Here's hoping this works -- posting from a new platform.
Archive if you think it's worth it (at m_a). Also, I'm
currently nomail for the duration of the move, so if there are
any tomatoes or posies please toss to my home edress, not the
list :} Ta! Also, if this doesn't post right it should be up at
my site tonight (www.bantrim.net).
Party Planet, a sillysmutfic by Brenda Antrim. Rated PG13 for
sex in odd places by odd pairings. Multicrossover. In the same
vein as Party at Vachon's and Party On!, but nobody in their
right mind would call this a series.
Of course, if we were in our right minds, we wouldn't be here.
Cast of victims:
From Stargate SG1 -- Teal'c, a Jaffa, ex-guardian to the
Goa'uld Apophis, a fine looking mountain of a man with a worm
in his tummy and the prettiest eyes on the planet (next to a
certain young Jedi to be named later). Daniel Jackson, a
not-nearly-as-naive as one might think anthropologist, who
hates the Goa'uld (especially Apophis) but doesn't let it stand
in the way of liking Teal'c. Tall, slender, big blue eyes, soft
voice, great hands, legs to die for. Cameos by Sam Carter
(Captain, USAF, girl person) and Jack O'Neill (Colonel, USAF,
boy person).
From The Phantom Menace -- Above mentioned young Jedi Obi Wan
Kenobi, the other prettiest pair of (lovely blue) eyes on the
planet. And pretty tush. Legs. Shoulders. Back. Arms. Neck.
Face. Okay, so the boy has pretty damned near a pretty
everything. Along for the ride (in a sense), his Master, Qui
Gon Jinn. Tallest of the bunch, another blue eyed lad, with a
fine whipcord length on him (take it as you will).
From Voyager -- Tom Paris (he of the golden hair, sparkling
blue eyes, and legs clear up to his chin) makes his third
appearance, this time flying solo. Not for long.
From Deep Space Nine -- Also back for his third appearance,
tawny skinned, doe eyed Bashir gets tossed in the mix, and
learns whole new uses for all that anatomy he excelled at in
medical school.
From the Sentinel -- Yet another anthropologist, this one short
and curly, also with glasses and bright blue eyes (hmm, I
detect a pattern here). Along with the darling Blair comes his
match, Jim, Sentinel extraordinaire, more blue eyes, built like
a brick wall with a butt you could use to crack nuts. Perhaps
even literally.
And finally from the X Files, poor befuddled Mulder gets hit
with deja vu all over again as he takes another wild ride
through the delusions of madmen (this time without his handy
dandy one armed nemesis along).
On to the nuttiness.
Somewhere in a galaxy far, far away, so far away none of the
originators of any of the galaxies involved will ever admit to
its existence (or, hopefully, become aware of it), so far away
the galaxy was in another universe, the earth began to shake.
Timing is everything in life.
At the end of the ramp leading up to the Stargate, Sam Carter
and Jack O'Neill finished re-seating a piece of equipment on
Jack's back that had slipped just as they were heading off for
their latest foray into the unknown (PR7X4309 or some such
silly thing). Jack waved the other two members of his team
ahead -- no reason for Danny and Teal'c to have to wait while
Mom dressed Jackie for school. As the rippling event horizon
closed behind the two men, a sudden jolt rocked the complex.
Earthquake!
Several long seconds later someone finally shut off the damned
alarms. Jack and Sam picked themselves up, dusted themselves
off, and headed up the ramp.
The circle had shifted. The Gate was off-center. The event
horizon was gone.
So were their cohorts in exploration. Sam looked at Jack. Jack
looked at Sam. Together, they voiced the same thought running
through both their minds.
"Oops!"
Going back to that far away galaxy after a brief plunge into
Gecko land, Daniel Jackson fell out of the Stargate and landed,
not unhappily, at Teal'c's feet. Very happily, Teal'c noticed
this before stepping down and causing grievous bodily injury.
Teal'c was a big boy.
Unfortunately, his usual cat-like reflexes couldn't save him as
he saved Daniel, and he tripped over both feet and rolled all
the way to the bottom of the ramp leading to the Gate they'd
just exited. He fetched up against the far wall of the shadowy
room and lay there, stunned, for a long moment. Daniel pulled
himself up and scrambled to his friend's side.
"Teal'c?" he hissed. "You okay?"
"I am fine, DanielJackson," the Jaffa replied automatically.
His attention was elsewhere. "Quiet. Others approach. They may
be hostile." Rolling himself over behind a conveniently placed
stack of crates, he reached out a long arm and plucked Daniel
along with him.
Neither really minded the close quarters. Teal'c, being the
trained warrior that he was, actually managed to keep an eye
out for the intruders. Danny just sort of leaned up against
Teal'c and tried not to think of olive oil and strigils. They
didn't have long to wait.
