Title: Be Careful What You Wish For

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: Miss Congeniality/Bedazzled

Pairing: Gracie Hunt(Sandra Bullock)/The Devil(Elizabeth Hurley)

Rating: PG-13

Email address: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Disclaimer: Oh come on. You really think they belong to me? Not in this lifetime, girls and boys! And I am sure as shootin' not making a red cent on this!!

Status: new/complete

Date: 5/2001

Series/Sequel: no, just a brief encounter of the really strange kind

Other Web Site: http://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Archive: But of course! It's what I live for!

Summary: How does the saying go? ... for you surely will get it? The Devil is after Gracie's soul.

Warnings:implied f/f, implied m/m spoilers for both movies.

Notes: J Lo is Jennifer Lopez. // denotes mental conversation. This one is for Silk. It's great to have you back, sis.

Be Careful What You Wish For
by Tinnean


I watched from the shadows.

"Quit screwing around, Gracie!" Eric Matthews, the FBI agent who was so full of himself, left his female counterpart floating in the pool, her lovely dress ruined, her meticulous hairdo bedraggled. He stalked into the hotel.

I took a quick peek into his mind, and saw an image of the man who was supposed to be preparing Grace Hunt for her role as Miss New Jersey. Victor Melling. Older, chunkier, wearing a toupe, and if I wasn't mistaken a *corset*!

Well, well. Someone else to corrupt, perhaps?

I grinned and licked my lips. I'd consider that later.

I heard the words Grace was sing-songing under her breath as she watched Matthews' rather cute butt. "You think I'm gorgeous, and you want to kiss me, cuddle me and marry me..."

Oh, this was going to be like taking candy from a baby. I should be ashamed of myself.

I should but... maybe in another lifetime.

I stepped out from behind the pillar and crouched down at the edge of the pool. "I can give him to you, if you want," I told the young woman.

She started and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Give a girl a heart attack, why doncha?" she snarled. She hauled herself up out of the hotel swimming pool, splashing me a little, and stood there, wringing out the gauzy material. "And what do you mean, you can give him to me? What makes you think I want a macho schmuck like that?"

I let the corner of my mouth curl into a grin. "Don't you, Gracie Hunt?"

Her eyes became cautious. "You've got the wrong person, Slick. My name is Freebush."

I rose to my feet and held my hands before me, my fingers spread out, examining my manicure. "If you say so, Agent Hunt." I stared into her eyes, letting her see the flames in mine. "But I'm the Devil; I *can* give you your heart's desire."

"Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz? Well, no thanks, I don't want to go over the rainbow!"

"Don't you?"

"And why should I believe you are who you say you are, and not some nut on the loose from the loony bin?"

I pursed my lips. "Oh, Gracie, that is *so* politically incorrect of you!"

She laughed, that funny laugh with the snort at the end, and began squeezing water out of her hair. I saw it would take more than the Devil's word to convince this woman who I was.

I strolled around the pillar, and then suddenly vanished, to reappear instantaneously on the other side of the pool, dressed this time in the outfit J Lo wore at the Grammies. I thought it suited me better, and *I* didn't need glue to keep it over my breasts.

"What do you want, Gracie Hunt? Gracie *Freebush*?" I corrected with a grin. She gasped and fell back into the pool. I waited until she surfaced. "Name it, and I can give it to you. Wealth? Fame? A different fuck every night, and twice on Sunday? Agent Matthews?" I dangled him before her, knowing he was her weakness.

She smiled, reluctantly, and I went still. What an intriguing smile!

"You're not offering me beauty," she remarked.

I shrugged. She wanted to gild the lily? "I can give you that if you want, but *I* think that would be a wasted wish."

She sucked in her breath. That was when she started to believe I was who I said I was. "You think I'm gorgeous?"

I gave her a look. "What I think isn't part of the deal, Gracie."

"So what *is* the deal?"

"I will give you whatever you want, up to seven wishes if you're not happy with the way one turns out."

"Let me get this straight: I get my fondest desire, and in return, you get...*what*?"

"Your soul, of course, Sweetcheeks! What else?"

****

The agent before me licked her lips, and I found myself mesmerized by that simple action.

"Okay, can we do a test run?"

I sighed. "You mortals are so untrusting! What would you like?"

"I want Miss Rhode Island to tell me what she's concealing."

"Oh, is that all?" I muttered something under my breath. "Come on!"

The FBI agent followed me out of the pool area and into the hotel's gym, where Cheryl was morosely considering her response to a pedestrian pageant question. "Offer her this!" I told Gracie, handing her a pizza. And then I faded out of sight.

****

"Satan? Beelzebub? Oh, Devil?"

I popped up behind her wrapped in a cover-up, dripping over the carpet in the lobby. Little puffs of smoke rose from where the drops landed, and she jumped.

"What is it? Can't an angel have some time to herself these days?"

"You're not an angel!"

"All right," I snapped. "A *fallen* angel!"

Her grin was smug. "What were you doing?" she asked, interested in spite of herself.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I let the cover-up fall to the floor, revealing the suit I was wearing. It was a thong, almost transparent from my dip in the pool of hellish lava, and it gracefully outlined the curves of my ass.

I was proud of that ass. It took a lot of hard work to keep it looking like that. Not that *I* did the work, of course. I'm Lucifer, Luci for short. I have minions to do stuff like that for me.''

But I did love that suit. More men rose to attention when I wore it!

She began to grumble. "Why aren't *you* in this pageant? You're drop-dead gorgeous!"

"Um, thank you. Only, one of the qualifications for this program is being mortal."

She sneered at me. "Thanks for reminding me! You call that an example of your powers?" Grace waved her hand back toward the gym.

