brother the same advice, but Michael never really saw it put to use.

Gob subtly pressed a hand to Michael’s shoulder and threw himself on the couch, a frown plaguing his face, just as it did the day his favorite brother was officially taken off the market.

# 4. The Ugly Chick

Michael hated bars with all of his soul. Social atmospheres were never quite his scene, but something about bars irked him like none other. Sure, everyone has to visit a few in their lifetime, whether it be to pick up girls or simply get hammered with your friends, but Michael tried to keep his visits down to twice a year. After all, in the eyes of Michael Bluth, a room full of drunken slobs and slutty girls didn’t make for a very fun night.

Despite his usual protests, Michael was dragged to a rather grotesque bar with his older brother on the night of his birthday. Fearing a troupe of waiters unceremoniously singing “Happy Birthday” to him, he decided that maybe this was a decent alternative to a nice dinner. Of course, Gob ditched Michael as soon as they reached the door, and the middle Bluth boy was left to fend for himself in the grimy tavern.

Michael pressed his elbows to the counter, ordered himself a mild drink, and surveyed the room. He’d lost sight of his brother completely, but that didn’t surprise him. Gob had a habit of leaving once he saw a pretty girl: that is, pretty enough to bear it but not so pretty that he would automatically be rejected. After a few lonely seconds, Michael felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned around to face a woman, streaked blonde hair and blue eyes surrounded by a bleeding red. Hefty grey circles lay beneath her washed out pupils, and her mouth hung open like her whole body had fallen asleep and forgot to let her eyes know.

Michael sprung back a tiny bit upon this sight, and stuttered to speak.

“Hi...I, uh, how are you?” He asked, distancing himself as much as possible without it being completely noticeable. The woman’s expressionless mouth upturned to a smile, and she attempted to answer his fairly simple question.

“Good. Good. I ‘as jus’ wondin’ if you ‘ad a, uh,” she muttered, clearing her throat and opening up to begin again. Suddenly, Michael felt another tap at his shoulder, and this time, tried to avoid it. The thought of being faced with two women like this forced him to ignore the sharp pokes at his back. However, the source of the poking was determined to be noticed. And for a good reason, too.

Gob became fed up with his brother’s obvious ignorance and pulled on Michael’s shoulder until they were face to face. Michael looked relieved, and Gob smiled, pleased with himself.

“Lay off, lady. He’s mine,” Gob said, cocking an eyebrow and placing his free hand against his brother’s stomach. Michael’s eyes snapped to where Gob’s hand had nonchalantly landed, and suddenly, it felt as though all of his nerve endings had migrated to that part of his body. A tingling sensation accompanied the tiny butterflies in his stomach, and Michael could practically feel himself blushing in front of Gob and this intoxicated woman. He tried his best to calm down, but that was shot to hell when his older brother leaned in to press their lips together.

Michael’s first instinct was to shout out in surprise, but soon he let himself melt into Gob’s kiss. Gob’s hand moved from Michael’s stomach to grip the back of his neck, and the younger man wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, pulling their hips together. Gob had only intended for this to be a peck, but as the seconds flew by, he found his intentions to be less and less innocent.

Hesitantly, Michael opened his mouth to his brother’s, and Gob took the chance to slip his tongue inside. He ran his fingers gently across Michael’s neck, onto his shoulder and further against his chest, until Michael lightly thrust his hips forward and all movement was momentarily lost on Gob. The older man tried his hardest not to allow any sounds to radiate from his mouth, but when Michael groaned against his lips and into the back of his throat, a quiet sigh escaped. They let themselves soak in each other’s feel for a little bit longer until the motion of their hips became more violent than gentle and they both remembered that they were in a public place.

Gob stepped back first, pressing his back against the bar and catching his breath. Michael was a little more subtle with his recovery, covering his mouth with his hand then folding his fingers together in front of him.

The blonde blinked a few times, turned the opposite direction, and stumbled away, her drink spilling with every step. Michael pressed his lips together, reaching his hand out for his drink.

“Thanks, Gob,” he said, downing a shot that was definitely not intended for him and smiling hazily at his brother.

“Happy birthday, Mikey,” Gob answered, nodding.

