#neckhole wrestling

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie was taking off his shirt when Steve and Nancy walked into the RV. They both froze at the sight as he used a wash cloth to wipe himself down.

"Uh, do you want some privacy?" Steve asked.

"Nah. You missed the rest of the show when I had changed my underwear, and I was doing this," Eddie said. "I'm definitely going to need a real shower, though."

"There was a lock on the door that you could have used. The kids could have walked in," Nancy said as she glanced at his pale chest and then looked at his tattoos. "Cool tattoos."

"Thanks, do you guys have any?" Eddie asked with a wicked grin, and Nancy giggled. "What am I saying?. . .Of course, I was very surprised that you had guns in your bedroom, so, who knows? Maybe you do?"

"Well, I don't have one," Nancy grinned and then looked at Steve.

"Steve Harrington has a tattoo! Goddamn!" Eddie laughed as he put on his shirt. "Okay. . .I'm pretty sure that this is where the neckhole was. . . I can't fucking see!"

"That's because you're trying to put your head through the sleeve, man," Steve said. "Calm down."

Steve helped him take off the shirt and then put it on the right way. Steve smoothed down Eddie's hair, smiling softly as the other man blushed. Steve laughed.

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Usually, I'm trying to get gorgeous people out of their clothes, not into them," Steve grinned, and Eddie nearly choked on his saliva.

"Okay, somewhere back there when you were driving so radically, I must have hit my head because tattoo having Steve Harrington just called me gorgeous," Eddie said.

"He also implied that he wanted to get you out of your clothes," Nancy laughed.

Eddie blushed and looked away before slipping on the bullet belt Erica got for him. He put his leather jacket on and then the green protective vest. He spread his arms wide, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What do you think? Hot, right?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, you would hotter with it zipped up," Steve said.

"Well, then my audience wouldn't see my Hellfire shirt," he said.

"Don't be an idiot. Your audience members are a bunch of interdimensional bats," Nancy scoffed. "And you're not advertising Hellfire to them."

"Why not? We could use some mascots," Eddie said.

"Not mascots that ate parts of my flesh, Eddie," Steve scowled.

"Well, it's not their fault. They were hungry, and you were looking appetizing," Eddie said, flashing his dimples.

"Zip up your jacket, Eddie," Nancy said. "It would be pointless to have the protective gear if you left it unzipped."

"I'll zip it up when the time comes," Eddie scoffed.

"Why do I feel like you're going to forget?" Nancy asked.

"Because he is," Steve said, his hands on his hips.

"Listen, I've seen Dustin cry before, and I am not going to see it again," Nancy snapped.

"Fine."

Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes before zipping up the leather jacket as well as the vest. Nancy smiled and turned to exit the RV. Eddie grinned and unzipped them. She froze at the door.

"Steve, did he just unzip his jackets?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, he fucking did," Steve said.

"Steve. . .pin him to the couch," Nancy said whirling around.

Steve and Nancy moved closer to him while he backed away, his hands up.

"Look, guys, we can talk about this," Eddie said.

"Hm, clearly we can't," Nancy said.

Steve backed him all the back to the couch. He pushed him back onto it and then straddled his waist. Nancy sat next to Eddie's head and pinned his hands to her lap. Steve grabbed his jackets and zipped them both up to his neck.

"Don't you unzip it again, we mean it," Steve said.

Of course, Dustin chose the wrong time to come in.

"What are you going to do to me if I do? Tie me up and spank me?" Eddie asked.

"What are you guys doing to my dungeon master?" Dustin asked.

Nancy and Steve's head snapped up to look at him while Eddie struggled not to laugh.

"It's alright, sweetheart, we're just having some daddies and mummy time. We're wrestling, that's all," Eddie said.

"You know what? I don't need water," Dustin said. "I'll just die of dehydration."

Dustin laughed weakly before leaving the RV.

"Thank God, I didn't have to deal with that childhood trauma," Eddie laughed.

"Eddie, are you going to zip up your fucking jacket or not?" Steve asked.

"Hm, convince me, big boy," Eddie said, and this time, it was Steve who blushed.

"Seriously, stop flirting with Steve and be serious," Nancy said.

"What? I'm not flirting with Steve," Eddie scoffed.

"Yes, you are," Steve said.

"No, I am not," Eddie said.

"Yes, you are."

"I think I would know if I was flirting with a guy!"

"Well, I guess you don't because you were definitely flirting with me!"

"I like women! I might have only had sex with two women, but I like 'em!"

"You can like men and women!"

"You can?"

"Yes! I do!"

"Well, hell of a time to discover that about yourself when you just discovered there's another dimension living under your hometown!" Eddie exclaimed. "Jesus H Christ!"

Steve sat back, his ass now resting on Eddie's crotch. Eddie groaned.

"You really didn't know?" Steve asked.

"Nope!" Eddie exclaimed.

"I thought with the hanky in the back pocket. . ." Steve trailed off.

"Is that code gay people use?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, that explains the time in the record store and that time in the library," Eddie said.

"I guess you never fooled around with any of your guy friends then?" Steve asked.

"Well, no, have you?" Eddie asked.

"Fooled around with your guy friends? No. I have fooled around with a couple of my teammates," Steve said.

"Damn, so I could have figured this out a long time ago if I had just joined a sports game?" Eddie asked.

"You're spending too much time with Mike. It's just sports," Nancy said softly and then paused. "It really is a shitty time to be figuring this all out."

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "So, now what?"

"I don't know, are you going to be a good boy for us and keep it zippered closed?" Nancy asked.

"Hm, I don't know," Eddie grinned.

"Come on, be a good boy and suck it up," Steve said.

"What's in it for me?" Eddie asked.

"Alright, enough of this, break off the zipper," Nancy said.

Steve furrowed his brows as he focused on breaking off the zippers that were at his neck.

"I can't get them off!" Steve exclaimed.

It was at that moment that Max and Lucas chose to enter the RV.

