Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' characters are the property of MGM, Trilogy and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while and then very regretfully gave them back! Thank you to Mog for creating the ATF AU, and her generosity in allowing us all to skip in her playground. Sadly, no money will be made from this work of fan fiction — I just wrote it purely for my own pleasure and entertainment!
Genre: ATF — Humour/General Het/Hetsmut
Rating: R. Warning — contains descriptive heterosexual inferences.
Character focus: Vin/OFC (but not in the way that you might think!)
This short PWP piece was written for a fiction challenge on The Mag7 HetLovers group list. Rhonda's decree was to include one or more of the following phrases in a het story: 'Is that a bra hanging on that lampshade?' — 'You don't really expect me to go out in public wearing ...' — 'Shut up, and kiss me.' — 'Just call me, stud muffin.' I managed to work in three of the four edicts!
A big thank you must go to Yvonne, for stepping into the breach and beta'ing this story for me. She certainly reined me in regarding my comma habit — thanks again, Stubby! Any other grammatical mistakes or inaccuracies are mine and mine alone!
As with each of my previous stories, the themes, convoluted ideas and writing are, in their entirety, all of my own work. Apart from Yvonne's corrections and Rhonda's sentences as credited above, no-one else has had any input into this work of fiction.
If you enjoy this short piece of silliness, please let me know at susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — feedback would be wonderful!
The harsh buzzing of the intercom to Buck Wilmington's apartment woke Chris Larabee and, turning around carefully on the couch, he dragged his hand out from under the sleeping bag to blurrily squint at his watch. Ten o'clock. Who the hell was disturbing his much needed rest at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning?
Buck's booming tones suddenly split the peaceful tranquillity within the room. Team Seven's leader winced as the moustached agent, plus two new arrivals, noisily entered the open plan living area. Pulling his aching head back under the cover and hissing in aggravation as the lounge door slammed closed behind the three men, Chris angrily issued his ultimatum.
"If you're gonna make a noise, then get out!"
Buck ambled over to his oldest friend and, bending down slightly, he poked at the mound of hidden flesh, throwing a crooked smile at the silently observing, but grinning, Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez. "Hey there, Chris! You're awake at last!"
"You do that again and I'll do target practice on your damned pinkie! After I've torn it off! Jeez, Buck, it's hard not to be awake with the racket you generate. The FAA oughta come here and take a noise pollution reading on you!" The senior agent stuck his head out of the sleeping bag again, as he scowled at the grinning rogue.
"Tut, tut. Don't take your headache out on me, Mister Bad Attitude. I got less sleep than you 'cos I've been up and about for thirty minutes. But obviously we more gifted individuals with pulling power also have the greater staying power! I'll make you a 'Buckaroo special' to chase away the cobwebs, huh?" Buck offered graciously.
Chris groaned at the thought of Buck's 'miracle' hangover cure and, scratching his sleep-mussed hair, he carefully shook his head. "No. I'll take a rain check, thanks. I need a shower and about a quart of orange juice followed by a coffee."
Josiah went to the kitchen and dragged a juice carton from the fridge, then handed it to the now upright team leader. "I take it the two youngest are still tucked up in the sack?" the profiler enquired, glancing at the stairs leading to the upper apartment that JD occupied.
Buck chuckled and, switching the coffee machine on, he then leaned on the counter that divided the kitchen and the lounge area. "They're sleeping like babies! Which ain't surprising, considering the amount of booze those two knocked back last night — or should I say this morning. And they wore themselves out with all that dancing."
The whole team had gone out to celebrate after wrapping up a long and difficult case involving firearms being shipped in from Central America, which were then distributed countrywide. All seven men had worked hard to get to the ringleader and, after two months of intense investigation whilst following false trails, the agents' had finally got a conviction. Carlos Jimenez, a powerful overlord from Colombia now languished in a top security prison, pending his trial.
This had been Vin Tanner's first major assignment with his new team-mates, and the men had started their week-long down time with a night out at Inez's Bar, followed by a meal at a club. Josiah, Nathan and Ezra had left their friends early, and had gone back to the Southerner's apartment to sample the delights of a fifty-year-old bottle of 'Chivas Regal' that the undercover agent had managed to 'acquire' on a previous bust.
The remainder of Team Seven had then jumped a taxi and gone to a private, members only, lap-dancing club, which was owned by one of Buck's old marshal buddies. It looked and sounded like a riotous time had been had by all four men, and the oldest agent was keen to hear the details of the night's festivities.
"I take it our young brothers had a baptism of fire at 'Charades', eh?" Josiah's eyes crinkled, as he grinned at the thought of the almost painfully shy Texan and the slightly naïve computer whiz-kid being confronted with the scantily clad house dancers in the raunchy strip club.
