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Be careful...	By : Scribe Category: -Misc TV Shows > Crossovers Views: 2284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer applies to all future chapters

Title: Be careful...
Author: Scribe
Summary: Scribe finally lost her virginity. Well, there are still a lot of horny characters in her Mary Sueverse who want equal time.
Rating: Adults only
Pairings: Scribe and (not all at once), Duncan/ Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison,
Characters:
Betas:
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own the rights to, the recognizable media characters that appear in this story. I have no legal or binding agreement with the creators, or owners. I do not seek, and would not accept, profit from this fiction. I have nothing but affection and respect for the creators, and the actors and actresses who portrayed these characters. This story is in no way meant to reflect on the actual lives or life styles of the actors and actresses who portrayed the characters.

becareful

*Indicates thoughts* (Usually indicates actions, possibly sound effects)

Part One

The night sky was clear in Scribe's fan fiction universe. At least it was over the Sunnydale section. All the main characters had gathered at The Bronze to commiserate and plan strategy. They were determined that someone was going to finally lay hands on the slippery fan fiction author and...well, lay other parts of their body on her, too.

Both Angel and Angelus were present, which would have given all but the most debauched fan fiction fans a moment's pause. But, as Scribe had often stated when soe wae was rude enough to point out the illogic, or indeed impossibility of a concept, "My universe, my rules." She'd come to regret that philosophy since being trapped in her MarySue universe, but it was no less true. The two Irish vampires were sharing Scribe escape stories.

True to Willow's claim to Scribe, a horny Buffy was being a real bitch. Since, oddly enough, no one was in the mood for angry sex, she was reduced to sitting in the corner muttering trselrself.

Xander Harris was slumped face down on a table. Every now and then he would lift his head far enough to thump it back down again. Spike was sitting beside him, watching this performance with mild interest. Finally, when Xander lifted his head again, he reached out and caught hold of his hair, holding him up. "Xander, mate, yer gonna bash out what bleedin' little brains ya have."

"So? Haven't you noticed, Spike? Fan fiction characters can function quite nicely without a working brain, as long as certain other organs are fully functional. Please let me beat myself into oblivion."

"As 'ard as yer 'ead is wiv all the knocks yer take in the fics? Yer'll turn the bleedin' table ta toothpicks first. Ease up. Why dya wanta cosh yerself, anyway?"

"Leggo before you scalp me. My hair may not get the same publicity that Blair Sandburg's does, but I'm darn fond of it." Spike released him, and he sat up.

Xander sighed unhappily. "I was s-o-o close, Spike. Only inches away."

Spike smirked. "Yeah? How many inches, luv?" He pinched Xander's thigh.

"Don't try to cheer me up," the boy said morosely. "Besides, you never let me top."

"Look, ducks, don't bitch. It ain't easy when yer doin' it wiv someone who's lower on the fuckin' food chain."

Lindsey was trying to convince Giles that he should charge a fee for the Escape Methods List he had compiled, with Wolfram and Hart as his legal representatives. Ripper, stirred up from Giles snscinscious by the latest agitation, was trying to decide if he should molest the young man before or after he beat the crap out of him.

Suddenly there was a low rumble overhead. Willow glanced up from where she was painting Cordelia's toenails Ice Queen Ivory, frowning. "Is the fucking Hellmouth opening early again? I tht wht we weren't due for at least another week.

Xander sat bolt upright. "No! It can't be!"

"What is it, Xan?" Willow called.

But the young man had leapt to his feet, and was running for the door. "NONONONONONONO!"

"Giles, Xander's freaking!"

Rupert wrestled Ripper back into the mental closet for the time being and hurried after the boy. "Harris, what is it?"

Xander stared up at the clear sky, searching it wildly. "Didn't you hear thunder? I heard thunder. And there's no clouds. That can mean very few other things."

"What does it mean?"

Xander gave them a despairing look...

****************************************

In the Star Wars section, Obi Wan suddenly clutched his head, saying, "I sense a great disturbance in the force."

Qui Gon blushed. "I'm sorry. I know how pinto beans affect me, and I really shouldn't, but..."

"No, no, not that. Though I would appreciate it if you'd fire up the light saber for a minute. No, this is something different. I think..."

****************************************

In Stanley Kowalski's apartment, Diefenbacher suddenly pricked up his ears, then lifted his muzzle to the ceiling and howled. Stanley, who was sleeping under Fraser's red tunic, peered at the wolf blearily. "What's got into that animal now?"

Fraser, who was wearing the tunic at the time, groaned, "Oh dear."

****************************************

In the Grecian section of the universe Ares suddenly sat up in bed, listening intently. He thought the roof overhead away, and studied the sky. Then he screamed in angry frustration.

Joxer sighed in resignation and rolled over on his stomach.

****************************************

"Are you sure, Jim?"

"I told you, Blair. I just kicked the hearing up to in-fucking-credible level, and it wasn't all that hard to zero in on her."

"So what's happening now?"

"Hang on. Clothes rustling." His eyes widened. "Uh oh. That was a zipper. A creaking sound..." Jim fell silent. His eyes got wide. "Oh boy."

"Jim, what's happening? Jim? Aw, shit! Don't zone on me now! I WANT DETAILS!"

****************************************
Back in Sunnydale, the Scooby Gang and assorted vampires watched as blue lightening laced across the sky.

Xander started stomping in circles, swearing. "Xander, why are you so pissed?" Willow asked. "It's just a quickening."

Harris glared. "Oh year? Okay, that lightening appears when... what? Huh? It appears when an immortal takes a head, right?"

"Ri-ight..."

"Angelus," Xander looked at him. "You're up on archaic terminology as it applies to the dirtier deeds. Can you give me some synonyms for virginity?"

The dark vampire frowned in concentration. He had a reputation to uphold here. "Lesse... hymen, cherry, maidenhood, maidenhea..." He trailed off. "Maidenhead?"

Xander Harris shook his fist at the sky, howling to the heavens. "Curse you, McCleod!"

Part 2

Willow hugged Xander. "Aw, Xan. Be optimistic. Maybe he just killed her. A needle and thread, a few spells, she'll be good as new."

ike ike I told Spike, don't try to cheer me up. Nope, Duncan got to her first. How?! I guess experience counts for something, but hell... Okay, he's got about 400 years, but Angel has 250, and Methos has 5000."

Angel grumbled, "Well, there goes my plan to lobby for access based on seniority."

"Screw diplomacy," said Angelus. "I say you and me go kick his ass and take her."

"Angelus? The dude carries a sword, hello?"

