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06 April 2006 @ 01:20 pm
Title: Boredum
Chrissy (iwantasoda)
It’s my drug of choice
Word Count:
R for language
Post-Rent if you really want to know. Mark lets Roger dye his hair…
Challenge 21::pink. Written for speed_rent 50
Special Thanks:
To Greens, for without her this community wouldn’t be possible.
m/m slash
I own nothing. Rent and its characters belong to the late Jonathan Larson.
It was a cheery spring day on Avenue B and Roger Davis was bored, which was never a good thing. He sighed and looked over at Mark who was laying across the couch, half asleep. A sly smile crossed Roger’s face as he set his guitar aside and turned his attention to Mark.
        “Hey Marky, can I dye your hair?” he asked softly, glad that Mark was half asleep.
        “Mmm… kay,” was the sleepy response from the couch. Roger chuckled, Mark was so agreeable when he was tired.
        “Any color I want?” Roger pressed, standing up and walking over to the couch.
        “No green,” Mark murmured with a yawn as he began to wake up. “Shit. Did I just agree to let you dye my hair?” he asked, looking up at Roger, his eyes wide.
        “Sure did. I’m going to have fun with this,” he said, planting a soft kiss on Mark’s lips.
        “And I gave you free reign on the color? I’m screwed,” Mark complained good-naturedly, sitting up so Roger could join him on the couch.
        “Well, you could be,” Roger said, raising his eyebrows suggestively as Mark rolled his eyes.
        “We’ll see after you dye my hair. And where exactly are you getting the money for the dye?” Mark asked, playing with Roger’s hair as Roger dug in his pocket.
        “Left overs from our last Food Emporium stop. Stay here and behave. I’ll be back with dye,” Roger said, standing up and leaving Mark sitting on the couch shaking his head.
        “When will I learn?” he asked the empty apartment as he rubbed his eyes. He walked over to the window, leaning against the sill as he looked down at the empty street. He sighed and watched as Roger walked down the street, clutching a small bag in his hand. Roger looked up as he took a drag off his cigarette and smiled when he spotted Mark watching him. A few moments later, Mark heard Roger pounding up the stairs, holding the bag triumphantly.
        “Ditch the shirt, you don’t want dye on it,” Roger instructed, pushing Mark down on the table as the shirt flew across the room.
        “So do I get to see what color my hair is going to be?” Mark asked as he heard the snap of rubber gloves.
        “When I’m finished,” Roger said, kissing Mark before removing his glasses.
        “I’m going to regret this aren’t I?” Mark asked after a few minutes of silence, his body relaxing at the feel of Roger’s hands massaging his scalp.
        Roger nodded, forgetting that Mark couldn’t see him. He concentrated on not getting the dye on Mark’s ears, smirking at the blob of color that was dribbling down Mark’s neck. “Oops,” he muttered softly, watching the blob travel a few inches down Mark’s back before wiping it off.
        “Oops is not a word I want to hear out of your mouth,” Mark complained, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “What did you do?”
        “Dyed a strip of your back. It’ll wash out when you shower. Now we kill twenty minutes,” Roger said, tossing the gloves and bottle in the trash before Mark could see the color.
        The two men sat in comfortable silence, exchanging the occasional kiss as they cuddled on the couch, Mark being extremely careful not to brush his head against anything.
        “Go take a shower,” Roger said, kissing Mark’s hand before shoving him towards the bathroom. He heard the shower start up and wondered briefly how pissed Mark would be. He didn’t really care, seeing him like that would be well worth it.
        “You aren’t getting laid until my hair is its natural fucking color again,” Mark yelled from the bathroom as he stared in the mirror at his very pink hair.
        “Fuck Mark, that could be months,” Roger grumbled, opening the bathroom door and walking in, smiling at Mark’s reflection. “Think about it,” he said, running his fingers through Mark’s wet hair, “if I don’t get laid, you don’t get laid.”
        Mark blinked, he hadn’t thought of that. “Shit.”
        “I like your hair,” Roger said softly, kissing Mark’s ear.
        Mark smiled slightly. “It’s growing on me,” he said, following Roger out of the small bathroom. “So when do I get to dye your hair?” he asked as he led Roger in to the bedroom.