Chris unzipped the sleeping bag, and went to grab one of the mugs of coffee that Buck had just placed on the counter, sipping carefully at the scalding brew as he went back to the couch.
"Yeah, you could say that, Josiah!" the blond agent answered cagily, catching Buck's blue eyes as the other gave a lecherous grin.
The astute EMT saw the looks his two friends exchanged and, knowing Buck's knack for getting the younger agents into unusual situations with the opposite sex, Nathan attempted to prise more information out of his colleagues.
"I hope you didn't get those two into a tight jam. Were they really drunk then, Chris?" The dark-skinned agent wanted to know.
Nathan was the self-proclaimed medical guardian of the team, and he knew that JD had a low tolerance to liquor. However, they had only known Vin for six months, and the man's drinking habits were a complete mystery, as he usually drank coke whenever they met up for a pizza, or watched a football game out at Chris' ranch.
Chris snorted, and took another swig of his coffee before replying. "Well, that depends on your definition of drunk, Nate!"
"Now don't beat around the bush, Chris! I practically had t'carry JD 'Rubber Legs' Dunne up those stairs, and ole eagle-eyes was even worse! Vin puked so many times before we got him into bed, I'm surprised he ain't still got his head stuck down the U-bend!" Buck glanced at the small guest room just beyond the dining area, and suddenly frowned. "Well... I take it he's in the bedroom now and not still curled up hugging the john!" he added.
"Oh, Jesus! Ain't you checked on him yet? Chris, you know he's got a low blood-sugar problem, an' if he's been throwing up real bad he could've passed out!" Nathan exclaimed worriedly. Leaping to his feet, he hurried over to the closed bedroom door.
The other men followed the EMT, Chris' bare feet slapping on the wooden flooring as he edged ahead of his two friends.
Nathan peered into the dark bedroom and, shushing the men with a waving hand, he crept over to the queen-sized bed.
Vin Tanner wore only a pair of bright red boxer shorts and matching socks as he lay spread-eagled on his stomach, upside down and across the mattress diagonally, with his head hanging over the bottom corner of the bed. The sharpshooter's long brown hair was dangling downwards in straggly coils, obscuring his face completely, although his uncomfortable looking position hadn't stopped him from sleeping.
Kneeling down beside the shaggy head Nathan put two fingers to the younger man's throat, frowning as Vin mumbled a few incoherent words.
"Vin? Can you hear me? Vin!" Nathan gently shook the recumbent man's shoulder, concerned now by the lack of response.
Climbing to his feet, the EMT crossed to open the curtains, and then turned on his startled colleagues. "Damn! He's totally out of it! What the hell was he drinking, Chris? Did he eat after we left you? How long has he been like this? Is JD this bad too? Well, ain't one of you gonna speak?"
"We would if we could get a word in, Nate! Vin's a big boy and he wouldn't want you fussing around him. We've all been like this at some time or other. He'll just have a hangover the size of Texas, and once he's eaten something, he'll be fine," Chris said in his best placating tone.
"Josiah, could you get my med kit from the back of the car, please?" Nathan stood up, and glared at Chris and Buck. "I thought you'd be a bit more sensible than this! How much did he drink?" the healer queried.
"Err... Umm... well he had a few beers at Inez's, and after you three left we went to another bar. What was that place called, Chris?" Buck frowned at the senior agent, snapping his fingers as he tried to recall the name.
"It don't matter none," Nathan interrupted dismissively. "So, how many beers did he have?" the EMT asked again.
"A few, but then that cowboy insisted on trying Chris' whiskey, and he enjoyed it so much he just kept lining up those chasers on the counter! I lost track of how many went down, but he seemed okay until we started on the cocktails and..." Buck nudged his oldest friend as he saw the tight expression on Nathan's face. "Hey, help a guy out won'tcha!"
"We only stayed at the bar for a couple of rounds, Nate. The really serious stuff went down at 'Charades'!" Chris asserted cryptically.
"Oh, Lordy Lord! Let me go wash up, and then I'll hear the rest of..." The dark-skinned agent was moving towards the door as he spoke, but he stopped as his attention suddenly fixed on the wooden chest of drawers beside the closet.
A holographic style, red foil business card, embossed with gold lettering and edging was propped against the base of the bedroom lamp. But it wasn't this that had attracted the EMT's scrutiny.
Nathan's dark eyes swivelled between Chris and Buck, who were now grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. "Is...is that a bra hanging on that lampshade?" the medic asked. Even to his own ears, Nathan's rhetorical question sounded ridiculous; there was no disguising the item of clothing.
