Home-->Mom, Don't Go Here
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JANUARY 1, 2003 "Surely you can't be serious!" Albert Calavicci shouted, slamming his fist on the conference table with enough force to knock over a couple of water glasses. Every man in the room nodded, agreeing with Calavicci's sentiment. "I most certainly am serious," the young lady at the head of the table replied, seemingly unfazed by the irate Admiral--a man who could make world leaders quake in their shoes. "And don't call me Shirley." Langly groaned. "Oh God, J.D. Your weak jokes are bad enough, but to steal from Leslie Neilson is just plain wrong." "Well, what do you expect? She's been saving all her best material for her precious Skinner stories," Frohike grumbled bitterly. At that, J.D. let her gaze drift over to Walter and gave him a sly wink that made him blush sweetly. "So how does it feel, Melvin?" Langly baited. "It was okay for her to ignore me and Byers, but when she ignores YOU, it's totally different, right?" "I'm not 'ignoring' you, Mel," J.D. placated. "I'm just letting the sexual tension build between you and Dana." "Anymore sexual tension and I'm liable to do something desperate," Frohike protested. "I mean, at this point I'll even take one of those silly little fantasy stories you keep teasing the readers with." "Perhaps it would be best if we got back to the matter at hand," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed injected with his usual air of superiority. "You mean J.D.'s 'proposal'?" Agent John Doggett scoffed, crumpling up the page in front of him and hooking a shot into the corner trash bin that left Mulder green with envy. "If you ask me, I think she got into CC's hash stash." "You better be careful, Jackie," J.D. warned. "I still haven't paired you up with anyone yet in my Big Things Universe. And if I recall, Langly is still single, too." John Doggett immediately shut up; Langly immediately started to sulk. Sam Beckett took that moment to cast his vote. "Well, I'm with Al here." Jonathan Archer gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Why am I not surprised?" Paying no attention to his doppelganger, Sam continued, "Look, J.D.--I know you want to do something special for your friend, but I left all that stuff behind when I quit leaping. I can't do it again." Walter Skinner took that moment to sit up straight in his chair, an action which pulled his snow-white dress shirt tight across his massively muscular chest, drawing admiring sighs from everyone sitting around the large conference table. As usual, Skinner seemed oblivious to the lustful stares. "For what it's worth, I agree with Sam and Al," he said, his voice deep and gruff, and the author felt a shiver run down her back. "I'm sorry, J.D. You know I'd do anything for you, but this is just. . ." He paused, wanting to choose the right word. "It's. . .undignified." "Undignified?" Commander Trip Tucker repeated, incredulously. "Try downright perverted. Worse than havin' me run around in my underwear like you did for Kylara's birthday party." "And the costumes you dreamed up for Minna's party," Byers piped up. "Although dressing Trip up as Harpo to keep him quiet for the evening was a stroke of genius," Reed grinned charmingly, trying to get on J.D.'s good side in case any Enterprise slash bunnies happened to hop by. Especially an Archer/Reed one. "Why you!" Trip shouted, jumping from his seat and making a grab for Reed's throat. Quick as a flash, Archer was between them, trying to keep his two lovers from tearing each other apart. The rivalry added a touch of excitement and sexual tension to their relationship, but sometimes their competition for the Captain's affections could get out of control. Everyone was so busy placing wagers on the fight (Reed being the favorite to win, even without his phase pistol) that they missed what Fox Mulder mumbled, although J.D. caught the end of it. "What did you say, Fox?" she asked, her voice instantly bringing a halt to the fight. The ensemble returned to their seats, then turned their attention to the former F.B.I. agent. Mulder winced at the use of his first name. Normally he only let Walter call him 'Fox'. Well, him and Frohike. And that creepy Senator Matheson. Oh, and Agent Doggett, when CC and company let it slip through. He quickly regrouped and repeated his earlier comment, "I said--I don't know why everyone is so freaked out about this. I did it once before, and it wasn't so bad." Skinner turned to look at his lover in disbelief. "You have?" Mulder shrugged. "Yeah, haven't you?" That got a round of guffaws from the room. "Man, I'd've paid to see that," Doggett snickered. "A true X-File," Frohike added. "Be afraid. Be very afraid," Langly laughed. "NOW who's stealing lines?" J.D. smirked. "Shit!" Langly pouted. Skinner was glowing a bright red, and eager to divert attention from himself. "When did you ever do this, Fox?" This time Mulder didn't wince, as he loved it when Walter spoke his name. "Many years ago," he confessed. "Seems like another lifetime, sometimes." When he didn't elaborate further, twelve voices all yelled out, "WELL???" Mulder gave a startled girlish yelp, then went into his tale. "Um, it must've been, oh, thirteen years now. I hadn't been assigned to the X-Files yet. The F.B.I. sent me out on an undercover assignment to Twin Peaks, Washington. They were concerned about one of their agents, Dale Cooper." "Oh, yeah--Coop. I remember him," Skinner injected. "Handsome man. Strange bird, but a helluva good agent." "That's the guy," Mulder confirmed, although he wasn't quite sure he appreciated the 'handsome man' comment. "The Bureau thought Dale was dirty, involved in drugs or some such, so they had me impersonate a friend of his hoping to get the to bottom of it--a D.E.A. agent named Dennis Bryson." "Wait a minute. How could you pose as a friend of Agent Cooper's?" Byers wanted to know. "Once Dale got a good look at you, wouldn't he notice that you weren't this Bryson fellow?" "Not the way *I* went undercover," Mulder chuckled. "Once Max Factor got done with me, my own mother wouldn't have recognized me. Or else, she would have assumed I was my sister, Samantha." "Ahhh. . .the infamous Denise Bryson," Skinner said. "Always wondered what happened to her." Mulder gave a smug smirk. "She lived in the Hoover's basement for nine years." "What ever happened to Agent Cooper?" Reed inquired, curiously. "Left the Bureau," Mulder answered. "Last I had heard, he moved up to New York City and married one of those hoity-toity Manhattan chicks." "So, was all this before, or after, you met us in Baltimore?" Byers asked. "Right after," Mulder admitted. "And you never told us?" Langly accused. "What'd you want me to do? Take pictures?" Mulder fired back. "Bet they would've been hot," Frohike concluded, raking his eyes over his incredibly sexy friend. "Actually, I looked like Barbra Streisand with a cheap perm," Mulder laughed. "Although I'd have to say that my gams weren't half bad." Skinner nodded imperceptibly--he had first hand knowledge of just how nice those gams were. "So you're saying you go along with this--proposal--Mulder?" he asked. Mulder shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, sure, I'm game." Walter clenched his jaw and heaved a heavy heartfelt sigh. "Well, if Mulder can handle it--I guess I'm man enough to give it a try." "Actually, bein' a man is a major disadvantage here," Doggett pointed out. "C'mon, Jackie--I dare you," Mulder taunted. Doggett's bright blue eyes flashed dangerously. He HATED the way Mulder