A/N: This is my first try for something humorous. My other story has stalled for now because I'm having issues regarding how to move it along, so I kinda need something to relieve my writing jones for the time being. This takes place during (or possibly post-)RENT. No real pairings, unless you count Mark and his date (appearing next chapter). R&R as always :)
Chapter 1
Early one morning, Mark lay curled up in his bed, intently sucking his thumb as he often did in his sleep, deep in the throes of yet another erotic dream involving Maureen. "Oh, Mo…yeah, that's it, right there…take me, don't leave me baby, mmm…" he moaned. "That's the sp—"
"UuurrrAAAARRUUrrrp!"
Mark was instantly catapulted from his fantasy. "GAAAH!" he screamed. "What the fuck was that noise?" he quivered. Tentatively and cautiously, he tiptoed out of his bed, clutching his beloved Scarfy like a garroting wire and gently nudging the door open a bit with his foot in order to peep through the small crack he had made.
What he saw was a dedicated-to-doing-God-knows-what shirtless Roger standing in the kitchen area of the loft, pounding cans of what appeared to be Coca-Cola. The filmmaker noticed he would stop every few minutes to step back, pound his sternum-area lightly, and slowly release an enormous belch or two. Mark rolled his eyes, set Scarfy on a chair, and fully opened the door as he began to walk toward Roger. "Rog…can I ask you something?" he carefully began. Roger noticed his friend for the first time. "*urp* Sure," the rocker exhaled slightly.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"
"Oh, this," Roger said nonchalantly, as if the several cans stacked around him were nothing. "This--*arp* 'scuse me—is Phase One of my little, quote-unquote, 'project'."
"Which is?" Mark could hardly wait to hear Roger explain this one.
"To build the largest wall of Coke cans in the New York City, right here in the loft." Rog beamed like it was the greatest idea ever.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Y'know, there ARE these crazy new places called 'recycling centers' where you can get all this shit for free, right?"
Roger rolled right back at him. "Oh fuck off, camera boy. It's more fun this way." He chugged the last can and burped obnoxiously in Mark's face. "You're sick, man," Mark said as he shook his head. Roger smirked. "Says the man wearing teddy-bear boxers."
Mark froze and quickly looked down, realizing he'd forgotten to put his robe on. The filmmaker turned beet red and muttered, "Shut up."
"By the way, next time you dream about fucking Maureen, try and control your moaning. I know your whole raison d'être is 'mucho masturbation', but JESUS. You'd think the entire Broadway cast of Cats was in your bedroom from the way you caterwaul."
Steely (and still slightly embarrassed that someone had seen his favorite pair of boxers), Mark responded, "I said shut UP. And put a shirt on – you look like the goddamn Michelin Man with that bloated gut of yours." Still feeling the need to egg his friend on, Roger looked down at his stomach and rubbed it sexily, striking a pose. "C'mon Cohen, you *know* you love it…" He belched again.
Mark swiftly retorted with his middle finger and slammed his bedroom door.
A/N #2: Again, this is my first attempt at humorous fiction, so my apologies if it isn't funny. :/ Chapter Two should be coming very soon (much sooner than the one for my Friends-RENT crossover 9.9). Stay tuned!
