Lucky Bastard

By: Lady Angel

Note: I came up with this story today while driving around in the beautiful Houston weather and listening to Kid Rock (yeah, I actually like some of his stuff. . .I know, there's no accounting for my taste sometimes. But then again, I do have this intense thing for MB and Chris Larabee. . .so maybe I'm redeemable : ) Anyway, so if you know Kid Rock's stuff, just let it play in your head while you read it. Hope you like it and feedback is always good. BTW, this is one of those PWP? Stories.

All I've got to say is Larabee's one lucky bastard.

I mean look at the guy!

The secretaries damn near faint when he walks by in that black duster thing of his.

He's got more attitude than every damn rock star in the world.

And his success rate. . .don't even get me started.

Then there's his men. Loyal, smart, and just as damn cocky as he is! The "Magnificent Seven." That's what we call 'em. The boys and me call 'em that 'cause they're so damn good at their job. The women…I think you can figure out why they'd call'em that.

Lucky bastards.

But standing here, looking at Larabee, I sure as hell ain't thinking about team loyalty, success rates, or attitude.

See, I was downstairs, just came in from lunch. Salami…shit! I HATE salami! And Claire KNOWS that! Anyway, I'm just walking into the ATF lobby when I hear Charlie, the desk security guard, call out Larabee's name. He and his men are coming in the doors behind me.

"Agent Larabee!"

He turns his head. "Yeah, Charlie?"

Damn, even when he's asking a question he sounds like he's giving an order!

"Agent Larabee, uh, you've got some visitors." Charlie's eyes are real wide, like he's real excited about something.

"Visitors?"

"Yeah, uh, four, um, women."

"Damn!"

"You expectin' somebody, cowboy?" Larabee's right hand man, Tanner is right there asking the question we all want the answer to.

"They're early, wasn't expecting them until tomorrow!" He mumbles to himself then Larabee grins. "Yeah, just some old friends."

"SHIT! Larabee, them friends of your's ain't old!"

"Charlie?" Tanner's all over that one.

" 'scuse me sir, but them girls are drop dead gorgeous!" Even from where I am, I can see Charlie's eyes glazing over.

"How gorgeous?" Wilmington jumped on that one.

Charlie looked Larabee right in the eye. He brought his fist up to his mouth and bit down on his fingers and shook his other hand. You know, like Mulder did on that episode with that Virtual chick. It's the universal guy sign for "OUCH! So hot it hurts!"

"That hot????" Wilmington's damn near lying on the desk trying to get Charlie's attention. Charlie nods with wide eyes.

"That hot????" Wilmington turns to Larabee like he wants confirmation or something. And Larabee, damn his ass, just stands there and smirks.

"You boys coming?" Larabee walks his ass over to elevator and holds open the door for his men.

Me? I slip right on in. I nod to Larabee and then to the others. There ain't no way in hell I'm missing this! Whoever these women are, I gotta see them. I know for a fact that Charlie's a happily married man. So whoever these girls are they gotta be DAMN HOT for him to be acting like this!

So we're going up to Team Seven's floor and the entire time his men are giving him the third degree. Him? He's just got this anticipatory grin on his face. And I just know that if there's not a man in the building who doesn't already envy Larabee, somehow these four women were gonna change all that.

So we get up to their floor and the door opens up but all I can see is a whole group of MALE agents gathered around something. . .or somebody.

I hear, "Should've figured every guy in the building would be here," from Larabee's corner.

So he strolls in like the master of the goddamn kingdom. I hate it when he does that! He comes into the room like he owns the place and he's got his boys behind him ready to back him up. Anyway, that's when I hear this husky laugh that sends shivers down my spine.

Larabee stops a few feet away from the cluster of agents and calls out as cool as you please, "Angel?"

This voice, a voice that belongs on one of those sex lines, calls out, "Christopher?"

The agents part like the damn Red Sea and that's when I see her.

Goddamn lucky bastard!

She's not just gorgeous. . .she's drop fucking dead gorgeous!

She's not tall, reaching just under his chin and she's got so much freakin' blonde hair that it goes down to her curvy hips! Eyes so blue they're sapphires and lips just made for kissing.

And that's just what they're doing! Kissing Larabee like there's no tomorrow! She's got her arms around his neck and his arms are around that curvy body of hers. She's got this body like a goddess and the face of an angel.

