Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even my dead cat.




Scott Summers and Lance Alvers were laying on the beach one pleasant late summer afternoon. They were marking their one week anniversary as a couple with a day out in the sun.


"Why are we going out again?" Lance asked confused.


"We are going out because I am tired of being Jean's man servant." Scott answered as he calmly flicked a bug off his leg. "And you swore off women after Kitty dumped you for the twentieth time."


"Oh, I forget sometimes," Lance smiled back.


He's just like Jean, Scott thought to himself. Expect that he's retarded and has a penis.


Scott had thought that dating another guy would simplify his already disordered life. He would avoid all the silly "girl problems" that seemed to continually spurt from the pours of one Jean Grey. But dating Lance presented new dilemmas to Scott. Scott's biggest challenge with dating Lance was keeping him constantly entertained. If Scott had learned anything from Jerry Springer-- it was that there was nothing more potentially destructive than bored white trash.


Scott knew Lance was bored by the fact that he was now torturing a small hermit crab that was near his foot. Scott had a horrible vision of armed PETA members parachuting in, calling them crab killers, and throwing red paint in their faces. He decided he needed to redirect Lance's tiny brain.


"Lance, it's such a nice day," Scott smiled trying to be as pleasant as the weather. "What do you want to do?"


Lance thought for a second. "I want to dig for buried treasure."


"Is that some sort of euphemism for 'you want to have hot monkey sex'?" Scott asked both hopeful and horrified, which are very difficult emotions to pull off at the same time.


"No, I really want to dig for buried treasure."


Lance grabbed Scott by the arm and lead him to a desolate cove about a half mile away.


"Lance I am tired, and worse, I have sand in my brand new $99.95 Birkenstock sandals." Scott protested. "Why did you drag me all the way out here?"



"Just think Scott!" Lance exclaimed, looking out onto the water. "Two hundred years ago, pirates were probably roaming these very waters plundering, raping, and pillaging."



"Lance you moron. This is the Hudson River. There were no damn pirates here." For just a second, Scott thought about killing Lance. Nobody would ever know, Scott thought. I'll just dump him in the river with all the other bodies.


"You don't know anything about pirate history," Lance scoffed. "There were pirates all around here at one time. Guys like Blackbeard, Long John Silver, Johnny Depp, and Errol Flynn. They all called this area home back in the day.


Lance then began furiously kicking the sand, which only proceeded to aggravate Scott even more.


"What in the hell are you doing!" Scott yelled.

"They probably buried their treasure somewhere around this cove." Lance said proudly, as if he figured out the pirates's dark secret.

"Lance! There were no pirates and there is no buried treasure," Scott screamed. "And stop kicking the sand before someone notices us!"

"Loosen up Summers," Lance chided. "There's nobody around for miles. Besides, don't you want to get your hands on some doubloons, bullion, and pirate booty?"

"Pirate booty?" Scott said aloud, as if to confirm that Lance really just said that.



"Yeah, we could be rich and retire to Miami before we're even twenty," Lance smirked. "So help me dig."


Thoughts about spending his days playing pinochle, complaining about the weather, and having dinner with the Hirschfeld's filled Scott's mind. I am not ready to be an elderly Jew just yet, Scott thought.


"Earth to Scooter," Lance yelled as he snapped his fingers in Scott's direction. "I know the concept of work is foreign to you Xavier kids, but could you at least move a muscle?"


And I thought Jean was a bitch, Scott thought.