Pink-Feathered Fowl
by cmshaw
4 May 1998

Disclaimers: I'm not responsible for anything I write when hit with a ridiculous idea at 3 am, and neither is Pet Fly or UPN.

Summary: It was pointed out to me that 'Down Under the Ostrich' did not, in fact, complete the challenge: I missed the part where it had to be NC-17-worthy hot and heavy. Well, Pumpkin was right, of course -- it did need that little something extra to go completely over the top. This should fix that; consider it a sequel, if so serious a word can be applied here.

Warning: Um, I'm not actually saying that it's a good idea in Real Life to make love under a party table when you're this drunk, or for that matter anywhere else when you're this drunk. It's not, but hey, this is fiction, okay? NC-17, J/B.

Our story up to this point: it's the final stages of one wild Halloween party and only a few brave souls are left. Four of them -- Simon, Joel, Megan, and Henri -- are currently dancing on the tabletop with Blair's pink feather boa. The rest of Blair's ostrich costume, along with Blair himself, is bobbing and swaying underneath the table as he makes out with Jim, who's flat on his back and has lost his crocodile hat. Everyone else appears to have passed out or gone home.

* * *

Jim gasped as Blair leaned back as far as he could and began working at the buttons of his white-washed jeans. Groaning, he tried to focus his eyes well enough to catch Blair's hands in his own and only succeeded in convincing himself that there were suddenly three pink ostriches humping against his thighs.

He let his head fall back to the floor and stared meditatively at the underside of the table several feet over his head, which was vibrating alarmingly as four people danced atop it, vying for control of the boa. Then the scent hit him. Picking his head up again cautiously, he stared incredulously at the erection which was jutting from the fly of Blair's jeans and pointing with some arrogance directly at his face. Where is Blair finding the energy to get it up this drunk? he asked himself, and then, Oh dear. Where am I finding it?

The evidence straining against his own trousers was undeniable: Blair had his lover's body so well trained to respond to this mixture of pre-cum and pheromones that not even doubly-spiked punch was capable of keeping the good man down. Jim spared one thought -- his last for quite a while, as it turned out -- for the fact that their boss and several of their closest friends were twist-and-shouting only a few feet overhead, and then lifted his hips upward to help Blair's fumbling fingers open his zipper more quickly.

His breath hissed out and his head fell back again as Blair closed a sweaty fist around his cock and pumped hard several times. Jim didn't even realize Blair was shifting around until a knee swung over his head, missing his nose by an inch or two, and Blair's hips were suddenly swaying directly in his line of sight. A hot mouth engulfed the tip of his cock; Jim yelled and used the shock that propelled his entire body several inches off the ground to get his own lips wrapped around the luscious prize bobbing in front of his face.

Somehow Jim managed to enfold Blair's waist in a bear hug and hang on for the ride. In his enthusiasm, he discovered, he'd swallowed Blair's entire cock right to the hilt, and from the way Blair's body was jerking and pumping this unexpected maneuver had sparked the alcohol saturating the younger man's system and was now throwing fuel on the wildfire. Jim sucked even harder, worked his throat muscles, and avoided passing out as Blair screamed and came down his throat.

Jim lowered himself carefully back to the floor. Blair, on hands and knees, was panting and shaking from the exertion; Jim could feel every hot breath scraping across his own cock, now rock hard and quivering. Jim closed his eyes as he felt the first swirl of a tongue over the aching tip of it. Moaning, he let his partner caress him lightly and teasingly until he could hardly breathe. Finally Blair sucked him into that wonderful mouth, and Jim opened his eyes to see--

--To see a pink feather ostrich tail bumping over his face in time with the sweet tugs on his cock. He sucked in air and let it out in a wild yowl of laughter, thrust his hips into the air and jerked them crazily to slide his cock in and out of his lover's mouth, and came laughing harder than he ever had in his life. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop laughing. It was incredible.

"...Jim? Jim, come on man, you're scaring me here. Hey. Jim..." Blair's worried voice finally made him reach for calm.

"S'okay... Chief... just couldn'... stop la-laughing," he gasped.

Blair dropped his forehead to Jim's shoulder -- he'd been leaning over the detective, shaking his crocodile-green shoulders. "Jeez, man, what was so funny?" he asked.

Jim just grabbed a handful of pink tailfeathers and shook his head. Blair twisted his head around to inspect his tail and suddenly got the joke.

"Oh no. Oh gods." He looked around the room in a panic. The only other conscious party-goers appeared to be the ones still stomping overhead. "I can't believe we just did that."

Jim giggled and tugged on his fistful of ostrich tail. Blair looked at him and offered his best indignant squawk. Jim pulled his head down to kiss him and decided as a vodka-and-semen-flavored tongue slid down his throat that modesty was a long-lost cause at this party. He rolled on top of his lover.

* * *

Henri, having finally managed to take possession of the pink feather boa, clambered down from the table and spun in a little victory dance in the middle of the room. Moving carefully, he unwound the boa, handed it to Simon, and said, "Goodnight. I'm going to call a cab." He turned and walked more or less in the direction of the door. Joel was sprawled full length across the table, snoring. Simon and Megan, not quite passing-out drunk, surveyed the scene of the party with resignation.

Hearing a quiet giggle, they bent to look underneath the table. Blair and Jim were lying entwined on a scattering of feathers, cuddling and kissing. Three long bright pink feathers still traced quivering paths through the air behind Blair's denim-covered ass.

Megan snickered. "And I thought they were kinky for having a feather boa around the house."

"As the old joke goes," Simon told her gravely, "using a feather is kinky. Using the whole ostrich-- well, that's a bit perverted."



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