"Hey baby." She's smiling at him now.

"How are you, Angel?" He says her name like he's tasting it on his lips.

She smiles again, pecking kisses along his jawline. "I'm good. Missed you."

"So did we." That's when I see them.

God. . .damn. . .lucky. . .bastard!

There's THREE freakin' more! There's a redhead, a dark haired girl, AND a brunette! And they're all DROP DEAD GORGEOUS!!!!

And they're all kissing him!

One after the other, they claim him for the most sizzling hello kisses I've ever seen! Hell! They're even hotter than the ones on that porno channel! Well, that's what I've heard. Don't watch those blue channels myself.

As each one comes up for their kiss, he calls them by a nickname. "Red" for the redhead. "Kitten" for the dark haired one. And "Baby" for the brunette.

I glance over at Larabee's men, really wishing I had a camera. Every last one of them had their jaws on the fuckin' floor. Obviously they didn't know their boss knew anyone like these girls.

"You girls are early." He's chastizing them! He's fucking chastizing them! Hell! That's how cool the guy is. He can actually a-fucking-ford to chastize these four stunning women. Damn! To be Larabee! I'd probably sell my soul.

"Hmm, we got done with the job early, so we decided to start our vacation early." The blonde's all tucked into Larabee's side, as comfy as you please.

"You girls sound tired." Now he's doing that thing the women here love so much. That "I'm so cool, I can show my sensitive side" shit. Like anyone would even DARE make fun of Larabee.

The redhead on his other arm nods her head. "Long case."

"Not enough information." That came from the brunette snuggled up on his chest.

"And not enough time." The dark haired one shares the arm that Larabee's got around the redhead.

Taking his arm off the redhead and raven hared girl, he digs around in his pocket. "Why don't you girls take the Ram and go ahead to the ranch, get some rest."

"You sure?" The blonde asked.

"Yeah, I still got a coupla hours left here, then I'll see ya at home."

The blonde takes the keys but hands him some other ones. "Could you and your men bring our cars back to the ranch then?"

"Sure, no problem. Bye girls." And just like before, each one of them reach up for a kiss goodbye as hot as their hello kisses.

"Bye, Chris." The four of them chorus as they head to the elevator. Larabee's just standing there grinning like a loon, a very smug loon, while they blow kisses back to him as they get into the elevator.

Well, there goes the rumor about him and Tanner.

But it doesn't end there…noooooooo. It's not enough that Larabee's got four beautiful women waiting for him at home. Nope. I swear, life just ain't fair. Okay, it's quitting time and I wander on down to the parking garage. And the first thing I see is a huge group of people standing around.

"Hey, Mike? What's going on?" Mike's the leader of Team 8. Good man, works with Larabee a lot.

He grins at me and then jerks his thumb behind him. "Check out what those girls left for Larabee and his boys to drive home."

Weelllll sheee-iiitt.

Sitting in front of me are four of THE most beautiful cars I have ever seen in one place. Okay, okay, so Standish's black Jaguar XJS is impressive enough of its own. But parked right next to it is a silver 1954 Jaguar XK-120 Roadster convertible, an amethyst jewel-toned 2000 Prowler convertible, a black 1967 Austin Healy 3000 MK III BJ8 convertible, and a candy apple red 2000 Mustang convertible. It's enough to bring tears to a guy's eyes.

At this moment it hits me how poetically just it is that Team Seven also has the highest injury rate.

Lucky bastards.

Behind me I can hear Team Seven coming towards the cars.

"Damn Chris! They're beauties!" Wilmington doesn't know the half of it.

"And expensive looking." Damn kid! Doesn't know quality when he sees it!

"That, Mr. Dunne, is an understatement." Well, at least Standish has the proper appreciation of these exquisite machines.

I watch as Larabee throws keys to Tanner, Wilmington, and Sanchez, issuing orders.

"Vin, take the Prowler. Buck, the Mustang. JD, you ride with him. Josiah, Nathan, the Austin Healy. Ez, take your Jag, the boys are gonna need a ride home."

"I guess your takin' the Jag Roadster, huh cowboy?" Tanner grins at his best friend.

"Damn straight." Figures. . .Larabee would get the most expensive one there.

