Title: A Hairstylist Worth Traveling For

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Austin Powers

Pairing: Scott/Clive, the Leather Hairdresser

Rating: NC17

Summary: Scott WILL go messing with his dad's loopy inventions. This time it lands him in another dimension, where he meets someone VERY interesting.

Archive: Yes, but tell me where, so I can visit them.

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Evil Series

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Warnings: graphic m/m sex, but not in this section. Really, doesn't sex between Clive and Scott DESERVE its own chapter? Yes, I know you're PO'ed at me for this, but I have a bad cold, people, and I have to go lay down. I promise to plot and create while I'm doing it. I'll do the same for the second part of the Dreams of a Dom story featuring Strife. :)

Notes: Clive debuted in Career Girl Blues (Chapter 12), and stars in two series: The Further Adventures of Clive, the Leather Hairdresser, and Dreams of a Dom. *ECCH--Evil Climate Control Handler appeared in How Cool Is That? **Scott disabled the ECCH by dumping Pop Rocks and Perrier in it (Maple Leaf Sugar), ***See Hairless? I Could Care Less.

A Hairstylist Worth Traveling For
By Scribe

The core of the Evil contingency (Frau Farbissina, Scott Evil, Number Two, and Dr. Evil himself) was gathered in the research lab, around Dr. Evil's latest invention. He had just announced what it was, and was staring at it proudly. Frau Farbissina, Number Two, and Scott Evil were all staring at the glittering machine, perplexed. Scott, never shy about speaking up, voiced what the other two were thinking. "It's the what?"

Dr. Evil's chest swelled with pride. "The Alternate Reality System Explorer."

Scott rolled his eyes. "The ARSE. Right."

Dr. Evil blinked. "The what?"

Scott sighed. "C'mon, Dad. You've been around Austin long enough to know that one. Hello? English term for..." He let his voice trail off, waving his hand encouragingly, willing to give his father another chance to prove that he wasn't a TOTAL doofus.

"Uhhh..." Scott sighed and slapped his own buttock. Number Two, standing on the other side of the device, blushed. Dr. Evil, of course, didn't notice. "Spanking?"

Scott threw up his hands. "Arse is an English term for ASS. You know--butt, booty, buttocks, gluteus maximus."

Dr. Evil blinked. "Isn't that a Latin term?"

Scott drooped. "I give up." Number Two patted him consolingly.

"Right," said Dr. Evil. "Now, this device is exactly what the name implies. With it I will be able to
visit alternate realities."

Scott snorted. "Dad, I could make that possible without the machine. Just gimme fifty bucks and a few minutes on the strip."

"Scott..." said Frau warningly.

"I'm kiddin', Ma. Okay, Dad, why would you WANT to visit alternate realities? I thought you were obsessed with taking over THIS reality."

Dr. Evil held up a finger. "Ah! But I might be able to find something in these other realities that might help me in my quest!"

"You also might get your ass eaten by cannibalistic humanoids who'd view you as a light snack."

"Uh..."

Frau spoke up. "You could land somevere you'd be seen as slave labor."

"Er..."

Number Two offered, "I think that Scott and Frau are being fanciful." Evil started to look relieved. Two continued, "I think it's much more likely they'd just kill him on general principles."

Evil sighed. "Perhaps I'll tinker around with the ECCH* machine a bit more." He wandered off toward the machine that had been sidelined ever since shortly after the Great Desert Blizzard Disaster. He was still trying to figure out what had caused what appeared to be a localized mini explosion in the machine's innards, and why the chip board seemed to be coated with orange sugar.**

"Vell," said Frau, "Not zat zis is out uff ze vay, I can catch Martha Stewart's Living on PBS." She
smiled. "I admire zat voman."

As she walked off, Scott said, "I think that scares me worse than Dad's usual cock-ups." He gave Number Two a lascivious grin. "Sooo, Tooey. That means you have some free time." He bumped him with his hip. "I have half a jar of hot fudge ice cream topping in my room, and the microwave is ready to rumble."

Number Two tugged at his collar. "Scott, please. I have to address a meeting of Virtucon's major shareholders in ten minutes, trying to explain to them why your father spent four million dollars trying to corner the market on Hot Pockets last month. I think that appearing with a boner might give them the wrong impression." He gave Scott a quick kiss, then left.

Scott stood in the lab, scowling. "Well, piss. NOW what am I supposed to do?" Everyone he knew had headed somewhere for Spring Break, and, what with the age restrictions on gambling, Vegas wasn't the Spring Break Mecca it might have been. He was tired of cruising the web, he'd read all his skating and porn mags at least twice, and he didn't care to play any more video games till he got his hands on a cheat book. Being stuck at level three sucked.

