Title: How Cool Is That?

Author/pseudonym: Scribe

Fandom: Austin Powers

Pairing: Scott Evil/Number Two

Rating: NC-17

Status: Done

Sequel/Series: The Evil Series

Archive: Yes, to any archive that recieves this (RS, WWOMB, allslash, etc.)

Feedback: Pretty please.

Disclaimers: I do not own these characters or concepts. This is written strictly for entertainment,
and no profit has been made.

Notes: Number Two has had a crush on Scott since the boy was in his mid-teens, but has never done anything about it.

Summary: Dr. Evil's latest gadget screws up--what else is new? The Evil Compound is isolated for awhile, and Scott starts looking for entertainment. He finds a close-by admirer that he hadn't suspected.

How Cool Is That?
By Scribe

"Scott."

Scott Evil, lying in bed, kept his eyes studiously closed and turned up the volume on his CD player. 'Rage Against the Machine' drowned out the whine of his dad's voice.

"Scott?"

The volume went up another notch. There was a moment or two of pure musical bliss, and the young Evil began to relax.

"SCOTT!"

Scott did a levitation that David Copperfield would have envied, managing to rise a foot off his bed while still horizontal. He thrashed wildly in mid-air. Since he was a flexible little booger (as he enjoyed telling subsequently delighted lovers), he managed to get himself into a standing position before he landed. He ended up at attention, blinking at the small, stern woman standing in his doorway.

Pulling off his headphones he said, "Ma, have you taken out a life insurance policy on me, or something? If you have, I gotta tell ya that I'm still a little young for heart attacks."

She looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, darlink. Your father has finished his latest project. Don't you
vant to vatch ze first test?" Frau Farbissina smiled encouragingly at her son.

"No."

She sighed. "I understand, darlink, but he's TRYING, ja?" Scott scowled. "Please, Scott, for Muttie? You know how he pouts."

Scott melted. He might be a Gen X slacker and a hard-core slutpuppy, but his mother was his soft spot, and he had a hard time denying her anything. "Oh, all right." He stuffed his feet into a pair of sneakers (first checking for any surprises Mini Me might have left him, remembering the cat poop incident) and followed her out into the hall.

On the elevator ride up to the surface of the Evil lair he said, "Mom, this isn't some sort of weird-ass dimensional/spatial traveling device, is it? He's not gonna shoot us to, say, Canada, is he? Not that I'd mind--it'd give me a crack at a Mountie."

"No, darlink. Vhy do you ask?"

"Well, you're wearing a coat and mittens."

"Ja?"

"I'm wearing jams and a tank top. Given that it's July, just outside of Vegas, and the low temp for the week was around 97 degrees in the middle of the night, which of us is dressed more appropriately?"

"Your father's newest invention is a veather control machine."

"He plans to make it cold?" Frau nodded. "So you put on...?" She nodded again. Scott sighed. "Mom, you're a living example of the expression 'hope springs eternal in the human heart.'"

They reached the surface, exited, and started walking toward where, several months ago, Dr. Evil had set up a portable building. When his father had gotten so excited and smugly secretive a while back, Scott had been of two minds.

One--it kept him out of Scott's hair. At least he wasn't bugging Scott to choose E.G.U (Evil Genius University), his old alma mater, for his continuing education. To start with, he'd viewed the brochure and the catalogue. The campus was tucked away in the mountains in Bavaria. Picturesque as all shit, but he'd have to go, like, a thousand miles to find a decent rave on the weekends. He'd also gotten a look at the student and staff registry, complete with photos. The term 'butt ugly' came to mind. Besides, they didn't offer a course of study in veterinery science, so that killed it.

The downside of Dad being involved in a project was almost too obvious to mention. They were always so fucking lame, and things tended to explode.

The portable building had been torn down, and the device sat in solitary splendor on a slightly raised dias. It looked pretty much like the rest of Dad's devices--a little of Star Wars, a little of The Matrix, a whole lot of Home Depot. *It STILL hasn't occured to the idiot that Virtucon pulls down a couple of hundred mil a year, and he doesn't HAVE to shop at Bargain and Haggle.*

Number Two, impeccably attired in a suit, as always, was standing by the dias. He greeted Frau with a courtly bow, and Scott with a smile. Scott mumbled, "How they hangin, dude?"

Number Two was all right. Sure, he was older, and he wore suits... Scott suddenly smiled, remembering Walter Skinner. Older wasn't necessarily bad. Then he thought of Walter, Alex, and Fox. Suits weren't so bad, either, especially when you got them off someone. Scott gave Number Two another look. Nope, they weren't bad at all.

Scott eyed the device. "So, Tooey. Any chance of practical application, or is it just another of his
'ransom the world' thingies? I hope not, 'cause Austin has started to get kind clingy, and the last
thing I need is an excuse for him to come out here."

"Actually Scott, this has great potential," Number Two assured him. "If we can control the weather in strictly limited areas so that it doesn't cause environmental damage, the prospects are staggering. We could buy land viewed as undesireable at bargain prices, develop it, then sell at a premium. For instance, Montana would make an excellent retirement community if we could control the winters."

Scott narrowed his eyes. "What about the elk and racoons and stuff?"