"Oh, yeah. Spike, how about going and distracting him for Daddy?" Spike flipped him the bird. "Kids."

Giles patted Xander on the back. "Don't be sad, Harris. Remember what you told her the first time you talked to her. This is only her first devirginizing."

Xander perked up. "Yeah! I forgot about that. She should renew pretty soon. Crap, I gotta get ready." He bustled off busily.

Spike hurried after him, leaving the others buzzing together. "Whatterya after, mate? Rubbers?"

Xander glanced at him disdainfully. "You know darn good and well she doesn't allow any STDs around here, and condoms are only used for erotic effect. No, I'm going for bait."

This interested Spike. "Yeah? Wha's that? Cash? Jewelry? Booze?"

Xander snorted. "Amateur. No. I've made a study of our girl's obsessions." He ned ned mischievously.

****************************************

Spike and Xander approached the little cabin. "Ya sure this is it, 'arris?"

"It's the only Highlands cottage in this universe." He walked up to the door and tried it. "Locked, dammit." He pounded. No response. He pounded again.

A voice with a Scottish accent yelled from inside. "Go away. I'm busy." (giggle) "Okay. We're busy."

Xander swore and pounded all the harder. "I know you're in there, Scribe. Come on out."

"That you, Xander?"

"Yeah, open up, and open up."

"Boy, you've got some nerve." (snort-giggle)("You need a shave.") "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in this situation."

"Thank you, Harris!" the male voice caroled. "Ooo, there's a spot I haven't explored yet!"
(delighted shriek)

"You leave me no choice." He opened a paper bag and pulled out a brightly colored cardboard box. Clearing his throat, he said loudly. "I have Pop Tarts!"

There was sudden silence in the cabin. Then whispers. ('Where are you going?' 'He said Pop Tarts.' 'Get back in bed.' 'I'm warning you, Duncan, it isn't safe to get between me and pastry.' 'Well, put something on.' 'Oh, all right!')

The door opened. Scribe stood in the doorway, hands on hips. She was wearing a very large old fashioned man's white shirt, with long, flowing sleeves, and lace down the front. And that was pretty much it. But since it came down almost to her knees, she was relatively decently covered. "You said Pop Tarts?"

"Uhhhhhh... yeah. Did you realize that's a thin shirt, and you have a light behind you?"

She looked down. "Well, slap a crown on my head and call me Lady Di. Let's hope there are no paparazzi around. What kind of Pop Tarts?"

He wiggled the box enticingly. "Strawberry, with frosting and sprinkles."

Her eyes got wide. "Oooo..." She reached for them, but he pulled them back. She frowned, and stamped her foot, which did very interesting things to the front of the shirt. "Xander!"

He took a step back, and offered the box again. She held on to the door frame and leaned out, stretching toward the box, but she couldn't quite reach. "Xander, you snot! Give me those!" She swiped, and her fingertips skimmed the cardboard.

Spike was watching this with fascination. "Back up, 'arris. I almos' got a look down 'er front that time!"

Xander moved back a half step. Scribe started to step out of the doorway, and Spike and Xander leaned forward. She stopped, eyeing them shrewdly. She deliberately unbuttoned one more button, hitched the hem of the shirt up another inch, lowered her eyelashes, then looked up at him through them. "Xaaaander. C'mere, sweetie."

Xander's eyes started to glaze over. "Okay." He started forward.

Spike grabbed his arm. "Don' do it, mate! 'old firm, ya almos' gotter."

Scribe shot a nasty glance at Spike. "Aw, Xan, honey. You know I've just been playing hard to get. I'm sorry, pookie. After all, you were my first fan fiction character, and you never forget your first."

"Speaking of which." Duncan McCleod, wrapped in a kilt (and that's about it) came up behind her.You You lot clear off and quit distracting my lady."

Scribe glanced at him in surprise. "Lady? Who the hell have you been listening to? Go back to bed, my sweet little haggis." Under her breath she hissed, "You're a stud, Dunc, but I need a sugar fix in the worst way."

"I told you, I have apples in there."

"If you say that again, I'll bite you. And not like you like to be bitten. I said sugar. Great honking amounts of it. That means either Pop Tarts or snack cakes. Now be quiet, I almost had him." She turned a melting gaze on the teenager, and once again her voice held more sugar than the box of toaster pastries. "Pleeeease, sugar buns? For me?" She licked her lips.

"Okay." Xander started forward again.

This time Spike grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "DON' YOU FUCKIN' DO IT, MAN! Remember the library. Ya were on top of 'er, mate, an' she got away! Ya were right on top of 'er, between the friggin' legs, with 'er wigglin' an' squirmin', all warm an' soft, an ya knew that she was just gonna scream when ya..."

"Shit, Spike!" Xander moaned. "Do you want me to come in my pants again?"

"Sorry, mate." He patted Xander on the shoulder. "Got ahold of yerself?"

"Not if I can get ahold of her." He squared his shoulders, and took another step back. "Uh uh, Scribe. You want these, you gotta come get them."

He opened the box and took out a foil package. He crinkled the shiny paper. Scribe twisted her hands in the shirt, raising the hem another couple of inches. Spike whistled, and started to wiggle a hand down the front of his jeans, which were suddenly about two sizes too small. Duncan scowled. "Hey! Stop that. No jerking off looking at my woman." Spike flipped him the bird with his free hand. "That does it." Duncan reached back into the cabin and came up with his sword.

"Bloody 'ell!" Spike yelped, and took off, a pissed Highlander in hot pursuit.

"Alone at last." Xander ripped open the package, and took out the Pop Tarts. "Look, Scribe! Nummy, nummy." She took a cautious step out of the cabin, and he backed up. "Heeeere, Scribe." He made kissing noises.

"Fuck. It's hell, being an addict." she mumbled. She marched over to Xander and snatched the first Pop Tart out of his hand, took a huge bite, and groaned in bliss. As she chewed, she eyed him. Finishing the first Pop Tart in record time, she held out her hand expectantly for the second one.

"It's gonna cost ya."

"Oh, come on, Harris. As hooked as I am, I still won't come across for a Pop Tart. That would take at least a pound and a half of Godiva chocolateIn aIn advance."

"Nah. How about just one really good, sloppy, raunchy kiss?"

"Fair enough. Pop Tart first." He handed it over, and she devoured it. "Okay. One lip lock, coming up."

She stepped up to him, wrapped her arms around him, and planted her lips on his. Xander opened his mouth eagerly. She was as good as her word. Xander's temperature, along with certain other things, started to rise.