"Okay, Dustin said that something nefarious was going on - ," Max started to say.

"Use your teeth!" Nancy exclaimed, not realizing that they were in here.

Steve bent down, getting really close to his neck as he worked on the zipper.

" - but we didn't believe him," Lucas finished.

"Okay, big boy, go ahead and leave a hickey, let everyone know that I belong to both of you. I am totally and completely your bitch!" Eddie said loudly, having heard Max and Lucas.

"Jesus," Max said. "Is now really the time to have a threesome?"

Steve and Nancy's heads snapped up again.

"I swear this isn't what it looks like," Nancy said.

"So, is this a one-time thing, or are you two planning on dating Eddie?" Max asked.

"Someone can't date two people at the same time. . .can they?" Lucas said

"They can," Steve said, sitting up. "I mean, if all people are aware and comfortable with it. It's just adding another person to the relationship. I now firmly believe that people can love more than one person at a time. The fact that people have more than one child is proof of that and other family members. Although, it might not be for everyone, which is okay as long as you're not trying to stop other people from doing it."

Max pulled Lucas off to the side and started whispering with him. They heard El's name being brought up, and then Max was quickly pushing Lucas out of the RV.

"Okay, I think we may have started something, and we haven't actually started anything!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Okay, how about this? Steve shows you his tattoo, and you keep the jackets zipped up. . .neck and all," Nancy said.

"Okay, does Steve get a say in whether he wants to show Eddie his ass or not?" Steve asked.

"Ooh, it's on his ass? I'll be a good boy!" Eddie exclaimed. "I feel like I would need more than that, though. . .like a date with both of you since the idea has been brought up so many times."

"Well, Nancy's dating Jonathan, so I don't know how he would feel about that," Steve said.

"Well, actually, we broke up, and he's dating someone else," Nancy said as she leaned closer to Steve.

"Really?" Steve grinned as he leaned in closer to Nancy, right over Eddie's head.

"Really."

Just as Nancy was about to brush her lips with Steve’s, the door to the RV opened, and Robin entered.

"Why have the children been telling me not to - oh!" Robin exclaimed.

"Come on, Buckley! They were just about to kiss!" Eddie yelled.

"I think you're a little too invested in their relationship, Munson," Robin said.

"I'm a part of it now, sweetheart," Eddie smirked.

"We haven't agreed to the date yet, Eddie," Nancy smirked.

"You will if you want to save my pretty neck," Eddie said.

"Are you sure you didn't plan all of this?" Nancy asked.

"No, I did not plan on having a sexuality crisis in the middle of the end of the world. I swear," Eddie said. "I'm a one crisis at a time kind-of guy, or I try to be. Life says otherwise."

"Well, I'm just going to grab the kids some water. You do know there's a lock on the door, right?" Robin asked.

"Oh, Nancy knows," Eddie cackled.

Nancy blushed, having forgotten to lock the door. Robin laughed as she grabbed some water and went outside.

"So, date?"

"Yes."

After the world was saved, Eddie's name was cleared, and Vecna was an extra crispy dead bitch, Eddie found himself lying in a hospital bed extremely grateful to his new partners that they were so determined to help him out. He was pretty sure that he would have been worse off or dead without them.

"Well, it helps that you mean so much to Dustin and the other kids," Nancy said. "They all mean so much to us."

"Well, somehow, they manage to make it both easy and hard to care about them. They're a conundrum," Eddie said.

"We couldn't let you die over something so stupid. You mean a lot to us too, now," Steve said.

"Yeah, well. . .," Eddie said, blushing as they took his hands.

"And you risked your life to help us too," Nancy said.

"At what cost, though? I had to see Dustin cry over me, and I never want to see that shit again. It broke my fucking heart," Eddie said.

"Yeah, I remember him crying at the Snowball a couple of years ago because the girls. . .well, they were assholes. It was a shame, too, because he looked so cute with his bow tie and his hair. He did it just like Steve’s," Nancy gushed.

"And Nancy here stood up and asked him for a dance, knowing that the girls would get jealous once they saw him dancing with an older woman," Steve said. "And they rubbed it in their faces."

"So, mama, daddy, you got any pictures of our kid at the Snowball?" Eddie asked with a teasin grin.

"Not on me," they said, not realizing that Eddie was messing with them.

He laughed as he listened to them talk about the kids. Nancy went on about Mike, then about Max as if they were siblings. Steve went on to talk about Lucas, proud that he still wanted to stick with basketball and Hellfire. They were proud of all of them, and Eddie knew that the kids wouldn't have gotten through any of it without the older teenagers of the party having their back. Nor would they be alive if Joyce and Hopper hadn't done what they had needed to do on many occasions. Somehow, this crazy, complicated family made it work, and somehow, they always managed to find a way back to each other.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Neckhole Wrestling

The fourth series reads as follows:

Apple Balancing ... Potential ... The Newbies ... The Dessert ... Dinosaurs and Cannibalism ... Sassy Sprinklepants ... The Secret Vault of Mudlerness ... Taco Night ...

To catch up: First series … Second series ...  Third series

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

The world was calm for a beautifully short time; Mulder breathing a little easier every day Doggett and Harrison walked through the door. They were quick learners, arguing amicably, which was unheard of for new partners. Mulder listened to them, interjected often, watched them work through things, and in the end, began to get that feeling in his stomach.

Going home one night, late in August, and kissing Scully, he took a deep breath of baby shampoo and Desitin before, “well, it’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“The apprentices are catching on.”

After handing Will to Mulder, she folded her arms, giving him a scrutinizing look that would have crippled lesser men than he, “and how are you feeling about that?”

“I thought about that on the way home.” Walking past her and heading to the kitchen, son against his shoulder, “and I have discovered that, while unnerved and slightly sad, I realized I was coming home to you and smallness here and I was much less unnerved and sad than I ever would have thought possible.”

She absorbed this new development in Mulder’s core being in stride, “conclusion?”

