Written as an exercise and for other reasons I'll mention later. It's the first of several CP stories I've got going, though this is the shortest.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Cabin Pressure or John Finnemore. Darn.
An Itch
"Ugh!" cried an annoyed Martin, making a face, trying to scratch his back. His arm wasn't quite long enough.
"Itchy back?" Arthur asked, bouncing in.
"Yes."
"Want help?"
"Please."
Arthur scratched through the thick material, trying to hit the right spot.
"Yes, right there. No, back. A little left. Ah, perfect. Right there. Oh, yes, that feels good."
Douglas opened the door, curiously peeking in.
"Am I interrupting something?"
"No."
Douglas took his designated seat, blatantly staring.
"Thank you, Arthur. That's much better."
"You scratch my back, I scratch yours," was his response.
"Right. Does your back itch, then?" Martin turned toward him.
"No, but I do have an itch for you to scratch." Brown eyes gleamed down at the captain alongside a crooked grin.
Two sets of bulging eyes stared at the steward.
"You do know what that means, don't you, Arthur?" Douglas seriously doubted he did.
"I think so. It means you're horny, right?"
Martin chocked on air.
"Yes, it does," Douglas barely got out.
"Good. I said it correctly then. Bye, Douglas. See you later, Skip."
When Arthur left, Martin was still a frozen tomato.
"Exactly how much of you will he be seeing?"
"Shut up, Douglas."
Because I don't think Arthur is nearly as dumb as everyone thinks.
Never listen to "Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show unless you want it to scar you for life, just so you know. You can mostly blame that song for this, along with having an itchy back yesterday, and me being a pervert. Also, Meg, if you're reading this, that song always reminds me of you. ^.^