Rated PG
Disclaimer: None needed. Bwahahahahhahahaha.
I apologize in advance for this. This is what happens when I have to visit Social Security, in the middle of co-writing A/K with Cassatt. And Happy Holidays... The Real A/K fic will
arrive eventually.
"What are we doing here?" Harry Kim's angelic little face and adorable body, clad in his bunny jammies, peeped up over the side of the handheld computer.
"Ssssh," Greg Ayala said warningly, clutching the bunny-covered rear to stop Harry tipping out onto the plastic seat. "We're in the social security office. We're waiting for them to fix the birthdate of one of our Writers. Now be quiet and sit down." He pointed to the security guard, lounging with his gun and metal detector at the entrance. "Or they'll throw you out."
Harry ignored Greg, and climbed more fully out of the handheld computer, to perch on the side of the case swinging his little legs. He looked around, seeing the rows of bored looking people, fussing children, and the disinterested security guard. "What's that say?" He pointed to one of the notices written in Spanish on the wall.
"It says that if you don't get back into your box and shut up that the Writer won't let us have sex," whispered Greg in dark tones. "She's already worried that the man in the row behind her is reading over her shoulder."
Harry's eyes opened wide. "She couldn't do that to us!" he squeaked. "I've been waiting MONTHS for this. Every time one of our Writers gets close to writing us some meaty NC17, you misunderstand my motives and it doesn't happen! Last time, you nearly kissed me and then you decided I was straight! Imagine that!"
He shook his little fist warningly at the Writer, who was oblivious to her characters' goings on. She was typing fast on the handheld, one eye on the blinking neon light announcing the ticket numbers at the end of the room.
Greg, resigning himself to the fact that Harry wasn't going to curl up in the handheld and go to sleep, climbed out as well. He compared the number printed on the ticket that lay scrunched up in the handheld's case to the number on the wall. "There's nearly forty numbers to go," he said happily. "Surely, she'll get to write us some hot sex in that time?"
"Ohhhhh, YES!" Harry bounced excitedly on the side of the case. "Let's give her a hand."
Jumping down onto the seat next to the Writer, he started to pull himself up the side of her fleece top, until he stood perched on her shoulder. The Writer flicked her hand distractedly at him, and Harry stopped tickling her ear. "What should I ask for?" he shouted to Greg. "You wanna be on top, or you want me to be on top?"
Greg studied the text on the screen. "I don't think we're at that stage yet," he said. "I'd settle for a nice hot kiss right now."
"Okay." Harry started to whisper in the Writer's ear.
The Writer looked puzzled for a minute, and looked around the room suspiciously. Her eyes lit on the man two seats along. "Did you say something?" she enquired of him.
The man shook his head. "No comprendo," he muttered, before returning to his copy of "La Jornada".
"A good thing too," said Harry. "I asked the Writer to let you kiss me and cup my ass, pulling me against your ginormous erection."
Greg fanned himself. "Good beginning, Har," he said approvingly. "But we mustn't get the Writer into trouble here. After all, she's only a resident in the United States; we don't want to get her thrown out on pornography or assault charges. Careful...!" Greg's voice rose up in a shriek, as he saw Harry overbalance and fall, grabbing desperately for the Writer's hair on the way down.
But it was no good. Harry bounced off her jean-clad leg and fell to the floor. In horror, Greg saw his wanna-be lover rub his cute little butt, where he'd landed on it. And then it happened. A small child, clutching a blonde-headed doll of unrealistic proportions toddled over and picked Harry up around his waist.
"Look, Mama!" she screamed in delight. "I gotta real Ken for my Barbie!!"
(((FIN)))
Is this the end for Harry and Greg? Will Harry be forced to play Ken to Barbie for the rest of his days? Or will the Writer notice his absence in the thirty-eight numbers left before she is called to do battle with the Klingon disguised as a Social Security counter clerk??
Uh, sorry about that. I'm going back to the REAL Greg and Harry now......
© Shayenne, December 2003 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.