Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Notes: Pure fluff written for tolavieboheme of livejournal.
Roger and Mark were sitting on the couch around dinnertime one night. By some sort of mistake, a copy The Village Voice had been left on the stairs leading up to the loft. Mark had picked it up on his way home from filming and was reading it. Roger had already read the comics (the only part of the paper that he had any interest in) and could feel hunger pangs in his stomach.
"Make me food," he poked Mark in the side.
"Eeep!" the filmmaker dropped the paper and wiggled a little.
"What was that?" Roger smirked.
"Nothing. You just… you startled me, that's all." Mark could feel his face redden.
"You're ticklish, aren't you?" Roger's smirk widened into a grin.
"N-no," Mark stammered. "You just startled me. Now what do you want for-"
Roger cut him off with another poke.
"Eee!" He squealed and wiggled.
Roger's eyes lit up as his whole hand took a hold of Mark's side. His fingers ran over the blond's sides and stomach causing Mark to writhe and giggle. He had managed to wiggle himself onto his back and down the couch, his shirt riding up to reveal skinny, pale stomach and a perfectly intact ribcage. Positioning himself on top of Mark, Roger's calloused hands ran across the bare skin.
"Ro-hahah-gerrr st-hahah-ppp!" Mark managed. "I-I-I ha-hahahave to peeeeee!"
Not wanting another stain on the couch, Roger rolled off the blond with a grin. "I'm not done yet."
Mark hopped off the couch and bolted for the bathroom, not even shutting the door. Roger laughed as he heard sighs of relief coming from the other room. Mark sauntered out of the bathroom. "What do you want me to make you?" He walked towards the part of the loft that was a kitchen.
"I said I wasn't done," Roger said. "Get your ass over here, Cohen."
"I thought you wanted food."
"I'd rather make you writhe in discomfort for my own amusement," he smirked. "C'mon Marky."
Mark ignored him and opened up the cabinet. "Looks like Ramen… again."
Roger rolled his eyes and hopped off the couch. "Does this tickle?" he asked as he rubbed his stubbly face against Mark's clean shaven cheek.
"Ow, no, that's itchy actually," Mark replied.
"Well we know this tickles," Roger wrapped his arms around Mark and rubbed his hands on Mark's sides, laughing as the boy squirmed and giggled in his arms. His head fell back on Roger's shoulder as he laughed.
"St-hahah-ppp," he begged, trying to wiggle out of the musician's strong grip.
Roger let him go, but he quickly leaned his arms against the counter, keeping Mark in a tiny confinement. "Happy?"
"You can make your own Ramen you know," Mark threatened, if that could even be a threat. After all, the directions are right on the package.
"Does this tickle?" Roger leaned against Mark, his lips hitting Mark's gently.
Mark closed his eyes. He opened them a moment after Roger's lips left his and smiled. "Yeah, that tickles too." But he wasn't talking about the kind of tickling Roger had tortured him with moments ago. He was talking about the tickling on the inside as the butterflies crazily fluttered around his stomach. "You?"
Roger nodded, wrapping his arms around Mark's skinny frame. "Yeah, the butterflies are tickling me too."
-Fin