His eyes roamed restlessly around the room--and his gaze fell on a thick white pamphlet. He picked it up and read the cover. "Operations manual for the ARSE. Cripes, he has it in WRITING and STILL doesn't get it." He stared at it. "What the fuck."

Luckily Dad had limited those damn retro-space age egg chairs to the conference room. Scott found a fairly comfortable desk chair and sprawled in it (as much as it was possible to sprawl), and started reading. *Number Two must've written this instruction booklet. It makes too damn much sense for Dad to have done it.*

The machine operated on an interesting principle. Apparently there were an infinite number of realities--anything you could imagine was a potential reality, so theoretically the worlds of Bram Stoker, Arthur C. Clark, Isaac Asimov, and Steven King actually existed out there somewhere.

*If that's so, then maybe the worlds of some of MY favorite writers could be visited, too. Ooo, this has POTENTIAL! What world would I like to visit?* He considered. *Maybe I ought to just go into the world of one of my favorite television shows, or movies. Lessee... Interview With the Vampire would be good. Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Antonio Banderas, Stephen Rhea... Hm, but they didn't actually have sex in the movies OR the books, and sex is ESSENTIAL. How could we get around this?*

He turned around idly in the chair, and his eyes fell on one of the lab's computers. His face lit up with unholy glee as inspiration struck. "Fanfiction!" he crowed. "Where sex is close to universal, and GAY sex is a thriving contingency! Thank The Powers That Be for slash!"

He tapped the booklet in his palm while he ran over a list of authors who had created worlds he'd like to screw his way through. *Hmm... Tinneann has done some great work with the old movies.* He shook his head. *Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon slash would be great, but she also did the werewolf, Thing From Outer Space, and Creature from the Black Lagoon slash, and I'm not interested in inter-species nookie. There's TW--I could really get behind some Ares.* He snickered. *Or I could get behind him getting behind me. He doesn't strike me as the submissive sort. Then there's...* He snapped his fingers. "Scribe! Hell, yeah! She even writes the 'trapped in the fanfiction author's universe' stories. Maybe I could even meet her." He giggled. *Girls aren't my first choice, but maybe I could give her a few ideas for future stories.*

Scott consulted the pamphlet again, then rooted around in the shiny objects scattered on the lab table till he found something that resembled the illustration on the page labeled PERSONAL CONTROLLER. It looked something like one of those old, clunky, diver's watches. Scott strapped it on his wrist, then consulted the pamphlet again, muttering to himself. "Lessee... How do I designate the destination? Okay, sit in the chair..." There was, indeed, a chair situated amongst the machinery. Scott wiggled his way in and sat, ignoring the seatbelt with his usual
slacker insouciance.

He checked the instructions. "Lower brain wave reading device." He looked up. "Kee-riste!" There was, indeed, a helmet-like device on an arm just over his head. "Oh--no. No, no, no WAY!" It looked like a 1960's salon hairdryer. "Geez, isn't there SOME way I can get around havin' that monstrosity on my head?" He rapidly flipped pages, reading hard, then sighed.
"Guess not." He reached up and lowered the hood till it covered the upper part of his head, leaving him looking out through the clear plastic rim. "Please, God, don't let Mini Me show up with a camera."

"Oookay, freakazoid helmet in place, now flip THIS switch." *flip* *buzzzzz* "Whoa." Scott sat very still for a moment to be sure nothing was going to explode. When he felt marginally safer he continued. "Turn THIS dial till..." *turn* *hummmmm* Scott sat still again." Double whoa. If this thing doesn't zap my ass, I'm getting the feeling it might actually work." *ZZZZZZZZZ* "Or at least do SOMETHING. Now, concentrate on the reality I want to visit."

Scott closed his eyes. *The Scribeverse. Xander, and Joxer, and Clive, oh my!* Eyes closed, he couldn't restrain a smile. "Clive--oh, YEAH, oh my!" *Career Girl Blues, Clean Sweep, Clean Cut, Dreams of a Dom...* He paused to wipe drool off his chin. *Damn, I'd better think of some other character. I'm supposed to concentrate, and...*

*BBBRRRRZAPT*

"Wha-huh?" Scott was afraid to open his eyes, but the atmosphere had changed. It was cooler, and there were sounds all around. There was the buzz of conversation, the tap of footsteps, a mechanical buzz, and a faintly familiar clicking sound.

He'd barely become aware of this when the sounds changed. There was a lot of squealing and surprised shouting, involving some fairly colorful language. After a second or two a strong, dark, masculine voice cut through the cacophony. "What the HELL is going on?"

A female voice squeaked, "Lookitlookitlookit..."

"Bettina, darling, BREATHE!"

*uuuuuh*

"Better. Now, what?"

