Disclaimer: I don't own Rent
AN: I got this idea when I was trying to fall asleep last night. Oh, and kinda from Mark's POV.
Roger is magic.
His hands, his eyes, his lips, every part of his body is magic.
When he looks into your eyes as he's singing on stage, you don't know why you would ever want to look anywhere else again.
As you watch his fingers play across the strings of his guitar, you wish that is was you that he was holding so close, tenderly plucking away at the strings of your heart.
And then when it's you he is holding close, when he sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around your chest and lays his chin on your shoulder and purrs sweet nothings into your ear, you feel warm and safe, like nothing could ever hurt you and like you actually have heat in your apartment and you aren't freezing.
His kisses send a thousand bolts of lightning fizzing through every vein and a million butterflies fluttering into your stomach.
And the sex is amazing, hard and fast and passionate or tender and loving and full of care.
He makes you want to sleep in and miss work just so you can feel his arms around you for a few more minutes, or hours.
He can make your worries disappear, no matter how many or how severe.
At the most unexpected moments, he grabs your scarf to pull you close and kisses you deeply.
But when you are sitting on the couch watching TV, his lips brushing against your neck are so gentle that you can barely feel them.
Every night he tells you how beautiful you are, and even though you doubt that, you believe it when he says it.
When he pulls your glasses off, you don't care, because who needs sight when you have touch, taste, smell, hearing, and he's pleasuring those senses as well?
His touch is gentle or firm, careful or passionate, full of love or full of lust.
His taste is indescribably wonderful, his kisses sweet as candy.
You love wearing his clothes just so you can smell his smell, a mix of cigarettes and cologne and the ocean and Roger, and it can intoxicate you with a single breath.
His gentle growls and purrs in your ear can make you moan without him ever touching you.
When he opens his mouth to speak, you never know if he is going to spin a lewd joke out of thin air or if a beautifully profound thought will blossom.
When he watches your films, he's doing more than watching; he's experiencing them, and just his reaction fascinates you.
You wish you could have a constant camera on him to capture those moments when he's drunk and he falls over on top of you and kisses your eye or when he gazes into your soul and takes your breath away.
He is a paradox in himself, a fantasy that is totally real, beautiful yet crude, full of laughter and tears at the same time.
He is magic.
He is Roger.