Of Margaritas And Bunnies

Mothership. Intergalactic Time: 389,827,343.24. No, 389,827,343.25. No, 389,827,343.26. Please, could somebody STOP that fucking stopwatch?!

< Bridge. Communication Unit >

"+!)%&!? Mulder +={# Krycek...!?/* paradise ,!;-]\ margaritas... +($£]!... \\ x bunnies..."

"!%)-\ CC? ;°+}²"

").£"

Somewhere in LA. Year 2001.

"Hello? CC here."

"+!)%&!? Mulder +=..."

"What?"

< computerised voice > "Sor-ry. Mul-der-and-Kry-cek-lo-ca-ted-on-pa-ra-di-se-is-land. On-the-beach. Drin-king-mar-ga-ri-tas-and-bur-ping-li-ke... Sor-ry. Bon-king-li-ke-bun-nies. Al-so-bur-ping. Too-much-mar-ga-ri-tas."

"At last! Would you communicate us the exact location, please?"

"Up-loa-ding." < electronic noises >

"Thank you, I get them. Do we have a free hand?"

"Yes. Ex-ter-mi-na-te. Ex-ter-mi-na-te. Ex-ter-mi- " < click >

South Seas. A paradise island (and I mean it!) On the beach.

"Take a little sip of Margarita, Fox."

"No, thanks, Alex. I'm full up. I'd rather drink *you*."

"You slut! Lovely, sweet, wonderful slut. You never have enough, do you?"

"Of course not! On your back, honey, and give me that missile of yours. Hmmm."

"Hey listen! What's that?"

"A chopper, I think. Hmmm."

On the other side of this paradise island. A clearing in the jungle.

The anonymous helicopter lands heavily, chopping the pretty palms all around and scaring the sweet colibris drinking the delicious nectar from multicoloured flowers to death.

Four men jump to the ground, followed by two Grays. The men are in camouflage; the Grays wear (big) baseball caps and are all greasy with index 42² suntan cream. A slender man with pale, tousled hair, who seems to be the Earthlings' chief, holds an AK47, whilst the three others have giant fountain pens. Whatever the Grays carry looks like something that could be lethal astrogalactical beams, but how can I know for sure? I'm not in that trade.

One of the aliens takes the lead, looking at a square object in his four-fingered hand. (Well, maybe this is some kind of location device? At least that's what I'd say.) He raises a decided and really long finger and the little troup follows, burging itself in the surrounding vegetation.

On the beach.

Mulder is sucking Alex with praiseworthy energy. (Okay, not *that* praiseworthy. With such a gorgeous item, anyone would feel inspired.) Alex bucks his hips in delight, his hands clenching the sand so fine and white. His chest is heaving and his hoarse, velvet voice is begging his lover for more. (Personally, I can't imagine how one could do better.)

Unseen by the two moaning men, the camouflaged ones and the two Grays appear at the edge of the beach. The leading alien points at the oblivious lovers. "Ex-ter-mi-na-te," he orders.

"With great pleasure!" the pale-haired man shouts, and he bounds onto the serene beach, immediately spoiling the so-said harmony by firing a whole clip of his submachine-gun at the suntanned and gloriously naked bodies, whilst screaming, "It's disgusting! Sex maniacs! Traitors! Faggots!"

He stops at last, leaving two messed corpses entangled on the sand that starts to turn green with oozing fluid.

(Wait... Green?)

"Wait," one of the other men exclaims, "green? CC! Those are clones! For God's and Bush's sake!"

"WHAT?" CC shrieks. And turning towards the puzzled extra-terrestrials, "you said the two clones you gave us for the show were the only ones! I'm waiting," he adds, menacingly drumming on his AK47.

"Huh. Mis-ter-C-C. All-this-is-a-ri-di-cu-lous-mis-un-der-stan-ding. And-we-" The humanoid shuts up as the two clones get to their feet and turn to face them with twin sparkling grins. Their wounds are already closing, and the two indestructible-by-usual-means things quickly reach their goal.

A few seconds later, CC is agonizing, his AK47 twisted around his neck, and the three writers have been stabbed to death with their own fountain pens by a very efficient Krycek-clone.

The Mulder-clone holds one gurgling Gray's narrow, slicky with suntan cream, neck in each hand.

From under the palmtrees lining the beach, two silhouettes emerge and stare uncredulously at the gory scene. "Oh my God, Alex..." Krycek takes a shaking Mulder in his arms, comforting him.

"Sokay, Fox. It's over now. We're going to live in peace here, from today on, I promise. I told you the Rebels were protecting us." He holds the former FBI agent in his two arms and tenderly pats the round bottom drapped in a flowery pareo. "You should have some Margarita, sweetheart. You're a mite pale."

