Disclaimer: I own NOTHING except the situation.

"Oh no. Did the power go out again?" Mark asked, walking into the dark loft.

"No, I'm sitting here in the dark because it's fun." Roger's voice dripped with sarcasm. Mark shook his head in Roger's general direction (because it was dark and he wasn't exactly sure where Roger was sitting).

"And stop rolling your eyes at me!" Roger yelled.

"How did you…?"

"I live with you. I know you. I know that you are always rolling your eyes at me."

Mark decided it was stupid to continue to stand in the doorway and tried to make his way across the pitch black room. After much stumbling and cursing, Mark made it to the broken couch, grumbling about the "damn coffee table." Roger watched (or, at least, listened) the whole fiasco with amusement until Mark tried to sit on the couch, or, more correctly, his guitar.

"Wait!" Roger cried, pushing Mark forward and away from the precious instrument.

"God, Rog. What's your problem?" Mark asked, rubbing his shoulder, which is what he landed on.

"You almost sat on my guitar. You can just sit on a guitar. You'll break it."

"You can get a new…"

"That isn't how that works." Roger whined.

"That's what she said." Mark said bitterly from the floor.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The air was soon filled with the barbaric yells and terrified squeaks. Roger had tackled Mark and was sitting on top of him, tickling the poor guy, crying, "Say it! Say it! Say it!"

"Fine. Fine. Roger Davis, rockstar extraordinaire, is a sex god." Mark said breathlessly.

"You know it!" And Roger swooped down, planting a kiss on Marks lips. Suddenly, the lights came back on. "And I was just starting to have fun."

Mark smiled at him and quickly ran to the wall. Flipping the light off, he asked, "Why stop now?"

See that little button? Know it. Love it. Use it.