Number Two said quickly, "Oh, their safety would be a priority. Most would be relocated, but the ones that stayed would be a major selling point, and would live comfortable, protected lives."

Scott nodded his approval and patted Number Two on the arm. "Very cool." Then he walked closer to the device, to examine it.

Number Two rubbed the spot Scott had patted, smiling. Then he took a mini-recorder from his jacket pocket, punched RECORD, and whispered, "Note to self: scrap plans to confer with meat packers, taxidermists, and coonskin-cap makers."

"All right," Scott said. "I'm here, you're here, we're all here, where the hell is HE?" Scott pulled a
red bandana out of his pocket and gently wiped sweat from Frau Farbissina's face. "Ma, if he doesn't show up in two minutes, I'm dragging your butt back into the air conditioning, before you have a heat stroke."

There was a grinding noise. A section of ground slid open, and a platform rose slowly. On the platform was one of the hellishly uncomfortable and questionably stylish futuristic egg chairs. Sitting in the chair, holding Mr. Bigglesworth, was Dr. Evil. He was in a pose meant to suggest cool, competent menace.

"Constipated again?" said Scott.

Dr. Evil frowned. Frau shook her head. "You didn't eat that prune und raisin schtrudel I made for you, nein?"

Dr. Evil frowned again. "Mini Me ate it before I could. He's been in the crapper for the last six
hours."

Scott smirked. "I think it's more likely that Ex-Lax I put in a Hershey bar wrapper." Number Two stifled a laugh, and Dr. Evil gave them both suspicious looks. Scott continued, "Hey, I WARNED him to stop raiding my candy stash."

Dr. Evil stood up and deposited Bigglesworth on the seat cushion. "Welcome to the first test of my newest and, dare I say it?" He paused coyly.

"Live dangerously," drawled Scott.

Dr. Evil pointedly ignored him. "My GREATEST invention--the Evil Climatic Control Handler."

"The ECCH." Scott made it sound like he was retching. "Very appropriate, Dad."

"If this really works, I'd put a tornado in your room, but you probably wouldn't notice the difference."

"One time! ONE time!" Scott snarled. "I cleaned up after Alex left, didn't I? And the peanut butter wasn't my fault. ANYONE but an anal retentive like you wouldn't have thought to look on the ceiling." Number Two tood advantage of the others' distraction to reach down and adjust himself discreetly.

"Whatever." Dr. Evil waved negligently. "I will now demostrate the ECCH." He realized that he'd made a retching sound, like Scott had, and quickly corrected himself. "The E-C-C-H by lowering the temperature to, oh, say, 35 degrees... no, make that 32 degrees, for a radius of five miles."

As he climbed into the control seat, Scott said, "You've taken everything into account, right? Local prevailing winds, humidity, residual ground heat..."

Dr. Evil blinked at him. "R-i-g-h-t."

"This won't be for long, will it? 'Cause an extended cold spell could really fuck things up for the local fauna."

"Fauna? What, we have frickin' Bambi out here now?"

"Not FAWNS, you dipshit! FAUNA. It means..." He sighed heavily. "Never mind. Why am I worried? What's the percentage of your successes, anyway?"

Number Two pulled out a calculator and started punching in numbers. Dr. Evil snapped, "While you're at it, figure out what your unemployment benefits could be." Number Two put away the calculator. Dr. Evil nodded, turned back to the machine, and began manipulating the controls. He flipped a switch, and there was an electric humming. The lights on the control panel flickered to life.

"We just want a small demonstration, so I'll set the timer for ten minutes. Let's see... Seconds, then minutes." He tapped some buttons. "32 degress, and..." Scott noticed that there was the usual large, red button. Dr. Evil pushed it with a florish.

The air over the machine seemed to waver as the humming intensified. "At least it isn't another
dumb-ass laser," Scott muttered to Number Two. "Now, if he'd develop the lasers for light shows he could do good business at concerts and raves, or SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

Scott never really felt like he needed an excuse to use vulgarities, but just then he felt justified. A
sudden clammy chill had swept over him. He hadn't felt anything like it since the last time Fat Bastard had been chasing him, and he'd hidden in the compound's meat locker. He had gotten more intimate with a side of beef than he had ever wanted to be.

Number Two tugged his well-cut suit jacket a little tighter. "I'll be damned. He did it."

Frau applauded with brief, Teutonic efficiency. "Vonderful!" When Scott started to walk back to the lair entrance she tugged at his arm, whispering, "Scott, it's just ten minutes."

He rolled his eyes. Anyone else and he would have popped the rod and gone back inside for some central heating and hot Ovaltine. Since it was Frau, though, he crossed his arms, hugging himself, and gave her a tight smile. "Sure, Mom." He lifted his voice in false enthusiasm. "Hot damn, Dad! Ya actually did it!" He lowered his voice. "Will freakin' miracles never cease?"

He walked around a little, trying to warm up. Number Two came to stand near him, and he watched as Scott blew out a large breath. When it fogged in the air before him, the young Evil quickly cut a hand through it. Number Two tried to do the same, but the cloud dissapated long before his hand reached it. Scott smirked, then did it again. "How do you DO that?" marveled Number Two.

Scott shrugged. "I'm fast," he wiggled his eyebrows, "when I wanna be." *Holy shit, is he BLUSHING?*

Scott bounced on his heels, shivering and slapping at his arms. "Here." Number Two took off his suit jacket and hung it over Scott's shoulders.