Suddenly there was an odd sound. It was something along the lines of wind chimes, or a good run on a xylophone. Scribe felt a tingle, rather like static electricity, run all over her body. She jumped back from Xander in alarm as a multicolored shimmer passed over her body. "Shit! Not again! "If ya want a woman in space, get Sally Ride, dammit!"

"No, no, it's not a transporter."

"Then what is it?"

"You just renewed".

"What? My license is good for another two years."

"No, your virgy. y. You just renewed."

She looked down at herself in astonishment. "Get the fuck out of town."

"Happens to me all the time."

"I'm not sure I'm happy about that. I mean, it was great and all, but we are talking some major discomfort there for a couple of minutes. Besides, how do you know it works the same way for me?"

He reached for her. "Come here, and I'll prove it to you."

She pulled back and gave him a saucy look. "You can't do that while you're wearing your pants." (Pause) "Well, not comfortably, anyway."

"Easily taken care of." He stripped off his jeans. "And now, my tempting little creatress..."

She tripped him. While he was down, she stepped quickly into the jeans. "You'll never learn, will you? Cute knees." Snatching up the Pop Tarts box, she trotted off.

"Scribe!" he screamed, scrambling to his feet and taking after her. "When I catch you, I'm going to screw you so hard that you'll think you've fallen into the hands of the IRS!"

Part 3

"Lessee, was it Sam Goldwyn who said, It's like deja vu, all over again.?"

Scribe fled through the heather, box of Pop Tarts clutched to her bosom, horny teenage male in hot pursuit. *Why do I keep thinking I hear Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring' playing in the background? How on earth did that child get so lecherous?*

"Lay off, Xander! You're underage! I'd get in Dutch with the feds!"

"Nuh uh! I'm seventeen, I'm legal, and I'm horny"

They had reached the edge of town, and Scribe sprinted for the police station. "You're also in a state of undress! Yo! cops! Streaker! Indecent exposure! TEENAGE BOY!!"

The last yell did it. Police officers of all descriptions left stake outs, undercover operations, stings, speed traps, black ops, accident investigations, and donut shops to converge on one Xander Harris, known teenage male. This being fanfiction, the protesting boy was immediately carted off for a thorough strip and body cavity search.

Scribe sighed. "Sometimes I almost hate myself. Almost." She wandered over to a bus stop bench and sat down, happily peering into her box of Pop Tarts.

She eyed the young man sitting next to her. Kind of cute, except for that dorky haircut. The white suit was kind of nice. He was holding a large, fancy cardboard bo his his lap. He looked at her. "Hi."

"Hello." There was enough southern drawl in that one word to give an entire platoon of Bubbas an inferiority complex. "Mah name's Forrest. Forrest Gump."

"Of course it is." *Safe. He doesn't know what to do with girls. I can't believe I actually wrote a PWP after I saw that movie, but Jennie was such a nitbrain...* "How's it goin', Forrest?"

"Okay."

"Glad to hear it." She eyed the box. "Oooo, Go-diva!"

"Yeah." Forrest peered at the box. "There's a picture of a nekkid lady on this here box."

"So there is. She must be pretty forgetful, huh?"

"Pretty much, I reckon."

"Say, Forrest. Wanna trade some candy for some Pop Tarts?"

He thought. And thought. And thought. *If I had a watch, I'd check it right about now.*

"Okay." He opened the box. She handed him a foil pack *Still one left. My stash!*, then selected a candy. "Oh, look a teeny, tiny shrimp."

"I don't think that's got shrimps inside. Bubba nevah mentioned chocolate covered shrimps."

"I can almost promise you that someone, somewhere has tried it." She popped it in her mouth and chewed. "Nope. Praline creme. Now, lesse... Hm. A feather." She bit. "Yum. Coffee liqueur."

"Say." He was eating a Pop Tart and staring at her. "Did you know that you look an awful lot like Jennie Curan?"

Scribe winced. "No, I don't. Trust me." She scooped a handful of chocolates into the near empty box, eating another one. Her jaws stuck together. *Damn, that's some strong caramel!*

Forrest finished the Pop Tart. "I really think you do." He started on the second Pop Tart.

"Nuh uh." *Damn, I gotta get my teeth loose. Note to self: don't eat the square ones unless you have a tire iron handy.* The caramel finally started to melt and loosen. "Mm nuh annin i'ennie." *Translation: I'm not anything like Jennie.*

He looked at her slyly. "Jennie, that is you, i'n't it?"

(Teeth separated) *Finally!* "I am not Jennie! Get a life."

"Mah mama always said, life is like a box of chocolates, ya never know what you're gonna get."

Strong arms suddenly went around Scribe, who squeaked like Minnie Mouse being goosed. Someone said, "And Scribe is like a Pop Tart: hot, sweet, and flaky, and I know exactly what I am going to get!"

Forrest gaped, and said softy, "Santy Claus?"

Scribe sighed, looking down at the red serge clad arms that were snugly holding her own arms trapped against her sides. "No. Constable Benton Fraiser. Hi, Benny. That last one wasn't my fault. I was hijacked. I was Scribe-napped. I was author-abducted."

"You were fleeing the scene." He picked her up. "Excuse us, sir."

"Hey! Don't grab her!" Forrest jumped up and socked Fraiser in the jaw. That might not have been enough to loosen his hold, normally, but he /I> /I> get a little off balance. Diefenbacher, apparently getting in touch with his inner cat, managed to wind himself between Fraiser's legs, tripping him. Scribe hit the ground with legs already in motion.

Behind her she heard Forrest yelling, "Run, Jennie! Run!"

"I'm not Jennie!" she screamed. "But thank you kindly!"

Benton was up and after her in a flash. "Oh, come on, Scribe! I am French-Canadian. Quit running, and I promise to be more French than Canadian."

*Oh, geez, I'm not gonna stay ahead long, not with those legs of his! Gotta get out of reach.*

She spotted a sturdy looking tree growing beside a two story house. One of the upper windows was open, and a substantial branch went right up to it. She started to climb without hesitation. She called back, "I'm going in, Fraiser! If you follow me, it will be breaking and entering!"

He started up after her. "On the contrary. This is hot pursuit. Oh boy, am I hot. I do hope that window leads to a bedroom."

Scribe reached the window and swung a leg inside. Dawson Leery sighed, "Look, Joey, I told you I wasn't..." He saw Scribe and dropped the book he was reading. "All right!"

"Sheesh!" She pointed. "Last time I watched the series, you were still a virgin."

"That can be taken care of." He hopped off the bed. "Wait, while I set up the video camera. 'Dawson's First Time'. Has a catchy ring to it, dontcha think?"

