#anyway yey for theyre really passionate about each other

[xamaxenta]

Marco thinks the spark was a one time thing, an initial shock to the system, there has to be a cost to falling into such a state of infatuation

But Ace sings with him again and the spark surges up from inside his marrow, leaves him winded with lights and sparkles fizzing out behind his eyelids whenever he blinks

Just when Marcos certain he’s imagining things he sees Ace, knows acutely just how much he’s felt it too, he can see the way Ace’s spine curves with the music, body bound by their rhythm, hears the rasp stutter out when the sparks coat his tongue and choke up his throat

Ace kisses him after receiving his first paycheck, it tastes like ozone and sears a brand across Marco’s heart

“You feel it too right?” Ace croaks, mouth swollen, lips still pressed against his—“that fucking feeling.”

“The sparks,” Marco offers, wanting nothing more than to create fireworks

“Yeah. Inside,” Ace mumbles, kisses him again to chase the storm

“Where,” Marco has to know, he must

Ace fumbles with Marco’s useless hand that had strayed to the singers hip, drags it up to slap palm down against his sternum

Electrified, Marco blinks away the crackle he felt more than saw, Ace bewildered tugs him in close to hotly ask in that deadly voice of his, the exertion of singing leaving him slightly breathless and hoarse “the fuck was that?”

“No idea.”

Thrumming humming like live wires Ace digs his nails into Marcos knuckles, from where his hand has clasped over Marcos over his own chest

“How do we stop it?”

Marco rears back offended, this whatever it was was beautiful and Ace wanted it to stop?

“Well, its noisy as all shit isnt it ?” Ace replies defensively and Marco stops to listen, unable to pick up on what Ace seemed to be experiencing

“Gets quieter when I do this though.” Ace leans in to steal another kiss, grin lopsided roguish

another probably uninspiring music au from me but i cant help it music is such a soulmate sort of thing

marcoace meetcute that maybe ill turn into a hot comic one day and its where Marco’s an overqualified pianist, working the night shift at a schmoozy ritzy high class hotel chain cigar lounge

He sometimes plays alone sometimes with a band sometimes with a singer, but hes never met his match yet, he’s never found that spark inside them, this is a paycheck for all his colleagues and collaborators

And then he’s introduced to Ace, a young man who certainly doesnt look like he belongs to this scene, hes far too young, far too wild, far too loud

he almost laughs when Ace says he’s the new lounge singer, Marco isnt judgemental, but, its a little difficult when Ace looks like one of the many overworked college kids scuttling around the city, when he’s got visible tattoos and bedhead and a smile that screams mischief abundance

But he shakes his hand nonetheless and welcomes him warmly as he always does, hopes for a friendly working relationship until Ace inevitably finds greener pastures

Night falls and Marco warms up with his usual ripple of harmonics and pentatonics, scales both major and minor when Ace finally joins him on the soft elevated stage,

he looks good actually, incredible, genuinely, the suit is well cut and his hair is combed handsomely over to one side, revealing an enviable profile with cheekbones that could almost rival marcos himself

The lounge the bar everything opens and the small talk theyd been enjoying comes to an end, for Marco its showtime and he can only hope Ace can keep up

They have a safe song roster, time hadnt allowed them to practice together but Ace had assured him he was prepared, trusting his professional confidence, Marco leads with the opening bars and just as he loses himself in the melody Ace begins to sing and just like that its that spark that feeling, Marco plays by rigorously trained muscle memory alone, head jerking up to watch the way Ace almost leans, sways into against the mic stand his voice drops drastically, deep, raspy so so different from his normal timbre

He gets it now, what people mean when youll know them when you hear it, because Ace has felt it just the same way he has, the lightning crackling inside his ribcage, the hook sliding gutting him with a hot bubbly feeling

Their set blurs by and by the last song Ace has meandered his way closer to Marco, magnetised to the pianist, taking the mic with him holds it in a way Marco fucking wishes was him instead, eyes lidded, dark hair scorching over his freckled features

The way Ace looks at him, the way the lyrics suddenly feel weighted and full of meaning leaves Marco dry mouthed and lightheaded

Perhaps its the way Ace leaves him, expression coy in a sultry kind of way has Marco striding after him, after theyve thanked their audience, grasping Ace by his wrist behind velvet curtains, feels the sharp edge of cufflinks when Ace tugs away with a soft “we shouldnt—“

Flustered at their proximity and the heat, Marco lets him go this time, but he knows, he knows Ace knows he does

And Marco finds hes alright with waiting just a little longer