Chapter Five: Other Boys Check You Out
Oh my – I'm having so much fun writing this! You've probably noticed a new arrival to the warren – crack-fic bunny. I'm not quite sure where he came from, and his eyes are too busy spinning in opposite directions to tell me, but he has the most magnificently warped ideas that I just take them and run with the madness. You have been warned – but if you've read this far, that's pretty much obsolete, isn't it?
Hetty had arranged for a limo to take them directly to the Pop of the Cherry, so once the final touches were added to their outfits, they trooped out, this time in complete and utter silence, as every other person in the Mission seemed to be concentrating incredibly hard on their work. You could have heard a rhinestone earring fall to the ground.
"Phoneys. Do they really think I didn't notice the surveillance cameras?" Sam snorted and then tried to get into the limo without flashing his control panties to the whole world. It was considerably more difficult than it appeared and his entrance was somewhat less than elegant. Deeks thought of his pencil-slim skirt and settled for hiking it up above his knees before clambering in, while Callen fared the best, due to the sheer volume of his skirt, which pretty much hid a multitude of sins.
"I'm going to have to give you guys a crash course, aren't I?" Kensi looked at the three of them, sitting in a row. "Knees together, when you're sitting down. Oh, for the love of God! Deeks – don't cross your legs! I can see everything – and I mean everything. Only it's all sort of in the wrong place." She covered her eyes in horror and repressed a shudder. That cannot be good for him.
"Don't talk to me about it." He squirmed uncomfortably. "These panties are squeezing my balls to death and crawling up my butt at the same time."
Kensi clapped her hands over her ears in horror. This was even worse than she had ever imagined. She was definitely claiming double-overtime for this little excursion. Plus daner money for the damage to her mental well-being.
"My pantyhose won't stay up. The crotch is somewhere round my knees. And my inner thighs are starting to chafe." Sam reached underneath his dress and tried to hike the offending garment up but Kensi slapped his wrist.
"Don't haul them by the waistband. You have to ease them up your legs gently, otherwise you'll rip them. Honestly, you'd think none of you had ever been with a woman. And don't start. I don't mean like that, and you know it."
"I don't think I'll ever be with a woman again." Deeks gave another desperate wriggle.
"Too much information. Callen – what are you doing with that clutch?"
"I'm clutching it." What else would you do with a clutch?
"Well don't. You look like a poor widow woman, whose about to lose the farm. Either let it lie in your lap, or tuck it under your arm. No – not like it's a football." Kensi's head was starting to ache again with the strain of it all. Exactly where in her job description did it state that she had to give etiquette lessons to a trio of inept drag queens? "And for God's sake, stop playing with your breasts. You're heaving them around like they're a pair of puppies. Leave them alone. They're not pillows you're trying to plump up." She gave him a stern look.
"I always kind of wondered what it would be like to have breasts." Deeks looked down at his DD chest with considerable satisfaction.
"Me too." Sam looked at his own, considerably larger bosom with even greater satisfaction. "Why the dirty look, Kensi? Don't tell me you never once imagined what it would be like to –"
"Stop right there. That's it. I don't know what's come over you guys, but that is absolutely it. And, just for the record, I've never, ever thought about what it would be like to have a dick." Except when we're out in the middle of nowhere and it would be really handy to be able to pee standing up and not need toilet tissue. And avoid poison ivy. All that squatting and then shaking gets old really quickly. And seeing as how I don't carry a purse, I've not got anywhere to stache a supply of Kleenex.
"We're just embracing our feminine sides."
"Well stop it. Because it's creeping me out. I much preferred it when you were your normal, sexist-pig selves."
"You all heard that, didn't you?" Callen looked around for confirmation.
"Whatever." Kensi crossed her arms and wished the driver would turn down the air-con, because it was bloody freezing and without a bra for camouflage her nipples were sticking out like football studs. Luckily, the guys were too absorbed with themselves to notice.
"We're nearly here." Callen could feel a mixture of excitement and dread in his gut. Or maybe it was an incipient hernia, due to the forcible rearrangement of his genitals? He patted his thigh gently, just to make sure the gun was still in place.
"Try not to flash too many people when you get out," Kensi pleaded. She let them exit the limo first and followed behind, in the vain hope that she wouldn't be associated with them. Especially Callen, who really made an incredibly ugly woman. Sam stalked along confidently, having finally mastered the art of walking in heels. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Grace Jones, only in a slightly less antagonistic, more feminine way. Deeks sashayed alongside him, his butt swaying pertly along, neatly sheathed in sea-foam green silk.
An elbow dug her in the ribs. "Like a pair of hard-boiled eggs in a handkerchief. Or maybe a ripe peach, just asking to be bitten into." The man stretched out a hand to grab Deeks' ass and Kensi acted instinctively, pulling him around to face her, while Deeks sauntered along, completely impervious to the stir he was causing.
"Hands off, buddy."
"Hey – a pretty face is fair game." The man took a good look at her and smiled. "Well, well, well. Who would have thought that Kensi Blye batted for the other team?"
"Fuck off, Renko. I mean that. Get the hell out of here. Now."
"Worried I'll spill the beans? I thought you had more guts than that."
"I'm working, you cretin."
"Shit. Seriously? You're not just having me on?"
"Do I have to spell it out? Take a good look: that's Callen in the white dress, over there." In splendid isolation, poor guy. People are giving him a wide berth. It's like he's got his very own exclusion zone.
Renko took a quick look and flinched slightly. "He's not having much luck, is he? What the hell happened to his face? It's like it melted or something."
"Hetty did his makeup," Kensi explained sadly. She was beginning to feel really sorry for Callen. "You're right though, he couldn't be less popular if he was Typhoid Mary. Sam's by the bar, with the red hair."
Renko raised his eyebrows. "I thought I'd seen it all. And who's the delicious blonde at his side?" He licked his lips and eyed Deeks up and down. And then up again.
"Deeks. Marty Deeks. After your time." Kensi began to see that she might get some mileage out of this.
"Marti, eh? I think I'll go and introduce myself. I might just get lucky."
"You might." Kensi smiled charmingly and watched as Renko crept up and goosed Deeks thoroughly.
Story title and chapter heading belong to David Bowie. I'd quite like it if David belonged to me, but there you go. You can't have everything you want in life, as Renko is about to find out.
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