"Hey, thanks, dude," Scott said gratefully, snuggling into the jacket. "It's still warm."

Now Number Two shivered, and not because of the cold. No, it was the idea of cute little Scott Evil feeling HIS body heat. Emboldened, he touched Scott's hand. "Your hands are like ice." He took both of Scott's hands in his own and rubbed them.

Scott groaned happily. "Shit, that feels good!" Scott flirted automatically. "I didn't realize you
could get such strong hands from workin' on those keyboards all the time." Number Two was frantically trying to think up a non-geeky reply when Scott said, "Two, I'm not crazy, like SOME people around here *coughdadcough*, so I know that the thing that just landed on my face cannot POSSIBLY be a snowflake."

"I couldn't say, since it melted." Several white dots floated between them. "But I think that I can say with confidence that THOSE are snowflakes."

"MotherFUCKER!" Scott charged over to the ECCH. Dr. Evil was peering up at the night sky, which was rapidly filling with flakes. Scott demanaded, "Snow? Fucking SNOW?!"

"Um-m-m... okay, this is unexpected. Nothing to worry about, though. This session is for only ten minutes."

"Well, stop it NOW! This is fucking unnatural."

"Scott, YOU talking about unnatural is..."

Frau glared at Dr. Evil. "Are you SURE you vant to finish zat thought?" Dr. Evil scowled, and Scott stuck out his tongue at him. "Scott is right--zis is a bit much. I suggest zat you terminate zis
demonstration."

People disregarding a suggestion from Frau was somewhere along the probability line between Rush Limbaugh voting Liberal and Bob Guccioni and Larry Flynt sharing an award from NOW, siting them for their tireless promotion of positive images for women. Despite this, Dr. Evil hesitated. "Uh... can't."

"Vhat?"

"That's not how it's designed, okay? It has to run the pre-set time, but that should only be..." he
consulted his watch, "two more minutes."

"Mrauw." *choo*

"Crap! Dad, Bigglesworth is FREEZING! What have I told you about watching the temperature now that he's bald?" Scott scooped the shivering cat up into his arms and crooned to it, "Poor Biggie. Did the nasty old idiot forget about the poor kitty's hairless little butt again?"

"Rhahwr." *sniff*

"Cut the fucking snow right now, or I report your ass to the ASPCA. Screw that--I'll report you to PETA."

"Thirty more seconds."

"You wouldn't be so casual if YOU had your balls hanging out in this weather." A stiff wind blew up Scott's baggy, short pants legs, and he shivered violently. "Hang on, Bigs." He tucked the cat inside his shirt, nestling it against his chest, and wrapping Number Two's coat tighter. "How's that?"

*purrrrr*

"Damn, it's nice to be appreciated."

Number Two watched this, thinking, *I will not be jealous of a cat. I will not be jealous of a cat. I
will not...*

"It's more zan ten minutes," said Frau. "Vhy hasn't it schtopped?"

Dr. Evil was tentatively poking at the instrument panel. "I'm not sure..."

"Fu..." Frau looked at Scott. "Fudge. Lemme see that." He pushed his way up to the machine and
examined it silently. Then he said, "Dad, tell me the incriments on the timer."

"Oh. Uh, seconds, minutes, hours..."

"Are you sure that isn't hours, days, weeks?"

"No, that would be stupid." Scott pointed at the dial. Dr. Evil looked at the device. "Oh, dear."

Scott shook his head in disgust, looking toward Number Two and Frau. "The dork set it for ten DAYS instead of ten MINUTES."

"WHAT?!" "VHAT?!" "RHOWH?!"

"And he says he can't cancel the rest of it." Scott looked at Dr. Evil. "Well, then, you'll just have to
pull the plug. Cut the power."

"Uh..."

"No. Don't you DARE tell me..."

"Well, you know that one of the first things that that idiot Powers would try would be to cut the power, so I thought, 'Hey, why not give it it's own internal nuclear generator?' Then I thought, 'There's no point in doing THAT unless I make it where it will explode if anyone trys to tamper with it', so..."

The snow was coming down thick and fast now--huge, fluffy flakes, the size of marshmallows. Number Two commented, "Maybe it won't be too bad. It's melting as soon as it touches the ground."

"Terrific. So we'll have mud. That won't last for long, Two. The residual heat is going to dissipate
pretty quick. The moisture is going to freeze, so that we'll have a base coat of ice, then the snow will start piling up. I say we all go into town and hole up at a hotel till this is over."

Number Two was shaking his head. "That would be impossible."

"Why?"

"Because your father screwed up the vacation schedule again. We only have about three henchmen in residence right now, and ALL the vehicles are either on loan or disabled. Fat Bastard took the Evilmobil into town for a trip to an all you can eat buffet. It took the SWAT team to get him out of there, and they impounded the SUV, and I haven't been able to bail it out yet."

Scott lifted one foot and stared at the snow dusting his sneaker. "Holy Little House on the Prairie.
We're gonna be snowed in. Shit. Oh, well." He peeked down his collar. "C'mon, Bigglesworth. I'll
have Ovaltine, and I'll warm you some milk."

"Mrauw?"