"This is great, Jim! Man, look at these things!" A somewhat
short, very energetic whirlwind encased in flannel and denim,
sporting a ponytail on the verge of explosion and with hands
flying in every direction at once, burst through the side door
and made a beeline for what looked like the remains of several
pots in the corner opposite Danny and Teal'c's hiding place.
Danny's mind slid right off the olive oil and right into those
curls.
Cute. Very cute.
A nearly-inaudible grunt next to him ripped his eyes from the
short (cute) man drooling over pottery fragments in a manner
that reminded Danny forcefully of himself in full academic
headrush. Reacting to the elbow in his side, he looked toward
the entrance.
Bright blue eyes were looking right back.
Danny nearly had a heart attack before he assured himself there
was no way on Earth the GI Joe brought to life in the doorway
could actually see them. Teal'c was too good at hiding for
that. It was dark. The little guy was making enough noise so
nobody could have heard Teal'c's warning grunt. No, nope, no
way the really rather good-looking brick outhouse could
possibly know they were there.
"Chief," the wall said, still staring right at him. "Get back
here."
The little guy was too busy babbling about the pots to notice.
The big guy started toward their hiding place, and Danny found
himself freezing like a rabbit in the headlights of a truck.
Then the guy stopped. Cocked his head exactly like a cocker
spaniel, only without the ears or much of the hair, and moved
as fast as Teal'c had, rushing across the room, scooping the
little guy up, laying a hand over the still moving lips, and
diving behind a conveniently heaped pile of crates.
Directly on top of Daniel Jackson and Teal'c.
All four froze. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Footsteps echoed outside the doorway. Four sets of eyes turned
as one to watch the new arrivals.
Two guys. One regular height, the other really tall. Both
well-built, long legs encased in sand-colored leggings that
showed off the stems, robes of brown flowing from their
shoulders, boots fit to send a fetishist into orbit hugging
their calves. Twin sets of blue eyes, one a shade darker than
the other, stared around the shadowed room from identically
calm faces.
Four tongues went dry. Four throats fought to swallow, and
failed, miserably.
"I understand what you mean, Master," the younger one said in a
stunningly husky British accent. Four sets of knees melted,
although it must be said that the anthropologists in the
audience did melt faster than the warriors. By a good two
seconds. "The Force is strong here. And disturbed."
"Very disturbed, Padawan," answered the taller one, in a deep
slightly different British accent that puddled four spines in
tandem. Those accents combined with those bodies matched with
those faces were deadly. Before any of the watchers could
reintegrate their brains with their bodies (or squeeze enough
blood from the only non-melted parts of their anatomies to feed
a single thought between them), the air whined.
Instantly the two robed men grabbed what looked like
flashlights from their belts. The taller one swooped like a
crane to one side and the younger one whirled into a crouch
beside him. Blue and green light flared from the ends of the
flashlights, and zipped and crackled with electrical energy. On
either side of the men, now definitely in 'attack mode', twin
columns of energy coalesced in the middle of the room.
All four men behind the crates were quietly moaning by now, for
various reasons. Big blue eyes peered through round glasses and
dark curls, staring at the younger robed figure, one half of
his brain tracing the possible origins of the costume, the
other wondering how many layers he'd have to peel off to get
himself a taste of that. Equally large, paler blue eyes peered
through another set of round glasses and over a massive
shoulder, frankly leering at the tall guy and wondering if
those legs would feel as good as they looked, even as what was
left of his higher reasoning studied the markings on the
flashlight/sword hilts and tried to decipher the writing there.
Narrowed crystal blue eyes focused extraordinary vision on the
scene as a whole, trying to stay in touch with reality and not
drown in the sea of pheromones attacking his nose (and other
parts of him). The lone pair of dark brown eyes in the group
roved over the stances of the two fighters, making notes for
future reference, marking weakness, drooling more than a little
bit (not that he'd let it show).
As the watchers swooned and the Force readied itself to meet
and engulf the new challenge, the columns of energy transformed
themselves into two tall men, dressed identically but for the
colors along their shoulders, one light, one dark. The tall guy
with the uber-flashlight flowed to face the blond man. The
shorter guy twisted to face the brunet.
The new arrivals reacted as anyone who knew them would expect,
which meant nobody in the room expected what came next. Using
instincts honed through years of being the prettiest boy in
military school and polished by time spent at the Auckland
Penal Colony, Tom Paris darted past the blazing energy of the
unfamiliar weapon, grabbed the tall attacker by the collar,
pulled him in and kissed him. Hard. That way if the man tried
to fry Tom, he'd fry himself as well.
Somehow, the younger guy knew what was going on behind him,
because with a startled (and delicious) squawk of "Master!" he
turned his back on the brunet. Dark brows arched over liquid
chocolate eyes, and strong surgeon's hands reached out and
grabbed the nearest portion of his enemy's anatomy. It was just
luck that the portion in question should be a tight, muscular
ass.
