Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Roger waltzed out of his room and into the main room humming under his breath. "Hmm hmhmmhm hm."
"Sing it, boy!" Collins encouraged as his ears caught the sound waves.
Roger grinned. "You really want me to? It's because it's true, isn't it?"
"Damn straight," Collins answered. "Mark'll agree."
"Huh?" the filmmaker looked up.
"Don't you agree with the song?"
"What song?"
"Aw, Rog, you gotta sing it now," Collins beamed excitedly.
"Sing what?"
"I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt," Roger sang, dancing around and pulling his shirt up enough to show off his abs. "Too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, yeah it hurts."
Mark just rolled his eyes. "Sure, Rog."
Roger narrowed his eyes. He started singing again (even though he didn't know all the words) and danced his way over to Mark. "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt," he began a slow striptease, his shirt rising higher and higher until he tossed it over to Collins. "Too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, yeah it hurts."
"How bad?" Collins asked, smiling a mile wide at Mark's discomfort.
"So bad," Roger sang in tune to the song (even though that's not how it went). "I'm still too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt," he straddled Mark's legs, swinging his hips back and forth in rhythm with his voice.
"Rogerrrr," Mark was angered by the unexpected (although not necessarily unwanted) lap dance from his best friend. "Stop."
"Don't blame me for being too sexy for my shirt," Roger replied, picking up the singing again.
"Okay, the song has got to be over by now," Mark whined after another three minutes of Roger's hips grinding against his own and Collins' booming laughter. Roger kept going. "Fine, Roger. You are too sexy for your shirt. Happy? Are you done?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm…" Roger sang again, "too sexy for my pants, too sexy for my pants…"
Fin