Draped over the shade was a lacy, bright scarlet, low-plunge bra. Clearly the owner of the underwear was amply bosomed — or 'gifted' as Buck would call it — because Nathan had never seen a bra cup quite so large. Sitting beside the lamp, untouched and still in their paper cases, were two plain muffins and the open-mouthed medic did a double take when he saw a glistening red cherry perched atop each of the cakes.
"What the hell....?" Nathan spluttered, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Buck strode over and snagged the bra off of the lamp. Returning to the bedside, he held it up by the straps in front of his chest and slowly gyrated his hips, while he waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "What's the matter, Nate? Ain't you ever seen a double barrelled slingshot before?" he asked mischievously, before casually tossing it onto the bed.
Nathan ignored his friend, giving an annoyed harrumph as he hastily left the room. What on Earth had the four men got up to last night? The tall agent wasn't sure he was going to like what he was about to be told, but he sensed there was something about the previous evening's celebrations that his two older colleagues hadn't yet disclosed. And it must be have something to with Vin Tanner's current physical state.
Having scrubbed his hands, the EMT took the proffered medical kit from Josiah as the man returned to the apartment, and the two then went back into the guest bedroom.
Rummaging through his box Nathan found the electronic glucose monitor and placing that, plus a small sterile packaged scalpel on the bedside table, he then gestured for some help to straighten up the younger man.
"Let's just get him flipped around and on his side fer the moment... attaboy, Vin... Good Lord, Tanner, I've seen more colour in a bled-out corpse!" Nathan muttered, as he noted the pallid tinge to the sharpshooter's features.
Josiah and Chris carefully adjusted the limp body into the recovery position, and then pulled the lightweight quilt up to the younger man's waist as the medic grabbed a slack arm. Firmly holding Vin's hand, Nathan cleanly jabbed in the point of the scalpel, squeezing the Texan's thumb when a few beads of blood welled up. "Now let's just see..." he murmured to himself.
The dark-skinned agent pressed the 'read' button on the monitor, tapping his finger impatiently on the small screen as he waited for the numbers to display.
"Dammit!"
"Is there a problem, Nathan?"
Chris' face was serious now, and he frowned worriedly as he watched the EMT pull his blood pressure monitor out of his field kit.
"Like I thought, his blood-sugar's bottomed out. I need to give him a shot of Glucagon. You okay with that, Chris?"
"Do what you have to, Nate. Unless you think he needs to go to the ER."
Nathan wrapped the battery powered sphygmomanometer's cuff around Vin's left arm, and flicked the start switch. "No, he should be fine once I've got this inside him. It won't take long to work," the EMT answered distractedly, as he started to fill a syringe from a drug ampoule.
The three watching men were silent as Nathan quickly tore open an antiseptic wipe and, after cleaning a small area of skin on his patient's right arm, he then expertly slid the needle into a vein. Tossing the empty hypodermic into a plastic tray on the bedside table, the EMT pressed a small dressing to the puncture site, flexing the flaccid arm up to hold the wad in place. Putting two fingers to the sharpshooter's wrist, Nathan glanced up as a concerned-looking Chris Larabee settled on the opposite side of the bed and began wiping Vin's face with a warm washcloth.
Vin sucked in a shaky breath, wondering why it was suddenly so dark in the noisy nightclub. He could hear the loud throb of the music and, as the beautiful blonde dancer shimmied over to his table, he felt two warm fingers gently clamp around his wrist, whilst the other hand caressed his face. The woman's touch was pure electric and the Texan shivered in desire, his skin going goosepimply as she trailed a long, magenta painted fingernail around his eyes, mouth and neck. She simply oozed raw sex and the sharpshooter couldn't stop the involuntary reaction of his body. As she leaned closer and gently blew into his face, Vin felt the heat of arousal fire up his loins, and he groaned as his bulging hardness pressed against his suddenly constrictive pants. The thudding tempo of the loud music increased, reverberating from his head to the tips of his toes, and a wave of intensely hot longing washed over the mesmerised ATF agent.
'Do you want to dance with me, sugah? Let me be your partner, cowboy!'
The young woman's voice was low and sultry but, even above the sound of the music's drumming beat, Vin could hear the sexual need in her words. The alcohol he'd consumed had totally obliterated his willpower and, as if in a dream, he allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor, not even objecting when she unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off of him. The pair had the central stage to themselves and, inflamed by the blatant passion of the woman's movements, the normally introverted sharpshooter didn't hold back as he moulded his body into hers and responded to the erotic dance.
