Disclaimers: Don't we just wish Pet Fly and UPN would film this?
Notes: God DARN it, I'm supposed to be writing a final paper tonight! Then Pumpkin had to go and issue, of all things, a Blair-as-pink-ostrich- being-eaten-by-Taggart challenge, and Merry had to top it by reminding us all (as if we could forget) that this "would not constitute a death story if it were handled properly <vbg>" -- !
Rating: R. J/B, with a smattering of J/Simon and B/Joel.
Warning: Just say no to fanfic challenges, kids.
"How on earth did I let you talk me into this?" Blair demanded of Megan, adjusting his pink feather boa irritably.
"Don't look at me," she replied with a grin. "Your partner was the one who kept cracking those kangaroo jokes."
"So remind me again how we all ended up in animal costumes?"
"It's Halloween, Chief," Jim pointed out, emerging at last from the bathroom. "Costumes are traditional, and anyway," he slung an arm around Megan's shoulders, "cultural exchange and all. Aren't you excited about this piece of Australia being introduced into an American party?"
"You're wearing green facepaint and an alligator--"
"Crocodile," corrected Megan.
"Crocodile baseball cap. Megan's wearing a felt kangaroo suit. And somehow, and this is the question I've been asking, somehow I ended up in pink feathers masquerading as an ostrich. Now I ask you, is this fair?"
"Chief," Jim said, not even trying to hide his grin, "may I point out that of the three of us, you were the only one who actually owned an article of clothing featuring pink feathers? Once you admitted that, Sandburg, it was all over."
Megan snickered. "You mean that's his feather boa? He owns that?" Jim nodded. "You two are kinkier than I'd thought."
"Thanks," Blair said, and then twisted around to inspect his feathered tail. "I think." He sighed, kissed Jim carefully to avoid mixing their green and pink facepaints, and linked his arm with Megan's. "Shall we?"
The party started raucous and only got better as the cops got drunker. Jim, Blair, and Megan, as official wildlife, took it upon themselves to lead the way. Whatever Blair spiked the punch with, it worked. By the time they got to the second bowl, however, a minor miscommunication left the punch spiked by Blair and Megan. It was at this point that the table dancing began.
With a shriek, the kickboxing kangaroo flew through the air with the greatest of ease, landing nearly seven feet away from the erstwhile food table directly on top of Jim. Miraculously, the inebriated detective caught his friend around the waist, whooping, and swung her into Blair, who ducked just in time. The three of them avoiding piling to the floor in a tangled heap, but it was a very near thing.
They recovered in time to nearly go down again, this time purely from hysteria, as Simon hopped up on the table that Megan had so dramatically vacated, hooked his thumbs into his suspenders, and began to strut in time to the beat of the music. Wolf whistles and hoots urged him on; by this time only a handful of diehards were still present and conscious. Those who were, however, were very much in the partying mood. When Jim cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Take it off, baby! Take it off!" the room broke into cheers.
When Simon pulled his fedora lower over his eyes and slid first one suspender, then the other, slowly down his shoulders, Blair and Megan simultaneously screamed, "Yee-hah!" When he actually pulled off his starched white shirt, his detectives lined the edges of the table, whistling and screaming. Simon pulled the fabric taut between his hands, rubbed the crisp cotton across his stomach, muscles rippling through the sweat-damped undershirt that had hidden beneath it, and whirled the prize over his head dramatically; hands were lifted into the air eagerly. With a sultry look, Simon threw the shirt to Jim and snapped his suspenders back over his torso. The crowd went wild.
Jim held the shirt to his face as Simon continued to dance. When Simon gyrated his way back to Jim's end of the table, the detective leaned forward and wrapped his arm around the captain's hips, lifting him bodily off the table and whirling around to set him gently on the floor. He flung the much-abused shirt around Simon's shoulders, pulled him close, and quickly pressed a kiss to his mouth. Again, the crowd went wild.
As Simon stared at him in shock, Jim released the ends of the shirt and turned back towards the table. Grasping his partner around the waist, he hoisted the pink ostrich up for a chance in the spotlight. Blair paused for a moment to steady himself and mark the edges of his platform, and then he began to move.
And wow but did he move.
Blair shook his hips in a motion that would have made Elvis blush. Blair worked his legs until Jim forgot that he'd ever seen legs before that night. Blair's head fell back as he moved to the rhythm, pink feathers moving right along with him, and it didn't take a Sentinel to feel the heat rising from the spectators. Alcohol, musk, sweat, and chocolate hung in the air until Jim though Blair could dance right off of the table and up to the ceiling through the solidifying atmosphere. He knew he was drooling, but he couldn't stop.
Then Joel jumped up onto the table. Gold lame toga flying out around him, he spun and twisted until he was bumping and grinding with the grad student in pink. In an instant, Jim was up on the table as well, Simon and Megan right behind him. Henri tried to follow, missed the edge of the table going up, missed the floor going down, and managed to join them only a little late. Blair laughed ecstatically, flung his hands in the air, and belly-danced into Joel. Joel, unable to restrain himself, planted a vodka-flavored kiss on Blair's mouth, then another on his neck. Blair, now nearly hysterical with giggles, wriggled and bounced and left Joel with a mouthful of pink feather boa.
As Joel laughed, trying in vain to free his mouth of his new ostrich accessory which appeared inclined to twine around his head, Jim scooped up Blair and pulled him close. Blair, tipsy and having way too much fun, got a good grip on Jim's shoulders and, bouncing up, wrapped both legs around his sentinel's waist. Jim staggered under the sudden onslaught, caught his balance, and lost it again as Blair kissed him, opened- mouthed, with tongue. They swung wildly across the table, careening into Simon and bouncing off of Henri, and came to rest -- relatively speaking, since Blair was still rocking to the music -- in the center of the table. Blair's pink-feathered tail bobbed in a highly explicit rhythm.
Jim took one careful look into his partner's lust-dilated eyes and made a flying leap off of the table. He managed to set Blair down on his own two feet by prying his knees open and all but dropping him. Unfazed, Blair stepped back and tackled him. Under normal circumstances, the lighter man would have rebounded off of Jim's chest and never even been noticed; coming as it did after significant amounts of Blair and Megan's punch, Blair's tackle rolled them both completely underneath the table. Of course, it must be pointed out that Jim was not exactly objecting to being placed in this position.
At this moment in the story, I would like to emphasize, what we have is the following situation: Simon, Joel, Megan, Henri, and Blair's feather boa are dancing on the table. Jim is flat on his back under the table, being groped by a lusty pink ostrich. Several detectives are passed out in various corners of the room. Most of the copious amount of alcohol supplied for the party has been imbibed. A little bit of chocolate is still available.
I believe the requirements of the challenge have been met. Sequel, anyone? *evil grin*
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