could push all his buttons--and he REALLY HATED being shown up in front of the Assistant Director. "Fine!" he spat, glaring angrily at Mulder. "I'm in." Frohike laughed, "Doggett AND Skinner? This I've got to see. Count me in, babe." The author gave Frohike a big grin, and Mel couldn't help but feel that his chances of doing the horizontal bop with Dana Scully just increased exponentially. "YOU'RE going to do this?" Byers exclaimed, incredulously. "Sure, it'll be fun," Frohike insisted. "Can't be any worse than that damn Cowardly Lion costume she stuck me in." "I wouldn't be too sure if SHE'S in charge," Langly replied nastily, cocking a finger at J.D. The author just took it in stride. "Actually, I haven't matched YVES up in that series, either," she mused, staring pointedly at the rebel Gunman. Langly gulped. "Okay, I'm in, too," he whispered, meekly. Byers shrugged his shoulders. "All for one, and one for all," he conceded, then added a stern, "But I'm not shaving my beard!" "I wouldn't dream of it," J.D. assured him. "Besides, Shamrock would kill me." She looked out around the room, and proclaimed, "Okay, we're half-way there. What about the rest of you?" Jonathan Archer glanced over at his two lovers. "Guys? What do you say?" Reed was silent for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should mention his friend, JonJon, from dance class, and the act they used to have together back in their youth. Figuring it would be too difficult to explain, he instead avowed crisply, "Whatever you decide, sir. I'm with you all the way." "Leave it to a Limey. . . " Trip sneered. "LIMEY?! Why you. . .!" and this time, it was Malcolm who jumped Trip. Once again the bets flew fast and furious, and once again, it was Jonathan who had to jump into the fray and separate his volatile boyfriends. It took him awhile, but he was finally able to pull them apart and get them situated back in their seats. Archer stood for a moment, just looking back and forth between his two troublesome playmates. Turning his attention to the author, he shook his head sadly. "Well, J.D.--I guess only Lieutenant Reed and myself will be joining you this time around." His voice held just the right amount of disappointment as he sank dejectedly back into his chair. Trip, not wanting to fall into the captain's disfavor (he had the feeling he was losing ground to the obnoxious armory officer), swallowed his Southern pride and croaked, "Whatever you want, Cap'n." It took everything Archer had not to break into a big smile. He just knew that 'disappointed lover' act would work on Trip. Pretending not to care one way or the other, he simply shrugged. "Add us all to the program, J.D." "GREAT!" the young lady cheered, then turned her attention to the remaining holdouts. "Are we going to make it unanimous?" "Well, I'm still not sure," Sam Beckett hedged. "I really, REALLY, hated those leaps. All the shaving and the underthings and the heels and the make-up. . ." "C'mon, Sammy," Al urged. "It's not like you haven't done it since you came home. Remember dressing up as Marilyn Monroe last year for Shamrock? She really liked that." "Yeah, in fact that's what gave me this whole idea," J.D. related. "You dressed up as Marilyn Monroe?" Byers gasped. "Yeah. Somehow Al managed to dig up an exact replica of the dress she wore when she sang 'Happy Birthday' for JFK," Sam revealed. "Took him nearly an hour to sew me into it." Byers bit his lip and whimpered. "And only two minutes to rip you outta it," Al leered back. Both Reed and Trip bit their lips and whimpered. Knowing when he was beaten, Sam finally gave in. "Okay. I'll do it," but he didn't sound very happy about it. Al wrapped his arm around his lover and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "I'm proud of ya', kiddo." J.D. clapped her hands once and gave an energetic, "I knew I could count on you guys! Okay, then it's a go. So unless there are any questions, I'll see you all again on January 11th. Oh, and Admiral? I'd like to have a word with you before you leave." Just as everyone started to stand up, getting ready to go, a hand tentatively went up at the back of the room. The author happened to see it and smiled. "Yes, Jimmy?" Jimmy Bond, who had been so quiet everyone forgot he was even there, looked up from the proposal sheet, his face all scrunched in confusion, and stammered, "Um, actually, I've got a question. What exactly does 'la cage aux folles' mean, anyway?" A collective groan resonated throughout the room. +++++++++++++++++++++++ On January 11th, the invitation-only audience assembled at a private D.C. nightclub. They had flown in from all over for the special event and were currently sitting at the head table, waiting for the show to begin. . . or at least most of them were. The rabble included Goddess Michele, Kylara and her SO Rich, Minna Harper, Vel~, and the birthday girl, Shamrock. They were all drinking and laughing and, well, drinking some more. "Wonder where J.D. is?" Minna pondered. "Probably backstage helping Walter into his outfit," Kylara chuckled. "Or more likely out of it," Shamrock giggled. "Lucky bieach," Michele snickered. "Actually, I'm right here," J.D. hailed, approaching the table, accompanied by a pretty brunette. "You all remember Kelly, right?" "Oh, yeah--the waitress from 'The Breakfast Nook'," Shamrock smiled. "Come sit near me. I wanna hear some good Frohike stories." "You got it," Kelly laughed, sitting down at the table. "So, who do you gotta do to get a drink around here?" J.D. demanded, taking a seat of her own between Shamrock and Michele. Kylara answered, "Just yell!", then demonstrated by bellowing, "Hey! Serving wenches!" "Shooooooters, girl!" Michele gleefully added. Instantly two waitresses wearing pink Playboy bunny outfits appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. J.D. and Kelly placed their orders--two White Russians--and everyone else at the table ordered another round: Fuzzy Navel for Kylara, Black & Tan for Rich, dry martini for Minna, Vodka and Coke for Shamrock, Strawberry Cosmopolitan for Vel~, and a Blanche for Michele. The servers diligently wrote down the orders and shuffled away, still unused to the high heels. "My GOD, this is humiliating," Brad Follmer groused as they stood at the bar, waiting for the drinks to be mixed. "I used to be an Assistant Director of the F.B.I. Now I'm a fucking bunny!" "Hey, I used to be the best looking triple-agent on TV," Krycek shot back. "At least we're working again. That's more than Chris Carter did for us." "I guess that's true," Follmer reluctantly agreed. "And J.D. even gave me my arm back," Krycek grinned, pinwheeling his left limb happily. "Yeah, well, one-armed barmaids tend to spill a lot of drinks," the surly bartender (who looked strangely familiar) snarled, pushing a tray of cocktails at Alex. Krycek gasped, "X? Is that you? I thought you were dead!" "I could say the same about you, Flopsy," Mr. X growled. "Now get to it, boy!" Camping it up to the extreme, Krycek batted his eyelashes, pursed his brightly painted lips, and simpered, "You always were so butch." He then grabbed his tray, and went about his duties, ignoring Mr. X's scowl. The show finally started at 9:35 p.m.--an hour and a half late. Not that anyone noticed--they had other things to keep them occupied. Follmer was sure he was going to have blisters from all the trips he made to the bar. Still, he had to admit that the tips were good. It actually wouldn't be such a bad gig, he decided, if it weren't for the damn heels. . .and the bunny outfit. The lights dimmed and a big round of applause went up as Albert Calavicci stepped out from behind the rich red velvet curtains and into the spotlight. He was wearing his black tux--stylishly rumpled--complete with undone bow tie and white aviator scarf. It goes without saying that both Shamrock and Minna swooned. But as the music started to swell and he brought his microphone up to his mouth, the rest of the audience had a different reaction. . .one of sheer horror. And before anyone could stop him, Al began to sing: "Thank heaven for little girls,