“We should go out to dinner, introduce the kid to our first date Mexican place, and discuss how much money we need to open that donut shop of ours.”

Scully, deciding that she would just have to wait this out, nodded, “think he’s ready for salsa yet?”

“Sure, as long as you change the diapers for the next three days.”

“Think we can go to the bookstore?”

“As long as you don’t live out your life-long fantasy of feeding our son salsa before the age of 10.”

She kissed him, “give me ten minutes to get ready.”

Corky had hung a sign explaining the bookstore’s closure to a suitably disappointed Mulder and Scully, “closed for flu and subsequent Indiana Jones marathon. Back on Wednesday. Peace.”

“Do you think that we could open our bakery next door? I think I would like to have him as a neighbor.”

Mulder looked over at her, hiking Will’s carrier back up, “works for me.” Turning her towards Mexican with a nudge to her side, “but right now, I’m starving. Move it.”

Midway between tortilla #3 and margarita #1, Scully gave Mulder a look, her eyes just beginning to swim a poor doggy paddle through waist-high cheap tequila, “are you really ready to leave the FBI?”

Sipping his second glass of designated driver ice tea, Mulder tilted at her, head assuming his patent ‘I am feeling mellow enough to answer your question quite honestly, no matter how much it might unnerve you’ 36-degree angle, “I think that … I want to come home to you … and Will … and not wonder if I’m being followed in the process.”

“We can’t open a donut shop.”

A smile twitched the corner of his mouth, amused she hadn’t lost her contractions yet, “we can do whatever we want. What’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to do but didn’t have the money or the education or the … the,” waving his hands at her, “the courage to do?”

There was enough tequila in her system to answer honestly, “I have always wanted, don’t laugh, to be an astronaut.”

Mulder sat back, dumbfounded, “shit. You would pick the one thing I can’t afford to give you.”

She laughed, picking her fork back up, aiming the tines in his direction, “I think that you should finish out the year, and then, we will look into finding a nice, little house with an office where you can write sci-fi adventure novels about our travels and I can point out all the inaccuracies about your memories of our travels and then we will take road trips every summer and cozy up on the couch every winter.”

“And go to Babar?”

“We will buy a whole beach’s worth of Babar’s so each family can have one and we can all visit together. We’ll be the terrors of Kill Devil Hill.”

Mulder grinned, filing away the astronaut wish as well as a mental note to see how much that little vacant storefront on the other side of Corky’s bookstore was going for.

&&&&&&&&&&

Sooner rather than later, they were home; Will in his crib, fast asleep, full of oatmeal and milk (not salsa) while Scully was sitting in Mulder’s lap on the couch, “Mulder, I believe I am still under the influence of the margarita.”

His hands on her hips, his sober mind pinpoint focused on her breasts eight inches from his face, “I believe you are, too.”

“I also think that you are wearing too many clothes.”

“I believe you are, too.”

In a flurry of neckhole wresting, Scully getting stuck twice and needing rescuing, they were eventually naked, Scully sliding slowly down on him while he continued to hold her upright, “you know what else I want?”

“I can imagine exactly what you want right now.”

As she slowly began moving up and off him, slipping back down, slightly erratic rhythm made up for with clenching muscles and a tongue that made his head spin, “we talked about it before, I think, but I want another baby. I want four or five more, actually, but I’ll settle for making just one right now.” Wigging herself even further onto him, both groaned in unison, “can we do that, Mulder? Can we make another one?”

Words were difficult but the idea was sound as he told her in broken breaths, “I can’t … guarantee … but I am always … willing … to try.”

Half-drunk hand floating down to her clit, sweet strawberry breath against his neck, breast in his hand while the other grabbed her ass, she rode him, couch springs squeaking, slippery sweat slide of legs and chest. Coming faster and harder than both expected, instead of crying out, she had the forethought, hazy as it was, to bury her filthy words in a cushion instead of echoing them off the walls.

It was the dirty words and crystalline fantasies she mumbled as she fucked him that brought him over the edge right behind her, September heat wave having nothing on the joined pair of them moving their world on nine square feet of leather real estate.

The aftermath made him smile, an attack of the giggles rolling her body as she still held him hostage. He would give her the universe and everything in it just to hear that laugh, her lurching chest against him, her arms around his neck. He laughed with her, no idea why but when he laughed, she jerked and shimmied, finally, getting out, between inhales, “when you laugh, you twitch and things move.”

He laughed again and she popped upright, off him in an instant, still giggling, “don’t. Your twitches and my twitches don’t match.”

Oh, good God, he loved her more ever second of every day.

&&&&&&&&&&

They didn’t mention that night again, moving drunken wishes and unfulfilled fantasies to the backburner. Mulder stayed in DC more, letting Doggett and Harrison take cases on their own, a phone call away but still, as Scully whispered to herself in disbelief, at home with her and Will.

At home with her and Will and, from what the little drugstore stick told her, the latest addition to the Scully-Mulder household.

The news of which she happily surprised him with, in the most Mulder way she could possibly think of …

[badacts]

fathers and children

“Daddy.”

Bruce is so sleep-deprived he almost falls back into unconsciousness between the voice and the hand tugging at his shirtsleeve. “Wussit?”

“Daddy,” the voice says again tearfully, “Hadda bad dream.”

“Oh no buddy,” Bruce mumbles, hooking an arm around and pulling the little body up on the mattress beside him. It snuggles into him, warm and sniffling. Actually, maybe a little too warm. “Feeling sick?”

Tim’s head shakes a no into Bruce’s shoulder. He’s got his comfort blanket, referred household-wide as ‘Blankie’, tight in his fist. “I sleep here.”

“That’s okay,” Bruce replies, tucking him under the sheets without dislodging him. It’s the same feeling of impossible tenderness every time, even when he’s most of the way asleep and Tim is distressingly sticky.

He likely falls back to sleep before Tim does, and wakes about what feels like five minutes later to, “Dad. Bruce, wake up.”

The only thing that stops him from sitting straight up is Tim’s weight at his side. “Dick?”