Scribe glanced back, then scrambled the rest of the way through the window and ran for the door. "Why don't you discuss it with the Mountie?"

Scribe pelted down the stair and out the back door, into the woods. *Nature, nature, nature...I hate fricken' nature!*
There was a swishing sound in the trees above her. She skidded to a halt, looking around warily. "So help me, if that's the Millennium Falcon... I am so not up to dodging Wookies and Ewoks! YEEP!"

The yeep was occasioned by her being suddenly jerked off her feet and swung through the air up into the trees. She found herself on a branch, clinging to a tree trunk, next to a very large man in a very small loincloth. "Oh, terrific! One brief obsession with Edgar Rice Burroughs way back in junior high, and I end up being nabbed by Tarzan! Which version are you? Johnny Weismuller? Christopher Lambert?"

"You talk funny, fella."

She looked closer. "Ah. Brendan Fraiser type. Sorry, George, I mistook you for someone else."

"That okay. Wanna play treehouse?"

"Uh, no."

"Hunt the Peanut?"

"Definitely not. Where's Ursula?"

"Who cares?" He squeezed her bosom. "You got bigger bumps! Wanna make hot monkey love?"

"I'm outta here." She started to climb down.

"No, wait!" George grabbed her around the waist again, and took hold of a vine. "George take you to romantic jungle love nest."

She stiffened desperately. "Oh, please don't swing with me!"

"Hey, George like swinging." He took off.

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT..." (SMASH)"...tree. Ow. Well, hey, thanks for getting between me and the trunk, George. George? Okay, you just rest. Bye."

Scribe looked around, trying to imagine which direction would lead her to something approximating civilization. *Oh, well.* She started to point. "North, South, East, West. Which way will I find some rest? West, South, North, East. Give me a head start, at least.' And she trotted off into the greenery.

Part 4

As Scribe pushed her way through the shrubbery, she sang, "I love to go a-wanderinnnng among the hills so greeeen... not! When I get back home, the closest I want to come to nature is a National Geographic Special and a terrarium."

She came to a clearing. There was a rather comfortable looking camp set up there. There was a pot of something delicious smelling bubbling over the fire that was being tended by a small blonde woman. Scribe approached cautiously. The woman glanced up, and gave her a bright smile. "Hi."

"Hello." *No lunges. Maybe I can rest for awhile here.* (sniiiiiiff) "Something smells awful good." *Woman cannot live by Pop Tarts alone. I mean, I could try, but I don't have any more Pop Tarts right now.*

"Sit down and have a bite."

"Thanks." Scribe sat down near the fire, and the woman dipped up a bowl and handed it to her. She took a bite. "Ummm. This is terrific."

"Thanks. It's the herbs that make all the difference. I keep telling Xena that."

"Xena? Oh. Uh, Gabrielle, right?" She nodded. "Did I write anything with you?"

"Valentine's day challenge."

"Oh, yeah, right. The Godiva chocolates."

"Thank you for that."

"Don't mention it." She ate more stew. "Wouldn't happen to have any of them left, would you?"

"Fraid not."

"Oh, well." She scraped the bowl clean. "That was nummy. Thanks ever so."

"You're welcome. It wasn't anything special. Although that was the biggest rabbit I've ever seen."

Scribe winced. "Rabbit?"

"Yeah. And I've never encountered one who talked, either."

Scribe paled. "Talked?"

"Yeah. Kept babbling about a left turn and some place called Alberquerquie."

Scribe turned green. She peered into the pot and whispered, "Bugs?"

"No, I don't think so. I kept a lid on it..."

"Excuse me." Scribe started for the bushes, a hand over her mouth.

Gabrielle murmured. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't tell her about that black duck that kept saying I was despicable."

Scribe returned a few moments later. "Do you have anything that will get the taste of second hand rabbit stew out of my mouth?"

"Sure." Gabrielle passed her a wineskin.

Scribe eyed it dubiously. "How do I operate this thing?"

"Just tilt it up, open your mouth, and let gravity do the rest." Scribe followed directions, and ended up with a hefty splash of wine trickling off her chin and down her cleavage. She looked at Gabrielle. "Or is that open your mouth, then tilt it and let gravity do the rest? Here, let me clean that up for you." She leaned over and began licking the wine off Scribe's neck.

Scribe leaned back. "What, you never heard of Wet Naps? Paper Towels? Handi Wipes?"

"I prefer the natural methods." Scribe had leaned so far back that she fell over, and Gabrielle proceeded to crawl over her.

"Oof! Wait a minute, get off... What about Xena?"

Gabrielle paused, and shoved a rose into Scribe's hand. "Xena doesn't understand romance."

Scribe smacked her in the face with the rose. "Stop it! I'm not that kind of a girl."

"You will be when I get through with you."

"What is this? 'Cure the Heterosexual Week'? Don't you think that the concept of being able to 'convert' someone from one sexual orientation to another is not only flawed, but downright insulting?"

"No. I'm just horny."

"Shit. You're a Bard, you're supposed to delight in intellectual and philosophical conversations."

"Sure. After sex."

"AHEM!"

'Oh, crap." Gabrielle cleared her throat, and said loudly. "Okay, Zeen, I got her for you!"

"Nice try, Gabby." Gabrielle was lifted bodily off Scribe. "Were you going to save me any?"

"Xena, I'm hurt that you'd even suggest that."

"Uh huh."

Scribe turned over on her stomach and started to quietly crawl away.

"No, really. I was just... um... getting her warmed up for you."

"Uh huh." A booted foot came down firmly on Scribe's backside, holding her to the ground. She sighed, and started to drum her fingers on the grass.

"Well... she made me do it. After all, she wrote me this way, and I can't be expected to go against my author given instincts..."

"I haven't heard so much bullshit since the last time Slick Willie tried to weasel out of questions about Monica." Scribe tossed a disdainful glance over her shoulder. "Why don't you just tell her that Cupid shot your ass? Simple, believable in this fandom, gets you off the hook, and hard to disprove."

"Wow. That's why you're the creator. Yeah. What she said."

"Oh, all right, then."

Scribe was hauled to her feet. "So, how's Ares?"

"Pissed."

"Well, he's the God of War. That's his natural state."

"No, I mean more pissed than usual."

Xena reached into Scribe's shirt and began to rummage around. Scribe looked down at Xena's hand, then looked at Gabrielle. "Boy, you weren't kidding when you said she didn't understand romance. Stop that!" She slapped Xena's hand.

