Note … What is awesome about this piece is that so many of the Merry Men get so much better explored! Normally we just do one POV per upload … this time there's more than that! Kevan sends her undying appreciation and gratitude!
Now some words from our sponsor, Kevan
Marilyn and I 'met' online back in 2001 and quickly became close friends. Although we both wrote PFF (way back in the book 6/7/8 timeframe) and at times collaborated with others, we seldom wrote together until her health declined in the last few years. PFF was something familiar to us both, a world that was easy to slip back into even after the passage of years.
Handcuffs was written (aided by wine and tequila) over many months and many phone calls, both of us laughing ourselves silly. It is a series of scenes with the POV character and the content shifting frequently, reflecting the zaniness of our conversations. It is definitely not serious. It is ragged and basically unedited. Characterizations may be inconsistent between scenes and some ideas are not fully developed. Some bits are lighthearted, some dark and raw, some silly. Just M and I having fun.
It was never intended to be shared but when Marilyn died, Alfonsina suggested posting it in her memory and that seemed appropriate, closing the circle of our friendship. My sister from another mother. A privilege to have known her well for many years and totally enjoyed all the crazy times we shared.
Thanks to trhodes9, ChristinaS, jerseygirlinoxford, Barb4psu, MMBabefanmmm, GarbanzoBeans, chicki'62, Ybanormlmom, aruvqan, Vulcan Rider, Manchester's Stubborn Pansy, avidreader72, Tommy14, Emilie Martel and RE Nobert, Mrshobiejoe, Me again, PalomaD, and all who reviewed as Guest.
Apologies if I omitted anyone. Since I don't participate on Fanfiction, Alf has kindly forwarded all reviews. Somewhere, somehow, Marilyn is laughing with us, enjoying that her wit and ideas are appreciated—and raising a prickly pear margarita or a popsicle-rita. I hope you continue to enjoy some of the scenes and that they provide you some laughs. Marilyn would like that.
Marilyn and I both agreed with Hunter S. Thompson, "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, 'Wow what a ride!'"
08 If Handcuffs Could TalkBy Marilyn (Ranger Hunters) and Kevan
Uploaded by Alfonsina.d
Answers to the Mystery (Rav)Stay outside. Like that was going to happen.
I shut Steph's apartment door behind me. Okay, I waited until there were no more sounds from inside. As drunk as they'd sounded over the audio feed, I was sure they were all passed out by now. No witnesses. No one to blab to Ranger that I'd disregarded his order. Well, not exactly disregarded. I changed the mission parameters based on new intelligence. Dead silence from inside. He'd ordered me to keep them safe, that dictated that I needed to check and make sure they were all okay. That superseded his order to stay outside.
The lights were on, so I had no need of the tac light I carried. Mary Lou was asleep on the sofa, snoring softly. Lula was draped over and in an armchair, snoring louder. Moving silently—from habit, not need, no one in the apartment was likely to wake up even if a bomb went off next to them—I looked in the bedroom. Steph, Connie, and Kat were all in the bed, in various stages of undress, tangled together like a pile of kittens. It was a very nice view even if—like me—you're not into women. The opportunity was too good to pass up and I had to take a few pics with my phone. You can never tell when something like that will come in handy. I covered them with the bedspread, dropped a blanket over Mary Lou, another over Lula, and turned my attention to the rest of the apartment.
There were two flat screens, one on each side of a table. They were turned on and showing— What the hell?
It took a minute for my brain to comprehend what I was seeing. It was the team—all the RangeMan guys who'd been on that disastrous 'renovation job' at the Driftwood Apartments building. What a cluster fuck that had been. As I watched, I realized the video had been pieced together from several different angles, so there had to be multiple sources. It was the team and we were…stripping. That's not what we'd been doing; we'd been ripping our clothes off to get rid of that damn stuff that sprayed on us from the explosion and soaked right thru clothing and made it feel like you were being eaten by fire ants, but on the video it looked like we were auditioning for a male strip show. The video kept playing. And there were close-ups. Of my ass. Of Az's ass. Of Bobby's pecs. Of Lester's ass. And Breeze's…well, of all our cocks.