“I think Jason’s upset,” Dick murmurs, rubbing at his eye with a curled fist.

Bruce exhales, and then slips Tim’s fast-asleep body over so he can get out of bed. “Hop in chum. Thanks for getting me.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, scrambling under the blankets and curling around Tim, cooing at him sleepily. Tim snores in response.

Dick’s bedroom door is thrown open across the hall from Bruce’s, but the one next door is firmly closed still. Bruce pauses for a second outside and hears sniffling, and a single low sob.

He pushes the door open and slips inside. “Jaybird?”

He’s answered by abrupt quiet. Sighing silently, he perches his weight on the edge of the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”

The lump in the blankets moves enough to reveal a red-rimmed eye. “No.”

“Okay,” Bruce replies peaceably. “Want to lie back down?”

His head shakes. At six, Jason is as stubborn as they come. He makes intractable Dick look positively agreeable by comparison.

“Can I lie down then?” Bruce asks. “Dick and Tim stole my bed and I’m tired.”

Jason takes a moment to consider this. “Okay. I’m fine though.”

Bruce slides across to the side of the bed, rueing Alfred’s decision that the kids’ rooms should have single beds until they physically required something larger. The psychology of it is sound, but when Bruce lies back his feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. It’s lucky Jason is small for his age.

Once he’s stretched on his back, there’s a scratch of moving blankets, and then a heavy little head drops onto his shoulder. Jay doesn’t ask for comfort, not yet, but he’s passable at accepting it when offered. It’s a work in progress. He’s still shivering a little, wracked by his night terrors in a way little Tim can’t quite be - they’re memories, not products over a too-clever overactive brain - but he settles quicker every time. Bruce toys with his hair.

Jason falls asleep after a little while, crashing hard after the swell of emotions. Bruce, still wide awake after the insistence of Dick’s voice from before, is contemplating his future back pain when he sees movement in Jason’s doorway where he left the door open.

It’s dark, and she’s silent. but it’s easy enough to recognise Cass and the movement of a nightgown. She stays so still in the doorway that it’s not quite right in a twisting way in Bruce’s belly, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, because no one ever tells you that your own kids can freak you out.

“Cassie?” he whispers, unwilling to wake Jason again so soon.

It’s then that the smell hits him.

His whole life has inured him to any number of bad smells. It’s still unpleasant to deal with those things in his own home. At least it’s just vomit, though.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hurriedly but gently bundling Jason up and moving him off of his chest. Cass, now sure that he’s awake, lifts her arms in a silent request to be picked up.

“Dad,” she mumbles as he hefts her up. Her chin is marked with sick, and there’s thin trails of it down her front. “Sick.”

“I see that,” Bruce replies, more for her to hear his voice than anything else. Her language skills are still significantly delayed compared to Jason’s, though she’s nine months older, and he’s become used to narrating things to her to help her vocabulary increase. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He whisks her into his own ensuite, stopping briefly to check Tim and Dick are still sleeping soundly on the way. He waits to turn on the bathroom light until the door is closed, then settles Cass on the edge of the sink. Her hand catches in his shirt, keeping him close.

“Does your stomach hurt?” he asks from a crouch in front of her, resting a hand on her forehead. She doesn’t feel warm to the touch, and her eyes are as bright and watchful as ever.

She signs better at him, and then begins trying to wrestle her nightgown off. Bruce sweeps it over her head and uses a clean patch to wipe her face. The struggle is that, as soon as he takes over, her hands go back to clutching at him. Rather than wrestling with her - a battle he knows he would lose - he takes off the cotton shirt he’s wearing and transfers it directly onto her, inside-out and as big as a tent on her. She’s in danger of slipping out through the neckhole, so he wraps it around her and scoops her up.

“Back to bed, wee one,” he murmurs to her, but she slaps at him at Jason’s door with a mostly-free arm, pointing imperiously at her brother’s door.

The two of them are closest in age and seem sometimes like a pair of twins, particularly with Cass’s self-cut short-and-ragged hairstyle (Alfred had confiscated the plastic safety scissors after that, but neither of them have had the mental fortitude to take a wailing, squirming seven year old to the hated hairdresser to tidy it up) and Jason’s overgrown mop. It’s unsurprising that Cass crawls onto Jason’s mattress and flops stomach-down over his feet. It’s a position Bruce has found the pair of them in before during many late-night checks.

Jason snuffles and mumbles something incomprehensible, but doesn’t wake. Cass lets out a contented sigh, tucking the shirt’s hem in like a blanket around her, and closes her eyes.

That’s four children settled. Bruce, accepting the idea that he’ll likely have to sleep on the tufted bench at the foot of his own bed to avoid disturbing a sleeping three- and eleven-year-old, slips through the door of the nursery and peers into the cradle under the window.

Damian blinks up at him, fully awake but silent. His eyes are enormous in his nut-brown face, and his expression seems vaguely disapproving. Bruce is more than aware that it’s a hereditary trait. He’s not crying though, so clearly not hungry or wet - he doesn’t hesitate to make his discomforts known. Just awake.

Bruce lowers the side of the crib and kneels down, resting his elbows on the mattress so his face is on the same level as the baby. Damian reaches out to him with clumsy fingers. Bruce winces at the feeling of nails on his scruffy face - he’s in need of a trim.

“What are you doing awake?” Bruce asks in a low murmur, and yet again he’s warm to his core. It doesn’t matter that he has a board meeting tomorrow, that he didn’t get in till 1AM and that his body hurts with new bruises and remembered injuries, or that the carpet under his knees isn’t really thick enough for him to kneel on it. He’s just warm.

*

Alfred is accustomed to waking early. It gives him time to prepare for the young masters and mistress when they wake in turn. It’s a rare morning when one of them - particularly the youngest - sleeps past seven.

This means that when seven-thirty rolls around without a peep from upstairs, Alfred goes to investigate.