He started toward the entrance. "No, no Ovaltine for you. Chocolate isn't good for kitties."

"Mmmruph."

"I know, plain warm milk is pretty ucky. How about if I toss in a little sugar and vanilla?"

*purrrrr*

"Yeah, you'll like it."

Number Two watched wistfully as Scott walked toward the lair, peering into his shirt and whispering to the cat. Suddenly Scott stopped and threw his head back, laughing. He looked back at Number Two, grinning, and Number Two couldn't resist. He quickly thought of what Scott might say, and said, "What goosed you?"

"No goose. But the cold is making my nipples stick out, and Bigglesworth has a rough tongue." Number Two felt his knees get weak. Scott frowned. "Dude, is the cold getting to you? C'mon, and I'll make you some Ovaltine. Just promise you won't tell any of my friends that I drink it, 'kay? Yoohoo they'd understand, but not Ovaltine."

His heart starting to hammer, Number Two followed Scott into the kitchen area of the lair.

*****

"Bored, bored, bored, bored, FUCKING bored. So fucking bored that I'm talking out loud to myself, and I still got five days to go on The Great Blizzard of Double Oh One. Shit. Sounds like the freakin' snow has a license to kill. Maybe it does. Surely it's possible to die of boredom? And who the hell am I asking?"

Scott tried laying across his bed so that his head dangled over the edge, almost to the floor. If he did that, then sat up very quickly, he got kinda lightheaded. If he bounced, he could crack the
cartilage in his spine. "And how fucking bored do you have to be to discover that?"

He sat up again, sighing, and went to sort through his video collection. *Chippendale Celebration, Maurice Manstuff Video Swimsuit Calendar. Hm. Maurice wants me for the next one, and he said the shoot would be in Hawaii. Go Scott, go Scott. Rob Lowe scandal video. Double hm. Come to think of it, didn't young Number Two back in the sixties look a lot like Rob? Must
give us pause.* He paused. *Oo. I think I'm gonna hook the time travel doohickey up again sometime.*

He tossed the videos back on the shelf. *Nothing I haven't seen a hundred times. Fucking blizzard has whited out the dish network, so I can't get Skinimax or 'Ho Box Office.*

There was a tap at his door. "Go away, unless you're Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, or you'd look really good in a pair of Speedos."

"Vell, I don't know. Maybe Victoria's Secret..."

"Come on in, Mom."

She came in. "How are you, Schattzie?"

"Bored out of my freakin' skull." She tutted. "No dish, no Internet, we ran out of batteries for my
Gameboy two days into this debacle, and the three henchmen we have left look like Larry, Moe, and Curley. I love the Stooges, but not like that. Sorry Mom, but I'm ready to look into self-tattooing if I don't find something interesting to do soon."

"Keep it tasteful, ja? No battleships. Your father vants to know if you have any idea where Mini Me might be."

Scott sat at his desk, sprawling in his chair, and said, "May-be."

"He's still a little pissed about yesterday, Schattzie. It took him sree hours uf digging to locate Mini Me out in zat snow."

"I said I was going to make a snowman with him. What did he THINK I meant?"

She sighed. "Please, liebling, he's driving me verruckt. I sought I'd haf some time to vork on my
Dancing Swastika qvilt for ze Annual Goering Memorial Craft Show, but at zis rate..."

"Okay, okay. You remember those sensory deprivation tanks he fixed up as one of his elaborate death traps for Austin Powers, and Austin just spent a few hours in one, shagging with that Felicity babe?" Frau nodded. "Second one from the left. And Mom? If you really, REALLY want some free time... they lock from the outside." Frau was looking very thoughtful as she left.

Since he was sitting at the desk, he turned around and considered his computer. He supposed he COULD work on his college admissions essay: Terroristic Tactics and Animal Activism. Number Two had suggested that it sounded a little too much like a 'how to' book. He was tired of all his video games.

*Well, there's my Photoshop program. I could do some screen captures of those two hot guys in Gabriel Knight: The Beast Within, then look in my porn images collection and see if I can manipulate their heads onto some interesting bodies.* He fired up the computer. Then he noticed the Neighborhood Network icon and perked up. *Or I COULD see if I could hack into anything interesting.*

He got into the network. His Dad's password wasn't hard to figure out: evil. Scott spent an enjoyable half hour hiding files. Then he installed a little virus of his own creation that caused Austin Powers images to dance across the screen every time anyone tried to close a file.

Next he found Fat Bastard's section. His was a little harder to break into, but 'deadsexy' worked, and he replaced all the recipes with low fat, sugar free versions he'd picked up on the net in his spare time. Bastard's virus had the screen flash advertisements for Diet Coke and Slimfast every five mouse clicks.