By this point, everyone had covered their ears and they were desperately praying for a power outage, or a nuclear strike--anything that would stop the off-key caterwauling. Al seemed oblivious to his shortcomings, however, and kept plugging away to the end. "Thank heaven for little girls,
As he finished, everyone started politely clapping--basically celebrating the fact that he WAS finished. If Al noticed the sarcastic tone of the applause, he didn't acknowledge it, and instead went right into his spiel. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. . .and anyone I might have missed. I'm Ben Dover, and I'll be your host for tonight's festivities. But I'm sure you didn't come here to see me, so without further ado, I'd like to introduce our first entertainer of the evening. The one and only. . .Deeeeeeee Lish!" Al backed away, clapping, as the curtains parted to reveal Marilyn Monroe. Sam had been uneasy about dressing up as the blonde bombshell two years in a row, but Al had talked him into it. This time around he was clad in a body-hugging pink taffeta evening gown, a huge pink bow attached to his shapely backside. Long pink opera gloves enveloped his arms, which were decorated with big, clunky rhinestone bracelets; a matching gaudy crystal necklace encircled his throat. The opening musical strains echoed throughout the room, and Sam began singing: "A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,
At that point, Michele called out, "Diamonds, hell--I haven't seen that much glass since I visited the Sears Tower!" "What are you doing?" J.D. hissed between her teeth. "You'll ruin the act!" "No, I'm helping the act," Michele confided. "You're SUPPOSED to yell things. Kinda like Mystery Science Theater 3000. . .only bitchier. Mock-tacular, if you will." "Are you sure?" Shamrock asked, hesitantly. "Trust me," Michele smirked, gulping her shot. Slamming the glass on the table, she smacked her lips. "Ah, I just love a good Screaming Orgasm." "Yeah, well, who doesn't?" J.D. retorted. "There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer,
Sam started prancing around the stage, shaking his hips, which caused the bow to wiggle from side to side. "Oh look, it's happy bum-bum time!" Shamrock squealed. And with that, the barrage began. "He's your guy when stocks are high,
"Love the dress," Vel~ jeered. "Just goes to show you what you can do with an old prom gown and a powerful glue gun." Kylara immediately came to Sam's defense. "Well, I agree that bow thing has got to go, but the rest of it is too. . .too, you know what I mean?" "Yeah, his fabulosity is off the charts," J.D. threw in. Sam's act came to an end, and he was rewarded with a rousing round of applause. He took his bows then, as he glided off the stage, he gave Al a generous kiss. This generated even more applause than the song, and a couple of condoms came sailing out of the audience to land at their feet. Sam picked one up, gave Al a meaningful look, then headed backstage. Al somehow made his way to his microphone stand and proclaimed, "What a way to start the show! And it's only gonna get better, folks! They say that two's company and three's a crowd, but don't tell our next performers that. For them, ménage-a-trois is more than just a kinky sex act--it's a state of mind. Who needs the Andrew Sisters when you can have the Anita Sisters! Anita Mann!" John Byers walked onto the stage. "Anita Lay!" Frohike followed right behind John. "And Anita Dickensider!" Langly trailed after the other two, stumbling in his heels. All three were dressed identically: a straight khaki knee-length skirt, matching oxford shirt, and black necktie. Each had a little jaunty army hat perched on his head, and matching black 2-inch block-heeled pumps. Frohike and Langly had both dumped their glasses, but true to his word, Byers had refused to shave, giving the act a weird 'bearded-lady-in-the-freakshow' air about it. They all took up their positions at the center of the stage. And as the rag-time boogie music started up, they began singing: "He was a famous trumpet man
Vel~ tipped her head to one side, considering, before she said, "Well, they look sort of fetching. . .in that 'go get it, Rover,' kind of way." "They made him blow a bugle
All during the song, they had been moving stiffly in time to the music, but now, they began to dance around the stage. The choreography wasn't bad, but the synchronization was so off, it looked as if they were doing three different routines. "You know, they have the ability to terrify me and entertain me at the same time," Kelly mused in amazement. "All the best ones do," Michele confided. "A-toot a-toot
"Quite frankly, I've seen cops with a better beat than this," J.D. snorted. As their number came to an end, and everyone was applauding, one voice rang out loud and clear over the din. "Rum and Coca Cola! Rum and Coca Cola!" Michele kept calling. Shamrock made a face. "Yuck. That stuff is disgusting." "No, not to drink. . ." Michele clarified. "For a change," J.D. cut in. "I want them to sing 'Rum and Coca Cola'," Michele finished. "We only planned the one song," Frohike responded. "It wouldn't be fair to the other performers," Byers added, diplomatically. "You boys better do 'Rum and Coca Cola' or so help me, I'll. . .I'll. . ." Michele got an evil gleam in her eye. "I'll write some Langly/Kimmy slash stories." "You wouldn't dare!" Langly hissed. "And then Byers/Morris Fletcher." "That's obscene!" Byers exclaimed. "And my masterpiece. . .Frohike/Susanne Modeski!" She gave a triumphant grin. Frohike looked aghast. "Me and Mata Hari?" Langly shook his head. "She's bluffing." Byers, white as a ghost at the thought of his Susanne and. . .FROHIKE?!. . . stammered, "Um, no, I think she serious, guys." He looked over at Frohike. Frohike looked over at Langly. Langly looked back at Byers. As one, they hollered, "HIT IT!" "If you ever go down Trinidad
"Drinkin' rum and Coca-Cola
"Oh, God--now we know why they only wanted to do one number," Minna moaned. "Not even a spoonful of sugar will help THIS medicine go down!" Kylara critiqued. "Since the Yankee come to Trinidad
"Someone stick a fork in them--they're done!" Rich declared. "Drinkin' rum and Coca-Cola
