BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

59 - marc bolan

Something cute for ohdarlings !
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Your hand was steady as it directed the brush across Marc's pale cheek, leaving a trail of glitter in its wake. You had grown so used to Marc's makeup routine that you could probably do it in your sleep. It hadn't been too recently when he began requesting you to help him with some feeble excuse about his hands being too shaky.

Marc was clearly lying, as you'd seen him do his own makeup hundreds of times and perfectly correct each time. You weren't about to call him out on it, as you had to admit that you enjoyed this closeness just as much as he did. Like this, you could get near enough to feel the warmth of Marc's breath and pick up on the minute bits of emotion flickering back and forth across his eyes.

"Stop moving," you warned for the umpteenth time that evening. "You'll smudge it."

Amusement flashed across Marc's expression and he let loose a giggle, wriggling around in his seat one more time before finally going still. You pulled the brush away from dusting his face to send Marc a glare, something that read, don't test me. That was enough for him to harrumph and fall quiet again, eyes fluttering shut so that you were able to begin the liner.

Marc wanted a celestial look for tonight's concert, something he described in very vague words that you only had the slightest grasp on in the first place. No matter how many years you had known each other, you still had a lot of learning to do when it came to Marc's bizarre euphemisms and words.

Today, he insisted that he wanted stardrop tears and weary tree wrinkles along the dips and planes of his face. It was your job to try and make sense of those phrases by working your magic. You weren't Marc's makeup artist per se, but he often chose you over any other paid professional. Maybe it was because you two were close – anyone could see it. You'd grown up in the same neighborhood and you had witnessed Marc growing, bit by bit, into the affectionate, ethereal man he was today.

Never had you crossed the line between friends and lovers, but you toed it quite closely. Subtle brushes and touches could lead to several seconds of heated eye contact that was only severed by passing friends and other outside interruptions. It was enough for you to dream of more, yet not enough to sustain you for long periods of time without Marc around. Part of you always wondered if Marc felt the same way. If he craved your touch just as much as you did his.

"Y/N?" Marc was calling you. "Y/N? What's gotten you all spacey?"

You directed your attention down at the man sitting before you. With his makeup half-finished and his sweet downturned eyes lined with kohl, Marc looked almost as fragile and perfect as a starlet straight out of the roaring twenties. He stole your breath away, really. And you weren't quite sure how to tell him that without positively ruining your entire relationship. You didn't think that you'd ever manage to find the words to express that to Marc, anyway, so you merely gaped at him like a fish for a few long, long moments.

"Nothing," you murmured when your voice finally returned. It was shaky at best and didn't portray you as someone who was doing fine as it were. "Just making sure everything's good here."

Marc scoffed, his head tilting back to shake away the ringlets of black curls that tumbled into his face. "Your makeup is always perfect. I have yet to see you make a single mistake."

You blushed at the praise, hoping to draw his attention away from your fiery cheeks to the brush that you were using to add some delicate contour to his face. No matter how you tried to block it, Marc honed in on your face, studying you with a strange expression. Almost like he was mulling something over in his head – or maybe he was thinking the same thoughts that you were. But no matter how much that you wanted to believe that Marc was daydreaming over you, you knew that in your heart of hearts, it was far from the truth.