Finally he came to Number Two's account, and he hesitated. Two was pretty cool--he didn't really want to sabotage him. *Still, it might be kind of interesting to poke around and see what he gets up to.*

The trouble was, it was hell breaking his password. Scott tried everything he could think of: Armani, Gucci, Hilfiger. He tried every designer's name he could think of. At last he started punching in names of the lair's occupants. *Drevil, frau, minime, fatbastard, scott..." *beep* *access approved* *I'll be damned. He uses MY name as his password? Even I don't do that.*

The man's desktop was as neat and squared away as he was. Scott's own was littered with icons for stuff he had downloaded from the 'net, and his wallpaper showed a collage of his favorite heavy metal artists (most shirtless, BONUS TIME!). Number Two's wallpaper was... Scott blinked. *Pinstripe? Yeah, I guess that fits.*

He browsed around. No Virtucon stuff, he was happy to see. *Dude has virtually LIVED the freakin' business for the last twenty years--he deserves to give himself a break.* Financial planning. *Mmm... Nice package he's built up for himself. Wicked 401K. Stocks seem to be doing good, even though he hasn't been able to check them the last few days. Maybe I SHOULD have that 'planning for the future' talk with him, like he's been hinting. With Dad being such a dipshit, I can't count on my inheritence. Especially not with Mini Me roaming around.*

*Okay, Mr. Buttondown, this is all your upfront stuff. Now, where's your goodies? What do you do for fun, Two? My Pictures looks promising.* He clicked the icon. *Here we go. Let's see... Aw, he has a Puppies and Kittens folder! I KNEW I liked him. Vacation? He's had vacations? Oh, yeah, when he's taken me and Frau on vacations.* Scott chuckled. *Disney in Orlando when I was sixteen was a blast. I bet he regretted taking me through the Haunted Mansion. I spent most of the ride on his lap. And he never said a word about it to anyone. How cool is that? What
else do we have? Hm... Perfection? What, he has pictures of Jell-o salads? Bo Derek?* Curious, Scott opened the folder. One file said simply 16. He highlighted, then opened it, and his jaw dropped open.

It was his high school sophomore year portrait. He knew, because Mom had a gallery in her room--thirteen 8x10 framed glossies (thirteen because she included one for his kindergarten year), ranked in three rows of four, with his senior picture at the bottom-middle in solitary splendor.

*What the fuck?* Scott checked the info line at the top of the screen. Sure enough: 16-My Pictures. There was a 17 and 18 which turned out to be, not too surprisingly, his junior and senior portraits.

Scott sat back, blinking at the screen. What was this? He checked more files. All pictures of
himself, ranging in age from sixteen to the present, and there were A LOT of them. The rest were casual shots. He recognized most of them from various vacations and outings they'd gone on. Yeah, come to think of it, Two had always had a Nikon slung around his neck, snapping away almost as briskly as Austin at one of his 'shoots'. Scott had always just assumed that he was doing it for Mom. Frau had photo albums you wouldn't BELIEVE. Now it looked like Two had saved a copy of each for himself. Well, a copy of every one Scott was in, anyway.

Scott looked at some of the photos more closely. They had been cropped. He knew for sure that Mom had been right next to him in that shot of him standing on Keanu Reeves star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Then Scott noticed how many shots there were of him at poolside, sitting around in his trunks. And the shots of him playing basketball with some of his buds--mostly when he was on the 'skins' team. There he was sunbathing, trying to get a little color in his seemingly perpetually cream colored skin.

There was another folder labeled Interiors, and they weren't decorator schematics. These looked like they had been taken from the Evil Compound's security system cameras. Scott found pictures of himself in every room of the lair. There was a night photo of him raiding the kitchen fridge for beer when he was sixteen. *And he didn't squeal me to Mom or Dad. How cool is that?* There he was, grunting his way through one of his infrequent weightlifting sessions. *Oo, I look buff and sweaty!* *blink* *And there I am in the gym shower afterwards! Crap, I didn't know they had
cameras in THERE! I'd have done less scratching and more posing. Gotta remember that. Shit, they didn't bother with that hidden video 'let's keep the camera at a discreet chest level' bullshit, either.*

He sat there for a moment, stunned, then said aloud, slowly, "Number Two has nekkid pictures of me on his hard drive." He grinned. "How cool is that?"

He started to look through the other folders a little more closely. The one in My Documents labeled Poetry looked promising.

*****

Number Two sat at his computer, chin in hand, staring at the Wordpad document he'd been working on since the snow in began.

"S is for the Spikey hair.
How soft could it be?
C is for the Clothes he wears,
he's not uptight, like me.
O is for Oh, my God.
He's such a pretty boy.
T is for, well, what else?
I want to be his Toy.
Another T for Terminate,
that's what his dad would do
to me if he should ever guess.
Scott Evil, I love you."

He sighed. Now came the tricky part. There just weren't that many good words left for E and especially V.

There was a knock on the door. He called, "Who is it?"

"It's Scott, dude. Can I come in?" Number Two froze. Scott? Here? WANTING TO COME INTO HIS BEDROOM? He started sweating. "Tooey, you there? Is this a bad time, man? I can come back later."

"NO!" He stabbed frantically at the keyboard, cursed, grabbed the mouse and clicked just as frantically, and finally got the program closed. "Just a second." *Oh, CHRIST! How do I look?* He ran into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. *SHIT! My hair is a mess.* He grabbed for a comb, turning on the water.

"What? You suddenly had to take a leak?" There was the sound of a snicker, then Scott's voice, very sly. "What? Did I catch you beating off?"

Number Two looked down abruptly, and groaned. *Jesusjesusjesus! I can't get hard NOW!*

"Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of, man. Frau told me ages ago that it's the single person's gift from on high."

Number Two wet the comb and quickly arranged his hair. "I'm just... uh... I'm not quite decent."