As they tried to leave the stage for the second time, amid the enthusiastic applause, J.D. suddenly yelled out, "Do Flashdance." "No way," Langly stated firmly. "I'm outta here." "Hmmmm. . .a Langly/Kimmy/Bertram Byers threesome, perhaps?" J.D. suggested, a nasty twinkle in her eye. He pleadingly looked over at Frohike and Byers, his two best friends in the world. "Guys, help me here." "Are you kidding? We're trying to stay on her good side," Frohike shot back, as Byers brought a folding chair out onto the stage. With a shrug of their shoulders, they scurried off behind the curtain. "COWARDS!" Langly shouted at their retreating figures. He then turned to glare out at the author and the hooting audience. "God, I hate all of you," he cursed as "Maniac" started up in the background. Kicking off his heels and throwing away his little army hat, which allowed his long, blonde tresses to float free, he gamely went though his dance routine. "Dance for grandma, honeybuns!" Michele cried out, throwing quarters up on the stage. "Work it, sweetcheeks!" Kylara added. "Take it off! Take it off!" chorused J.D. and Shamrock. The number ended spectacularly, with Langly kneeling on the floor and banging on the chair, tossing his head back and forth, his hair a golden blur, before collapsing in a heap. The place went crazy, giving him a loud round of applause while he scrambled around to pick up his discarded shoes and hat. As he grabbed his chair, and started dragging it offstage, he muttered to himself, "Man, I just KNEW this was going to be worse than that damn costume party!" Al stepped out from behind the curtain, clapping himself. He approached the microphone and announced, "That was great, guys. But Michele, J.D.--I'm warning you both now. One more outburst like that, and I'll be forced to sic Skinner on the two of you." "Is that a threat or a promise?" a tipsy J.D. tittered, clearly entering 'seriously toasted' territory. "I'm serious, young lady. And stop corrupting the others, especially Shamrock." "Anything you say, Cap'n Toby," Michele mock-saluted him. At that moment, Follmer returned to the table, armed with another tray of shooters. Turning her attention to the server, she giggled, "Oh, lookie, it's the Dread Pirate Thumper!" "Ha-ha," Brad grumbled, gritting his teeth. "That's a good one. Almost as funny as the last three times you said it." Al sensed he was fighting a losing battle, and just hoped he'd come out of it with his dignity intact. "Sheesh. Okay. Let's get back to the show. Now, don't be too hard on our next performer. She accidentally mixed Viagra with Ex-lax this morning, and now she doesn't know if she's cumming or going." He paused for a second, shaking his head, and mumbled, "Jesus, who WROTE this stuff?" Looking back at the audience, fake smile once more planted on his face, he pronounced, "One hand clapping against the other makes a nice sound for Miss Amanda Hugandkiss." From backstage, Jimmy Bond came bouncing out. He was dressed in a short pleated plaid mini-skirt and a white oxford shirt that had been tied into a makeshift halter-top. White garter-less nylons stretched up his long muscular legs and ended between his knee and his thigh. His feet were stuffed into a pair of flat black patent-leather buckle shoes. Blond ponytails, a wireless telephone-operator-type headset microphone, and enough Maybelline to supply Courtney Love for a month completed the outfit. As the first few notes of "Baby, One More Time" started up, Shamrock let go with a long, painful, pitiful groan. "Oh, God, NO!" J.D. threw her arm around her and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Hey, it could've been worse. He could've chosen 'I'm a Slave 4 U'." That earned an even bigger groan. "Please, don't remind me! I would have been up for murder!" "Nah--justifiable homicide," Kelly supplied. "And no jury would have convicted you," Minna stated, confidently. "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know
"And I see we've reached the not-making sense portion of the show," Vel~ grimaced. "C'mon, there's nothing quite like that 'Catholic schoolgirl-meets-budding-porn-star' look," J.D. contended. "My loneliness is killing me
"Oh, I'll GLADLY hit you one more time!" Shamrock muttered. As Kylara snagged a Nuclear Orgasm off the table, she said, "Why is
it every time I hear this song, I can't help changing the words. . .
At that point, Jimmy began dancing around the stage (if you could call it dancing--more like Lucille Ball stomping grapes in a wine vat), causing Kelly to groan, "Oh, shit! Now I'm going to have to sterilize my eyeballs!" "And poke out my eardrums!" Rich added, with a grimace of his own. "Oh baby, baby, the reason I breathe is you
"You know, there's something disturbing about a man making sounds like a sheep being violated," Michele commented, covering her ears with her hands. "Actually, I don't think Jimmy's singing," Shamrock said. "Yeah, he's just lip-synching," Kelly injected. "Gee, just like the REAL Britney Spears," Vel~ noted. "You mean, that's really what she sounds like?" Minna asked, incredulously. "I could get the same effect if I sucked on a helium tank for an hour," J.D. observed. Shamrock shook her head sadly. "Yeah, makes you question the existence of God, huh?" "Even AL sang better than this!" Rich threw in. "My loneliness is killing me
Jimmy was really getting into his routine now, performing what could best be described as a very awkward bump and grind ala Ms. Spears. J.D. closed her eyes and looked away. "My God, this is so lame, there's not even a word for it." "Yeah, this really sucks," Kylara concurred. "Sucks hairy ass," Rich elaborated. "Um, actually, I think this bites," Shamrock corrected. "No, I'm pretty sure this blows," Kelly amended. "Uh-uh. . .this definitely eats," Vel~ proclaimed. "I'm going to have to go with 'completely munches'," Michele modified. "It's damn bloody awful is what it is!" Minna decried in a broad Cockney accent. "My loneliness is killing me (and I)
The act, mercifully, came to an end, and the audience politely applauded. Jimmy soaked it all up, grinning widely at the crowd, and taking another bow. As he bounded off the stage, a weary Shamrock sighed, "Well, that was long and pointless. Short and pointless I can handle, but that took the taco." By this point, the Gunmen were trickling out front to join the rest of the spectators. They had shed most of their drag, and had pulled on some comfortable clothes--even Byers was dressed in jeans and a simple sweater, although traces of lipstick and blue eye shadow were still evident on his face. As they made themselves comfortable at the table next to the party crowd, Brad Follmer tottered over. "Can I get you something to drink?" "Hey, look, it's the Dread Energizer Bunny," Langly cried out. "Very funny," Follmer replied, sarcastically. "Haven't heard that one yet," then muttered under his breath, "Asshole." "I'll just have Dewer's, neat," Frohike ordered. Taking a look at the stage--the scene of his greatest humiliation--he quickly amended, "On second thought, just bring the bottle." "I'd like a Dry Hump," Langly piped up. "I'm sure you would," Brad sneered, then turned to Byers. He was momentarily stunned by how sexy the bearded man was with the faint hints of makeup--the eye shadow especially brought out the blue in his eyes. "And you?" Follmer fairly stuttered. "Oh, um, I don't know," Byers hesitated, picking up a little menu-card sitting in the middle of the table. Any attraction Brad may have felt for the man fled in that moment. "C'mon, c'mon, I don't got all night here," he grouched. Walking in the high-heels sucked, but standing in them shot pains right up the back of his legs, and it was starting to make him testier than usual. (Not to mention the numerous 'Dread Pirate' jokes). He REALLY couldn't wait for this night to be over. "Um, okay--I'll go with a Flying Wet Dream," Byers finally decided. "Babe, you ARE a Flying Wet Dream," Shamrock called over from the other table, turning Byers a lovely shade of red. As Brad went to fill the order, everyone's attention was drawn back to the stage, where Al was introducing the next performer. "And now the woman who could make a lullaby sound pornographic, it's my pleasure to present the fabulous Ms. Ophelia Coxswell!" The vision that stepped out from behind the curtain literally took everyone's breath away. Walter Skinner had chosen