They were completely removed from reality; nothing intruded on their sensual partnership and the two dancers only had eyes for each other. Vin groaned in abandonment as the woman's fingers walked down his bare back and then slid under the waistband of his pants and shorts, before coming to a rest on the cheeks of his muscular buttocks. He gasped as she gently squeezed him and, as her questing hands worked their way around his hips and groin, he felt the feather light touch of the woman's thumbs caress his tightening balls.
Their lips finally met and, as Cherry's tongue slipped into his mouth, Vin drank greedily of the seductive kiss, lapping up the heady taste of summer orchard fruits that seemed to imbue this delightful temptress. He didn't know where he was, nor did he care who was watching — all he lived for was this moment of shared intimacy and the hot, demanding pressure from those luscious lips. There was an almost possessive exclusivity to the woman's touch, and the sharpshooter felt like he'd been claimed, branded for life by her searing kiss.
The lingering embrace ended and, as she continued to lithely cavort against Vin's body, her hands guided his down the V of her cleavage and led his trembling fingers to the front-fastening clasp of the diaphanous bra that she wore.
"Ooh! Yer... movin' me, hon... ney!" Vin moaned, although his eyes remained stubbornly closed as his fingers twitched and he squirmed in the bed.
Chris' head jerked back, the cloth hovering above the unconscious man's face, as he threw a startled look at the frowning EMT. "What did he say?" he asked the other agent.
"Summat about moving. Vin? C'mon, man. Open them eyes for us. Vin!" Nathan patted the younger man's cheek several times, although his gaze was locked on the digital readout of the blood pressure gauge.
"I can't work this out. His BP's back to normal but, although his pulse rate's still a little fast, he should be awake by now," the medic stated, putting a cool hand on Vin's forehead. "Hmm, that's odd. He's a bit warm and sweaty, so mebbe he's just dehydrated. Buck, can I have some iced water in a cup with a straw?"
Chris leaned over his friend, placing a firm hand on a bare shoulder and giving it a tug. "Hey, Vin, snap out of it!" the senior agent exclaimed.
There was still no reaction from the long-haired agent and, his worry suddenly increasing ten-fold, Chris tapped his friend's pale cheek with his forefinger. "Tanner, you're giving Nathan the heebie-jeebies now. Quit screwing around, cowboy! Vin!"
The older man's voice had louder and more insistent, fuelled by his growing concern for Vin's inability to wake up, and he shot an almost fearful look at the medic.
Nathan pulled the quilt off of the Texan and, after taking away the blood pressure monitor, he gently rolled Vin onto his back, nodding in thanks to Chris as the older man slotted a pillow behind his younger friend's head. Buck materialised beside Nathan and handed him a lidded cup with a straw poking through the top.
"C'mon, Vin, have some water. Wake up an' drink, Tanner!" the medic encouraged in a firm tone, sliding his hand under the sharpshooter's head.
Vin's mouth instinctively opened and he sucked on the straw, although his eyes stayed firmly shut. After swallowing a few mouthfuls of water the younger man's nose crinkled and, frowning in puzzlement, one hand came up to touch Chris' chest whilst the other pushed away the cup. "No! Want the... comfy...screw... wall," he mumbled, in a very aggrieved tone.
The moustached agent chuckled, his eyes flicking between Chris and the astonished EMT as he realised what was happening. "He's dreaming! That boy took a liking to 'A Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall'" — Buck commented of the famous cocktail — "and he thinks he's still in the club drinking and dancing! No wonder he ain't fussed about waking up! This is absolutely priceless!"
"You'd best hide that bra then, Buck," Chris said dryly.
"No way! This is better than 'Big Brother'! I still owe him for that prank he pulled on me last week, so I'm gonna milk this for all it's worth."
Nathan picked up the bra and squinted at the label. "36H! Good Lord! I didn't know such a size existed!" he said in amazement.
"Cherry's an exceptionally 'talented' woman, Nate! And she took a shine to our eagle-eyed sharpshooter from the word go. You should have seen them dance! I reckon that boy broke about a dozen obscenity laws last night, ranging from blatant eroticism to indecent exposure! I'm just sorry I didn't have a camera with me. That would've kept Mr Practical Joker in line forever — and I might've been able to boost my retirement fund too!" Buck chortled.
"Just what the hell went on at the club, Chris?" Nathan demanded suspiciously.
"This should give you a clue," Buck interrupted, as he snatched the red underwear from the confused-looking medic.
Crossing to the chest, he picked up the muffins and nestled one in each of the bra's cups. With a look of studied concentration, he came back to the bed and carefully arranged the underwear on Vin's bare chest, adjusting the two cakes so that the cherries just poked out over the lacy edging.