They stood there for a few seconds before ordering massive amounts of alcohol, and at the end of the night, Michael concluded that maybe bars weren’t so bad after all.

#5. Bluth Family Troubles

Michael had begun to forget a time when the family company wasn’t in trouble. He couldn’t remember what it used to be like, those carefree days of being a teenager, or even a young adult, not worrying about the fate of his father’s business. Now, all he worries about is the company’s stock and keeping it afloat.

One particularly stressful day, Michael came home early to try to nap, even though he doubted a minute of sleep would actually be achieved. Nevertheless, Michael plopped down on the big couch that occupied the living room of the model home. However, after twenty minutes of keeping his eyes closed without a reward of sleep, Michael began to give up. Just then, Gob burst through the door, screaming his younger brother’s name. Michael considered ignoring him, but he figured since he couldn’t sleep anyways, he might as well acknowledge his brother.

“What do you need, Gob?” Michael asked with a groan, turning his head toward the blurry figure of his brother that stood next to him. Gob cracked his knuckles and sat next to Michael, rubbing his hands up and down his legs. Michael couldn’t help but notice how skinny Gob’s legs were, how long and slender...

“N...nothing. What are you doing here? I thought you would be ‘working,’” Gob said, flicking his hands up in air quotes. Michael snapped out of admiring his brother’s body and scoffed.

“For your information, I work ten times harder than anyone else in this family. Without me....without,” Michael tripped over his words, massaging the recurring crick in the back of his neck. He yawned as well, his eyes heavy, his head pounding. If only he could sleep, if only for five minutes.

Gob noticed his brother’s anguish, and quickly brought his legs up to the couch, tucking them carefully beneath the rest of his body. He inched over behind his brother, straddling Michael’s waist between his knees. His hands found their way to Michael’s neck, and beginning a slow rhythm, Gob gave the first massage of his life.

At first, Michael had rolled his eyes, expecting Gob to slam a few fingers awkwardly into his flesh and declare that he had fixed his brother’s ache. But after a few seconds, he discovered that maybe Gob meant business. And a few seconds after that, he decided that Gob definitely wanted something more than a massage. Gob’s hands worked magic against Michael’s skin, and Michael couldn’t help but groan at the amazing contact. Not only was the knot in his muscle gone, but another muscle had begun to act up.

Luckily, Gob noticed what his magic fingers had prompted, and uncharacteristically decided to take care of it. With a bit of hesitance, he reached down towards Michael’s crotch, the inside of his elbow pressed to Michael’s shoulder and his lips smashed against Michael’s temple. Michael moaned at the change in position, and when he felt Gob’s hand fondling his cock, his eyes opened in shock. A few seconds later, they slipped to a close.

“Gob,” Michael groaned, breathing heavily through his nose. He thought maybe that way he’d lower the volume of his panting; instead, the blood rushed quickly to his head and he ended up gulping down air as his brother worked his rock-hard cock with his left hand.

When the position had worn itself out, Gob flung his feet out from underneath him, threw them to the ground, and positioned himself between Michael’s thighs. All Michael noticed was the touch absent from his groin, but when he noticed that Gob had only changed positions, he began unbuckling his belt to help the process. Soon enough his pants lay on the floor next to him, and Gob’s hand was teasing the edge of his boxers, asking for removal. Michael speedily complied.

“Do you want this?” Gob asked, his voice deep and shaky. Michael shivered.

“No,” he said, pushing Gob’s hand away from his straining hard-on, “I want you inside of me,” he finished, leaning back against the couch and spreading his legs.

Gob almost came on the spot. Years of pining after his younger brother, and now he might as well be laid out on a silver platter. Gob nodded, gulped, and tried to organize his thoughts. After a few panicked seconds, he opened his mouth to suggest some sort of lubricant and protection, when he noticed Michael’s finger pointing towards the bathroom. Gob practically sprinted there, grabbed an unneeded handful of condoms, a bottle of what curiously looked like real lube, took a deep breath, and headed back to his brother.

Michael had calmed slightly, and when he saw his brother approaching, he couldn’t help but smile. Gob looked like a scared puppy. And as if that weren’t cute enough, Gob knelt in front of him, planted a small kiss against his chest and emitted a quiet purr. Michael rolled his hips in response, and Gob got the hint. He removed his pants hastily, entering his younger brother with caution and ease, watching his reaction the whole time.