to portray Mae West--a woman who was larger than life--and he more than did her justice. The dress was a skin-tight white sequined evening gown, with a high ruffled neckline and a train trimmed in white feathers; an abstract swirling design of different colored beads and sequins decorated the front of the dress, refracting the overhead lights in a dizzying pattern. The dress perfectly accented his broad shoulders and slim waist, before flaring at the hips. On his head, he wore a platinum blond 'flapper' wig, topped with a huge white hat, which was also adorned in large white feathers. The ensemble was completed with a large white-feathered fan, a dazzling sapphire and diamond choker, and pearl and diamond bracelets on both wrists. (Re-reading the above paragraph, the author was forced to admit that Frohike might be right--she WAS saving her best stuff for Skinner after all.) As Walter sashayed past Al, he caressed the Admiral's cheek; pursing his cupid-doll red-stained lips, he cooed, "The pleasure's all mine, handsome." Leaving a stunned MC in his wake, he strode up to the microphone stand, struck an exaggerated pose and purred, "It isn't what I do, but how I do it. And it isn't what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do it and say it." That woke the audience up from its trance, and they laughed uproariously. Sam, still in his Marilyn Monroe drag, albeit gloveless, sat at a baby grand to the side of the stage. He gently started tickling the ivories, and Walter began to sing in a low, sexy, husky voice: "Love for sale, appetizing young love for sale,
He raised a hand, pausing the music momentarily. With a sly wink, he bantered, "Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." Enthusiastic whistles and hoots rang throughout the room, as he continued singing. "Who will buy? Who would like to sample my supply?
Again, Walter put up a hand, and again, Sam stopped playing. He turned to the audience and purred, "To err is human, but it feels divine," before resuming his song. "Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way,
This time, he paused just long enough to confide, "I've been in more laps than a napkin." "If you want the thrill of love, I've been through the mill of love,
Once more the hand went up, and Sam's fingers lay still. Walter closed his fan and put both hands on his hips. Striking a 'vogue pose', he cooed, "Good sex is like good Bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand." The audience went ballistic. With a toss of his head, the music began playing; he strutted with an exaggerated hip movement across the stage, singing, "Love for sale, appetizing young love for sale.
By this point, he was at the edge of the stage. He leaned over, running his feathered fan across Rich's cheek, and whispered a throaty, "So why dontcha come up and see me some time. . .big boy?" The place erupted in thunderous applause as the audience gave Walter a standing ovation, with lots of hooting and wolf-whistles thrown in. "All hail Queen Ophelia!" J.D. cried out. With that, the whole table began mock-bowing ala Wayne's World, and the unanimous chanting of, "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" sounded in the air. Walter graciously acknowledged the love, took his bows, then started sashaying his way off the stage. Al met him halfway, and gestured towards the jewels Walter was wearing around his neck and wrists. "Goodness, what lovely diamonds." Staying completely in character, Walter shot back, "Darling, goodness had nothing to do with it," and exited the stage to another round of hoots and whistles. Waving his hand in front of his face, pretending to cool himself down, Al stepped up to the microphone and announced, "Wow! I wouldn't want to follow THAT act, but if anyone can, it's our next performer. This one's not just gonna rock your world, folks, she's gonna end it. It's my supreme honor tonight to introduce, Ms. Mona Lott!" The lights went down, and as the orchestra music swelled through the loudspeaker, the curtains parted to reveal Judy Garland--or rather, Agent John J. Doggett dressed as Judy Garland. He had chosen her famous trademark outfit from 'Summer Stock': the top half of a man's tux and a simple white silk blouse. His long shapely legs were encased in black fishnet stockings, and he wore black high-heeled pumps; a black fedora hat, tipped over his right eye, completed the costume. As he walked forward, the curtains closed behind him. Snapping his fingers and swaying his hips to the music, he started to sing: "I've got rhythm, I've got music,
"Oh goodie--he's gonna do it Doggett-style!" Michele squealed in delight. "I've got daisies, in green pastures,
"I like less mince and more meat in my tarts!" Minna teased, playfully. As if hearing her request, Doggett started strutting around the stage, his movements and gestures eerily reminiscent of Judy's, and his voice wasn't half-bad, either. "Old man trouble, I don't mind him,
"Shake it but don't break it, baby!" Kylara catcalled. "I've got sunlight, I've got sweet dreams,
Even before the final note was finished, the audience was on its feet, showing their appreciation with an exuberant round of cheers and applause, which eventually lead to two curtain calls. As the clapping trailed off, Al approached the microphone once more. "Did I tell you or did I tell you?" he asked, smugly. "Now, our next performer was removed from her position as the Lutheran Ladies' Gun Club bingo caller when she refused to yell out anything but 'O-69'. . ." "Are you sure that wasn't "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-69?" Michele interrupted, moaning in mock-ecstasy. Al just glowered at her before continuing with his introduction, "She's the girl who put the fun back in dysfunctional--let's give it up for Rhoda Hardon and her lovely backup singers, Ima Skeptic and Clare Voyant!!" The curtains parted once more, and there was Cher. . .or a reasonable facsimile. Actually, it was Fox Mulder. He was wearing a short black beaded shift dress, plunged low in the front and the back, and held up by just two thin spaghetti straps; a cascading mass of raven curls tumbled over his shoulders. This was obviously Cher-look #23, somewhere in the late 80's. Heavy dark mascara and eye shadow brought out the luminousness of his eyes, and deep red lipstick made his already kissable full lips downright obscene. His gams, as he had promised, were quite nice. Standing behind him were Dana Scully and Monica Reyes, or rather, Ima Skeptic and Clare Voyant, respectively. They were dressed in matching midriff-baring, off-the-shoulder peasant blouses and mid-thigh fringed-edged flowered skirts. Each wore a kerchief bandana around her head, large hoop gold earrings, and they both held tambourines. As the music started to play and Mulder began to sing, their costumes soon began to make sense: "I was born in the wagon of a travelin' show,
"Oh, God, he is SO J-Lo Rent," Kelly sniffed, haughtily. "Gypsies, tramps, and thieves,
"This is really hot," Rich said. "No, this is really sad," Kylara corrected. "Mulder's seriously reaching this time." Rich looked scandalized. "Mulder? I was talking about Scully!" "Monica looks rather stunning, too," Follmer tossed in, as he delivered another trayful of shooters to the birthday table. "Picked up a boy just south of Mobile,
"Been there, done that, eh, Mulder?" Shamrock called out, and everyone burst into laughter, as they had all been thinking the same thing. "Gypsies, tramps, and thieves,