It was appalling.
It was fascinating.
When I managed to tear my eyes away, I examined the table. There were five empty shot glasses, a nearly empty bowl of lime wedges, a half empty container of salt, and five tequila bottles, all over half-empty. Damn! No wonder they were drunk. Five of us drinking that much tequila would result in serious inebriation and these women had nowhere near our body mass. They were going to be seriously hurting when they woke up. That thought had me checking the refrigerator. No bottled water. No Gatorade. Nothing to help them rehydrate, which was a vital component of getting over a hangover. I winced. I could have Az make a store run and stock the refrigerator, but then they would know someone had been here. Sighing, I decided they would have to tough it out. Maybe I could arrange for one of the guys to come by in the morning to check on them for some reason.
Also on the table were a set of handcuffs and numerous pieces of paper. I was not going to speculate about the handcuffs, not with five drunk women involved and the video I'd just seen, so I looked through the pieces of paper. Looked through them again. Looked through them a third time, trying to come up with an alternate explanation to the one my brain was suggesting.
There wasn't one.
A game. They'd been playing a game—based on Build-A-Bear according to the notes scribbled on some of the papers—and we were the body parts. Un-fucking-believable. We knew they had been voting on us, but the 'categories' they were voting on were our body parts! They were voting because they were building…Ultimate RangeMan. I looked back to the video. They must have been using it for inspiration—or reference. I looked at the piece of paper with the final result and read it again. Candidly, I had to admit I agreed with most of their choices. I shook my head. The guys were not going to believe this.
Hangover Fairy (Ranger)The door snicked shut behind me and I paused a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness in Steph's apartment. I could hear snoring which made me smile. How much blackmail would it be worth to capture them snoring? Women always vehemently deny they snore. I set the box I'd brought with me on the counter and made my way through the rooms, checking on each woman. Making sure they were breathing.
Having the lights turned out and everyone covered with a blanket confirmed that Rav had been inside. As drunk as they had sounded over the monitors, no way they could have done that themselves. I'd sent him and Az knowing that Rav would disregard my order to remain outside. That way the guys could find out what was going on without direct involvement from me. Being the boss sucked at times; I missed the camaraderie of being one of the guys.
Having ascertained that all the women were okay, I deployed my hangover cure gifts. OJ, bottled water, and sports drinks in the refrigerator. Three large insulated carafes of coffee that would keep warm all day. And, most important, three dozen assorted donuts and pastries in boxes on the counter. Steph might prefer fries and soda but that was tough to manage because I had no idea when they were going to wake up. From the level of the tequila bottles on the table, my guess was not before early afternoon.
Rav had left the videos running and I spent several minutes watching. Steph. It had to be Steph that had put them together. There were so many angles it was obvious there were multiple sources. Only Steph knew that many people who were likely to be the sources. I had seen some women in the parking lot of the restaurant across the street from the Driftwood with their cell phones out, recording my guys impromptu strip show but hadn't given it much thought. I hadn't seen Steph or any of her girl's-night-out-pals but, given it was Steph, I wasn't surprised. When I read the papers scattered on the table and figured out their game, I chuckled. No way I could remain silent. The guys were going to have a meltdown when they discovered the women had been voting on their body parts.
I was sure Rav would have taken a copy of the video and gotten pictures of all the papers—which he was probably already sharing—but I took my own copies. You can never tell when something like that will come in handy.
Before leaving, I wrote a short note, extracted a Boston Crème from the box and took both into the bedroom. Steph was lying on her side, hanging off the edge of the bed, curled up back-to-back with Kat, with Connie on the far side. It took some coaxing to wake Steph up enough to turn over and look at me. It took more coaxing, and much waving go of the donut under her nose to get her to blearily open her eyes. They were unfocused and I knew she wasn't really awake. Perfect. I coaxed her to take a bite and set the remainder on the nightstand on top of the note.