Me and the other people in the garage watch as Larabee and his men climb into the luxury sports cars. Larabee just slides into the silver Roadster and slips on his black shades. Standing here, in my drab grey suit, I feel like a complete chump next to His Ultra Cool Highness.

Sheesh! Just look at him!

The guy wears black clothes all the time. And doesn't look like he's a "Matrix" wannabe. The shades are black and slim, shielding those scary-ass green eyes of his. Now he's just sitting there cool as you please in the Roadster, waiting for his men to get into their new toys.

Tanner slips into the Prowler on Larabee's right, this huge grin on his face. I can tell you now that he's gonna be getting a speeding ticket in the near future. Actually, now that I think about it, probably not. Every cop on the force knows Larabee. The whole "good ol' boy" system at its finest. Anyway, Tanner slips on his shades and then makes himself comfortable in the Prowler and I swear I can hear the leather interior rubbing against that brown leather jacket of his.

Standish is on Larabee's left, dropping his Jag's soft top. The "Armani'ed one" settles himself in familiar territory, slipping on his silver shades. A little too high society for me, but his friends like him just the way he is. I once heard someone say something rude to Standish. The guy figured the "prissy-anally-drilled-Judas-Priest" wouldn't try anything. Standish laid him out so fast I barely had time to blink. Then in comes Larabee with that wolf grin of his and tells the bleeding agent that if he bad mouths any of his men again, Larabee would "gut him like a stock pig." Larabee sure does have a way with words.

So Standish turns his head to his left and grins at Jackson and Sanchez. They're already in the Austin Healy and got their shades on. They're the only ones that are even slightly normal. On second thought. . .let me rephrase that: they're as normal as you can get in that group. On Tanner's right, Wilmington and Dunne are sitting like kings in the Mustang. Those two. . .I'm not sure who scares me more, them or Larabee. There was this little incident involving a fellow agent who had offended them, a Nudie bar, a camera, and plastic wrap. I figure I'd rather die a painful death by Larabee's hands then go through the humiliation that guy went through. And guess what? Wilmington and Dunne have got shades on too.

It's not fair I tell you! The Seven of them, sitting there in those cars, with their shades on, looking like the very definition of cool! And then there's me and the other guys who can only wish that we were that cool. And the women. . .LORD! The women are staring at them like they're hungry and are craving "Team a la Seven!" The rest of poor schumcks ain't gotta chance! Not that I want one of course. . .happily married and all that.

Anyway, Larabee starts up the engine and the next thing I know, this blaring hard rock, alternative shit comes blasting out of the Roadster's speakers.

"JD? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???" Larabee's gotta scream to be heard over the din. Looks like he can't turn it down or off.

"KID ROCK'S BAW-DIT-BA!" was the yelled answer.

Larabee just shakes his head and grins. I guess he decided that it was good crusin' music or something. Gunning the engine, Larabee indicates that he's leaving and we all move out of the way.

GODDAMN!

Larabee guns the engine one more time then peels out the parking spot like the Devil himself is after him! He fishtails the damn car down the parking lot aisles. The engine screamed, its power unleashed, as the tires howled in defiance. All the while Larabee's handling the car like Mario Andretti.

Tanner and Standish exchange these surprised looks. His men obviously didn't know Larabee was gonna do that. Then Tanner lets out this war whoop and peels rubber. Standish isn't far behind. And let me tell you, mine wasn't the only jaw that dropped when the usually passive agent let out a Rebel yell that rivaled Tanner's enthusiastic roar.

Wilmington's got this huge grin on as he sends the Mustang screaming out its spot. Over the lyrics of Kid Rock's song I can hear Dunne's "WOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" as he punches the air with both fists.

The last members of Larabee's team are usually the calmest ones but this time they're just as bad, rubbing more salt in the already festering wound. Sanchez revves the engine a couple of times then tears outta the spot, following his crazy leader and equally insane teammates out of the underground parking lot.

So I'm standing here, thinking about the cars, the coolness, and the four beautiful women waiting for Larabee at that sprawling ranch of his. Then I think about what awaits me: my boring beige family Sedan, my drab grey and brown suits, and my wife (whom I love, but in comparison to the four supermodels. . .I have to feel sorry for myself). And only one thought filters through those images.

Lucky bastard.

Finis

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