"Shit, man, you don't have to worry about that on MY account. 'Sides, I think you're pretty decent all the time."

Number Two quickly changed eye patches, putting on the new one with the nice matte finish. "Sorry to keep you waiting. It'll just be a minute."

"If you ARE wanking, take your time. Ya shouldn't have to hurry that when you're in the comfort of your own room."

Number Two went back into the bedroom, and checked himself one more time. *Fuck! I look like I'm smuggling a loaf of Italian bread in my pants. I need to change into something baggier, but I don't OWN anything baggier. I can't just sit at my desk, with my legs under the tabletop--that would be rude. Okay, rude, or he finds out I'm a lecher who's been warm for his form since he was sixteen...*

"Dude?"

Number Two jumped. Scott was standing in the open doorway, hand on the doorknob, watching him. Was that a tiny little smile just curving the corners of that luscious mouth. The words of that sixties song suddenly flashed through his mind. *Nowhere to run to, baby. You got nowhere to hide.* The desk was too far away--he had to do something fast.

He quickly sat on the edge of his bed and folded his hands in his lap, hoping that would disguise the bulge. "Scott. I thought I had that door locked."

Scott closed and relocked the door. "You did, but remember--I grew up here." He held up a lock pick, then set it aside. "There isn't really anything I can't get into if I want to." He ambled over.
"Deadbolts, man. Remember that. Anyway, I wouldn't have done it, except I was starting to get worried that you'd, like, gotten stuck somewhere. Or something."

"I was... uh..."

Scott sat on the bed beside him. Number Two could feel his temperature going up. "I'm sorry if I
embarrassed you about the masturbation thing. I guess you weren't doin' the solo boogie after all--you look too squared away."

"Too squared away?"

"Hell yeah. Hair freshly combed, all your buttons done up, clothes still lookin' pressed..." He reached over and ran a finger across Number Two's forehead, then examined the tip. "Though you ARE sweating just a little." He licked his finger. Number Two thought that he was going to have to have these trousers altered, because he was pretty sure that the inseam was going to be stretched after this.

He cleared his throat. "So, you believe that if I was... uh..."

"Beating your meat, choking your chicken, spanking your monkey, petting your lizard, playing with your trouser mouse... Can you tell I'm interested in veterinary science? Rolling your own, flogging your log, jerkin' your gherkin, jacking off, pounding your pud, she-bopping, slinging your cream, snapping your whip..." He noticed with satisfaction that Number Two was flushing. "I can keep going, man."

"I wasn't."

"Like I said, I know. If you can wank and look THIS neat right afterward, you ain't doing it right. Want me to show you how to do it?"

*I will NOT faint.* "Scott, was there something you wanted?"

Scott smiled wickedly. "Oh, you have SO left yourself open with that one. But that would be too easy. I'll tell you in a minute, but I really SHOULD give you a demonstration, as sort of a public service."

Scott crawled past him and moved the pillows out of the way, then settled comfortably with his back against the headboard. "You got anything slippery, dude?"

"Slippery?"

"Yeah. You CAN do it dry, but some sort of lube really adds to the experience." Scott reached toward the night stand. "I usually keep mine..."

"WAIT!" Number Two quickly grabbed the drawer before Scott could open it. Scott raised an eyebrow. "Uh... It's a mess." The eyebrow rose higher in disbelief. "Wait, I'll get it."

He opened the drawer a crack and slipped his hand inside, feeling around. Scott craned his neck.
Number Two pushed something aside, and Scott caught a glimpse of what looked like the butt end of a vibrator. He grinned.

Number Two pulled out a small bottle of lotion and handed it to Scott. Scott examined it. "Hey, warming oil. Tooey, you old dog, you DO know a little about this, don't you?" Number Two blushed even hotter.

"Okay, first thing: treat yourself right. You don't have to go straight for your cock." He pulled his
shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. As he unscrewed the top on the bottle, Scott said, "I don't know about you, but my nipples are pretty sensitive, and I like to start off there." He put a dab of oil on the fingers of his left hand, then stroked it onto his nipples and started rubbing gently. "I don't know about you, but sensitive or not, I like a little pinching." He demonstrated.

Number Two made a conscious effort not to lick his lips. Scott's nipples were cotton candy pink, and as hard and thrusting as little erasers, glistening under a light film of oil. *I obviously didn't wake up this morning and am now having a wet dream.*

"Give yourself a little stroking. The skin along the ribs is usually pretty sensitive. I even like to make taking off my pants a little bit of a production. Pop the snap." He did. "And drag that zipper down s-l-o-w-l-y." *ziiiiiiiiiip* "Which is also good, because I'm not wearing drawers, and I don't want to catch anything." *tug wiggle toss*

Scott looked down, feigning surprise. "Well, lookee here. Ol' John Thomas is awake already! Okay, Tooey, so you don't get the instructions from scratch. We'll just have to assume that you're starting out with a boner."

"That would be a fair assumption."

Scott oiled the fingers of his left hand more thoroughly. "I start out by teasing myself." He
barely skimmed his fingertips along the length of his erection. "Mm, sometimes tickling can be nice. Okay, come closer."

"Uh..."