After a few slow movements, Gob leaned forward, asking permission to press their lips together. At first, Michael was overwhelmed. The thought of having his brother fuck him was, of course, extremely daunting, but it wasn’t just that. It was how much he wanted him. Not just for a rough night of sex, but everything that came with it. The touches, the kisses, the embraces, and most of all, the feeling that someone cared.

So Michael leaned forward to Gob’s lips, kissing him gently. Not just because Gob was waiting, but because Michael wanted to.

And as their bodies moved perfectly together, Gob moaned “I love you” quietly as he thrust his hips forward and Michael decided that he should let his brother help him more often.

RENT One-shot: Patience

2007-03-17T03:40:47Z

Title: Patience
Author: neonnchrome1123
Fandom: RENT
Pairing: Mark/Roger and a little Roger/April.
Rating: R for sexuality and language.
Word Count: 3,787
Summary: Sometimes, Mark can be a little too patient.
Warnings: Angst. Slash.
Spoilers: None. I suppose for the play/movie if you haven't seen them.
A/N: I wrote this for a challenge on rentforbastards a little while ago. :)

Mark’s never believed in soul mates. Sure, people fall in love, people get married, people spend their lives together, but he doesn’t think there’s some cosmic force, matching people up before they even meet. You have to work at love. You have to be patient. And that’s a lesson Mark knows all too well.

Mark believes that if you’re patient enough, maybe you’ll find the right person. After all of the shit that comes along with dating and searching for the person you really love, there will be somewhat of a light at the end of the tunnel. The problem is, Mark can be too patient.

The music blares, neon lights shining from every corner of the stage. Mark is unsure of where the loud noise is coming from, but he can’t avoid it no matter where he’s filming. He can’t wait for Roger to come out, after a straight half an hour of watching his band mates set up. Drums and sound checks are only interesting for a little while. The camera around his neck hangs solemnly, yearning for that shit faced grin, spiked hair and throaty singing voice to emerge onstage. Mark is a little too giddy tonight, his stomach fluttering at the thought of Roger standing up there with a guitar in his hands.

“Hey!” Aaron yells at Mark, cupping his palm in front of his mouth. Mark squints from the unnecessary volume of the shriek, then shrugs confusedly at the bass player.

“What? I can hear you!” Mark screams back, cracking a small smile that Aaron returns with a chuckle.

“Roger wants to see you backstage after the show!” Aaron informs him, and with that, steps behind the curtain. All Mark can do is stand and nod. What could Roger want to talk about so quickly after the show? He can’t just wait until they are walking home, with a little too much time on their hands? Maybe he wants to discuss what happened. Where they are going now. What they are going to do. Mark’s mind runs with questions about that night, that…event. And even though he denies it, Mark knows that what happened that night is the reason he’s so eager about Roger coming out on stage.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Two days ago

Mark and Roger sit tiredly in the kitchen, watching as Benny creates a late lunch for three out of a single tomato, some stale bread and a few pieces of very questionable ham. All of the bread is stuffed into the toaster that Mark was almost positive had broken, after Roger’s latest one nightstand had tried to scramble eggs in it. But after a rough bang of Benny’s fist, it seemed good as new. That was until he used one single slot to toast three pieces of bread at once. But that’s nothing another open fisted punch couldn’t fix, according to Benny.

Ten painful minutes of constantly insisting they could scrounge up enough money to go to a tiny bar and eat later, Mark and Roger were treated to two slightly burnt grilled ham and tomato sandwiches.

“Thanks…Benny. Who knew such a good meal was lurking in our kitchen?” Mark comments sarcastically, lifting up a piece of scorched bread to gander at a thin and sad slice of very ripe tomato.

“Well since we haven’t really eaten anything decent lately, I figured I would treat you guys to some actual food.” He smiles, proud of what’s he’s accomplished. Even if Mark and Roger are a little more than hesitant to eat it.

“So…you going to a job interview or something? Blind date?” Roger keeps talking while he eyes his sandwich, debating whether he should really eat this, or just dump it in the garbage when Benny isn’t looking. After all…he hasn’t eaten in a while, and this doesn’t look that bad.