I kissed her gently, licking the sugar from her lips and she moaned softly. I was tempted to play with her further, to lift her camisole and suckle her nipples, or better yet, remove her panties, spread her legs and bring her to orgasm. The temptation was great, ` with Connie and Kat in the same bed it would have been a turn-on, but the risk of one of them waking and actually remembering I'd been there was too great.
One last task. I really wanted to know what part the handcuffs on the table played in last night's game, or the ladies' fantasies. I figured the one source for that information would be Steph, in a day or three when she'd recovered. In the meantime, I hung a set of my handcuffs from her shower rod. I was sure she'd get the message.
I left, locking the door behind me and drove back to Haywood in a cheerful mood.
Sharing the Game Results (Rav)"Okay, Rav," Tank groused. "What the hell is this about? Why are we all shoehorned into your apartment?"
I grinned. This was going to be fun. "Because, being the clever and resourceful person that I am, I have the answer to what was going on in Steph's apartment last night."
Tank scowled. "Ranger ordered you and Az to stay outside."
I shrugged. "Situation changed. He also told us to make sure they were safe. As drunk as they sounded, I had to check and make sure they didn't require medical attention."
Tank continued scowling. Bobby rolled his eyes. Lester smothered a laugh. Az, Mal, and Breeze just shook their heads.
"Have any of you ever auditioned for a male revue?"
"A what?" Breeze asked.
"Male revue. You know, male strippers. Have any of you ever auditioned to be one?"
"What the—fuck no!"
"Rav, are you drunk?"
"What the hell does that have to do with—?"
All the guys had at least one pithy comment.
I held up my hand. "Ah, but you have."
"What the—"
A click of the remote and the video I'd found playing in Steph's apartment started on the large flat-screen on the wall of my apartment's living room. Az and I spent most of our off-duty time at the beach house, but I kept an apartment in the RangeMan building for convenience, and it was well-furnished. I'd spent enough time roughing it on missions that I appreciated creature comforts whenever possible.
The first seconds of the video were enough to silence every man in the room. Watching them watch the video, I could see they were as appalled and fascinated as I had been.
"That's my dick!" Breeze sounded outraged. This from a man I've seen naked in bed with three equally naked women, in broad daylight, with the curtains and doors open.
"In close-up," I agreed.
"And my ass!" Lester sounded more pleased than outraged. No surprise there.
"Damn, they were drinking and watching us naked?"
The comments continued. Some horrified. Some self-congratulatory.
When they started to wind down, I dropped the next bombshell. "They were doing shots and watching that video—with a set of handcuffs in the middle of the table that I don't want to speculate on—but that's not the best part."
Tank put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. "Do we want to know?"
"Oh, you definitely want to know, Mr. Category Five."
His head snapped up, eyes looking a bit wild.
"Remember all that voting they were doing?" I hit another button on the remote and the display changed to a picture of the paper showing the final result of the ladies' game.
Build-the-Ultimate-RangeMan
Category 1 – legs - Mal
Category 2 – eyes - Lester
Category 3 – lips - Az
Category 4 – hair - Rav
Category 5 – biceps - Tank
Category 6 – chest - Bobby
Category 7 – abs - Breeze
Category 8 – ass – Ranger
Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. Big, scary, tough guys paled. There was silence for close to a minute as everyone read—and absorbed what it meant.
"They were…"
"Dios mio!"
"Fuck me."
There were various groans and expressions of disbelief, a couple of 'damn rights', and one 'Shit, I'm good' from Lester.
Then, inevitably, somebody had to start questioning the results. And somebody else had to respond in typical alpha-male testosterone fashion.
Before things deteriorated too far, I whistled—loud—which got everyone's attention. "I sent the results, and the voting, to everyone's private email." No way was I sending this using the RangeMan email accounts we all had. Never have six phones appeared so fast. There were vapor trails in the air.