The Krycek-clone walks towards them with a friendly smile on his perfect face. "Glad to have been of assistance, Mr. Krycek. We're leaving now. Don't bother with the mess, we're going to clear everything. We're taking the chopper. If you need anything, just *wish* - you don't need to ask. We sublet the island to very dedicated people. They will take the utmost care of both of you. Good bye."

With these words, the clone courteously bows to the jaw-dropping lovers and turns away to join his companion.

"Alex? What does he mean, 'they sublet the island'? To which 'dedicated people'? I don't understand."

Alex creases the bridge of his nose in concern and shakes his head. "I haven't the slightest idea, sweetheart. But they can't be worse than the Syndicate or the 1013, and both of them have been eradicated now." He kisses his lover very tenderly, parting the pouting lips to search the warm mouth with his skillful tongue.

Fox chuckles. "Your tongue was never *that* skillful, tovarich."

"Nor your lips *that* pouting, Fox. What happened?"

"I wish I knew, Alex," Mulder answers, grinding his hot body against the wonderful frame of his hardening lover.

< THUMP > A little geyser of sand erupts at their feet, right where a small stone wrapped in paper has just landed. A puzzled Krycek bends to pick up the pebble and unfolds the paper with curiosity. He throws the stone away and the two men read the typed message.

"Dear Alex and Fox, we hired this island from the Rebels. We will see to your every whim and desires, as long as you keep drinking Margaritas, screwing like bunnies and lying naked on the beach. If you need anything - just make a wish!"
"Signed: a bunch of friendly slashers."
"PS- Alex, you don't need to scan the island each morning for hidden cameras and mikes any more. We also hired a geostationary satellite that will survey you 24/7 for our very selfish pleasure, and you can do nothing about it. Better to use your free time enjoying Fox. A lot of warm kisses to both of you."

"The sons-of-a-bitch!" Alex explodes.

"Come on, Alex," Mulder reasons with him. "You know, those are very mostly women, methinks, not men. And it is implausible for all of them to have the same mother. Anyway, I don't think it's safe to insult people who have, huh, hired us."

"Hmph," Krycek answers.

"What's more, they *really* love both of us, you know. They've always been kind to us."

"Hmph," Krycek repeats.

"I wonder if this wish-thing works that easily. Let's see? What could I wish for? Oh yes, I cruelly miss sunflower seeds. And the baseball season results."

< WHACK > A big parcel falls a few yards from them. Mulder rushes to it, followed by a somewhat reluctant Alex. The former G-man tears the cardboard apart to find boxes and boxes filled with salted sunflower seeds. Beside them, a stack of newspapers.

"Mmm," Mulder emits around a mouthful of seeds, with shining eyes. Alex kneels on the other side of the open parcel, thoughtfully; then he can't help but grin. "True, I missed that special taste in your mouth, my sweet love. I wonder if I could ask for..."

< STUMPH > A suitcase hits the sand near him.

"Whacheezit?" Mulder asks, still munching on his seeds.

A mute but widely smiling Alex is inspecting the content of the suitcase.

"What is it?" Mulder articulates, raising his head as he tries to look into the case.

Krycek reads the little attached note that says, "Don't worry about being a little hard. We have a lot of HC specialists here."

"Toys," Alex smirks. "Thanks, girls!" he shouts to the sky.

"What kind of toys?" Fox clearly seems baffled.

"I'll show you. Come here and lie on your back, sweetheart."

Mulder obeys his lover with curiosity and let himself be unwrapped of his pareo.

"What is it?" he repeats.

"C'mon, Fox. Don't tell me you never saw that kind of thing in your porn vids."

Mulder squeaks.

Paradise island. Sunset.

< Off shore > Leaning on the rail, the captain of the "Princess of Pacific" lowers his binoculars in disgust.

"No!"

"Daddy, please..."

"No! And no! I will never let these... these queers! come aboard! They are definitely not PC! Absolutely non suitable for our family audience! And you go back to your quarters, *now*!"

Turning on his heels, he strides towards the bridge to guide his ship from her mooring, drawning his frowning daughter behind him.

< Closer to the shore > Dolphins are jumping high above the waves, clicking with excitation at the performance on the beach.

< In the dark sky above > The infra-red sensor ot the chartered satellite automatically switches on as the light becomes feebler on the island.

< On the beach > On the sand, turning red in the last rays fo the dying sun, Fox squirms and writhes helplessly, his prick strapped up in a cock ring and being deep-throated by a happy Alex, who is tugging at the butt plug in his lover's ass, teasing his prostate over and over.

Somewhere on Earth. A suburb apartment.

"Honey! When are we going to eat? You aren't preparing lunch?"

"I'm coming at once, darling!"

Oh yes, I'm coming. Oooooaaaaaah! Yes! Pfew... I disconnect the PC and make my way to the kitchen. So long, boyz. See you tomorrow. Sweeties... Hmm.