“I got a date. With a nice girl I met at that club a few nights ago. I don’t know if it’s gonna work…she seems like one of those girls who carries their dog in their purse.” Benny flashes the boys an arrogant grin before chugging down the rest of the liquid in his cup and chucking it into the moldy sink.

“Good luck,” Mark smiles, finally taking a bite of the food sitting in front of him, and subtly giving Roger the permission to eat his.

“Yeah, thanks, man. See you guys later.” The new cook saunters out with a few shuffles of his feet, leaving Roger and Mark alone at the counter.

“This isn’t so bad,” Mark mumbles to the rock star next to him, who proceeds to glare at his roommate then offer a light chuckle. Roger can’t believe that no matter how shitty Benny’s cooking is, Mark is filled with enough pity to compliment him.

“I’d like to see you eat it all then.” Roger pushes the plate closer to the other man, who cringes at the prospect of actually eating the mess in front of him.

“Why don’t you?” Mark pushes it away from himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not the one who looks like a skeleton.” Roger lifts an eyebrow as Mark examines his skinny features. Surely he’s not that skinny…

“I do not.” Before Mark can continue, a very determined and partially curious Roger is lifting his shirt, as if it’s a common lunchtime practice.

“What the fuck!?” Mark screeches as his pale and bare abdomen is exposed, Roger’s fingertips lightly making contact to prove that it’s possible to feel his ribs.

“See? You’re way too fucking skinny. You need to build some muscle…or at least gorge so you get a beer belly.” With that, Roger lets go of his hold on the filmmaker, and Mark breathes a sigh of relief.

“I eat as much as I can. I don’t think we could afford for me to be obese like you want.”

“I don’t want you obese, I just want you healthy.” Roger’s eyes droop, but connect directly with Mark’s. He’s actually being serious? Mark was convinced this was all just because the group was trying to nag him or pick on him, but maybe they’re genuinely worried.

“I’m fine. If it makes you feel better I’ll stuff my face from now on.” Mark picks up the sandwich, opening his mouth for a whopping bite, but halting in the middle. “You know…you’re looking a little famished yourself,”

“What?” Revenge imprinted in his mind, Mark reaches towards the other man, lifting his t-shirt like was just done to him. But this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. Roger doesn’t resist, but simply allows his stomach to be shown to the world. Or, a curious filmmaker. And he’s got no reason to hide.

“You have like…” Mark mumbles as he unintentionally admires Roger’s six-pack. Sure, they’re a little shabby, as if Roger hasn’t paid them much attention, but that’s probably due to the recent lack of food and money. A bronze tan rests on his skin, remaining from the day Collins and the rock star spontaneously skinny dipped in a fountain, only to find out it was private property by a security guard ten minutes into their adventure.

“What?” Roger looks down, as if he doesn’t know what shape he’s in.

“Y…nothing.” Mark immediately drops the rocker’s shirt, returning to stare at his sandwich. New thoughts run through his mind. Why has he never noticed Roger’s body before? Sure he’s seen him shirtless dozens of times, but he was never really looking. Now Mark has definitely looked, and thinks it was better before he did.

“Mark?” Roger taps him on the shoulder, throwing the filmmaker out of his thought process and slight shock.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?” Mark nods at his question, but refuses to look Roger directly in the eye. If he does…

“I mean, I know that my body can catapult anyone into a drooling state, but I never thought you would become that vulnerable,” Roger’s hand remains resting on Mark’s shoulder, something that Mark is very aware of, and Roger doesn’t even realize. “Mark?”

“No…I just…I never noticed how…never mind.” Now Roger’s hand is circling, rubbing slowly, comforting yet confusing.

“How hot I am? You seriously never noticed? Jesus Mark, here I am thinking you are smarter than me all this time.” Mark offers a pity chuckle for his cocky roommate, but continues to contemplate what the fuck he is feeling right now. It’s…heat.

“I guess I just never looked that way before.” Their eyes connect, and suddenly Mark is not the only one feeling this heat. Roger becomes aware of his hand that is carefully traveling down Mark’s chest, eventually landing on his thigh.

“What the hell…” Someone murmurs, before both of them lean into a slightly unprompted, slightly uncomfortable, slightly romantic kiss.