"All right." She started to try to shove her hand down the front of Scribe's (Oh, alright, technically they were Xander's) blue jeans.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Scribe caught her wrist and arrested her progress a few inches from ground zero. "Geez, doesn't anyone in this universe ask?!"

Xena paused. "Is that all it takes?"

"You could try. And do it with your hand out of my pants."

"Okay." Xena removed her hand, looked at Scribe keenly, and said, "Ya wanna?"

Scribe rolled her eyes. "You know, the world has not heard anything that seductive since the heyday of disco. Try again."

"Ya wanna, plea"
"

(Insert absolutely huge sigh here.) "Gabrielle, you're a bard. Could you show her a little of what I mean?"

"Sure. Scribe..."

"No, look at her when you do it. That'll give her a better understanding."

"Alrighty." Gabrielle gazed at Xena soulfully. "Scribe, you are my sun, my moon, my morning, my noon, my dark, sacred night. You light up my life. I want to kiss you like there's no tomorrow, love you till the end of time. Your face entices, your breasts allure, your butt is poetry in motion..."

Xena's grip on Scribe began to slacken. *Uh huh. Keep goin', Gabby.*

"You scamper through my fantasies like a wood nymph on crystal meth. Your mouth is a ripe pomegranite, and I want to suck the seeds right out of you..."

Scribe gently pried Xena's fingers loose. She didn't notice. Neither did Gabrielle.

"I want to wrap you around me like a living poncho. Cover me, oh blushing maiden... well, almost maiden...like a set of Martha Stewart's finest designer sheets..."

Scribe crept quietly toward the bushes. Xena stared at Gabrielle, mouth slightly open.

"Come to me, my luscious little Pop Tart, and I will toast you till your filling is sweet and bubbly..."

*Oh, cripes. Does she get much action with lines like that?*

"In short, let me rock your world, little red neck girl."

Scribe was out of the clearing by now. Behind her she heard Xena say, "You sure do talk purty." There was a squawk.

*Hm, I guess she does.*

Part 5

*Okay, let's see...I seem to be back in ancient Greece again. Just what I need, land of horny people with super powers.*

CRASH! (flash of blue fire)
"Scribe!"

"Shit! Make that 'land of horny people with super powers whom I have already pissed off.' Hi Ares. Uh, Xena said you're a wee bit miffed..." He grabbed her by the shirt front and waistband and lifted her off the ground, "...and I guess she wasn't exaggerating. Have you looked into a twelve step anger management program? All that stress is bad for you, man. Maybe if you gave up caffeine..."

Blink, and they weren't in the forest any more. They were in some ancient style room, lots of marble and tapestries and torches. And a bed. Lots and lots and lots of bed. At least an acre of it. *Whoooooa, dear. I get the feeling there ain't a hell of a lot of sleeping goes on in that thing.*
"Wow, love what you've done with the place. Sorta Gothic Martha Stewart. Say, do you have a powder room around here?"

"No you don't. I know what you pulled with Ellison and Sandburg. Number nineteen on Giles' list, disappearing through an intra dimensional passage."

"This isn't fair. It's like the rival team stealing their opponent's play book before the Superbowl."

"Tough. We're gonna skirmish, and I expect to keep your back field in motion waaaay into overtime."

FLASH!

*Okay, logically speaking, I suppose that the bed can't actually be an acre square, because that would make it damn hard for these silver chains attached to my wrists and ankles to stretch to the far corners. At least he left my clothes on.*

FLASH.

Ares was lying beside her. "I prefer to remove them the old fashioned way. Either by cutting them off, or by the pure, simple method of ripping."

"Look, you shouldn't do that. Neither of these things are actually mine. Duncan and Xander will be major ticked if you screw up their clothes."

"Wow, you know, that worries me almost as much as the possibility of, say, a fly attacking me. Now, are you ready to go for the record for most assorted consecutive virginities lost in one session?"

"What happens if I answer 'no'?"

He thought. "Pretty much the same thing that happens if you answer yes." He started to crawl on top of her.

"One thing. Who's starting wars while you're busy?"

He hesitated, frowning indecisively. "Ooo... um... Shit. You're right." He sighed, and rolled off her. "If I neglect my duties, Dad will have my guts for garters. Literally. And he might take you away. So I'd better make arrangements for a substitute. I'll go get Strife to take over for the next couple of decades."

FLASH.

"DECADES?! Oh, CRIPES!"

Joxer entered the room. "Ares, sweetie? I heard a rumor that Scribe was wandering around somewhere in the area, and I thought that you..." He caught sight of the fan fiction author, spread eagle on the bed, and blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, my."

"Joxer! Boy, am I glad to see you! Look, here's your big opportunity to be a hero. Get me loose."

He frowned at her. "Do you have any idea how sore my butt is?"

"Oh. Um. Sorry?"

"Apology accepted."

"Great! Now if you'd just undo these things...Why are you shaking your head?'

"Have you got any concept of what he'd do to me if I let you go? Besides, he'll want to break for a snack or something eventually." Joxer grinned. "And I'll be waiting."

"So, you're not gonna turn me loose?"

"Turn you loose? Hell, I'm going to go make popcorn.' eft.eft.

"Opportunist!" she yelled. She jerked on the chains again. "Rassen frassen marda rat crumblebum." She paused. *Whoa, someone must've turned on the censor option for a minute.* "Poodle Piss! Ah, that's better." She lifted her voice. "LOO"LOOK! I WANT A COINCIDENCE, AND I WANT IT RIGHT NOW!"

Autolycus crept into the room, and spotted Scribe. "Hey! Fancy meeting you here. Who would have believed it?"

"No one but hardened fan fiction readers and writers. How 'bout turning me loose, oh King of Thieves?>

>

"Ooooh, I don't know about that. That IS Ares' bed you're chained to. I mean, if it was Cupid's, maybe. But Ares?"

"C'mon." She rattled the chains. "Look! Pure silver. And think about the stories you can tell about this. Sneaking me out practically under his nose! Wow, people will buy you so many drinks in the taverns that you won't need to be embalmed when you die."

"I don't know..."

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, that's all right. I don't know why I asked. I mean, far be it from me to push you into anything that would destroy your reputation."

He frowned. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. I mean, after all... these chains were forged by a god. There's no chance that a mere mortal... even the King of Thieves, could open them. No, you're much wiser not to even attempt something that you have absolutely no chance of accomplishing. I'll tell everyone that... you considered it too easy! Yeah, that's the ticket. You didn't think it was enough of a challenge..." She let her voice die away dubiously.

