torch, flambeau@strangeplaces.net
May 2000 (August 2001)
Disclaimer: I can't draw, or you'd get pictures to go with this. Written as a birthday fragment for Cindy, once upon a time, and probably the sorriest excuse for a present she's ever seen. Giggled over, or rather, edited, by elynross. Do not archive this story without permission.
Exercise
"Really, Major—"
"Shut up."
"Yes, but—"
"Shut up, you filthy pervert. I'm trying to work."
". . ."
"Stand back. I'll have to shoot out the lock."
"Major, that really isn't necessary."
"I'm not going to sit here until they come back. Those plans are important. Do you think we're on vacation here?"
"No. It looks very good when you roll your shirt sleeves up like that, major."
"I can shoot you and the lock."
"You should let me open the door."
"A foppish queer like you can't break down this door."
"I stole the keys when the guards were leaving."
". . ."
"Please move out of the way, major."
"All this time you had the keys and you didn't tell me!"
"Well, you weren't really listening. Besides, there is a certain appeal in watching you exert your strength like that."
". . ."
"You sweat very nicely."
"! ! !"
"There, the door is open. Let's go find your precious plans."
"You — you — you—"
"It wouldn't kill you to say thank you, major."
"Yes, it would."