At first their lips clench, something that years of being friends will do to a first kiss. But after both boys take a breath, they relax. Roger’s hands roam around Mark’s neck, discovering the feel of his pale white skin. Mark’s fingertips concentrate on the other man’s arms, running up and down, up and down, up and down until he’s memorized the curve of every muscle.

Neither of them have felt each other, or even thought of each other in this way before. But now, they are both wondering why it took them so long to. The mumbled moans, the curious hands, the rasping breaths and the needing mouths. All of it seems so familiar, yet so foreign.

Roger is first to stop them, looking into the other man’s eyes, unable to join words into a sentence. But he’s not sure that’s even what he’s trying to do. He just wants to stare. Stare at Mark, in this moment, and try to remember every second, every touch, every noise, and every inch of Mark’s body. Who knows if this will become something, or it’s just fucking around. But for now, Roger just wants to soak it all in.

“Is it…are we okay?” Mark mumbles, his words askew and slurred. But Roger doesn’t answer. All he offers is his hand, which he tangles against Mark’s, then pulls his roommate over to the couch. He goes slowly, taking his time and making sure they don’t miss a beat. He leads Mark to sit down so that they are facing each other, rubbing his thumb along the pale five o’clock shadow that rests on the filmmaker’s chin.

“You need to shave. It’s only two and you already have stubble,” Roger chuckles, as Mark grips at his face.

“Yeah well…I just didn’t have…” Roger collides their mouths forcefully, fitting his top lip in between Mark’s light pink ones and grasping harshly to the side of his face. Mark gasps lightly, but relaxes to Roger’s touch once the other man lets him lean against the side of the couch, lying himself across the filmmaker. Mark’s arms drape across Roger’s back, his hands reluctantly making contact with the rim of the rocker’s jeans as he contemplates if he wants to reach further. He decides that for now, his hands will stay put at the edge.

Their bodies are almost frozen in time, slight movements like the smack of their lips or the entwining of their fingers making appearances, but at the moment, both men are reluctant to make any huge shifts. Their mouths move around each other, exploring tastes, tongues, and teeth, and only breaking for air subtly when it seems like both of them would have already suffocated.

Mark is surprised how natural this all is. There’s no awkwardness, no rigidity, and after they got to the couch, not a second of hesitation. Unlike his usual behavior, the filmmaker is finding himself relatively calm. Maybe it’s because it’s Roger he’s kissing, Roger who’s lying on top of him, and Roger’s hands all over his body. The Roger who he’s lived with for almost a year. The Roger who he’s stayed up with late at night just to talk about absolutely nothing. The Roger who tried pot with him for the first time, even though Mark refused to touch it again while Roger does it to this day. But now, he’s the Roger whose body is pressed tightly against his, while their mouths fuse together.

Mark’s hands fumble lightly when he begins to lift Roger’s shirt, but Roger doesn’t think twice. He sits up, separating their mouths and pulls his shirt quickly over his head before leaning back down to Mark’s lips.

Neither of them expected such great kissing. Roger has kissed his share of girls, and a few guys who flirted a little too much with him after a set with the band, but nothing has been quite like kissing Mark. Something about it is more than just animal attraction, or needing to touch more skin, needing to get closer. It’s something more intimate, that both men would rather not admit to. For now, all they can tell themselves, is that they need sex.

“Take off your shirt,” Roger says as he sits up, straddling Mark’s thighs, one knee placed on the outside of each leg.

“Wha…oh..okay,” Mark stutters, lifting his shirt over his head and throwing it down beside the couch. This time, Roger’s mouth doesn’t gravitate to Mark’s. Instead, he buries his face into Mark’s neck, biting and licking while the filmmaker’s hands explore the feel of Roger’s back. His fingers run over each curve, each dip, and each bump, admiring everything there is to admire about a person’s back.

“Is it okay?” Roger questions as he reaches the zipper to Mark’s corduroys, and he takes a deep breath before answering.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve already crossed the line between friends and more than friends,” Mark laughs breathlessly, recovering from having his mouth devoured only seconds ago. Sure enough, Roger wastes no time in undoing the pants beneath him and standing up so he can fully remove his own.

Even though it had a sense of comfort to it, only one thing ran through Mark’s mind the entire time.