"The boss is gonna kick your ass when he finds out you not only went in but recorded this shit."
"I figure he already knows, Bobby." I shrugged. "About twenty minutes after Az and I were off duty this morning, Ranger pulled into Steph's parking lot."
"What the hell were you doing there after shift and why didn't he see you?" Tank demanded.
"Hung around because I was curious to see who showed up, and he didn't see me because I was down the street in my personal car."
"And," Bobby prompted.
"He disappeared into the building and I assume he went into Steph's apartment because he's not going to be visiting the oldsters that live there. He showed up with a large cardboard box and a big bag from the place Steph gets all her donuts from and was in there about twenty minutes. Came out, threw the box in the trash, and left."
"Okay, so he went inside. How does that mean he's going to know you were inside and saw all this?"
For a genius, sometimes Mal can be an idiot.
Hangover (Steph)Awareness returned slowly. But not slowly enough, I decided as I took stock of my condition. Tongue, dry and filmed with what felt like glue and tasted like old, moldy, gym socks. There was an all-brass marching band in my head that was trying to rival the decibel level at a Metallica concert and my body ached as if I was recovering from a week-long fever. I was sweaty and clammy. Prying my eyelids open took a Herculean effort. Even though my apartment was dim, the light stabbed my eyes like a handful of scalpels, and I quickly shut them again. I didn't even want to think about moving. Hell, I didn't want to think at all. Just lying still, my brain was sloshing around in my skull on a sea of tequila with gale force winds blowing.
Tequila. Ugh! I stifled the urge to throw up. The movement would have killed me. Maybe that would be a good thing, although I was pretty sure I would have to get better to die. A lot better. My toenails hurt. My hair hurt. Breathing hurt.
Still drunk or hungover? I was hoping for the latter because I knew from sad experience that no matter how bad the hangover was, that being awake through the sobering up process was far, far worse.
Oh sweet flying donkey turds! How much did I drink last night?
Why was I awake? Oh yeah, I had to pee. The bathroom seemed impossibly far away. Maybe I could just pee in the bed and buy a new one. Or on the carpet—it needed to be replaced anyway. I could blame it on Bob the dog.
Groaning, I managed to swing my legs over the side of the bed. I sat there, eyes closed, slumped against the headboard, shivering in the cool air, and told myself I could do this. I could stand up—whimper—and get to the bathroom. Then I could lay down on the tile floor and die. Yeah, that's my goal in life: pee and then die. Gradually, I became aware of a heavenly scent intruding on my misery.
Sugar. I smelled sugar, and it was close. If I could find it, I would mainline it. Forcing my eyes open—note to self, leave toothpicks on the nightstand—I tried to get them to both focus on the same thing. It took effort but when it worked, I was rewarded with the sight of a Boston Crème lying on the corner of the nightstand nearest me, just like I'd dreamed.
Oh gods, the Hangover Fairy stopped by! I managed to snag it without knocking it to the floor which was pretty remarkable considering how shaky I was. The first bite was heaven. The second even better. I closed my eyes and moaned. The sugar hit my system in a rush and by the time I was shoving the last bite into my mouth and licking my fingers, one of my brain cells managed to wake up. It suggested that a) there is no such thing as a hangover fairy, b) there had been a bite missing when I picked it up, and c) someone had kissed the sugary goodness from the missing bite off my lips.
My eyes flew open and I sat up straight as if hit by a cattle prod. Yipes! Ranger! Ranger had been here! It hadn't been a dream. I looked back at the nightstand and picked up the card that had been underneath my sugar fix. Any hope I had that Ranger hadn't been there died a gory death. There was nothing on the card but a batman symbol and three words—like the cuffs—in his handwriting. Great steaming piles of dinosaur crap!
Everything came crashing back. The tequila. The video. More tequila. Build-the-Ultimate-Rangeman. More tequila. The voting. More tequila. The video. More tequila. And Ranger had been here and undoubtedly seen it. He wasn't likely to miss something like that. Hell, the man noticed when the coffee table moved an inch! Kill me now, I pleaded to any deities, elves, or fairies who might be hanging around needing to score some karma points by helping out an idiot mortal.
