THIS IS ALL BEAD'S FAULT! First Rico Suave, now this! You're breaking me, girl! *sob*
She said, "Was that for me?" I said "Yeah." She said, "Why?" I said, "Come on and take a ride with a hell of a guy." . . . . . . . . . She took her shoes off onto the floor. She said, "Drive fast. Speed turns me on." She put her hand on my knee. I put my foot on the gas. We almost got whiplash, we took off so fast. The sunroof was open, the music was high, and this girl's hand was slowly moving up my thigh. She had opened up three buttons on her shirt so far -- I guess that's why I didn't notice that police car. --DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince.
When Jeffrey Spender sauntered through AD Skinner's office, the first thing he noticed was Kim Cook's legs. Well, he wasn't sauntering so much as running madly while trying to fix his tie (he was late), but he still gave a fleeting glance at her gams as he screeched to a stop in front of Skinner's office door.
"Hi, Kim," he said, nonchalantly. Cooly. "Whatcha reading?"
"Agent Spender," she said. She seemed to be biting her lip for some reason. "I'm reading the latest edition of 'Travel' magazine. They have a bit about hiring your own Cessna to fly over the Caribbean. Very 'Six Days and Seven Nights.'"
"Yep." She must be overcome with my manliness. Look at her, she's practically swooning.
He smiled his coolest smile at her and sauntered in to the meeting.
When the door closed, Kim Cook had to bury her head in her coat so the Director wouldn't hear her laughing.
He sat in the meeting with Fowley, Scully, Mulder, and Skinner, and all of them ignored him. Sometimes they referred to him off-handedly as "the kid" or "the weenie." Spender buried his head in his papers. This wasn't the way it would be if he ran the Bureau. No, sir.
"Oh, take it around again!" giggled Dana Scully as she held on to Jeffrey's heavily-muscled arm (much nicer than Mulder's, it was). "Jeffy, you are just the best flyer in the whole world!"
"Sure, baby," he said and expertly zoomed the little Cessna in for another rotation of the beautiful, deserted tropical island. His arm brushed her breast and she giggled again. She was wearing next to nothing, just a little skimpy white bathing suit. She began to press very wet kisses against his shoulder.
"Oh, you are the best flyer in the whole world. How do you do it?" she asked? Her bright, empty eyes looked at him with admiration.
"Just skill, baby. Skill."
Just then, his radar started beeping. Enemy planes heading his way! He wondered how CSM had found out that the plane was carrying secret documents that he was delivering to King Abdal Al-Abdir Abdullah of Oman. The courier he'd negotiated with had been vague about what the NASA blueprints were going to be used for, but he'd been satisfyingly specific when it came to pay. The word 'harem' had been mentioned, and Jeffrey had almost fallen out of his chair.
So he'd taken Dana Scully for a trip in the Caribbean. She had no idea that he was going to throw her over for a harem, and her little feet were innocently creeping their way up his thighs this very minute. The planes were still getting nearer, but he set a course to steer away from them, zooming in a low dive towards a hide-out cave he knew about.
"Shall we see if you can steer with your feet, Agent Spender?" she cooed.
"Oh my." said Jeffrey Spender, ace pilot. "Let me just slip out of my . . . harness."
Five minutes later, Scully wore a satisfied smile as she lolled on the seat next to him. "Oh, Jeffy. You're such a man. Give me a minute to fix my lipstick and we'll do it again."
He smiled. Then he caught sight of his radar and grimaced. One plane was still chasing him. It was catching up, too. He watched with mounting alarm as the plane edged up beside him. It was, as he'd suspected, CSM. The foul man grinned evilly as he aimed his machine gun at Jeffrey's plane. But he obviously had underestimated Jeffrey's flying skill. The ace pilot dodged under CSM's plane, the canopy missing CSM's fuselage by a quarter of an inch. Scully let out a little scream and fainted.
"Women," sniffed Jeffrey. "Weak, every last one." He flipped the plane into a roll and headed for his hide-out. CSM followed him as he twisted and turned and headed for the hills. Scully had woken up, meanwhile, and was breathlessly taking in his physique as he heroically fought the air currents.
"Oh Jeffy," she breathed, "speed turns me on." She started to unbutton her blouse. Jeffery absentmindedly pushed her aside. Not that he couldn't do two things at once -- he just preferred not to.
"Is sex all you ever think about, Dana?"
"Sex with you is, Jeffy," she panted.
Jeffrey executed a particularly fine rollover and then grinned as CSM tried to follow him. Let him pull *that* off! Damn, he was good! CSM's plane couldn't deal with the air pressure and the tail sheared off at the base. CSM's plane plunged into the ocean and Jeffrey allowed himself a slow smile of triumph.
Oh, yeah. He landed the plane perfectly, cruising into his hide-out cave. Then he turned to Dana and took her wrists, pulling her against him in a crushing grip. She wriggled against him in delight. Suddenly Walter Skinner walked out of the gloom of the cave.
"Agent Spender! What planet are you on!"
Spender jerked his head up from his papers, flushing. His palms were sticky and he knew he was drooling a little. Agent Scully was right in his sightline. She was giving him a Look, and the corners of her mouth were turned up a little in a superior smile. Mulder leaned over and whispered something to her. It looked suspiciously like it contained the word 'wanker' in it.
"Damn it, Spender!" hissed Fowley in his ear. "If you make me look bad, you are so dead. I'm going to nail your ears to the blackboard."
"Yes ma'am," he mumbled. He hadn't gotten to the part where Scully spits in Mulder's eye and shimmies off with Jeffrey Spender, ace pilot, but it was going to be good. He walked out of the meeting and noticed that Kim Cook wouldn't look him in the eye. Which was okay, because he'd never gotten above her neckline before.
Agent Spender sauntered out of Skinner's office, occasionally helped along by Fowley's finger in his kidney. Only two hours till lunch break. Only two hours . . . .
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