Laughter is one of the great joys of life. Humour lifts out spirits, and a good dose of it can
turn a bad day or a bad week around. The finalists presented here have given us the gift
of laughter, and I'm proud to honor them all tonight.
The Debriefing by Mockery and Ruric
That was obviously not good enough for him. He circled his hips
wickedly and my forehead slammed roughly into Shoulder Pads'...uh...
shoulder pad. Irritably, Shoulder Pads looked back over his shoulder
again, and I looked up at him, glazed and unfocused, through hair that
had fallen across my eyes. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my nose and
heard myself, ablaze, pant roughly at him, incapable of saying anything
and incoherent in shuddering heat and pleasure.
From a great distance away I heard Shoulder Pads say "Agent Krycek, are
you okay?"
I heard myself panting, felt myself shudder, felt myself push back
further onto Mulder. I opened my mouth to say something to Shoulder
Pads, but suddenly thought better of it - even in the depths of my
passion, I could be devious...
Mulder pushed deep within me and I reared up, slapping the back of my
head against Mulder's forehead. I heard myself gasp out loud as Mulder
caught my prostate and came violently within me. I felt myself explode
into his hands and couldn't help but half-snigger hysterically at his
frantic attempt to catch my cum in the rags of my briefs.
"Ungh..." I managed, before allowing my eyelids to flutter theatrically
and my body to slump and begin to fall. Let Mulder explain *this*!
"I've got him!" Mulder said loudly, surreptitiously zipping me up and
then catching me around the waist.
Skinner's voice barked across the room. "What's going on back there?"
Shoulder Pads responded. "Agent Krycek seems to be having some kind of
fit, sir!"
"It's okay, sir" Mulder said. "It's this flu, sir - it seems to have...
come over him... rather suddenly."
"Get him out of here, Agent Mulder," Skinner barked.
I felt Mulder grin against the back of my neck, still buried within me.
"Okay, you little shit," he muttered. "How're we gonna manage this?"
I grinned, still pretending to have fainted and cast a sly glance over
my shoulder at him.
Drink to Me Only by Jane Symmons
Fumbling in his pocket, Mulder extricated his phone from the tangle of his
handkerchief. "Mulder."
"Oh hi, Mulder. How's it hanging?"
"Krycek! What the hell are you doing?"
"Relax, Mulder, I fitted a scrambler to this phone ages ago. It's perfectly
safe to use. Don't let me put a strain on your nerves."
A suitably cutting reply was on the tip of Mulder's tongue but he was fully
aware of Skinner and Scully watching him intently. He swallowed down the
remark and tried for the sort of tone he used on people nursing delusions,
such as the idea that Elvis was really dead. "What do you want, Krycek?"
"Parsley and coriander."
"Is this some kind of code?"
"I do so love the way your mind works. Nice try but no. I'm cooking Harira
with Kefta for this evening."
"Harira with Kefta?"
"Balls to you, Mulder."
"Excuse me?"
"Minced lamb balls. You have most of the ingredients I need but I've just
done an inventory of your spice rack and you only have ground coriander and
parsley. I need fresh."
Mulder said with deadly calm, "Krycek, I am going to count to three and
then I am going to switch off my phone and you will manage with dried
ingredients and then you will get back to your report." He noticed the
corners of Scully's mouth begin to curl.
Skinner gave an impatient exhalation of breath. "Give him to me," he said
sternly.
'Oh man,' Mulder thought as he handed Skinner his phone. 'Krycek, you're
really in for it now.'
"Krycek?" Skinner snapped. "I hope you specified Italian flat-leaved
parsley. You can't seriously consider making Harira without it."
Inversion* by Debchan
When Alex regained consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a headache of
monumental proportions. The second was that, instead of cold tile, his cheek was pressed
into a soft pillow.
Interesting.
Eyes still closed, Alex feigned sleep, listened and considered where he might be. Home?
Highly unlikely. The pillow case smelled musty. Which probably ruled out the hospital as
well. Jail? A distinct possibility. Except he was still alive and he couldn't hear the
usual cacophony of other prisoners.
In fact, he couldn't hear anything except the occasional distant hiss of car tires on a
rain slick road.
So.
Not underground. Definitely not at the scene of the crime.
He mulled over this information, then cautiously made a small, sleepy movement as if he was
on the verge of waking.
Not hearing anyone say something appropriate to the situation like, "I think he's coming out
of it, sir," or the cocking of a pistol, he did it again, just to make sure.
Nothing. He was, theoretically, alone. Opening his eyes would of course confirm this, or not.