Behind me in bed, someone turned over and grumbled. Terrified to look—but more terrified not to—I looked over my shoulder, afraid I would see Batman himself. Connie and Kat. My heartrate ratcheted back down to survivable.
Might as well find out how bad this is.
My first attempt at standing up had me falling on my ass. Huh, may have to rethink the whole still drunk versus hungover thing. I tried to pull myself up on the side of the bed but my legs were not taking orders from my brain. Screw dignity. I crawled to the bedroom door and used the doorknob to haul myself vertical—more or less.
Lula was sprawled in, over, and around an armchair, snoring loudly. The blanket covered mound on the sofa, snoring softly, must be Mary Lou.
Dreading what I would find, I turned to the dining area.
My worst fears were realized. The videos were still playing on both flat screens, RangeMen in all their wet, naked glory. Someone had gathered up all our individual scoring sheets and squared them up in a neat pile in the precise center of the table, leaving the paper with the final result on top. Guess who? Yeah, Ranger, just in case I missed the Boston Crème and the Batman notecard, right? Thinking of that Boston Crème triggered an olfactory hallucination. I smelled more of them, more sugar, a treasure load of sugar.
Following my nose led me to the kitchen. I gasped. There was a stack of bakery boxes on the counter, emitting an aroma that the nectar of the gods couldn't beat, and beside them were carafes of coffee. The insulated kind that seal and stay warm and delicious for hours. I'm not sure how the cup got in my hand but in less than a minute, I had a second Boston Crème crammed in my mouth and a cup of steaming coffee clasped in my hands. The Hangover Fairy does exist; his name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso aka Ranger. I might not even bitch the next time he drags me out of bed before dawn to go running. Maybe.
I didn't even mind the lack of cream and sugar for the coffee, caffeine was more important. On second thought—another couple of my brain cells woke up—I checked the refrigerator and gasped again. There was a container of cream, and bottles of orange juice, water, and sports drinks. Everything a growing girl needed to rehydrate after a monumental tequila binge. The man was a god. I would offer to do anything for him—wash his car, clean his house, have his children—well, scratch the children thing.
After chugging a bottle of water and a sports drink, I realized I had a problem. How to explain the Hangover Fairy to the girls? I knew for certain they would freak out if they knew Ranger had been here and knew what we had done. They would die of embarrassment and I would never hear the end of it. Hell, I was embarrassed and hoping Ranger kept the knowledge to himself instead of sharing it with the guys. He would probably blackmail me with it, but I was totally okay with that as long as the guys never found out about our little game. Just the thought of them finding out had me hyperventilating and wondering if I could get a seat on a flight to Outer Mongolia today. Better to fly than be shipped in a crate, right?
I heard the toilet flush. I'd been so caught up in my thoughts of being shipped to Outer Mongolia, I hadn't heard anyone get up. Yep, better come up with that explanation fast, Batgirl.
"Steph?" Even considering how hungover she must be, Kat's voice had an odd note to it. "Why is there a set of handcuffs hanging from your shower curtain rod?"
Uh, Hangover Fairy for two hundred? I groaned and thunked my head against the cabinet. I was so going to shoot Ranger's smug ass—right after I got through kissing his feet and thanking him.
Confronting the Hangover Fairy (Steph)Pausing in the hall outside the door of Ranger's office, I took the time to work myself into full-on, pissy, rhino-on-the-horizon mode. I was going to need all that adrenaline to get through a confrontation with Batman.
I flung open the door without knocking and stormed into his office.
Ranger looked up from whatever he was studying on his desk and raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise flinch.
That lack of reaction was good for another two notches of pissed-off. Rhino edged closer.