"You can't see the details way over there, dude. C'mon." Number Two slid over till his hip bumped Scott's bare thigh. He quickly grabbed one of the pillows and held it over his lap. "Look closely at the head." Number Two looked. "You can lean in, man, I won't mind. I bet your depth perception is a little off with that thing." Number Two shuddered as Scott gently ran his finger along the strap of his eye patch. "Not that it isn't totally rad. I mean, you're a modern corporate raider wearing an eye patch like a buccaneer. How cool is that?"

"Thank you."

"De nada. Look at the cockhead. Now, remember that I haven't touched it yet, right?" Number Two nodded. "Check it out. There's a bead of clear fluid oozing out of the slit." He touched a fingertip to it, smearing it over the flushed knob. "See? Natural lube." Again he licked his finger, smacking his lips. "And it's yummy, too."

"Oh, God."

Scott reached over and slid his hand caressingly into Number Two's hair. He whispered, "Don't worry about your hair, dude--I kept that hand clean. So... wanna taste for yourself?"

"Please?"

"Shit, I LOVE it when you're polite." Scott tugged his head down. Just before Number Two could QUITE reach Scott's crotch, the boy tightened his grip, halting him. "Wait. Have you done this before?"

"Um... Kind of... sort of... In a manner of speaking..."

*tug* "Two, have you ever had a dick in your mouth or not? There IS no 'kinda' about it."

"No, I haven't. Sorry."

"Hm. Two?" Scott dragged Number Two up till they were face to face. "I'm gonna ask you a question, and I want a straight, you should pardon the expression, answer. Are you still a virgin, and I mean with anyone?"

Number Two tried for a sophisticated smile. "Are you forgetting Allotta Fagina?"

"That skank? I always thought you had more class, and she was just window dressing."

"Well..."

Scott whooped. "I KNEW you smelled cherry! Oh, boy!" Number Two gasped as Scott grabbed his shoulders and threw him back on the bed, then straddled him. "I'm way sorry you had to wait so long, dude, but I PROMISE to try to make it up to you."

"I... you..."

"I figure we can make a good start at it while we wait for the ground to thaw enough for us to get back out." Scott grabbed his shirt and ripped it open. "An undershirt? That is so fuckin' CUTE! Say, are you sure you never made out with David Lynch?"

"What?"

Scott tweaked the points of his nipples through the thin cotton. "Twin Peaks!"

Number Two groaned. "Okay, I've been pinched--I'm not dreaming." He grabbed Scott and dragged him down into an inexpert, but enthusiastic kiss.

Scott happily tongue wrestled with him for a couple of minutes, but broke off so that he could drag Two's undershirt over his head and get his torso bared. He lightly scratched over his chest and down his abdomen, returning to pluck at his nipples. "Been usein' the Nautalus, haven't ya? Tell me, Two, you've been interested in me for a little while, haven't ya?"

"Yes," Number Two confessed. He moaned as Scott bent down and flicked his tongue over the straining buds of his nipples.

"Why haven't you said anything, then? I mean, you might have at least grabbed my ass. It would only be polite." He nipped gently.

Number Two started to pant. "How could I? You're so much younger. I work for your father. I've acted as sort of a surrogate father to you for years. I honestly never entertained any lewd thoughts about you till you climbed on my lap at Orlando. Then BANG! I had to walk hunched over the rest of the day."

"I thought you'd pulled a muscle on that Tilt-a-Whirl thingy."

"I pulled a muscle, all right, but it was later that evening in the jacuzzi at the hotel, and I was
imagining you sitting in my lap again--but naked."

"Ooo, you dog. There's a hot tub in the gym that we are DEFINITELY gonna check out later. As for the age bit, does it bother you that I'm so young, or is it because you feel too old?"

"Well..."

"Let me put it this way:" Scott reached down and latched onto the bulge in Number Two's fly, giving him a firm squeeze. "You don't feel old to me. As for the surrogate father bit--it wasn't you who donated the sperm. And I don't wanna hurt your feelings, Two, but I've never thought of you as my father. That area is fucked up to an unbelievable degree. No, I suppose you've been considered more along the lines of a favorite uncle, and I don't know about you, but I find that little hint of pseudo incest just TOO fuckin' sexy. Now, do ya have any specific requests?"

"Just have some kind of sex with me before I explode."

"Can do." Scott rolled off him. "Get nekkid, dude." While Number Two took off the rest of his clothes, Scott opened the night stand drawer and pulled out a large white plastic vibrator.

Number Two started blushing again. "I get a stiff neck sometimes."

Scott shook his head, smiling. "This is for CAUSING stiff muscles, dude. At least it is when a guy uses it. This is okay as a basic beginners toy, but there's so much MORE out there, man, SO much more. I mean, Virtucon has a line of adult toys. Haven't you test driven any of..." Number Two was beet red. "Oh-kay. You just like this one, huh?"

"Sentimental attachment."

"I can dig it. I still keep my old teddybear."

"It's not quite the same thing, Scott."

Scott half lowered his eyelids. "Wanna bet? You don't know what me and Paddington got up to, do you?"

"You mean...?"