"You know, this girl is a carpenter's dream. . .flat as a board and easy to nail," Michele quipped. "Goddess, you mock him like you know him," J.D. joshed. "I never had schoolin' but he taught me well,
"Hey, gang," Vel~ called out. "How is Mulder like McDonald's?" Everyone shouted back, "How?" "Five billion served world-wide," Vel~ crowed to a round of chuckles and guffaws. "She was born in the wagon of a travelin' show,
Picking up where Vel~ left off, Minna queried, "How is Mulder like a birthday cake?" Again the gang cried, "How?" Minna giggled, "Everybody gets a piece." "Oooh, lucky me!" Shamrock cooed. As the act wrapped up, the performers received an energetic round of applause, despite the roasting they had been forced to endure. The trio bowed to their tormentors, then turned to leave the stage. Unfortunately, they didn't realize their wireless microphones were still on. "You should've stuck with 'The Theme from Shaft'," Scully snorted under her breath. "At least you could have stayed in tune." "You're just jealous because your ass is too fat to wear Versace," came Mulder's bitchy reply. Before they could come to a hair-pulling catfight, Reyes ushered them off the stage and out front to join the other performers who were relaxing in the audience. Just like the Gunmen, they had ditched their dresses and makeup, and many of the former entertainers were now as tanked as the birthday table. "Gypsies, tramps, and thieves, huh? I didn't know Cher wrote a song about your ex-boyfriends, Muldah," Doggett smirked, as Monica took the seat next to him. "Kiss my ass, Dogboy," Mulder hissed, still smarting from the razzing he had received at the hands of his 'fans'. "Are you kidding me? I don't know where it's been," Doggett easily deflected, getting into the campy mood of the evening. At the next table, the ribbing was still going strong. "Hey, how's Mulder like a five-foot high basketball hoop?" Rich asked. "How?" the group cried, excitedly. "It ain't that hard to score!" he answered, gleefully. "Wait, I've got one!" Kelly declared. "How's Mulder like a postage stamp?" "How?" the mob responded. "You can lick him and stick him, and he only costs 37 cents!" Langly couldn't help sniggering at that one. "Boy, Mulder, they really have your number." "Look, I don't know when this rumor got started that I was a cheap, easy floozy," Mulder protested. "Ah, Mulder, we never said you were cheap," Frohike teased. "And you're far from easy," Skinner threw in with a grin. He glared at his friend, then at his lover, then added, "I'm serious, here. My reputation is shit and I don't know why. In fact, for most of the 90's, my only sexual partners were my right hand and an anatomically-altered 'Tickle Me Elmo." Scully groaned, "Mulder, do you know the meaning of the phrase, 'too much information'?" Meanwhile, the rowdy crowd had move onto dirty limericks. Kylara
was the first, reciting:
That got a big raucous laugh from the two tables, as Mulder went into full sulk mode. "You see what I mean!" But his disapproval didn't stop Shamrock from delivering her own creation:
The crowd laughed so hard at that one, several people almost choked on their drinks. Walter, while blushing madly, was laughing harder than everyone else. The only reaction Mulder had was a sheepish, "Okay, that one might be spot on, but the others. . . " He never got to finish his thought, as Al stood on the stage, reprimanding the audience. "I thought I warned you girls to behave out there!" "The only way to behave is MISbehave!" Michele shot back with as much dignity as she could, considering she was now wearing the flower centerpiece as a party hat. Walter leaned around J.D., who had planted herself on his lap as soon as he had made his way into the audience, and rapped Michele upside the head. "HEY! That was one of mine!" he chastised. "Then why didn't you use it in your act?" Michele countered, rubbing her head. "You can misbehave with me any time you want, loverboy," J.D. crooned, snuggling against the very snuggable A.D., and running her fingers over his sexy bare scalp. "Did I mention you were magnificent tonight?" she gushed. "Hel-lo? Significant other being ignored over here," a very petulant Mulder griped sarcastically. "Yeah, why don't you two get a room or something?" a peevish Frohike added, glaring at Walter and J.D. "Stop worrying about them," Dana said calmly, plopping herself into her husband's lap, "and just think about me." She then hiked her skirt up, giving him an eyeful of creamy white thigh--and that seemed to make him happy. "You really have to learn to share your toys, Mulder," Reyes admonished. "And besides, she's the author." "I don't care!" Mulder whined, miserably. "She's got her mitts all over my man!" "Oh for Pete's sake, Mulder, stop being so needy," Scully rebuked. "It's not very becoming." "You just need to calm down, Fox," Monica said, gently. "Here," she handed him the shot glass she was holding, "have an Alien Brain Fart." "He's had too many of those already," Doggett chortled. Mulder just glowered at Walter and J.D. and angrily swallowed his shot. At that moment, Brad came by. "Anybody want anything?" "Oh, look--it's the Dread Bunny Foo-Foo," Doggett exclaimed. "That's it!" Follmer roared, dropping his tray. "You wanna throw down, Johnny-boy?" "Any time, any place, Harvey," Doggett growled, rising to his feet. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time." "You're not the only one," Follmer concurred. "It's going to be a pleasure to kick your ass." Krycek immediately intervened. "Hey, Bugs--stop pissing off the customers. Why don't you take care of the other table? I'll handle this one." Muttering a few choice swear words, Brad picked up his tray, and stumbled over to the birthday table. "Krycek?" Mulder asked, incredulously. "I thought you were dead." "Sorta like your career after 'Full Frontal', huh?" Krycek snidely replied. Fox pulled off his wig and tossed it angrily onto the table. "When did this become 'Pick on Mulder' night?" he bellyached, a cute pout forming on his luscious lips. Krycek, who never could resist those luscious lips (and especially not now that they were covered in 'Ferrari-Red' lipstick), huffed "Jesus, Mulder--get over yourself. Here, have a Blowjob. . .on me," and he handed Mulder a shot glass full of creamy liqueur, and topped with a stiff column of whipped cream piled taller than the glass itself. "They usually were," Mulder retorted, placing the glass on the table. Determined to make his straying lover finally notice him, Mulder looked Walter right in the eye, then lowered his head and began to lick at the cream like a kitten. He lapped at it as sensuously as possible, getting it all over his nose and chin, which gave him the appearance of being playful and sinful at the same time. When all the cream was gone, he wrapped his lips around the glass, tilted back his head and in one fluid motion, sucked the entire drink down. A smattering of applause mixed with masculine moans of appreciation echoed around the table. Walter, who knew the display had been just for him, leaned over J.D. and gently wiped a trace of cream away from Mulder's mouth, then licked his finger, fire and hunger burning in his eyes. Fox just flashed a triumphant smirk, knowing he had Walter back where he wanted him--wrapped around his little finger. Alex, meanwhile, was attempting to regain his composure after witnessing the smutty performance, and trying to will away the painful woody that was being crushed by the special binding he was wearing. After a few deep breaths (and a disturbing mental image of CSM in the buff), Krycek managed to pull himself together