He finds Masters Dick and Timothy asleep in their father’s bed, Dick sprawled on his back and snoring with Tim pillowed on his abdomen. Master Bruce’s bathroom is empty besides a discarded nightshirt left in the bath, haphazardly rinsed.

Master Jason is fast asleep in his own bed, curled like a pillbug with only his hair visible above the blankets. Cassandra, dressed in her father’s shirt which could envelope her four times over, is asleep at the foot of the bed, one of her feet threatening to encroach on Jason’s behind.

The nursery door at the end of the hall is open, sun pouring through the east-facing window and onto the hall floor. In the cot, young Master Damian is burbling quietly to himself, awake but apparently peaceful. The reason for this becomes clear when Alfred steps inside the room - Master Bruce seems to be kneeling beside the cot, forearms crossed on the mattress and head resting on top of them. He appears to be firmly asleep, despite the tiny hand prodding at his loose fingers.

“Good morning, lad,” Alfred murmurs to the baby, sweeping him into his arms. Bruce twitches at the movement, but stills under Alfred’s palm on his shoulder. “Off the floor, Master Bruce. That cannot be good for your joints.”

“Hrn,” Bruce says, blinking into the light from the window. He grunts as he levers himself up, rubbing at his face in precisely the same way he did when he was Tim or Jason’s age. In such a mountain of a man, let alone one precisely as scarred and dangerous as Alfred’s boy has grown into, it’s awfully endearing.

“Into the shower with you,” Alfred recommends. “Then breakfast. I shall rally the troops.”

By the looks of their night, he suspects they’ll be foul at being woken, and likely considerably more so by three this afternoon. Damian will shriek over an upset stomach after his morning bottle, and Timothy will refuse to nap despite being exhausted, and Dick will drag his feet over going to school while Jason cries at leaving the house despite desperately wanting to go to school. Cassandra will be quieter than usual, and terribly willful for anyone besides her father. And Bruce will likely be forgetful and shorter than usual at work, and return home tonight exhausted but determined to venture out onto the streets again.

Alfred wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[duhragonball]

Costume Reference

I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but I’m trying to write, and I just looked up “unitard” for the third or fourth time, so I figure I should just document these findings so I don’t keep repeating the same process. 

Tights are worn from the waist to the toes.  Basically the bottom half of Vegeta’s Buu-saga attire, assuming the blue fabric goes all the way over his feet.

I’m pretty sure leggings are like tights, except they leave the feet exposed, but the term may also apply to clothing that covers the legs but not the hips, like Zarbon’s thigh-high stockings.  Actually, I’d probably just call them stockings and leave it there, so I’m not sure “leggings” needs to cover both of these things. 

A unitard is a skin-tight one-piece garment that covers the whole body from the neck down, except for the hands and feet.  In other words, basically Vegeta’s classic costume without the battle vest, shoes, and gloves.

By contrast, a leotard leaves the legs exposed, and maybe the arms as well.   An example of this would be Namole, the guy Frieza ordered to summon the Ginyu Force to Namek.

A bodysuit covers the same body parts as a leotard, but the difference lies in how you put one on.  You pull a bodysuit over your head and fasten it at the crotch.  With a leotard, you put your feet through the neckhole, and I don’t think there is a fastener with those.  But this would explain why leotards have wider openings at the top.  A turtleneck leotard wouldn’t make a lot of sense, unless you had the super-stretchy fabric used by Frieza’s soldiers.  I would imagine that for the purposes of sci/fi fantasy, you could use “leotard” and “bodysuit” interchangeably, and assume it’s all made of some space-age material that magically slips right on and fits perfectly. 

Anyway, the bunny outfit Bulma wore in the first arc of Dragon Ball was probably a bodysuit rather than a leotard, but I’m not posting a picture of it because it shows up on the #dragon ball tag about six times a day already. 

A wrestling singlet is sleeveless, and covers the legs to about halfway down the thighs.  Chilled wore something like this in “Episode of Bardock”.

I’m pretty sure singlets aren’t supposed to have sleeves like Chilled’s costume, but it’d probably be easier to call it a “sleeved singlet” than to figure out some other term.  A “high-cut” singlet exposes the middle of the chest, while a “low-cut” goes all the way down to the belly, as with Chilled.  

A body stocking apparently covers the same body parts as a unitard, but the term seems to be reserved for lingerie or underwear.  So imagine Vegeta’s blue suit if it was made out of see-through lace.  Someone’s probably already drawn that, but I’m not going to track that down.  I wasted enough time figuring out how to spell “Namole”. 

A speedsuit is like a leotard, only it seems to cover the legs down to the upper thigh, kind of like the uniform Krillin wore when he fought Frieza, or Recoome’s costume.

The real-life speedsuits I’ve seen on the internet don’t seem to have sleeves, but this probably varies by design. 

The terms jumpsuit, flight suit, coverall, and boilersuit all seem to refer to the same kind of loose fitting, full-body, one-piece garment, although I’m sure there may be distinctions I’m not looking for at the moment.   Future Bulma wore something along these lines in DBZ.  I couldn’t find a full body shot of her, but you can just look up any of the hosts on MST3K.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

The Onesie

The fourth series reads as follows:

Apple Balancing ... Potential ... The Newbies ... The Dessert ... Dinosaurs and Cannibalism ... Sassy Sprinklepants ... The Secret Vault of Mudlerness ... Taco Night ... Neckhole Wrestling

To catch up: First series … Second series ...  Third series

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

It was a quiet Thursday, a peaceful Thursday during which Scully decided to have her fun. She’d gotten her two-lined, pink, positive ‘so you’re having a baby, now what?’ plastic perfection results an hour earlier and the plan was set.

Hell, it wasn’t so much a plan as a onesie she needed to go find and had six hours with which to purchase and, oh yes, the baby store did not disappoint. One onesie purchased, she grocery shopped, then headed home, getting Will all spiffy in his new outfit so she could spring her surprise when Mulder got home.