"Itititit..."

"Just POINT!" *silence* "Oh, my." *clapclap* "People, this is Metropolis--it isn't as if strange occurrences are unheard of. Get back to your business." Slowly the previous noises resumed. "Now then. Who are you, and what is this monstrosity you've brought into my domain?" Scott squeezed his eyes tighter shut. "Precious, it REALLY isn't a good idea to ignore me--ask almost anyone."

A mixture of hope and dread was welling up in Scott as listened to the cadence of the voice, and considered its owner's choice of vocabulary. His voice tiny, he said, "Clive?"

"And who else would it be? You're very cute, but if you don't LOOK at me and start answering questions VERY quickly, I will be displeased."

Scott's eyes shot open. A man was standing beside the ARSE. He was dressed in skintight black leather pants and a loose shirt, open almost to his waist. Anyone else would have looked like a disco refugee--he just looked hot. He was blonde, buff, gorgeous, and obviously pissed off. The room beyond him was a bright, busy hair salon. That explained the buzzing (clippers), and snipping (scissors).

"That's an improvement," drawled Clive. "Those green eyes are quite pretty. Not nearly as nice as my Trenton's, but still--you shouldn't hide them. Now--you have me at a disadvantage, and that's not something I tolerate. You are?"

"Scott." *Oh, wow! I managed to speak.*

Clive flicked a finger disdainfully against the machine. "And this is?"

"The ARSE."

Clive's eyebrows shot up. "I'll agree that it's butt-ugly, but it doesn't look like any arse I've ever
seen."

"Sorry. It's the A-R-S-E: Alternate Reality System Explorer, and don't blame me for it--my Dad came up with the name." Clive crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. "You're takin' this pretty calmly, dude. Most people who had a lump of equipment like this and a stranger appear out of thin air would... Well, would react more like that stuttering chick."

"Precious, I'm Clive--I don't DO stuttering, and after having Scribe in my life, this is hardly flabbergasting."

Scott perked up. "Scribe! You know Scribe--the REAL Scribe?"

"Good God, darling, is there more than one? At the risk of sounding like a social sycophant, she's a dear friend of mine. She isn't around right now, thought. She's off in that bizarre 'real' world of hers. Imagine--no superheroes."

"Oo, that's right! You have Superman here!"

Clive's eyelids lowered to half-mast nostalgically. "We have, indeed, had Superman." *pause* "Not here, though--the Fortress, and my apartment, but not here."

Scott's eyes got round. "Cooooool. Yeah, I remember that from Career Girl Blues." He grinned wickedly. "Ya nailed Robin in the cloakroom at the charity ball, too. Hot stuff."

Clive didn't exactly start, but his head drew back a fraction as he regarded the young man. "My 'date' was Dick Grayson. What makes you mention the Boy Wonder?"

"Oops."

"I think we'd best go somewhere more private for a talk. Get out of that contraption." Scott held onto the arms of the machine a little tighter. "Dear, don't make me come in there after you." Scott reluctantly put up the helmet and crawled out of the ARSE. (And don't think I don't know how that last sentence scans.) "Now, then, where shall we have our little natter?"

"Lavender's Green?" said Scott hopefully.

"That was a rhetorical question. No, we'd have to walk there, and I don't think I'd trust you out on the street--you look like a quick and slippery little morsel. No, something closer is called for. Office or station, office or station?" he muttered.

"I suppose that's rhetorical, too, but if I had my druthers I'd say your private station, considering all the great raunchy stuff that's happened there."

Clive's expression was impassive, but his eyes were both amused and interested. "And you know this HOW, if you're from another reality?"

"Dude! You're underground famous in my world," said Scott enthusiastically. "Scribe has written a shit load of fiction about you and your boyfriend and, uh, temporary boyfriends. I have a whole folder devoted to you on my hard drive. I gotta say, though, you're a lot hotter than the pictures she's managed to mock up."

"I've seen those, and you're right, but cut the interdimensional discussions till we're alone," he warned. "You might frighten the vanilla people." He raised his voice. "Bettina, have you recovered?" A tiny blonde woman peeked out from behind another stylist and nodded. "Make yourself useful, dear, and throw a few ponchos over that eyesore. I refuse to have it lowering the tone of my establishment. You--come along." As they made their way toward the back of the shop he said, "Tell me--do you only go by one name, also?"

"Oh, no. I just realized, I can give my full name here without having to be worried about being embarrassed by my dad! I'm Scott Evil. Hey!"

Clive had halted so abruptly that Scott almost ran into him. The Dom turned quickly, fixing Scott with hard eyes. "Precious, I have no objection to someone using a play name, but that can wait for a play situation. Right now I want your REAL name."