He growled. "I'll show you challenge!" He pulled a small case out of his tunic, and opened it to reveal a selection of lock picks. "Let's see..." He peered at the shackles. "I believe I'll start with a 7A."

Scribe was just grateful that Ares seemed to want all the bells and whistles that went with bondage, and had made the chain cuffs standard. He could have just made them a solid piece of metal that would have had to have been power blinked away.

Autolycus had to switch to a Double X, then a Twizzler, before there was a click, and he unsnapped the first cuff. "Mere mortal, hah?" (click) "Destroy my reputation, ho?" (click) "No chance, heh?" (click)

(click)

"Huh?"

Autolycus looked down at the silver chain that was cuffed to his wrist. (click) While he was pondering his new bracelet, he received a matching one around one ankle. He looked up to see Scribe crawling off the bed, clutching his lock pick. "HEY!"

She backed toward the door. "Look, I really am sorry about this, but the marathon just isn't my event in the Sexual Olympics, and if he has something to distract him, I'll have a little better chance of getting away. You're a doll, and you even look good in the other fanfic with that chainsaw prosthesis, but I really gotta go..."

She snuck out, and found herself confronted with a long hall. Footsteps were approaching, and she almost panicked. *Get a grip, Scribe, or someone ELSE will get a grip FOR you...or is that ON you? If it was Ares, he'd have just popped right back on in, wouldn't he? Yup. I probably would have found myself in full congress before I realized the dude had returned. Must be The Mighty One. Much as I'd like to kick his scrawny butt, I don't have time to dally, so...*

She ducked behind one of the thousands of convenient hanging tapestrieat sat seem to litter historic fan fiction *Almost as many as there are air shafts in contemporary, and just as useful for eavesdropping.* Joxer strolled past carrying a large bowl of buttered popcorn, and she resisted the urge to trip him and snatch a mouthful before taking off.

He entered the bed chamber, and she heard Autolycus say, "Joxer! Buddy, boy I'm glad it's you. I... uh... seem to be in a bit of an awkward situation, here."

Joxer's voice answered. "Don't tee, le, let me guess. Fan fiction author?"

"Uh huh."

"Cute, but devious?"

"Almost as cute as me, and twice as devious."

"Hm. Well, at least this time it's not my fault."

"Jox, be a pal and hand me that set of lock picks, wouldya?"

"Ooooh, I don't think soooo."

"Why not?"

"Hey, The Big Guy is gonna be back soon. He's gonna be randy, and he's gonna be pissed when he finds out she escaped again. And, like I told Scribe, I done my turn. Nope, I'll just have a seat over here..." (Crunch crunch crunch)
"Want some popcorn? You might as well, you probably won't have any time to eat for awhile." (snicker) "Well, that's not entirely true, but if you're thinking about food..."

(RATTLERATTLERATTTLERATTLERATTLE)

"Besides, you are really cute..."
(rustle)

"STOP THAT!"

Scribe tiptoed down the hall and outside. *Now, I just gotta make it off Mount Olympus without running into anymore gods, godde, de, demi-gods, or godlings. Man, if I remember the Herc and Xenaverse, the place is crawling with 'em. Worse than teenyboppers at a local mall.*

While heading down hill, she spotted a thick fog ahead. She hesitated. *No telling what's lurking in there.* She glanced back up the hill.

There was a flash of blue fire behind her, radiating from the top of Ares' abode.

"AGAIN?!"

"Right." She plunged into the fog...

Part 6

*Whoa, this is a real pea souper.* Scribe groped her way along carefully. Then, she just groped. Because she'd accidentally run into someone. She couldn't make out who it was, though. "Let's see... cap with flaps." (touch)"Curved pipe." (feel) "Tweeds." She reached a little lower. (grope) "Uh oh." She let go. "Um, sorry about that."

From the fog an English accented voice said, "Quite all right, my dear. Now then, shall we proceed with the Case of the Vanishing Virginity?"

Scribe quickly whipped his hat sideways, and the earflap obscured his vision. As she slipped off into the fog, she said, "Nah. How about The Frustrating Affair of the Out-of-Reach Author?"

Behind her came the cry. "Watson, quick! The game is afoot!"

She hollered over her shoulder, "Egotist! You might be game, but that dang sure wasn't a foot."

She finally emerged from the fog. True to fan fiction logic (uh... illogic) she came out at the edge of what appeared to be a city park in a large urban area.

*O-kay. Which city am I in now? Do I deal with Mounties, or vampires, or Sentinels, oh my? I have got to sit down for a minute, but I need to be off the street for that. Where's a good place to hide out?*

There was a brightly lit movie theater up the block, and she went there and perused the marquee. *Night of the Return of the Revenge of the Son of the Evil Living Dead Chainsaw Horror Movie Buff Hottie Cheerleaders. Starring Julia Roberts. Sounds like a winner.*

She dug through the pockets of Xander's jeans, and came up with a ten. *Crap. Not enough for a ticket and supplies. And I really need popcorn after getting a whiff of that stuff Joxer had made up.*

She went to the ticket booth. A nondescript guy was working at the window. She said, "Listen, I need to get in to see the movie, but I'm pretty broke. Howza bout finding me perky and irresistible, and sneaking me into the show as a hopeless gesture of timid infatuation?"

"Okay." He motioned her inside.

*One advantage to being in a MarySue universe: occasionally the irresistibility can work for you.*

At the concession stand, she bought a large tub of buttered popcorn When did they do away with medium? Now it's small, large, family, and OH MY GOD, you're going to eat all that?* and a Megaschooner cup of Coke, extra ice.

The theater was half empty when she went in, and she found a seat in her favorite spot: middle center, two th bac back, and no one else on that row. She had a clear view of the screen, and was feeling rather pleased with the world.

The coming attractions were interesting. They were coming out with a movie of her adventures in her MarySue universe, to be called ...what you wish for... *Catchy title. Gotta remember that.* It was to star Julia Roberts, as Scribe. Scribe sprayed soda.

The movie started. She quickly lost count of breasts and flying body parts. *Joe Bob Briggs would be pleased.*

About halfway through the movie, someone came and sat down beside her. A very pale hand drifted over and settled on her knee. She shoved it off and moved over a seat. After a minute, the other person moved also. This time the hand settled on her thigh. Irritated, she looked over at them.

Uh-oh. They were wearing some sort of black hooded robe and a long, white melted-twisty ghost face mask. Yeah, that's right. Someone out there was writing either Scream or Scary Movie fanfic. "Let me guess. You want to stab me, but not with a big ol' knife, right?"

Did you know that those fucking masks can grin?!