So he kept them closed and decided to he would emulate, in his own way, Schrödinger's cat a
little while longer.
Through the pounding of the headache, he contemplated the dismal possibility of getting out
of here without opening his eyes and how one stuffed a live cat in a tube. After careful
consideration, the answer to each question was, respectively, unlikely and with considerable
difficulty. Even with heavy gloves.
Okay.
Slowly, stealthily, Alex opened one eye and took a lightening fast peek at his surroundings.
And opened the other eye in shock.
Over the years he'd grown accustomed to waking up in strange, unexpected places. Silos,
Siberian forests and deep in the bowels of large oceangoing vessels to name just a few. But
this decidedly took the prize.
He should have known from the pillowcase's unused, dusty smell.
Mulder's bedroom.
Of course. It all made sense. After knocking him out, Mulder carried his unconscious body
to his car, drove back home and tenderly deposited him in Mulder's own bed.
Except Mulder hadn't knocked him out. And if Mulder was going to haul his unconscious body
anywhere, it would be straight to an interrogation room. Wearing cuffs and an interesting
assortment of bruises, no doubt.
Look Who's Talking- 69 by Dr. Ruthless and Niffusa
Marty just wasn't listening. *He's got those eyes. How can you resist
those eyes?*
*Easily,* snapped Mulder as he left the club, his hopes for the evening
lying in tatters.
*Just imagine his lips... those plump, juicy lips wrapped around me. It
would feel so good.* Marty was really getting into it now, and somehow, he
had a raging hard-on happening. Mulder was practically beside himself as
he reflected on the waste.
*He's a backstabbing bastard. How could you possibly consider...?* He was
still trying to reason with his dick. He was sure that if he persisted, he
would somehow achieve control of his hormones.
*Considering where I want to stab him, I don't think it really matters. *
The dick seemed to have an answer to everything. Mulder reflected that it
was no wonder he was such an annoying son of a bitch. After all, he'd
learned it from the best there was.
*Well he isn't here anyway, so you're just shit out of luck. * Mulder
rounded the corner and came within sight of his car. He stopped short,
taking in the shadowy figure sitting on the front of it. A strange feeling
of inevitability dropped across him. He was doomed. He could see that
now. Doomed!
Alex Krycek was sitting on the hood of his car.
"Oh fuck!" The expletive was heartfelt.
*Bingo!* Marty was onto it in a flash. *Care for a little testosterone
tango, big guy?*
He stood up, ramrod straight, as if it mattered a damn any more.
*SHUT UP!* screamed Mulder, inside his head. *Shut up or I promise the
only thing that'll touch you for the next month is underwear washed without
the benefit of fabric softener.*
*Oh, bring it on,* scoffed his bursting erection. *It will hurt you as
much as it hurts me.*
Pulped by Fan4Richie (aka Ursula)
Yeah, I knew he was trouble from the moment he walked in the
room...six feet of green eyed, brown haired, long eye-lashed
trouble. He was wearing black leather and blue jeans, and from the
moment I saw him, he had my heart on a chain. He walked straight by
my partner, Dana Scully. She sat behind her big walnut wood
desk...never could get the money to buy me a desk. I sat behind a
slightly wobbly card table. I saw her eyes follow his ass...blue
eyes bouncing off that tight-cheeked piece of paradise.
He held out his hand and said, "Krycek, Alex Krycek..." He had a
breathy growl of a voice...like he spent a lot of time in smoke
filled rooms, singing the blues and with his looks, making them for
a hell of a lot of sad sack guys and gals.
I leaned back in my chair and looked him slowly up and down, pausing
in the middle until a deep red blush settled over his high sharp
cheeks. "Yeah, babe, what can I do for you?"
He blinked those errant eyes, big limpid pools of innocence. Did I
buy it? Nah, but I was thinking about leasing a piece.
So, babe, give me another...I can take it. Oh, forgot to
introduce myself...Fox Mulder, private dick. Well, it's been around
a few times, but I wouldn't exactly call it public anyway.
Sure, Fine, Whatever* by Dr. Ruthless, Frankie, and Niffusa
SESSION 3 (Therapist's Office- 09/4/99)
[Therapist] Okay, fellas...to help us get to know each other a little better, I'd like
to try a word game.
AK adopts a silly voice.
[AK] A word game?
[Therapist] Since words are what we use to think and communicate with, it'll be helpful
if we know how each one of us uses them.
[FM] I use mine to say things.
[AK] All the time.
[FM] what's that supposed to mean?
[AK] You never stop.
[FM] Kiss my ass.