"Well...yes, I do!" I was a little disconcerted.

"*I* call it bullshit! It didn't take anything supernatural to make Cheryl spill her guts: just the pizza and a few beers!"

"Well, I like that! Do you have any idea how *difficult* it is getting a pizza in this neighborhood at this time of night? It's *freaking* impossible!"

Gracie crossed her arms over her bosom, her *very* attractive bosom and tapped her foot impatiently.

I huffed impatiently. "Okay, then. What do you want?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I want wealth!"

"You got it, Sweetcheeks!" And I snapped my fingers and disappeared.

****

That one didn't work out too well. The Feds were coming to nail *her* on income tax evasion!

So I got her out of there and she decided to try fame. As a rock star whose popularity rivaled The Stones.

Only her fans damn near tore her apart before I could get her out of the stadium.

She glared at me. "All right, give me Eric! He can't be more trouble than those maniacs in the face paint!"

*Darn*. I swallowed a grin. Sometimes these things just don't go according to plan! Eric turned out to be the perfect spouse. The problem with that, though, was he wanted to be the *wife*. It seems Victor convinced him Greece was a fabulous place to live.

Poor Gracie. She'd had wealth, fame, the man of her dreams. Now she wanted to try tranquility.

"Grace, you're an FBI agent. The Bureau is *not* Walden Pond!"

That woman can throw dirty looks with the best of them!

"Fine! Suit yourself!"

It wasn't my fault that cabin had no electricity, no running water, and no indoor plumbing!

She lasted a whole day before she beeped me to get her the fuck out of there! As I said, she *is* FBI!

****

"Okay, Sweetcheeks. What now?"

"Power! If I have power, I'll have wealth, and love!"

"What about fame?"

"Fuck fame!"

I sighed and snapped my fingers again.

Well, how the fuck was I to know that one would backfire on *me*? I was just walking down the street in Vegas, just minding my own business. I wasn't even looking for souls to corrupt!

I mean, hey, come on. Vegas! Anyone there is already heading to hell with one foot on a banana peel!

And then I was shoved up against a wall. "FBI! Spread 'em!" And a foot wearing one of the *ugliest*, most sensible shoes on God's green earth... um, sorry Big Guy... on the *face of the earth*, kicked my legs apart.

"I beg your pardon?" I said in my snootiest, most continental voice.

"Don't dick with me, Luci! I'm the FBI!" Gracie's warm breath fanned over my ear and I shuddered.

I...liked having her hands on me. "What have I done, Agent Hunt?" I asked huskily, thinking of what I'd like to do. Strip off those masculine trousers, lick her all over her body, explore the sweet indentation of her navel, taste the warmth between her thighs...

"Solicitation, Slick!"

"*What*?" I shrieked, jolted out of my pleasantly lustful fantasy.

"You got it, Petunia! That outfit you're wearing is an incitement to riot!"

Oooo, I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. I wiggled my ass against her hip. "Do you really like it, Gracie?"

"That's *Agent* Gracie, to you, Slick!"

"You're *so* masterful! Are you going to discipline me, Gracie?"

She swatted my butt. "I'm going to strap on a weapon and fuck you until you won't know if you're coming or going!"

I glanced over my shoulder into her warm, brown eyes, and smiled as we shared that hoary play on words.

Just then this big old Lincoln Towncar came tearing around the corner. Thugs in shiny black suits half-hung out of the windows, spraying the area with automatic weapons' fire. Gracie flattened me to the ground, covering me with her body. I felt it shudder and jump as the bullets tore into it.

I was on my feet with a scream of rage, and flung a fireball at the retreating car. It hit the gas tank and exploded with an extremely satisfying ka-boom. My minions captured the departing souls and dragged them, kicking and pleading, down to hell.

And another bunch bites the dust! God, I...sorry, Big Guy. Ah hem, *gee*, I really love my job!

"C'mon, Gracie." I shook her shoulder. "Up and at 'em."

She rolled over, her eyes dazed. "I'm not dead?"

"Doesn't look like it. Let's go, Sweetcheeks. You have one wish left."

It was her turn to scream in outrage. "Whaddaya mean, one left? I've got two by my count!"

"Nope, sorry, Sweetcheeks. Only one."

She growled at me, and began ticking them off against her fingers. "Wealth. Fame. Dream man." She had the grace to shudder at the memory of Agent Matthews. "Tranquility. Power. That makes five."

Did I mention I love my job? *Excuse* me, that was *not* an evil laugh you heard!

"You've forgotten Cheryl and her pizza."

"That was just a test!"

"Was it? Did you get it in writing?"

Her hands clenched and unclenched. She huffed and blew a stream of air feathering her bangs. "You...."

"Yes, I am a devil, aren't I?"

"Okay. Okay. Just one more wish. And you'll grant it, no matter what?"

"My word of honor as a fallen angel," I said cheekily. No matter what she wished for, she was mine. I'd have that body that would tempt a saint for all eternity.

"Okay. Then I wish that *you*, Lucifer, will love me, unrestrainedly, for as long as you exist."

My mouth dropped open. "But...but you can't wish for that!" I sputtered.

"Show me where it says so, Slick."

"No one's ever wished for that!"

She shrugged. "Not my problem."

//*Father*!//

//Sorry, Luci. She's got you fair and square.//

There was a tremendous thunderclap.

****

I sat up in bed, startled awake by the noise. The sun was just peeking through the curtains of the penthouse suite. I padded over to the window and looked out over the city.

Not a rainstorm, then. Perhaps it was an Air Force jet from the nearby airfield breaking the sound barrier.

I turned and looked back at my lover, who was just waking up.

"Hey, Sweetcheeks!"

"Morning, Slick!"

~End~