Well, when she had started going to the movies alone, her Mom had told her how to deal with situations like this, so she took the advice. She took a deep breath. "Get your hand off my titty!" and she dumped the rest of her Coke in his lap.

It seemed that the masks could also turn blue.

She left him doubled over, and was pursued by the sound of castanets clicking. She realized as she hit the exit that it was his teeth chattering. *God bless Mom. She gets it right, sometimes. Dammit, I wish I'd thought to bring the rest of my popcorn with me.* She rubbed her arms. *And when the hell did it get cold again? Crap, I should have snatched Dawson�s sneakers on the way through his room. He looked like he had big enough feet for them to fit me.* She paused suddenly. *Wait a minute, what was that old wives tale about men with big feet? Hmm... No, I think I'd best not speculate on that.*

Parked at the curb up ahead, she noticed a small, battered car, windows steamed up. As she approached, the passenger window rolled down a little. A hand extended. It was holding a Pop Tart.

*Oh, I shouldn't do this. I REALLY shouldn't do this.* She sidled closer, and paused again. The hand jiggled the Pop Tart enticingly. *If Xander found out about my Pop Tart habit, anyone could know by now.* She inched forward. *Then again, it COULD just be someone sitting in a parked car, on a dark street, eating Pop Tarts, and idly waving one out the window. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Scribe.*

She was close to the car now. A second hand extended, and the finger crooked in a summoning motion, then was withdrawn. *Maybe the Salvation Army decided to pass out breakfast items instead of sandwiches.* She stretched her neck and sniffed. *Hey, I think that's raspberry!*

She reached slowly toward the frosted square. The second hand flashed out, and there was a (click). She found herself clutching a Pop Tart, with a handcuff snapped around her wrist.

The car window rolled down the rest of the way, and she saw who the other cuff was attached to. "Hi, Scribe."

"Pretty sneaky, Sandburg."

"This is the kettle, listening to the pot talk. How about you? It wasn't nice, sneaking off like that."

"Pot to kettle: not nice? I had three lust crazed law enforcement officers getting ready to wear my butt out. I was entirely justified."

"Yeah, well, you owe me. Jim has been impossible to live with. By the way, I guess I should warn you. Mulder's started an X file on you."

"Oh, cripes. He'll have the Lone Gunmen down on me, and those guys work as a team."

"No need to worry about that now. Get in. We're going back to the apartment."

"How'm I supposed to do that, Einstein? You handcuffed me through the window."

"Uh..."

"Unlock 'em so I can climb inside."

"Oh yeah, fat chance of that. You have two choices. You can either walk beside the car, and I'll drive real slow, or you can climb in through the window."

"You can't drive while you're stretched out over here, cuffed to me."

"Wanna bet? This is fan fiction, and I am flexible in more ways than you could possibly imagine."

"I don't think I wanna know about that. Okay, push over." She clambered through the car window and sat down. Blair started the car and drove off. "Where's Jim?"

"Off hunting for you. I expect his Sentinel senses will pick up my increased heart rate, and he'll come back to the apartment soon. In any case, I ain't waitin'. You're too darn slippery."

"Oh, I really think you should wait. I mean, that would be the polite thing to do."

(Loud raspberry buzz from Blair) *Say that's a pretty agile tongue he... Stop it, Scribe! Geez, dirty old woman!) "How rude."

"Severe horniness will do that to a person. Consider this doing a favor for all the etiquette minded people in the world. Screw me, and I promise to go right out and begin opening door, holding chairs, covering my mouth when I yawn, and saying 'Excuse me' when I burp or fart."

"Gosh, when you hold forth the hope of making the world a better place through my own humble efforts... Forget it."

They stopped in front of the apartment building, and Blair dragged her out. "Fine. So you're selfish. I you you anyway."

"Love?"

"Love, want, need, lust, hump... one of those four letter words. Semantics, semantics." He had her up the steps.

That same little old lady who'd directed her to the Ellison-Sandburg apartment in the first place was coming out again. She smiled at them brightly and said to Blair. "Oh, I see you caught her again. Well done, dear!"

Scribe glared at her. "You did that on purpose last time, didn't you?"

She shrugged. "They take out my trash and paint my closets. I have to keep them happy. Besides, dear. A nice, long session with them will go miles toward improving your attitude. And I know you usually don't do this in your fiction, but be sure to use a condom!"

She moved off down the street as Blair pulled Scribe into the building. Scribe hollered after her, "Oo, you just wait till I get back home! I'm goin' to the National Enquirer with this, Dr. Ruth!"

When he got her into the apartment, Scribe said, "Look, Sandburg, I appeal to you as a cop. You can't rape me. You�d lose all credibility, and hey. You know damn good and well that with your tendency to go in for angst and therapy, you'll be working on the guilt for the next decade or so."

'Don't worry, it won't be rape." He'd dragged her into the bathroom, and was digging through the medicine cabinet and the drawers. "Dammit, I know I have one around here somewhere."

"Yeah, that's what they all say. I ain't givin' it up. I have too much leg work invested."

"So you say. We'll see. Maybe in the junk drawer." He dragged her into the kitchen and started pawing through one of the drawers, which was filled with odds and ends. "Paper clips, pizza coupons, empty pen, ace of clubs... no wonder Jim got so pissed off last time he tried to play solitaire, empty pen, empty pen, empty pen, half empty tube of lube (heh heh hehe)...Crap. Not here. Okay, in the night stand for sure."

He pulled her up the stairs to the loft. "Now I'm curious. What are you hunting for?"

"Well, it's like this..." He was digging in the drawer of the bedside night stand. "Jim and I were both out looking for you. I was checking out the types of places you haunt: bookstores, libraries, video rental places, the breakfast foods sections of the supermarket... Anyway, I got tired and stopped at a bar for a drink. I wound up sitting between a blonde vampire and a very big guy who appeared to be wearing nothing more than a plaid towel wrapped around his waist. And he was very drunk, nattering on about how his woman had been chased off, after he'd finally managed to figure out what floated her boat... hah!"

Blair held up a rubber band.

"McCloud, you blabber mouthed son of a bitc! Don't do it, Sandburg!"

Blair gathered his lush length of auburn curls back into his fist.

"This isn't fair!"

He stretched the rubber band.

"I will be strong! I have a will of iron. I have a will of steel. I have a will of diamond."

Blair was slipping the rubber band around his hair.

"I HAVE A WILL STRONGER THAN THE BREATH OF ONE WHO HAS EATEN AN ONION, ANCHOVY, AND JALAPENO PIZZA! I HAVE A WILL HARDER THAN THE HEART OF AN IRS AGENT! I HAVE A WILL..."