enough to croak, "Okay, who's orderin' here?" "Glendfiddich on the rocks," Skinner demanded. "A Vibrator for me," Scully said, "and another Alien Brain Fart for Mulder." "I'll have a Piece of Ass," Doggett requested. "You've already got one, Jackie," Monica chimed in, taking Doggett's hand and pressing it between her legs. "Any time you want it, baby." Everyone around the table chuckled as Doggett's ears turned a bright scarlet. "Um, I think I want to try a Red-Headed Slut," Jimmy said. "She's sitting in Frohike's lap," Mulder sniped, snottily. Scully flashed her old friend a smile, and in a graceful, lady-like move, flipped him the bird. "Eat me, Mulder. Dana's not a slut," Frohike asserted, gallantly coming to his wife's defense. "And you should know," an inebriated Byers slurred. That earned a snicker from Jimmy. "Hey guys, I think Byers is shit-faced!" Byers took great offense to that, and decreed, "You're not drunk if you can lay on the floor without holding on." He then proceeded to slide out of his seat and under the table. Onstage, Al Calavicci was trying valiantly to get the show back on track. "Thank God we're almost at the end. Before I introduce the final act of the evening. . . stop cheering, you ingrates! Before I introduce her, I'd like to take this moment to thank two very special women, without whom this evening wouldn't be possible. No, J.D. --not you. Just sit right back down there." "Like I have to be told twice," J.D. giggled, wrapping herself tighter around Walter. Mulder just scowled at her, knowing there was nothing he could do. Then again, perhaps if he ordered a Cum Shot with extra whipped cream, he could REALLY put on a show that would make Walter forget the little hussy. . . "Okay. First, I'd like to introduce our wardrobe and costume designer for tonight--Tina Martinez-O'Farrell Gushman, come on out here!" At that point, a pretty young strawberry-blonde dressed in a Spandex micro-mini skirt and high heels came bouncing out from the wings. She gracefully curtseyed as everyone clapped heartily. As the applause was dying out, Al continued, "And, our make-up artiste, who did a kick-ass job with some VERY hopeless cases--Yves Adele Harlow!" Yves stormed onto the stage until she was standing near the edge. Hands on her hips, she looked right at J.D. "You SO owe me for this!" she snarled. "And don't even THINK of pairing me with Charro over there!" she added, pointing to Langly. But enthusiastic clapping quickly drowned anything else she said out, and she finally bowed, just to be polite. Once the girls had returned backstage, Al resumed his introduction. "Okay, time for the grand finale. You all know her. You all love her. The girl who'd make a lousy rancher because she just can't keep her calves together. The narcissistic material brat herself. Miss Zsa Zsa Lahore!" The house lights went down. Synthesized techno-pop dance music
filled the club. The curtains parted. Two spotlights were turned
on, from opposite sides of the room. And standing right where the
beams of light crossed was Jonathan 'Madonna' Archer.
He had even remembered to add the beauty mark above his lip. Holding a wireless mike close to his painted lip, he breathlessly announced, "Before I begin, I'd like to introduce my two incredible backup dancers. . .Randy Focker!" At the sound of his name, Malcolm Reed came bounding from the right wing of the stage. He was dressed only in a gold-lame loincloth and little gold boots. Gold glitter sparkled from his hair and chest, where it had been sprinkled liberally. As he gyrated in the background, Jon continued, "And Hugh G. Rection!" From the left wing, Trip bounced onto the stage, dressed identically to Reed. They danced together for a couple of seconds when suddenly they stopped. The music also stopped, and the houselights went down once again. Just as everyone thought something was wrong, the music started up again, louder and with way more bass. Smoke rolled over the stage as colored lights started flashing from all over the place in a spectacular light show. And with Trip and Reed dancing their little hearts out, Jon began to sing: "You've got style, that's what all the girls say
"He sort of has that 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' look," Minna reflected. "Which incidentally is also that 'just-got-paid' look," Vel~ quipped. "Gonna dress you up in my love
At this point in the act, Archer began clomping around the stage, spinning and shaking his booty. A snickering J.D. (who sadly could remember when this style of dancing was 'cool') joked, "Bust a move? Looks like his move's already busted!" "Feel the silky touch of my caresses
"Shoes by Gucci. Crabs by last night's trick," Kylara deadpanned. "Gonna dress you up in my love
As the song's bridge keyed up, Jon bopped over to Reed and Trip, and the three of them started dancing together--some very R+ rated dancing. At one point, with Jon on his knees in front of his two lovers recreating a scene from Madonna's 'SEX' book, Michele squealed, "Hey gang--what's hit more balls than Hank Aaron?" Everyone shouted back, Rocky-Horror-like, "Zsa Zsa's chin!" "Gonna dress you up in my love, in my love
The number ended with a fantabulous pyrotechnic display, and a huge banner dropped from the ceiling, reading, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHAMROCK!" As the place erupted in applause, and the performers were taking their final bows, Reyes made her way to the bar, only to discover that Follmer was standing there, waiting for another round of drinks. It was the opportunity she had been waiting for all night. "Hi, Brad," she greeted pleasantly. Follmer turned to see Monica, still decked out in her scanty gypsy girl outfit, huge, sunny smile on her pretty face, and he felt his heart skip a beat. What had he been thinking when he let this one get away? A man would have to be seven kinds of stupid to allow Monica Reyes to walk out of his life. Maybe there was still a chance to patch things up. "Mon. . . God, you look great." She blushed slightly, adding to her radiant beauty. "Thanks. I didn't know you were going to be here tonight." "Well, neither did I, until the author wrote me in." He gave her his most charming smile, the one with the dimple. "Damn, it's great to see you again, Monica." "Same here." And by her tone, Brad knew she was being genuine. She placed her hand on his as it rested on the bar, and spoke softly, "I was wondering, Brad . . .can I ask you something?" Brad felt a fluttering in his stomach. <Yes! This is it! She's been having second thoughts too!> "Of course. Anything, my darling." "Well. . .can I borrow your outfit some time?" Follmer blinked once, twice, sure he didn't hear what he thought he heard. "HUH?" Monica stepped forward; reaching out, she ran her fingers over one of the rabbit ears. "Valentine's Day is just around the corner," she explained, "and I thought I could surprise John--be his little love bunny." "John. . .Doggett?" Brad spat out the name. "Uh-huh. Do you think he'd like that?" she asked, innocently. He stared at her in stunned disbelief before snapping, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go slash my wrists." And he stormed away. . .well, as best as he could in the heels. As Monica watched him stalk off in a snit, she mused aloud, "Was it something I said?" EPILOGUE: The next day, an early morning cleaning crew discovered Sam and Al, naked and asleep, in a storage room at the club. They had been pretty easy to find--the janitors simply followed the path of discarded tuxedo parts and pink taffeta. Langly woke up to find himself, Byers, and Jimmy, all naked, and tangled up on an old Twister mat lying on the Warehouse floor. