AN: This is a collaborated effort by my friend and me, hence the italics and plain print.

It's up to you to decide which characters these are. Have fun, and I'm sorry.


"Five," he panted, "five times."

"Remember, the boss said that each page needs to be stapled five times. Five times he said."

"He also said that you should stop wearing tight pants…and I agree…"

"I don't think it really suits the costume either. Hmmm…maybe we should fire the costume designer…"

"Hey, you're the one who picked out the S & M gear. I just played along for the nipple clamps."

"I could have sworn that it meant something else. Excuse me for having a clean mind. And they weren't nipple clamps, they were bull clips for using on the office documents, pinhead."

"Well, you were the one who told me they were nipple clamps and gave me a demonstration."

"That was a joke. You don't take everything I say seriously do you? If I told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't see you complaining though when I showed you how to use nipple clamps properly," he whispered as he let his hand travel down the other man's back, resting on his…upper thigh.

"That wasn't properly. You looked like a baboon in the city," he answered as they continued dancing. "Do you really think she'll be impressed with my dancing at the wedding?"

"I don't know why you want to impress your ex-boyfriend's fiancée, but I'm not complaining," he muttered, pulling his partner closer.

"Who just happens to be my wife's best friend. Plenty of reasons, take your pick." The track changed and Nutbush City Limits began to play.

At this, his hands dropped to his sides, a look of suppressed pain on his face as he began to Riverdance. He remembered the time of political repression in Ireland, where they were forced to show no joy at dancing. He started crying at the memories. Then he felt arms wrap around him and a soft kiss on his neck.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He turned around and faced his wife. His partner was standing at the side of the hall.

"Nothing. Just recalling home."

Suddenly, a shot was heard and his wife dropped to the ground. He looked across at his partner, who was smiling and holding a gun.

"Where were you hiding that?!" He yelled as his eyes scanned the practically painted on clothes.

He rushed to his wife. He could see blood pouring from a wound on her arm. "Are you alright?" He caressed her face, praying she'd be fine. But of course, she wasn't. Within minutes she had died of blood loss. It was then that he realised that he was relieved. At last he could make that move on the girl at work. Sure that she'd been flirting with him for weeks, he was now able to reciprocate without fear of losing his millions. Of course, he used the term 'she' only to be polite. 'She' happened to be a crossdresser, a rather unsuccessful one, with a fabulous ass.

It was then that he knew that it was not him they were after, it was the job. Working at a theatre company always attracted odd types towards you, and they were just one of the many. The audience would eat them up. And so would he. All the money he would make from the plays. He imagined them with a massive dollar sign on them, like those walking advertisement people wearing massive playing cards. Those massive playing cards and nothing else.

It was then he realised how horny he was and how naked his partner was. (When did that happen?)

His partner that had just been resurrected. Dancing with a dead chick is fun.