Scott wondered if his deodorant was going to stand up to this trip. "Dude, I swear that's my real name. Dad's idiocy aside, it's too cool to change."

"Do you have any ID?"

"Sure." Scott dug his wallet out and offered his driver's license. "I get carded all the time, so I keep it handy." Clive took the card and studied it narrowly. "I'm legal," Scott offered hopefully.

"Huh. Well, I'll be damned." Clive handed the card back. "She told me to expect some bizarreness, but this is beyond what I expected." Clive reached for a door marked OFFICE.

Scott said, "I, uh, was kinda hoping we'd go to the 'private station'."

"We'll see, but right now I need to use the office computer for a moment. I have the distinct feeling that you're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you unless you see for yourself."

In the office, Clive shut the door and pointed Scott toward a chair. Then he sat at the desk and booted up the rather clunky looking PC that had place of pride. "Scott, you said that Scribe has written a lot of fiction about me. She's showed it to me, and there's a bit of confusion between us as to which came first--the fiction or the fact. In other words, we don't know if she wrote the stories because I had the adventures, or I had the adventures because she wrote the stories. I have no problem with either order, since I've had a wonderful time." He was clicking busily. "Now, then. Have you, by any chance, had numerous sexual encounters with a wide variety of attractive men?"

"I'm a slut--yeah."

"I love a man who knows himself. Have you, perchance, had the interesting experience of having sex with more than one person who is... Um, how should I put this? They'd pretty much have to resort to fingerprints to tell you apart, and even that could be iffy?"

Scott blinked, remembering Oz and Dwayne. "Ye-ah."

"Have you also encountered a devastatingly sexy green-eyed spy, a neurotic but sexy FBI agent, a delectable Mountie..."

"Dude, who's been blabbing about my sex life?"

"Come look at this." Scott went to stand beside Clive. There was a folder labeled EVIL SERIES. Clive opened it. "E.G.G, Oh, Behave!, The One Important Question, Knick Knack Paddywhack, Maple Leaf Sugar, I'm With the Band..."

"What the hell is this?"

"These are the stories Scribe has written about YOU. She brought them over for me on a diskette, and if you ask me how we were able to reconcile formatting between dimensions, I shall spank you, and not in a nice way."

"No way!"

"Let's see... Which one begins with something you'd probably remember? Ah--Knick Knack." He opened the file.

Scott leaned closer and read:

Scott rolled over on his belly, stretching luxuriously. "Hey, Austin. Sorry about your sheets, man, but hell. You MUST have been figuring on a wet spot, right?"

Krycek stretched out beside him on his back. "Cold water, gentle cycle and a TEENY bit of baking soda in the rinse, to give them that fresh smell."

Scott stumbled back. "Mother-FUCKER!" A slow, cheesy grin spread over his face. "Somewhere in the cosmos, I am FAMOUS! I RULE!"

Clive laughed. "I really wish that Trenton hadn't gone to that student Hair Fair--he'd have loved meeting you." Clive moved to shut down the program.

"Hey, I'd kinda like to finish that."

Clive didn't stop. "Perhaps some day, dear." The screen faded to black, and the hum of the machine died. He sat back, fingers drumming lightly on the chair arms. "This could prove most interesting. Do you suppose she'll write a story about me having sex with you, or YOU having sex with ME?"

"You mean will it be an Evil story, or a Dreams of a Dom?" Clive nodded. Scott grinned. "Either one, I'm up for it."

"Really?" Scott squeaked as a large, firm hand cupped over his crotch, squeezing in a considering manner. "No, you're not--but I don't suppose it will take much to achieve the desired effect." Not releasing his grip, Clive stood up. "NOW we go to the private station." He started toward the door. Scott followed. First off, it wasn't that he actually had much choice in the matter, considering where Clive had his hold. Second, whatever choice he DID have, it was to follow anyway.

At the door, Clive put his hand on the knob, then turned to Scott. "Lambie, I'm going to let go. I don't lead my playmates by their private parts in public." *pause* "Well, not unless we're at a special occasion." He let go of Scott's crotch, then took hold of his chin. He held him firmly, and looked deep into his eyes. "You will follow at a distance of no more than three feet, is that clear?"

Scott blinked up at him. "Yes, sir. Do you, by chance, know a guy named Walter Skinner?***"

"No, but your tone of voice makes me think that he might be very interesting."

"You two have a lot in common."

"Three feet, Scott. That's approximately my arm's reach."

They stepped out into the salon. The activity didn't stop as they walked over to the private station (with Scott following Clive at a carefully estimated distance), but the level of noise eased up. When the door shut behind them, the noise level rose again, intensifying a little as ribald speculation started about someone having a VERY good time.

END