He rolled in about 5:30pm, happy in the idea that, while there was no Thursday card party, he’d get to have his own tiny party of three, complete with spitting up baby, slightly tired Scully, possibly garlic breadsticks and ranch-drenched salad (she’d converted him to the point where he did not internally gag at the thought of salad so score one for Scully).

“What in the world is wrong with you today?”

Scully, who kept losing the fight with her face, grinning unexpectedly every few minutes, shook her head at him, “nothing a little chocolate cake couldn’t cure.”

She was weird.

He told her so.

She smiled again.

He gave up and grinned back as he asked, “what would you like for dinner? I was having fairly good fantasies about breadsticks and salad on my way home.”

Honestly not caring, “works for me.”

“Wysinski’s Pizza Palace or John’s Slices and Sticks?”

She’d purposely gotten Will’s lunch on his shirt and handing him to Mulder, “John’s sounds good. Why don’t you go change his shirt and I’ll order.”

“Ranch, please.”

Fiddling with the phone, she snuck up, standing silent in the doorway to watch Mulder with his large hands, flip and flop their 14-pound son around like he weighed approximately four ounces. Then all movement stopped.

She watched the back of Mulder’s head tilt one way, then the other, then back to first position. Holding Will up at eye-level, he brought the boy closer, then moved him about a foot away. Scully could almost see the squint on Mulder’s face and, biting her tongue to keep from laughing, she instead watched Will giggle when he caught her eye, flailing tiny fists around in ‘I see my mama!’ glee.

Without turning around, Mulder asked Will, “is your mother behind us?”

Will responded with a raspberry.

“I see.” Mulder continued to regard his son, “and it’s pretty safe to assume you did not drive to the store yourself today to buy this particular piece of clothing, yes?”

Wet fist to Mulder’s cheek.

“Okay. Well, then, I guess I should just ask, given I believe you will tell me the truth, if you are indeed going to be a big brother or if this is some randomly cruel joke you have decided to play on your father without your mother’s consent?”

Will wiggled ecstatically, throwing another gummy grin in Scully’s direction before coming in fast to gnaw on the end of Mulder’s nose.

“I will take that as a ‘no, this is not a cruel joke.’”

Will squeezed Mulder’s face with pudgy hands.

Mulder’s voice rose a notch, “I know you’re back there so you might as well just come in and explain yourself, young lady.”

Pushing gently off the doorway she’d been leaning on, “I didn’t think there was much to explain.”

Turning, Mulder held up Will in her direction, so she could clearly see the onesie stating ‘big brother’ on it, “you will explain how you waited a whole half-day to tell me this little tidbit.” His smile lit up the room, “and it better have only been half a day because if you kept this to yourself any longer than that, we’d be having words.”

“8:15 this morning, after you left. I had my suspicions, of course,” moving to stand in front of him, taking the tiny, wriggling, bearer of beautiful news, in her arms, “but I didn’t want to tell you anything until I knew for sure.”

Long kiss to her forehead, then her mouth, “you are forgiven for 9 hours of indiscriminate lying, and what? Two weeks of secrets? One week? Three weeks?” He looked at her, eyebrows up, “how long before suspicion turns into peeing on a stick?”

“About two weeks.”

Forgetting pizza, clean shirts, and current squirming baby, he squished her in a hug, “it was that Mexican night on the couch, wasn’t it?”

Chuckling as she pulled back a little to give her son some breathing space, “I think it was. Then or the next morning, when you decided the lean me over the kitchen table.”

For the love of Pete, he looked proud, “nice.”

“Oh, my, God, you are such a Mulder.”

His own chuckle escaped, “so are you now, in theory, and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy either encounter.”

She could only shrug, half-smile hidden by Will’s head, “new plan. You order, I feed little monster here and then, maybe, after he falls asleep, we can re-enact a few things.”

“Do I get to lick ranch off of you?”

“I was thinking more about the chocolate pudding I made yesterday, but, I mean, to each their own.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The clock has just turned over to 10 when Mulder sat back, pudding spread from cheek to cheek, licking his lips, “that is possibly the most erotically odd flavor combination in the world. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat pudding again in the company of anyone but you.”

Splayed in front of him, towel under her ass to catch pudding run-off, she gave him a slack-jawed smile, “you should come up here and let me taste it.”

Another few minutes later, Scully pulled back a little, “I have a suggestion.”

Licking her collarbone because it was what he could reach at the moment, “yes?”

“Let me go pee and shower quick, then I come back and give you a taste of your own medicine.”

He bobbed back up to attention in seconds, “can I come shower with you?”

“You can, but you’re just going to need another one by the time I’m done.”

Leaving a pudding ring around her nipple, “three showers in one day never killed a guy.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Third shower done by 11, Mulder snuggled up behind Scully, sleepy and dry, pudding-free and warm, “two kids, Scully. We’re going to have two kids. Two kids in diapers, two kids demanding food, two college tuitions, two sets of new shoes every six months … two rugrat Mulder-Scully’s to argue with over clean socks and dirty underwear.”

“Who said we’re stopping at two?”

He hugged her tightly to his chest, a happy squiggle vibrating up his spine, “are we going to go for a full baseball team?”

“Might as well. We seem to be pretty good at it.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Multiplication

The fourth series reads as follows:

Apple Balancing ... Potential ... The Newbies ... The Dessert ... Dinosaurs and Cannibalism ... Sassy Sprinklepants ... The Secret Vault of Mudlerness ... Taco Night ... Neckhole Wrestling ... The Onesie

To catch up: First series … Second series ...  Third series

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

“Holy … shit …”

Scully was simply silent.

“Holy … shit …”

Scully drew a deep breath.

“Holy … shit …”

“Would you stop saying that?”

Mulder looked from the monitor to Scully and back to the monitor, fingers nervously touching the screen, then pulling back quickly, wondering if touching the image would make it disappear, “but … there’s two.”

Having regained her faculties, she bumped shoulders with him, losing the connection to her belly but not minding, given she had already captured the picture, “maybe that’s why I’m more vomit-y than with Will.”