Luck.
Good luck.
The younger man tried to turn, torn between assisting his
'Master' who was currently having his tonsils steam-cleaned via
tongue hoovering from the blond, and protecting his assets from
the skinny limpet with nine arms now attached to him from
shoulders to knees. The Force wasn't much help. It was too busy
pulsating with unleashed lust.
It was all much too much for the unseen audience (the ones
behind the crates, that is). Acting on impulses buried beneath
centuries of civilization (and, on the Sentinel's part, just
doing what came naturally), two anthropologists and two
warriors exploded from their hiding place and joined the fray.
To help.
Yeah, that was it. Help.
"Help?" the younger of the two be-robed figures asked
querulously as he was borne to the ground between a short
anthropologist and a tall broad guy with a gold stamp on his
forehead. The dark man behind him wasn't going to give up claim
on his ass-ets any time soon, and Blair, ever flexible,
accommodated him. After all, the butt beneath that black wool
was nothing to sneeze at.
"Hllprmph--" his Master responded around a jaw-full of agile
tongue, not his own. Then wide shoulders caught them both in an
expert football-tackle, and two pairs of hands caught the
falling bodies of Paris and the Jedi, lowering them onto the
dark brown robe even as they helped the man on the bottom out
of the capacious sleeves. Then Danny took one look at Paris and
Jinn going at it, and dove in for some of the action. Ellison
saw all those long legs tangled up together and howled like an
over-sized cat in heat before falling in to the Gordian knot,
sword at the ready. Boy, was he ready.
Qui Gon Jinn made a valiant attempt to calmly reach out with
the Force and ascertain the state of his Padawan. Adrenaline
and arousal spiked off the chart through their link, and a
confusing image of arms, legs, tongues doing incredibly obscene
things, naked skin and rampant erections leaking every which
way overwhelmed him. Going under, he couldn't help but grin. He
hadn't hoped for much when the spacequake had tossed their ship
out of hyperdrive and landed them on this little mudball of a
planet eons from anything. His hopes were thoroughly exceeded.
As someone almost as big as he was squirmed under him and began
to do unmentionable things to his hindquarters, he howled in
concert with whatever cat was getting laid in the back alley,
and gave up any attempt at calm.
A block away, a man in a dark suit, who could have passed for
an escaped GQ model if not for the perplexed frown on his face,
perked up at the caterwauling coming from a nearby abandoned
building. Hastening his pace, caution tossed to the winds in
the face of a puzzle to be solved, Special Agent Fox Mulder
shouldered his way into the darkened doorway.
Stopped dead.
Blinked. Twice.
Dropped his gun as his extremities (well, all but one of them)
went numb.
Turned around and staggered out. Shook his head. Hard.
Turned back around and staggered back in.
It was bedlam. It was steamy, hot, crowded and confused. And
noisy.
A tall guy with a beard was face-fucking a tall blond guy who
was pumping away at a tall guy with totally steamed glasses who
was sucking a big wall of a guy who was making a sound
suspiciously like a wildcat in heat. It was Valley of the
Giants on Ecstasy. Writhing in a slightly more compact lump a
few feet away, an edible young man with a weird combination of
buzz cut and single long braid along with a very straggly
ponytail was the center of a daisy without the chain, hands
buried in dark thick curls as a short naked man made a meal of
his groin, a very big guy with a gold seal on his forehead
humped enthusiastically behind him, and yet another tall guy,
this one the color of melted caramel, free-ranged all over the
other three, muttered something ecstatically about alien
physiology and licked everything he could reach.
For a mind-twisting moment, Mulder really missed Alex Krycek.
Before he could completely lose his mind, the guy nearest to
him, who just happened to be the bearded guy, saw him. Dark
blue eyes lit with unholy glee, and invisible hands started
yanking at Mulder's clothes. Before he could so much as wonder
what sort of X File he'd wandered into, he was completely naked
and planted flat on his back directly between the two heaving
masses of manflesh.
Once the vertigo calmed down, he discovered he was really,
really comfortable.
As the two groups merged over and around him, he felt a hand
reach out from somewhere, petting his thigh, his flank, his
chest, and everything in between. A mouth latched onto his and
did its best to suck his lower lip off. More hands showed up,
along with other things, wet, hard, seeking, hungry other
things, and he did his best to smile around the lips making a
meal of his mouth. If he was going to have another recurring
nightmare, at least this one was a hell of a lot of fun. And
his sister was nowhere in sight. Thank god.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the muffled chime of his
cell phone. His last coherent thought, right after a brief
prayer of thanks that as usual he hadn't told anyone where he
was going when he left the office, was a slightly hysterical,
"I'm fine, Scully."
For once, it was nothing less than the truth. And it couldn't
get any further out there.
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