Joe's Bar and Trauma Center: New Arrival
by Ursula
Rated: Rating: Y
Author's Notes: Tom McLaren's first appearance in a fanfic!
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Sprawled on a couch, attended by a dozen love slaves to cater to even his unexpressed wishes, Alex held the familiar center stage. His scarred arm was openly displayed as it rested on a purple cushion, supported by a gracefully kneeling and dog collared Mulder. Skinner, of course, to do one better wore a spiked training collar with the palm pilot dangling from a loop in the spikes.
Every sweet curve revealed by an open autopsy jacket covering a green slip dress, Scully was peeling grapes for her sometime Skipper-Fic lover. It really would have been more seductive if she had not chosen to use a scalpel to remove the skin. Using Marita for a chopping block was probably totally unnecessary...
At the bar, Lt. Baines was knocking back a few drinks. Due to a recent rough encounter, his character and body defining sleeveless undershirt now hung from one strap. Joe, the bar tender and father confessor, had just listened to the thousandth recital of that final elevator trip. It was not an uplifting tale. However, the bottom line perched on the bar stool did uplift Joe's tail so he continued to make listening noises in all the right spots.
Keeping pace with Baines, Tom Andrews alternated drinking with efforts to wash the remaining blood stains out of his big white shirt. Actually, the problem was that he had borrowed it from Cory Raines before realizing that being the main squeeze of a series regular on Lonesome Dove was a great way to start a new career as trail dust. His naked chest dabbled with bubbles from the tub, Tom was lost in memories of his recent outing. A smile graced his lips as he recalled being picked for a story by the great one...it hadn't been twin cest and his partner could have used a scrubbing, but damn, the mistress of delights could have put him in bed with a camel and it still would have been hot.
Speaking of Cory, gun shots disturbed the peace outside the bar. Right on cue, Cory staggered in, managing to bleed everywhere, picking the pockets of his fellow characters and their escorts as he stumbled dramatically around. "They got me." Cory gasped and fell.
No one even looked other than to wince as spurts of blood hit their costumes. Damn Cory could get killed a dozen times a day without keeping him down for more than a minute...
All the lights in the bar dimmed. Angelic singing pierced the hearts of all the beautiful creatures in the room.
"Another one." Alex said, rising from the couch. Somewhat flattened, Vic Mansfield groaned in frustration as his brother's weight lifted from his willing body. He looked hopefully at Mulder and waggled his fingers in invitation.
With a look of brotherly love, Alex flung the end of Mulder's leash at Vic and said, "Use him, but leave some for me. There's a great stone altar out back if you're into fantasy games. The key to the chains is buried someplace warm. Have fun."
Both beauties were out the door so quickly that there was a sonic boom resulting from the sudden displacement of matter.
Baines and Andrews took the center store, supported by Jacob Hardy, who had an honorary role in the club, given his revival from death by the kinder aliens in his show.
A team of Mac 27s carried in a gold and platinum bathtub, which was already filled with scented oils. They set that center stage and waited, towels ready for the ceremony.
A scream filled the air and, as if dropped, a bloody figure crouched on the floor. He held his middle. His head arched back as he yelled, "I want to live!"
As the strongest of the crew and the one who held enormous power given him by the love of his adherents, Krycek was first to reach the tormented man. "Shh," he said, "it's okay. You're going to live. Hey, calm down."
Impatiently, Baines had the nerve to push the icon aside. He said, "Jesus, Alex, leave this to someone who understands."
Stroking back the icy hair, Baines said, "It's all over now. You're in a good place, Tom. No one can kill you now. People are going to take care of you just like they take care of us."
"Get the hell out here, Philip, this man needs some healing." Tom Andrews yelled.
The gorgeously robed figure ran out, holding his garment high enough to reveal he wore not a thing beneath. There was a thump as an original male character was rudely disengaged. "Oh, what? Already? Sorry, how time flies around here."
Sexual energy discharging in orgastic jolts, Philip's hips fucked the air as he directed all of his best at the wounded brother. Slowly, Tom MacLaren rose in the air, golden light surrounding him. The beams explored along every inch of his skin, trembling as they caressed his thighs, scintillated as they drew over the mangled flesh.
When Tom was lowered to the ground, he was healed although still clad only in bloody rags of clothing. His black tights held together for the most part except for a major slit across the groin area. A few curls perkily peeked from the straining fabric.
As the confused man looked at the nearly identical faces that surrounded him, his twins carefully peeled the rags from his body. Each shred was set aside for worthy writers, ready to be claimed once they had contributed to this newly abused character's cause.
Hands, loving, caressing hands guided him to a tub of hot, fragrant water. He was helped in to the bath. Was this heaven? How interesting that all the angels looked like him.
"Where am I?" Tom asked the one who seemed to be in charge, an intense, almost glowing man who appeared to have an amputated arm.
"Fan Fiction Paradise, boy." the roughened voice said. "The place where we are all loved and where we live forever no matter how short the scene and no matter what happened to us in the end. You're going be happy here, Tom. Sex, food, good people, free booze, and all you got to do is wait for a writer to single you out. Won't be long for you, doll. I know they all feel terrible for you."
Tom's voice trembled as his brothers carefully guided him out and dried him with the soft absorbent towels. He said, "There must be a mistake...I wasn't..." A tear fell down his cheek as he admitted, "A main character...didn't even get billing in most newspapers."
"Fuck..." the man with the panther stride remarked, "Hey, you think that anyone could have seen you without falling in love with you? Believe me, none of the writers give a damn about those other clowns...although that one guy would have been okay if he'd worn his tights and that button that says, "That wasn't the bat cave you parked in, Bat Man"
As several mechanically moving doubles produced fresh clothing, MacLaren sighed and said, "Well, I'll believe it when I see it...and in the meantime, this looks like a good place to hang around..."
Dressed, although somehow the wardrobe person had failed to produce anything other than tights, climbing boots, and a vest, Tom sprawled on a bar stool. The bartender poured him a drink and said, "Why don't you fill the boys in on your story? It's about time we had someone new around here."
He's waiting, oh writers of agile fingers...don't keep him in suspense too long.
End
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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