I slung the handcuffs he'd left hanging from my shower curtain onto his desk. "Thanks a lot, Ranger. I really enjoyed trying to explain those." I used my full sarcastic voice. Sarcasm dripped from my words onto his desk.
"Babe?"
"Do not Babe me," I screeched. "I am not Babe! I am pissed off Stephanie! And I am not in the mood to do Ranger-to-English translation."
He sat very still and didn't say anything, which could be a sign of intelligence and self-preservation on his part because I was ready to shoot him at the slightest provocation or it could be a sign of fear, like a rabbit freezing when a coyote spies it. Who am I kidding? This is Ranger. He has never been a rabbit. Third option: maybe he was trying not to laugh.
I flung myself into one of the large, plush visitors chairs in front of his desk and started picking at a hangnail.
After studying me for several minutes, Ranger got up and closed his office door. I considered making an issue of that, then decided discretion was called for in this case. I definitely didn't want the guys to catch wind of parts of what I had to say.
He sat back down behind his desk. Not, I noted, in a chair beside me. Nor did he coax me to sit on the sofa beside him as he usually did. But did he ask what was wrong? Why I was upset—well, raging? No. He just sat there with his damn blank face in place.
There are times when I really dislike him and his self-control. Rhino crept closer.
"Did you have to leave the damn cuffs, Ranger? Really? Kat found them first. Do you have any idea the explaining I had to do to her, Connie, Lula, and Mary Lou about why there were handcuffs dangling from my shower curtain? Cause I'm telling you pretty much all of the reasons they were imagining involved you and sex. It took forever to get them convinced otherwise."
Ranger did an almost smile; I almost shot him.
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them the Hangover Fairy left them! What do you think I told them?" I shouted, waving a hand in the air for emphasis.
He stifled a laugh.
"I saw that, damn you!"
"Babe, I'm sorry, but…the Hangover Fairy?" He smiled. It was good smile. It even reached his eyes, making them look like pools of warm chocolate.
Rhino faded back into the distance. Rhino is a whore for Ranger smiles.
"Well, it sounded good at the time," I said defensively. "I was pretty hungover and there were all these donuts and coffee and stuff that just appeared, and it was all I could come up with."
"And they believed you?"
"Not after the first jolt of sugar and caffeine kicked in, but by then I'd come up with a story about setting up an UberEats delivery the night before."
Ranger actually chuckled.
Wonders never cease. Batman laughed. Newspapers around the world are busy changing their lead story to capture the event.
"I like the Hangover Fairy. Should have stayed with that one."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "There is no way I could let them know you were in my apartment that morning and saw what we were doing! They would be mortified! They would never forgive me! I would have to move to, like, Australia or somewhere." I paused. "I assume you did figure out what we were doing?"
He inclined his head a mere inch, but he did stop chuckling. "Why would they blame you?"
"Because," I slouched further down in the chair, "it was my idea."
Ranger came around the desk, scooped me up, and whirled me around.
I grabbed his arm as tight as I could and closed my eyes. "Don't!" I managed.
He sat down on the sofa, holding me in his arms. "Babe?"
Ah, Concerned Ranger voice. Ranger-to-English translator still functioning Captain.
"It's been two days. Still not recovered?"
I really wanted to sock him, but I didn't have the strength and besides the room was spinning. "I thought I had but I'm not up to the whole airplane spin thing. Not sure I'll ever be ready for that again."
Ranger held me, one hand tracing soothing circles on my back.
I laid my cheek against his muscled chest and closed my eyes. "Ranger?"
"What?"
"Please don't tell the guys. I think it might upset them or make them mad, and they'd probably do something to get back at me and there are more of them than me."
Ranger's chest moved. I was pretty sure he was stifling a laugh but decided not to pursue it.
"Babe, I won't say anything to the guys."
"Promise?"
"On my honor as the Hangover Fairy."
Ranger put hand under my chin and tilted it up. "Want to tell me what you were doing with the handcuffs on the table?"
Oh, great steaming piles of dinosaur crap! "Uh, no?"
xoxox
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