He didn’t even call her on the use of the word vomit-y, “How did you not see the first time we did this?”

“All I can think of is one was hiding behind the other and besides, they aren’t that big. Lima Bean 2 may have looked like an air bubble.”

Squinting at her in wonder, “what will you give me to get me to promise never to tell one of our children that for the first two months of their life, you thought they were a fart bubble?”

Wiping the goo off her belly, sliding her shirt back down, “it’ll give them character. I’m fine with it.”

“You’re getting a shirt.”

As she stood up, “I’ll wear it with pride but first,” already moving down the hall, “I’m going to throw up.”

&&&&&&&&&

True to his word, he had a shirt for her which read, “I thought my baby was a fart bubble,” by the time he came home from work the next day but Scully chose not to wear it trick-or-treating, “I don’t want to go declaring things until I’m further along.”

“I know but I think it will go under your sweater just fine.”

Seeing the shine in his eyes and his ‘you’re gonna cave’ grin, she shook her head and pulled sweater off, leaving exposed slightly not so flat belly, “I am going to be huge by the end of May.” She stopped suddenly, “what if they have the same birthday as Will?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy who could do a spell or at least cast a charm that would totally make that happen.”

Oh my God, she honestly thought she might know the guy he was talking about, and with a serious notionative thought that would have scared the bejeesus out of her a few years early, she actually debated on whether to have Mulder get him on the phone.

Sometimes she stopped and wondered what in the world had happened to her straight and narrow life.

He saw first the debate and reached for his pocket, phone within inches, number already floating through the slag to the surface of his consistently cluttered mind, but then he noticed the two seconds of sheer doubt in the entire world and he stopped, reaching into his other pocket instead, to produce a red M&M. Picking off lint, he held it out to her, “this is for you so you remember why you like me.”

Scully ate it from his fingertips, “momentary lapse of reason. It’s gone now.”

Trick-or-treating went well. Scully, Mulder, Dave, and Skinner traveled with the pack while the other parents stayed to pass out candy at Maggie’s. Will pulled in a good haul simply because the alien costume Mulder had made was incredibly adorable, with its green fuzzy material and it hood with giant eyes. Mulder had demanded gray but Scully won, telling him no one would know what he was if the costume was gray.

As a reward for winning, she agreed to share a quarter of her son’s take with his father, “a quarter? What the hell?”

Whispering to him, “three mouths to feed. I get three-quarters.”

He contemplated, then conceded, following with a cocked head, “we’ll have to do things to burn off the sugar high, won’t we?”

“Indeed we will.”

Skinner simply shook his head at the whispering and the giggling of his agents trailing behind, “keep up with the rest of the class, kids. I don’t want you getting lost back there.”

Taking Scully’s hand, pushing the stroller with the other, “come on. Dad doesn’t want us to get lost.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Mulder walked off the elevator the following morning, immediately bombarded by the smell of patchouli and cigarette smoke. Neither smell was to his liking and he entered the office asking, in an irritated voice, “what the hell is that smell?”

A dark-haired woman turned around, answering him in a no-nonsense clip that he would have appreciated had he not already decided she was a pain in his ass given that the smell of smoke that clung to her was even worse once he was in the room, “my name is Monica Reyes.”

Neither Doggett nor Harrison were anywhere to be seen and Mulder narrowed his gaze at her, “how can I help you, Monica Reyes, because there are only roughly nine people who know we exist down here and you are not one of them.”

Non-plussed by the closed and suspicious tone of one Fox Mulder, she held out her hand, never blinking, never looking away, “you must be Agent Mulder. John’s told me a lot about you.”

Ignoring her hand and knowing he was being rude, he continued, “what brand of cigarettes do you smoke?”

Monica tilted her head at him, finally become irritated, “none. The smell on me is from two days of staying with my stepmother. She smokes Marlboro, not that it’s any of your business, while I have never so much as thought about smoking anything, given she has lung cancer and is on track to die a slow, suffocating death. Her name is Patricia. You could call and ask her yourself but that may be hard, given she breathes, and smokes, through a tube in her neck.”

Mulder felt sufficiently horrible by now and shutting his eyes, he regrouped, this time meeting her hand that continued to hover between them, “I’m sorry. I have innate suspicions.”

“Of smokers? Strangers? Women named Patricia?”

All in, “yes.”

“Are you done being an asshole?”

“Probably not but I’ll do my best to keep it to a minimum.” It felt weird to be called out by someone who wasn’t his wife or his boss, “what can I do for you, Miss Reyes?”

“It’s actually Agent Reyes. I’m up here from New Orleans to talk to both you and to my friend, John.”

He was having a fine morning, “can we maybe start over? Let me come back in here and be … less … total dipshit?”

Monica laughed, “you’re fine. John informed me of your incredibly low tolerance for anyone who wasn’t Agent Scully. I actually expected this exchange to be worse.”

Shaking his head, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry again and,” looking around, “moving on, where is Doggett? He would have had to let you in here.”

“He’s up stealing us the good Danish. It seems the third floor has the best in the building.”

Mulder’s stomach growled loudly, “I hope he steals enough for everyone.” It finally sank in where she was from, “New Orleans, you said, right? Did you come up here to escape Halloween in the city?”

“I love Halloween in the city. It’s almost as much fun as Mardi Gras but without so many boobs and beads but the best is actually tonight, which is ‘Day of the Dead.’ I’m missing one of the best parties of the year to be here.”

Offering her a seat and heading to his behind the desk, “should I be honored?”

“More like informative.” Sitting, back straight, arms loosely crossed, “I’d like to start an X-Files division down south.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Catching On

The fourth series reads as follows:

Apple Balancing ... Potential ... The Newbies ... The Dessert ... Dinosaurs and Cannibalism ... Sassy Sprinklepants ... The Secret Vault of Mudlerness ... Taco Night ... Neckhole Wrestling ... The Onesie ... Multiplication

To catch up: First series … Second series ...  Third series

@today-in-fic

just sayin’, there’s some of the sex ...