Holy shit.
................................................................................................................................................

Three Hours Later

The moonlight is blinding to Mark’s sleep cloaked eyes, shining through the window just enough to wake him. The bed smells like sweat and sex, something that he was never really fond of, but currently finds a tiny bit intriguing. He rolls over slowly, hearing a light crunch as he hits Roger’s pillow. Mark thrusts his head up to eye the piece of paper that is placed there, a small note from Roger scribbled most likely as an afterthought.

“Gone to the show, come if you want, Roger.” It seems empty. Hollow and apathetic. Mark didn’t expect a love note, but at least some acknowledgement of what had just happened. It’s not like they have sex everyday. Well, with each other at least.

Mark climbs back to his pillow, shutting his fatigued eyes and thinking over his afternoon. He considers getting up to go to the show, but lacks the motivation to actually climb out of bed. Roger will forgive him. He’d better, at least. He finally gathers the energy to open his eyes, if only to take a gander at the time and notice that the moon happens to be right outside the window. Great, he thinks. The one night he could actually sleep well.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Mark felt bad that he missed Roger’s show that night after promising he would attend weeks in advance. But Roger didn’t seem to mind all that much when he got home. He said the show was good, everything went as planned, but it was nothing special. Nothing that Mark hadn’t seen before. But when Roger got back, it was as if nothing had happened. They went back to talking like friends, laughing like friends, touching and hugging like friends, without questions. Apparently after the show, Roger had erased the memory of that night from his mind.

Maybe it was just a weak moment, Mark thinks, as he tells himself over and over again that it doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean much to him either. But there will always be that voice at the back of his mind, telling him that it did matter. And he knows that that voice is telling the truth.

The last member of the audience cheers and a random whistle is heard as Roger’s band clears the stage, after a semi-conscious audience responded rather well to their blend of punk rock and random acoustic songs. Mark shuts off his camera just in time for a couple of the club employees to begin cleaning off the stage, wiping up after Aaron’s knocked over scotch that he stupidly placed on an amp. His camera whips across his chest as Mark hops up onto the stage, heading for behind the curtain, just as instructed. He’s giddier than he should be; he doesn’t want to seem too excited to see Roger, especially since the rocker has been playing it cool ever since they slept together. But then again, he thinks, Roger was the one who asked to see him backstage after the show. So maybe his pessimism is just paranoia.

Mark grasps the lens of his camera as he peeks behind the curtain, gazing into the darkness ahead of him. He can finally make out the form of a person, and once he spots the spiked hair, he safely assumes its Roger. Once his eyes adjust to the lack of light, he can make out someone else pressed closely to his roommate; a girl. She sports a thigh-length skirt, as well as a ragged pair of leggings and shoes. Roger’s leather jacket is affectionately draped over her, and her bony fingers are barely visible as they grip tightly to the collar to secure it around her. Her hair is messy in that nonchalant sort of way, as if she’s not trying all that hard but still seeking attention in some way.

Before Mark can turn away to face the audience, the girl pushes herself up on her scrappy shoes to connect her mouth with Roger’s, a kiss that he accepts immediately with an uncommon passion that is all too familiar to Mark. Roger’s arm wrap around her almost non-existent waist as he deepens the kiss, and Mark decides he’s seen enough. Why the fuck would Roger want to see him if this was all he was planning on doing? Making out with some random fan? Right the fuck in front of his best friend? And right after they fucking slept together. Obviously the moldy bread and ripe tomatoes got to Roger’s head.

Mark wonders if they’ve ever connected memory loss to mold before in a scientific experiment.

Before he is able to recognize how ridiculous that thought is, he feels someone tap his shoulder. His heart beats loudly in his ears and he reluctantly turns around to face that shit faced grin he’d been so eager to see only hours earlier. But now it’s standing beside another grin, this one cloaked with innocence and not a touch of guilt. But why should she be guilty? She has no idea what’s going on. She’s just there to get her ten minutes with a rock star before she hesitantly leaves in the middle of the night to gossip to all of her poseur friends that not only is he hot, but not a bad fuck. Mark offers a smile anyways. If only to pretend that she looks nice with Roger’s favorite jacket pressed against her bony frame.