The hair dropped into a long, flowing, rippling, silky ponytail.

"...of pure marshmallow fluff and custard pudding. Take me."

"Okay."

****************************************

*Hm. Wonder if Sandburg's had any luck?* Heading toward the loft, Jim adjusted his hearing. (Yeah, I know, farfetched even for fan fiction. If you're going to start bringing up 'logic'thisthis stage of the game...*snort*)

(gigglegigglegiggle. Oh, man, and I told Duncan he needed a shave!)

Jim hit the gas.

Part 7

"Ow! Scribe, let go of the ponytail."

"Sorry."

"That's okay. Touch, okay. Pull, not okay. Okay?"

"Okay." (stroke)

"You've got some sort of a hair fetish, dontcha?"

"Where do you think Clive, the Leather Hairdresser came from?"

"I love you. You're so twisted. Now... Crap. How are we gonna get the shirt off with these handcuffs on?"

"Well, you could take the cuffs..."

"Forget it. But I want both my hands free, so I will hitch the other cuff to the headboard." (Click)

"You don't trust me."

"No more than, say, your average used car dealer."

"Now my feelings are hurt."

"Aw. I'll kiss it and make it better." (smooch)

(Yip!) "Who said the ingsings were located there?!"

(smooch) "ooo...Okay, maybe you're right. Or maybe they're located more over here." (lick) "Whoaaaa! What happened to smooch?" (smooch) (rustle) "My, you're a wooly little teddy bear, aren'tcha?"

"Growl."

(zip) (peel toss) "Whuff! And now I understand the old saying, 'Hung like a bear.' Damn, Sandburg. No wonder the fan fiction readers scold me for not giving you enough action time."

"You're about to remedy that."

(slam) "BLAIR, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THROWING YOUR JOCK STRAPS ON THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR?!"

"Oh, shit! Sentinel alert," Scribe gasped.

"WE HAVE COMPANY, JIM!"

(Okay, it could get a little confusing now, so... What's that? All right, so it's already confusing. Smart ass. Anyway, I'm gonna start giving you dialogue identifiers, 'kay?)

(pound pound pound pound pound) (screeech)

Scribe: "DAMN! That was quick."

(rustle snap ziiiip clunk clunk)

Scribe: "Shit! I thought only Superman could strip that fast."

(pounce!)

Scribe: "OOF! HEY! CLOTHES STILL ON, CLOTHES STILL ON!"

Blair: "Jim! Cool it. Not even YOU can do it through denim."

Scribe: "Well, he was making a damn good try."

Jim: "She's still got her clothes on. why has she still got her clothes on?"

Scribe: "Hey, I'm right here. No referring to me in second person. Or is that third person? Omnipotent viewpoint? Damn, never could get those straight."

Jim: "All right. You've still got your clothes on. Why have you still got your clothes on?"

Blair: "We can't figure out how to get the shirt off."

Jim: "Fuck, Sandburg. You're starving to death, and you're looking for a napkin instead of a can opener."

Blair: "Huh?"

Jim: "Translation: Who the fuck cares about the shirt? The pants will come down."

(zip)

Scribe: "Hey!"

Blair: "But I want the shirt off. After all the crap we've been through chasing her, don't we deserve the full experience."

Jim: "Oh, all right." (click)

Scribe: "YIPE! WHADDIDIDO?"

Jim: "Relax"
(slice)
(rip rip rip)

Scribe: "Ooo, McCleod is gonna be so pissed when he finds out what you did to his shirt!"

Jim: "I'm wetting myself. C'mere."

Blair: "Uh, Jim? First come, first served."

Jim: "I'm not breaking in line, Chief."

Blair: "Well, then, what are you..."

Jim: "Hand me that Astroglide, wouldya?"

Scribe: "HEY!"

Jim: "What's the problem? You write it as a beautiful experience."

Scribe: "Yeah, but I don't have a prostate, do I? The whole point of the exercise is lost with me."

Blair: "C'mon, Scribe. I highly recommend it."

Scribe: "You WOULD."

Jim: "All right, time for some friendly persuasion. Blair?"

Blair: "Yes Jim?"

Jim: "You can go get the canned cream now."

Blair: (SQUEEEEEEEAL!)
(scamper scamper scamper)
(slam!)
(Bounce bounce bounce)

Scribe: "Oh, crap! Uh uh. Ellison, let go of my arm. I'm gonna smack him if he comes anywhere near me with that can. That shit is cold!"

Blair: "Only for a minute, I promise!"
(Shake shake shake)
(pop)

Scribe: "I'm warning you, I can still kick."

Jim: "Not if I do this."

Scribe: "Uff! Damn, you're heavy. Get off my legs!"

Jim: "Nope. Get 'er, Blair."

(pssssssssssssssssssstttttt)

Scribe: "SONUVABITCH, THAT'S COLD! Oh, geez, now I'm gonna be all sticky."

Blair: "Not when I get through with you."

Scribe: "I don't find this the least bit..." (slurp) "...uh... No, really, this is..." (sluuuurp smack) (groan) "...so damn kinky." (wiggle) "Jim, could you get off my legs, please? Blair needs more room."
(nibble) (squeak!)

Jim: "Changed your mind yet?"

Scribe: "Wha?" (dazed grin) "C'mere, you big, hunky, Blessed Protector, you."

Jim: "Blair, you ready for dessert yet?"

(snarf) (gobble)

Blair: "Almost." (lick lick lick lick lick lick) (probe)

Scribe: "SHRIEK!"
(pant pant pant)

Blair: "Okay. I think she's ready."

Scribe: "She's beyond ready. Hurry up, you two!"

Jim: "Never refuse a lady."

(Due to matters of delicacy, plus the fact that I have a sadistic streak, I here insert the sounds of various thumps, squeals, smacks, grunts, groans, moans, wails, curses, begging, whimpers, whines, and pet names. Hee hee hee.)

Scribe: (exhausted, yet contented, voice) "Only in fan fiction would you find a simultaneous triple orgasm."

Jim: (grunt)

Blair: (giggle)

Scribe: "Okay, look you guys. After your sex, I always write you a nice, long nap. I want one of those. It's only fair. And I want the cuffs off."

Blair: "But how can we be sure you won't sneak off?"

Scribe: "Sandburg, I believe my mobility is going to be impaired for a few hours, anyway."

Jim: "Don't worry, Chief. High security snuggling will take care of the problem."

Scribe: "What do you mena, high security snuggling?"
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