"Why do you think Mom kept pitching him in the wash? His stuffing wasn't always that tightly packed." Scott got the oil and greased the vibrator liberally. "I bet a neat freak like you has condoms, even if he HASN'T been gettin' any. Yup, there they are." He placed a couple within easy reach. "I can save mine for later. The host really SHOULD provide the supplies." Scott handed the vibrator to Number Two, then lay down, spread his legs, and hooked his arms under his knees. "You do the honors."

*Oh. Well, that'll be nice, but I was sort of hoping for someone's cock to be in someone's ass, somehow. Maybe later.* Number Two held the white plastic cylendar. "Are you sure...? I don't want to hurt you."

"Just turn it on, and don't SHOVE."

Number Two turned the base. There was a low hum. Scott made happy noises as Number Two began to run the tip around his little pink crinkle. He pressed a little harder. When he could see the hole starting to spread a little to follow the tip, he put it right against the center and pushed, gently but firmly. Scott crooned softly as the thick cylindar spread him wider, and slid deeper. Encouraged, Number Two shifted his grip and nudged upward.

*zing*

"YOW!" Scott's body went rigid. Number Two shrieked and jumped off the bed, beginning to babble apologies. *pantpant* "Chill, dude. You just hit my prostate, you clever lil' thing, you. Get back over here and do it again." Number Two crept back, took hold of the softly vibrating plastic, pulled back a little, and did it again. "OOoooowahhooo! Oh, man, whatever Dad is paying you, it is NOT enough! Okay, leave it in there and get on your hands and knees."

"Scott?"

Scott was putting more oil on his fingers. "C'mon, Tooey. I ALREADY have the toy up my ass, so you're gonna have to go the natural route." He paused. "Unless you don't WANT..." Number Two scrambled up onto his hands and knees on the bed. "Thought so." Scott slapped one of his nether cheeks. "Nice ass, Tooey. I'm gonna get you in a pair of tight jeans one of these days."

He gripped Two's buttocks and spread them, then bent down and blew a warm breath across the crevice. Two shivered so hard his arms almost collapsed. "Hold on, man. I've barely gotten started."

"I don't see how anything could feel more intense than..." He felt a hand wrap tightly around the base of his cock. "That's..."

"To keep you from coming when I do this." *slurp*

Mr. Bigglesworth had been prowling the hall outside. The resultant howl had him running for cover, convinced that Frau had finally given in to her impulse and gotten a Doberman.

"Gah, man, it's just a little rimming."

"pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease"

"The man knows how to beg. How cool is that?" *slurp* *lick* *probe* *lick* *smack smack* "Mm. Remind me to demonstrate some food techniques I learned on my trip to DC. I bet I can get a finger up there now." *probe*

*whimper*

"Shh. C'mon, you've had the Great White Hope up there, a little digital exploration should be a
breeze."

"I'm just... shy."

*croon* "Ooh, sweet baby." *slide* *pump* "How's that?"

*purrrr*

"Good Bigglesworth impersonation. One more." *press* *crook* *rub*

*grunt* "Scott, I need to speak to Frau about having you declared my beneficiery for my insurance."

"Flatterer." Scott managed to roll a condom on one-handed, then moved up on the mattress between Two's spread knees and tightened his grip on the older man's cock a little more. "Once again--hang on."

"Are you sure we should... uh... uh... uh... uuuhhhhh..."

"I think you're special, too. Hooooo... Ya know, sometimes being a tightass is a GOOD thing." Scott massaged Number Two's wide spread buttocks. "Good thing you been practising, so it doesn't hurt this first time. But the real thing is a lot different..." *bump* *groan* "ain't it, stud?"

"Fuckin' aye."

Scott crowed. "Tooey! You swore!" He bumped his hips. "Talk dirty to me, baby!"

"Scott, if you don't go ahead and fuck me, I'm going to try to tighten my ass enough to squeeze your dick off, and then I'll KEEP it."

Scott started pumping into him. "Oh, yeah! Hurt me, baby!"

Soon Number Two was pushing back to meet each thrust. Scott started jacking him off, hand moving even more rapidly than his hips. Number Two was going not-so-quietly crazy. Besides Scott's skillful stroking, everytime the boy buried that big, juicy cock deep in his ass, Number Two could feel the vibrations of the device in SCOTT'S ass pass through their joined bodies (hitting his prostate along the way), to hum through his rock hard, leaking cock. Number Two had imagined having, and being had by, Scott Evil many, many different ways over the last few years. Only the fantasy involving him, Scott, Scott's friend Alex, (whom he had glimpsed), and the entire Backstreet Boys group in a massive tub of butterscotch pudding even came CLOSE.

Actually, Number Two lasted a pretty good time, considering it was his maiden effort, but soon he was bucking, spewing hot jizm over Scott's flying fingers. When that already tight ass clamped down and started milking, Scott yelled and shot his load, also.

They collapsed in a heap of sweaty, sticky, satisfied flesh. Scott thought smugly that this was probably the messiest Number Two had ever been, unless you counted that time Dad tried to drop him into the firepit (and Scott was pretty sure that this incident had been a LOT more pleasant). He pulled out, rolled a gasping Number Two over onto his back, and stretched out comfortably on top of him. "Congratulations, dude. Not only are you de-virginized, but you managed a simultaneous orgasm on you first try, and it was with a guy who's, like, more than twenty years younger than you, but thinks you're totally fuckin' awesome."

Number Two smiled. "How cool is that?"

END