&&&&&&&&&&

This time, she was the one offering the multiple ‘holy shit’s’ in the living room.

“Holy Shit, Mulder.”

He shook his head at her, still stunned, “yeah, that’s what keeps running through my head as well.” Dropping back into the couch cushions, Will settled quietly on his lap, baby feet tapping a sporadic rhythm on Mulder’s belly, “she was an odd duck but not in a Layla odd way or a Dogget odd way. We talked for several hours and she believes everything I do and then some. I mean,” picking up Will and planting a kiss on his nose, received a giggle and a kiss right back, much stickier given the applesauce he had been eating when Mulder arrived home, “it’s like if you took all my ghosts, goblins, demons, and darkness and smashed them together with your ‘God does weird shit, don’t mess with him’ beliefs.” Wiping off the sticky kiss, “essentially, Monica Reyes is our fully formed love child.”

“That’s disturbing.”

Mulder’s hands went up, then moved to grip his head, fingers tugging at his hair, “I know! If she were to actually get this to work, she’d need somebody more disbelieving, yet easygoing, than Doggett to keep her in check. I mean … God …” he let his smile curve half his face, “it’s finally catching on.”

Scully couldn’t smile back at the moment, “you want to go with her, don’t you?”

He gave her a look that would be comical in any other circumstance, “what? No.” Comical moved to concrete, “I’ve got you and the youngling and two more beans on the way.” He raised a well-learned imitation Scully eyebrow at her, “now, if for some reason, I hadn’t managed to get you to fall in love with me and reproduce, I would think that you would be a pretty good fit to work with her at first. You’d be able to argue her religious leanings even though you believe them.”

“Are you saying that, if I hadn’t finally allowed you the pleasure of seeing me naked and doing the reproducing, you would have shipped me to southern Louisiana without a second thought?”

Standing, he retrieved a bag of M&Ms from the cupboard, handing them to her, red mixed with all the other colors, “do we need to review the contents of this bag and their meaning, young lady?”

By now, she was grinning, Will safely resting against her hip, “maybe later, once the kid is sound asleep.”

Mulder kissed her, first on the forehead, then, because he was totally allowed without getting smacked, on her mouth, “I am not going anywhere. You are not going anywhere. But I can’t guarantee things aren’t going to get a little weird here for awhile if I need to go for a week or so, just to see what she has down there.” Kissing her again, “maybe I’ll even bring you with me. Leave Will in the charge of his Gunmen uncles. Eat beignets naked in the jacuzzi, lick excess powdered sugar off your thighs, wander a little around the city without crutches and stitches and concussions, oh my.”

Shifting Will a little, she leaned up, kissing the dent in his chin, “when do we leave?”

“No comments on the Gunmen uncles?”

“Not right now. I will probably have some later but right now, I’m thinking I’d like to take your pants off.”

“Always my pants with you.”

&&&&&&&&&

Two a.m. and both were awake, room dark, mattress soft, voices low, “if this works, Scully … if she finds a partner and solves some things, and honestly, doesn’t get killed in the process, this will be phenomenal.”

“I know it will but it’s going to take awhile. She’s going to need someone she trusts who can do the medical side of all this, and she’s going to have to find them on her own.”

“You were assigned to me.”

“Yeah, and remember how much fun that was at the beginning. It took a few years for you to trust me.”

“Naw, I trusted you from the beginning.”

Poking him in the side, she moved to run her fingers lightly over his ribs, enjoying the hot skin under her hand, “you tolerated me from the beginning. You thought I was ‘hot’ from the beginning. You wanted me naked from the beginning. You didn’t trust me from the beginning.”

Mulder rolled to his side, his own hand gliding over her ribs and down over her bare ass, “you let me see you naked from the beginning so that one doesn’t count against me.”

“Half-naked.”

“Not in my mind.”

Scooting herself up against him, she closed her eyes, deep breath in signaling sleep not far away, “your version, my version, and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to not be talking about Monica Reyes while legitimately naked this time.”

He wiggled himself down until he could get her nipple into his mouth, hand still firmly on her ass, debating a finger slide in, “have I ever told you what I thought about doing after you barged into my room in that cute little bra?”

“Is it anything like what you’re thinking about doing now?”

“Not quite. Had I been debating fingering your ass like I am now,” finger indeed toying and dipping, “I would have definitely kicked you out of the room and gotten off in like a minute and a half.”

Scully was quite awake again and hips moving unconsciously, “then what were you thinking?”

“That there was a possibility, that if I could just get you to believe me, just once …” finger diving deeper, slipping easier, “then maybe I could get up enough courage to ask you out on a date.”

Her own hand maneuvered to her clit, just as wet as the rest of her, “there would have been a distinct possibility that if you had told me how good you were with your hands, I’d have said ‘yes’ even if I didn’t believe you.”

Mulder rolled her over, finger never wavering, until she was on her back and he had easier access. Shifting to his knees, he crouched over her, watching her, adoring her, “can you come?”

Hips bucking up, “are you kidding?”

With a laugh, he moved as deep as possible, her muscles spasming moments later around him, choking the blood flow to his finger for a few seconds until everything relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her forehead and chest making him grin, “good round one?”

Pretense gone, “go wash your hand.”

He did not argue.

By three, Mulder was pulling out of her, twice for him, three for her, towel underneath them soaked, her hair a damp, fluffy mass, his arm muscles shaking, bite marks to his collar bone stinging, bruises to her hips darkening from his iron grip as he pounded into her with enough force to knock the headboard against the wall.

“How did we not wake up small fry?”

Heart finally slowing, “no idea but don’t question it.” Getting her rolling eyeballs under control, “thank you.”

Collapsing beside her, “are you kidding? We left a dent in the wall. Thank you.”

“Do you think we made the twins seasick?”

Mulder laughed, “at least they won’t remember it.”