“You enjoy the show?” Roger asks, rubbing his hand casually over the girl’s back as he stares Mark directly in the eye. Mark pivots on his foot before awkwardly glancing down at his camera with a false smirk.

“Yeah, it was great,” he looks to the girl, intentionally asking to be introduced even though he’s positive she’s not important enough to get introduced. But sure enough, Roger tips his head down to exchange their names.

“Mark, this is April. We met last night at the show you missed.” He plants a small kiss on April’s cheek and she opens her mouth with a wide smile in Mark’s direction. Mark smiles back, his heart silently breaking beneath it. As if the name wasn’t enough, he had to add the kiss. And of course, there was a nice touch of guilt at the end of the sentence. As if he could have stopped this chance meeting by attending the show last night instead of lying in bed and repeating every movement of the afternoon before in his head.

“Nice to meet you. Look, I think I’m going to head home, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Mark adds suspiciously, hoping that Roger will get the hint. It seems as though he does, as he nods solemnly and proceeds to stare at his feet as Mark walks away. But in a last second attempt, Roger runs after the filmmaker, grabbing his arm firmly to stop him.

“Mark, wait. I really like her. And I wasn’t sure if what happened was something that was,” he stops mid-sentence, gathering his thoughts to give it another try. “I didn’t know if it was a big thing or just us messing around.” His eyes sparkle, catching Mark’s attention under the multi-colored lights that surround them in the club.

“I guess it was nothing. Just go back to April and I’ll see you at home.” Mark turns around again to leave, when he hears Roger pathetically call after him,

“You’ll like her, Mark, I promise.”

But he never does like her. Sure, he pretends to have fun with her while he becomes the third wheel to their sudden state of love. He pretends not to notice as Roger slowly forgets him and spends every waking second with this girl who Mark once thought was a random fan.

But he can’t forget when she finally leaves Roger all alone, and Mark to pick up the shattered pieces of what was once his best friend. For some reason he thinks he could have prevented all the pain that came with the next year, the drugs, the depression, the suicide attempts and rehab. And even when Roger assures him that it would have happened anyway, he can’t help but think that if he would have attended that one show. That one show, out of all of the shitty clubs and deteriorating bars they have played. If he would have dragged his lazy ass out of bed to see Roger play the same set of songs while his drunk guitarist made a fool out of himself as usual, it all would have been different.

But maybe one day he’ll have his chance. He’ll just have to be patient.

One shot: Fading Hope

2007-03-02T00:23:25Z

Title: Fading Hope
Author: neonnchrome1123
Fandom: Saw
Pairing: Sort-of, kind-of Adam/Lawrence...but not really.
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
Word Count: 223
Summary: After Lawrence crawls out of the bathroom, just a little ditty on his thoughts. Lawrence's POV.
Warnings: A bit of gore.
Spoilers: For Saw. It ruins the end, man. Haha. Not mine. Don't own the characters or anything.

Lawrence drags himself down the concrete hallway, feeling the blood slowly seep from his wounded leg. It’s hard to comprehend that his foot is actually gone. Left in that horrid bathroom to rot for all of eternity. And unless he can get some help, his foot won’t be the only thing left to rot.

“Help! Someone!” His arms get weaker with each movement as his worn out, raspy voice attempts to find someone. Larry knows it’s a lost cause, but he’s still determined. He won’t believe that this is how he’s going to die. And how Adam’s going to die.

“Please...I’m…all the blood. Adam’s still…Adam…he’s…” Larry’s mouth hangs open and yet words refuse to come. He’s desperate to just see one person, alive, to help. If not to help himself, then to save Adam. Adam. He shot Adam. “Oh,” Lawrence mumbles, replaying the past ten minutes in his head. Or has it been longer?

He can’t even think straight, much less estimate how long it’s been since he abandoned his cellmate in that lone bathroom with two corpses and a bullet wound to the shoulder. Adam…

His eyes close peacefully as he lies still in a hall, body pressed firmly to the wall, arms strewn weakly on the floor. All thoughts slowly fade, and there he rests. Soaking in blood and fading hope.

Welcome!

2007-03-01T23:47:16Z

Hi everyone! This is my journal for purely writing. I'm not sure if I want to make it Friends Only or not...I'm thinking.

Look around and I hope you enjoy!

♥