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know what had happened after the show. Across town, Krycek woke up to find himself, Follmer, and Mr. X in a swanky hotel room, tangled up on a huge king-sized bed. All were naked, except for X, who was now wearing a pair of bunny ears and a big, shit-eating smile. Krycek was SURE he didn't want to know what had happened after the show. Doggett and Reyes, meanwhile, were all over each other like lovesick otters. So far they had done the wild thing under the head 'mocking' table at the drag show, in the late-night drive-up line at Wendy's on the way home, and in the hallway outside Monica's apartment. They were currently putting on quite a performance from their holding cell at the local police station, where they were being detained for the 'obscene public disturbance' incident in Monica's hallway. Quite frankly, they were running out of unusual places to do the tube-steak boogie. Back home, Frohike cracked his eyes open, and let out a painful, hung-over groan. He rolled over to avoid the insidious sunlight streaming through the window, only to discover that there was someone else in his bed. A female someone else. A beautiful, redheaded someone else. <YES! FINALLY!> It took a moment for him to realize they were both still completely dressed, and Dana was snoring soundly, dead to the world. It was obvious no sweaty snugglebunnies had happened before, during or after the party, and he muttered several nasty curses under his breath, most of them directed at the author. . . WHO, at that moment was just waking up herself. She rolled over, only to fall on the floor. It took her a moment to remember that she had crashed on someone's couch the night before--a very handsome, broad-chested, bald someone. A smile crossed her face at the memory of the party the night before, a smile that slowly faded as she remembered what had woken her up in the first place--an odd, plaintive sound coming from somewhere in the condo. After stretching the kinks in her back from sleeping on the sofa she wandered upstairs to check out the noise. As she approached the master bedroom, she heard some soft murmured conversation. Cracking the door a smidge and poking her head inside, she saw two men, obviously in love, snuggled down in the big bed. The larger man was cuddling the slimmer one, gently ruffling his thick mane of sable hair, and whispering soothing sounds, trying to calm the man down. "It's okay, hon," he shushed, his big hands running soothing patterns over his lover's back. "Just go back to sleep." "Sorry I threw up," the other one was apologizing. "S'okay. Just lay off the Alien Brain Farts next time." "And for being so obnoxious at the show." "Brain Farts," Walter reiterated. Mulder chuckled. "Yeah. And for attacking Krycek." Walter planted a tender kiss in Mulder's hair. "Hey, it's in your blood. You see Alex, and you're like Pavlov's dog. The fists just start flying." "And. . .and I'm really sorry I kissed him in the supply closet when no one was looking," Mulder confessed, softly. Walter's eyebrows arched up at that. "You did WHAT?!" "I didn't mean to. All we were doing was fighting, like usual, and the next thing I knew, we were. . ." he shrugged, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. "Mulder, what have I told you about kissing traitorous, homicidal, double-dealing, back-stabbing Consortium sociopaths?" Walter scolded. "But he looked so cute in that bunny outfit," Mulder protested. "Well, so did Brad, but you didn't see me playing tonsil hockey with him, did you?" "Just because I didn't see it, doesn't mean it didn't happen, right?" Mulder fired back defensively, then got a stricken look on his face. "You DIDN'T, did you?" Walter gave a long-suffering sigh. He loved Mulder with all his heart, but sometimes the man could be downright exasperating. "Fox, I don't know what to do with you." "You could always throw him over your knee and give him a good spanking," J.D. suggested, stepping into the room. "I've never written a discipline story before." "That's very tempting," Walter smiled. Thinking quickly, Mulder flashed his most pathetic puppy-dog eyes, and tried, "Would it help to say I was drugged?" His eyes twinkling with mischief, Walter smirked, "Not this time." "But I don't like discipline stories," Mulder pouted. "They hurt." "They're SUPPOSED to hurt," Walter explained, patiently. "That's the whole point. It's a deterrent so you don't repeat the same mistake again." Mulder's face lit up. "You could always give me a good stern talking to. You know, a nice, long lecture with a lot of growls and scowls and jaw-clenching and glaring? Huh? What about that?" Walter shook his head. "Sounds like you'd enjoy that too much." "I know *I* would," J.D. sighed, dreamily. Walter cast his gaze over at the author. "Beg pardon?" J.D. flushed a beet-red. "Ahh, nothing. Nothing at all." Looking up at his lover, Mulder smiled sweetly. "Would it help if I said I love you, big guy?" Walter just shook his head tolerantly and laughed softly. "Yeah, it would." Placing a tender little kiss to Mulder's forehead, he crooned, "Now, go back to sleep." Mulder curled against his handsome lover, and was soon fast asleep once more. "He was wrong," J.D. whispered, not wanting to wake up Sleeping Beauty. "I could never drag you away from him, even if I wanted to. You're so good for him." Walter smiled. "He's good for me." J.D. leaned over and kissed Skinner on the cheek. "You should catch a few more winks yourself." She turned to go and was halfway out the door, before turning back and re-entering the room. Walter gave her a questioning look. "Something wrong, hon?" "Yeah, I forgot something." J.D. reached down under the bed and dragged out Goddess Michele. "But I wanted to stick around for the spanking and the make-up sex!" Michele objected loudly as J.D. pushed her towards the door. "You know how much I love hurt/comfort stories! Especially if Mulder gets to cry." "No, give the boys their privacy. Let's go." "Party pooper," Michele sulked. "You're no fun at all." "If you're a good girl, maybe I'll write a story for your birthday," J.D. bargained. "Really? With Mulder and Skinner nekkid and doing all sorts of kinky things that can get them arrested in 42 states?" Michele asked, hopefully. J.D. shook her head in amusement. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can talk them into something like that," she said, closing the bedroom door behind them. And speaking of birthday girls, somewhere across the country, in a darkened set on Paramount's lot, the remains of one helluva wild party lay scattered around: empty bottles of champagne, balloons, streamers, lacy corsets and gold-lame loincloths, hunks of pineapple-filled birthday cake. And stretched out on the floor of the Enterprise Bridge, sprawled beside three sexy semi-dressed male Starfleet officers, was a sleeping, smiling Shamrock. It had been the best birthday she could remember. . . Too bad, she couldn't remember a damn thing about it. THE END Footnotes: 1) 'Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend'--by T-Bone Burnett.
Featured in the movie, 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes'.
Author's Notes:
Oh, and in case anyone missed the very obscure joke, "Harvey" was the name of the 6-foot invisible rabbit in the movie by the same name, starring James Stewart. Find all the drink recipes HERE
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