#hidesinhiswork

@hidesinhiswork asked: “ how could you do this…? “ ( for roger ) (Send me   “ how could you do this…? “    for your muse to confront mine about a choice they’ve made.  )

Panicked eyes flicker between Mark and the little baggie now residing on the table. He could make a grab for it, but even in his half out of it state, he can recognise that Mark's closer, that it'll be off the table before he can get near it, and while he'd count himself as the stronger of the two of them, he knows Mark is a fast little fucker when he wants to be.

Mark doesn't understand. Doesn't know the way his fingers itch, the aches, the sweats, the desperation. He needs it, needs it badly. Sweaty palms rub against the jeans he's been wearing for...how many days now? He's not even sure what day it actually is. He feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, except something tells him this is a little more serious.

"I..." He's not even sure how to respond, how to make him understand, how to explain that it feels like the contents of that little baggie are one of the few things stopping him from following April. "I need..."

MARK | @hidesinhiswork

ㅤㅤ'The city that never sleeps' - what a crock. Between numerous delays that had arisen within a meticulously planned schedule and a few contacts coming up empty despite previous confirmations, NYC was proving to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual, an irate demeanour flaring at regular intervals with each setback that reared its ugly head to prolong this visit. Hell, even the hotel Terry was previously staying at found itself featured on the news as part of some escapade with the Lucchese family ( a level of attention that he decidedly didn't care for ), swiftly moving onto another building a few blocks away that offered a larger suite that would suit his needs in the short term. Cordless telephone propped up between his ear and shoulder, fingertips distractedly fumble with the buttons of his half done up shirt, a commonplace task that falters as a sharp narrowing of his eyes reacts to a sudden knock at the door.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ"...I don't give a rat's ass, this wasn't a part of the deal. The foreclosure's final, they need to move—" The latter syllable coincides with the brunet's large gait concluding at the entrance as he swings it open to find Mark expectantly standing there, briefly moving the mouthpiece of the receiver to his upper chest to muffle his subsequent hushed words. "You’re unreasonably early." There's no hint of malice present as a trace of a crooked smile edges into place ( the city had some perks when it came to finding ways to kill time amidst moments of inaction ), but the sense of surprise is apparent nonetheless, the quirk of his head gesturing for the other to enter while the call gradually comes to an ends. Retreating further into the room, the lofty man stops by the gleaming formation of a piano where an open briefcase lies on top with some paperwork lain alongside on the polished surface, Terry's expression a little distracted.

creativity bursts from the young woman as brush strokes canvas , hand occupied by custom cocktail created firstly when she took the black pill with austin . as she sips from it , gaze drifts towards mark across the room . " ... it's not that bad , really . "

focus moves back to her painting , a halfway finished piece depicting a dark forest with mutilated , sickly deer . sure , the desire for blood might be pesky but it was a well worth sacrifice for success .

@hidesinhiswork asked: ❝  i’m here,  i’m queer,  i wanna leave.  ❞

He'd had a thing for parties once. But ever since getting sober (not to mention a year of self-imposed isolation), Roger's lost that fondness to an extent. He can tolerate them of course, but unless it's solely close friends there's something mildly uncomfortable about being around that many people, not to mention having to stick to whatever sort of social etiquette the world demands. He's never been good at social etiquette.

But this is for Mark's film, so he'd tidied himself up and joined his boyfriend for moral support, except it seems that now they're both thinking along the same wavelengths, with said wavelength running along the line of getting the hell out of here and going home. Or for food. Or for anything that involves not being here.

"I'm just saying, I am not above feigning illness or injury if it means we can have an excuse to go home," The musician suggests, keeping his voice low.

@hidesinhiswork asked: 💋 (to roger) everyone sending ‘💋’ in my inbox gets a kiss from my muse.

"Yo, Mark! Heads up!"

That's about the only warning the filmmaker gets before the musician comes skidding across the floor on a wheelie chair, guitar balanced haphazardly in his lap and only just managing to stop in time without falling out of it completely. Looking rather proud of himself for that little feat, Roger grins and reaches up, tugging Mark down by the collar so he can press a somewhat sloppy kiss to his lips before leaning back in the chair with a satisfied expression.

"Love you."

Send me 🗣️ for incorrect quotes of your muse and mine

I had to include several because obviously.

@hidesinhiswork asked: ❝  i’m pretty sure everyone else knew i was gay before i ever realized it.   ❞

"I think that happens with a lot of people."

Granted, Roger hadn't known, but it's pretty much a universally agreed upon thing that Roger is rather oblivious, particularly when it comes to things that concern him in any sort of way. He's not so oblivious now, but that's because Mark is his boyfriend and so now he's perfectly aware of his attraction to men because how could he not be? They kiss and everything. He is aware.

He's not entirely sure if people had been aware he was bi before he did, but that's more because back then he'd been perfectly comfortable just making out with whoever was in close proximity, and then he'd been with April, so it hadn't exactly been something that had come up on the regular.