Setting: Yes, in the window!
Disclaimer: Characters not mine!
Thanks to damnedscientist for the beta. The fic is rough and that is totally my fault for dedicating a ridiculously short time to writing it (while watching the Olympics, I might add) - all mistakes are totally mine!
Word count: 826
Valuable Life Lessons (PG)
John had no idea how he had got into this… this sort of… he had no words for it. It reminded him somewhat of a hotel he had once slept in when visiting Tokyo during one of his astrophysics student exchanges in college. What was the name of it? Oh yeah, the Asakusa Capsule Hotel! What a nightmare that night had been…but why was he thinking of that now? “Concentrate John!” he urged himself. One thing for sure he did NOT want to get too close to D’Argo. This frelling tube thing was so small the four of them barely fitted into it. They were a veritable tangle of legs and arms and…other body parts! Whatever else he did, he was gonna make damn sure to keep away from D’Argo’s large bulk. Frell! He hadn’t come to LoMo to experience that!
A mighty sneeze mercifully distracted him from the very disturbing thought of nearby tenkas and..other Luxan appendages. Damn those feathers, why did those two have to wear so many of them? And what was in those drinks? Maybe it was the straw. He vaguely remembered being told once that when you drink through a straw, the alcohol goes straight to your head. He had thought it an urban myth but maybe there was some truth in it after all!
If only he could stop his head from spinning around and around like a pinwheel. As pleasurable as the yellow-eyed babe’s kissing of his neck was, the damn ridiculous feathers kept getting up his nose spoiling his concentration and dimming his body’s enthusiasm! He never thought he would have complained about a bit of kink but hell, what was wrong with some straightforward sexy fun without all these tickly accessories being involved? He was getting old…no doubt about that! And which one was this one? The blue or the green one? He opened his eyes and tried to establish what colour the “lady”, for want of a better word, who was now straddling him was…yeah green! Or was that greenish blue? Maybe the others on Moya hadn’t been so off the mark: his eyesight was not as good as he had protested it to be …his 20/20 peepers were playing tricks on him tonight!
Suddenly blue/green girl – had they ever even gotten their names? – stopped the kissing and thank god the tickling with it, only to produce a pair of what to John’s bleary eyes looked like fishnet tights. What the frell was she doing with a spare pair of tights in her pocket or purse or whatever? It’s not like they were useful! Not like Calvins anyway! Now, Calvins! Calvins could always come in handy, that was a well-known fact! John wracked his drink addled brain for an explanation to the spare fishnet tights mystery but came up empty. All he knew was that Feathered Kinky Chick was now twirling the long undergarments right in front of his nose and gesturing for him to take off his clothes. Idea to which, in all honesty, he was not so averse…but why was she now asking him to wear the frelling things? “Oh crap!” he thought with a last shred of clear headed insight “I bet I’m gonna regret this in the morning!”
He sat up, which caused him massive head-spinning and stomach-churning akin to a bona fide vertigo attack, and gamely decided to play along. “Whatever floats your boat, honey!” he managed to slur in the general direction of the colourful, feathery kinkoid before picking up one of the two stay ups. He failed a couple of times but finally found the right end and attempted to roll it up his left leg the way he had seen girlfriends do in the past on several occasions. He smiled to himself thinking of the sex appeal his blondes had always exuded while performing this most feminine of tasks, of the elegant ease of their movements while gently and slowly unrolling the sheer, delicate fabric up their shapely extended legs. “Easy peasy, John!” he thought to himself while chuckling inanely.
A quarter of an arn later, John Crichton, astronaut, doctor in astrophysics with almost a dozen letters after his name, finally collapsed on his back, exhausted: pushed hard but not defeated by the infernal task of fishnet tight wearing. It might have cost him a few hundred leg hairs and, by the look of things, the girl, who was no longer to be seen anywhere, but, hell, all that mattered was that he hadn’t let some hosiery get the better of him. With a final super-human effort, he lifted his head and looked down. With a self-satisfied smirk and almost totally crossed eyes distorting his normally reasonably handsome face he muttered: “John Crichton, you sexy beast!” and passed out.
The dual moral of the story is: putting on tights really isn’t as easy as women make it look and sometimes self-praise is all you’ve got to rely on!