"There you go, Nate! That's what he ended up wearing, after strutting his stuff with Cherry on the dance floor. And it's how he came home in the taxi last night. You know, it's an honour to get an offering from her, especially for a first-timer! Our blushing Texan's got hidden talents, ain't you son?" Buck perched on the bed and, leaning over the sleeping sharpshooter, he playfully tickled the younger man's neck.
Vin could hear an indistinct voice chattering away, but the loud drum beat still echoed in his head, making it difficult to make out the words. He could smell Cherry's perfume and feel her hands on him still, and he wanted to taste the fruity, sweetness of her lip-gloss once again. If ever there was a time for action, it was now — and talking definitely didn't figure in that equation!
"Shut up, and kiss me!"
There was urgency in Vin's petulant-sounding and unexpected demand and, before Buck had a chance to move or react, the younger man sat bolt upright, grabbing hold of the astonished rogue and kissing him full on the mouth.
"Urgh!"
Buck leapt away from the bed like a scalded cat, spitting and spluttering as he dragged his shirt sleeve across his lips repeatedly.
The other three men burst out laughing and, startled by the sudden commotion, Vin's eyes immediately flew open and darted wildly around the room. "What's... goin' on? Chris... Where did she...? What happened...? Argh! M'head's killin' me! Ow!" the younger man groaned, covering his eyes with his hand as he carefully sank back on to the pillow.
"Here," — Nathan shook two pills into the sharpshooter's hand — "Tylenol. And you need to drink plenty of water."
Vin dragged himself into a sitting position, wincing as the movement caused another lancing pain to spear through his thumping head. The Texan agent wasn't sure why the four men were gathered around his bed and, as Chris passed him the cup, he gave his best friend a quizzical look.
"What's the deal, cowboy?"
"Don't you remember last night, Vin?" Chris countered.
"Yeah.... We... we went to... Inez's...?"
There was uncertainty in the blue eyes and, to hide his growing confusion, Vin took another sip of water, washing down the two pills. Why were his friends staring and smiling at him like that? He wriggled in the bed self-consciously and, as the quilt rippled and moved, he caught sight of the bra and the two muffins.
"Where did...? Why are...? How...?"
It was Vin's morning for unfinished questions and, as Buck returned to the bed, he waved the red business card in front of the sharpshooter's face. "You made quite an impression on Cherry last night. Not only did she give you three tokens of her respect, she left you a message on her telephone card," the ladies' man supplied, with a smug grin.
"Che... Cherry? Who's Cherry? What the hell ya gabblin' on about, Buck?" Vin growled angrily.
"Well, I think you've hit the jackpot this time, pard." Chris had edged closer to the ladies' man, and he also grinned broadly as he took the card from Buck and read the note on the back.
"I don't understand... Jackpot? Gimme that!"
"Not a chance, Tanner. We're all keen to hear this."
Chris made a show of clearing his throat, his hazel eyes brimming with laughter as he prepared to read. "This is for you, Vin. 'To the slinkiest Texan dancing partner a girl could have. Come on over and nibble my cherries some time. Just call me, stud muffin! Cherry, xx.'" Chris puckered his lips and mouthed a 'kiss, kiss', before holding out the card to the stunned-looking sharpshooter.
Vin looked in disbelief at the note, before his gaze wandered over the bra and muffins. "Yer winding me up, right?"
"Nope."
"What did I do, Chris?"
Before Chris could answer the younger man, Buck snatched one of the muffins and, baring his teeth, he delicately bit off the protruding top cherry. It was no mean feat, but the ladies' man managed to chew the glace fruit, whilst grinning insanely at the shocked expression on Vin's face.
"Yeah, I think that probably sums up your performance last night, cowboy. You were the star of the show — Stud Muffin!" Chris strung out the last two words, smiling broadly at the dismayed look on Vin's features.
The sharpshooter's cheeks turned beet-red and he hunched down in the bed, desperately tying to cover his embarrassment. "Aw, hell! Fine bunch of pards ya lot turned out t'be! Oh, jeez! I ain't never drinkin' liquor again."
The four older agents laughed as Vin let out an anguished groan and, catching the 'let's go' signal from Chris, the men then filed out of the bedroom.
Vin watched in silence as the door clicked shut behind his friends. Picking up the red bra he stroked his thumb across the silky material and, re-reading the provocative message on the card, he finally relaxed back in the bed. There was a small, secretive half-smile on his lips as his mind drifted back to the previous evening and, twisting round in the bed, he picked up his cell 'phone from the side table and began dialling a number.
"Hello. Is that Cherry?"
FINIS
I hope you enjoyed this fluffy little ficlet. If you did, then please let me know — feedback is greatly appreciated. Susie Burton, June 2004.
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