Party Planet, a sillysmutfic by Brenda Antrim. Rated PG13 for sex in odd places by odd pairings. Multicrossover. In the same vein as Party at Vachon's and Party On!, but nobody in their right mind would call this a series.
Of course, if we were in our right minds, we wouldn't be here.
Cast of victims:
From Stargate SG1 -- Teal'c, a Jaffa, ex-guardian to the Goa'uld Apophis, a fine looking mountain of a man with a worm in his tummy and the prettiest eyes on the planet (next to a certain young Jedi to be named later). Daniel Jackson, a not-nearly-as-naïve as one might think anthropologist, who hates the Goa'uld (especially Apophis) but doesn't let it stand in the way of liking Teal'c. Tall, slender, big blue eyes, soft voice, great hands, legs to die for. Cameos by Sam Carter (Captain, USAF, girl person) and Jack O'Neill (Colonel, USAF, boy person).
From The Phantom Menace -- Above mentioned young Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi, the other prettiest pair of (lovely blue) eyes on the planet. And pretty tush. Legs. Shoulders. Back. Arms. Neck. Face. Okay, so the boy has pretty damned near a pretty everything. Along for the ride (in a sense), his Master, Qui Gon Jinn. Tallest of the bunch, another blue eyed lad, with a fine whipcord length on him (take it as you will).
From Voyager -- Tom Paris (he of the golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, and legs clear up to his chin) makes his third appearance, this time flying solo. Not for long.
From Deep Space Nine -- Also back for his third appearance, tawny skinned, doe eyed Bashir gets tossed in the mix, and learns whole new uses for all that anatomy he excelled at in medical school.
From the Sentinel -- Yet another anthropologist, this one short and curly, also with glasses and bright blue eyes (hmm, I detect a pattern here). Along with the darling Blair comes his match, Jim, Sentinel extraordinaire, more blue eyes, built like a brick wall with a butt you could use to crack nuts. Perhaps even literally.
And finally from the X Files, poor befuddled Mulder gets hit with déjà vu all over again as he takes another wild ride through the delusions of madmen (this time without his handy dandy one armed nemesis along).
On to the nuttiness.
Somewhere in a galaxy far, far away, so far away none of the originators of any of the galaxies involved will ever admit to its existence (or, hopefully, become aware of it), so far away the galaxy was in another universe, the earth began to shake.
Timing is everything in life.
At the end of the ramp leading up to the Stargate, Sam Carter and Jack O'Neill finished re-seating a piece of equipment on Jack's back that had slipped just as they were heading off for their latest foray into the unknown (PR7X4309 or some such silly thing). Jack waved the other two members of his team ahead -- no reason for Danny and Teal'c to have to wait while Mom dressed Jackie for school. As the rippling event horizon closed behind the two men, a sudden jolt rocked the complex.
Several long seconds later someone finally shut off the damned alarms. Jack and Sam picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and headed up the ramp.
The circle had shifted. The Gate was off-center. The event horizon was gone.
So were their cohorts in exploration. Sam looked at Jack. Jack looked at Sam. Together, they voiced the same thought running through both their minds.
Going back to that far away galaxy after a brief plunge into Gecko land, Daniel Jackson fell out of the Stargate and landed, not unhappily, at Teal'c's feet. Very happily, Teal'c noticed this before stepping down and causing grievous bodily injury.
Teal'c was a big boy.
Unfortunately, his usual cat-like reflexes couldn't save him as he saved Daniel, and he tripped over both feet and rolled all the way to the bottom of the ramp leading to the Gate they'd just exited. He fetched up against the far wall of the shadowy room and lay there, stunned, for a long moment. Daniel pulled himself up and scrambled to his friend's side.
"Teal'c?" he hissed. "You okay?"
"I am fine, DanielJackson," the Jaffa replied automatically. His attention was elsewhere. "Quiet. Others approach. They may be hostile." Rolling himself over behind a conveniently placed stack of crates, he reached out a long arm and plucked Daniel along with him.
Neither really minded the close quarters. Teal'c, being the trained warrior that he was, actually managed to keep an eye out for the intruders. Danny just sort of leaned up against Teal'c and tried not to think of olive oil and strigils. They didn't have long to wait.
"This is great, Jim! Man, look at these things!" A somewhat short, very energetic whirlwind encased in flannel and denim, sporting a ponytail on the verge of explosion and with hands flying in every direction at once, burst through the side door and made a beeline for what looked like the remains of several pots in the corner opposite Danny and Teal'c's hiding place. Danny's mind slid right off the olive oil and right into those curls.
Cute. Very cute.
A nearly-inaudible grunt next to him ripped his eyes from the short (cute) man drooling over pottery fragments in a manner that reminded Danny forcefully of himself in full academic headrush. Reacting to the elbow in his side, he looked toward the entrance.
Bright blue eyes were looking right back.
Danny nearly had a heart attack before he assured himself there was no way on Earth the GI Joe brought to life in the doorway could actually see them. Teal'c was too good at hiding for that. It was dark. The little guy was making enough noise so nobody could have heard Teal'c's warning grunt. No, nope, no way the really rather good-looking brick outhouse could possibly know they were there.
"Chief," the wall said, still staring right at him. "Get back here."
The little guy was too busy babbling about the pots to notice. The big guy started toward their hiding place, and Danny found himself freezing like a rabbit in the headlights of a truck. Then the guy stopped. Cocked his head exactly like a cocker spaniel, only without the ears or much of the hair, and moved as fast as Teal'c had, rushing across the room, scooping the little guy up, laying a hand over the still moving lips, and diving behind a conveniently heaped pile of crates.
Directly on top of Daniel Jackson and Teal'c.
All four froze. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Footsteps echoed outside the doorway. Four sets of eyes turned as one to watch the new arrivals.
Two guys. One regular height, the other really tall. Both well-built, long legs encased in sand-colored leggings that showed off the stems, robes of brown flowing from their shoulders, boots fit to send a fetishist into orbit hugging their calves. Twin sets of blue eyes, one a shade darker than the other, stared around the shadowed room from identically calm faces.
Four tongues went dry. Four throats fought to swallow, and failed, miserably.
"I understand what you mean, Master," the younger one said in a stunningly husky British accent. Four sets of knees melted, although it must be said that the anthropologists in the audience did melt faster than the warriors. By a good two seconds. "The Force is strong here. And disturbed."
"Very disturbed, Padawan," answered the taller one, in a deep slightly different British accent that puddled four spines in tandem. Those accents combined with those bodies matched with those faces were deadly. Before any of the watchers could reintegrate their brains with their bodies (or squeeze enough blood from the only non-melted parts of their anatomies to feed a single thought between them), the air whined.
Instantly the two robed men grabbed what looked like flashlights from their belts. The taller one swooped like a crane to one side and the younger one whirled into a crouch beside him. Blue and green light flared from the ends of the flashlights, and zipped and crackled with electrical energy. On either side of the men, now definitely in 'attack mode', twin columns of energy coalesced in the middle of the room.
All four men behind the crates were quietly moaning by now, for various reasons. Big blue eyes peered through round glasses and dark curls, staring at the younger robed figure, one half of his brain tracing the possible origins of the costume, the other wondering how many layers he'd have to peel off to get himself a taste of that. Equally large, paler blue eyes peered through another set of round glasses and over a massive shoulder, frankly leering at the tall guy and wondering if those legs would feel as good as they looked, even as what was left of his higher reasoning studied the markings on the flashlight/sword hilts and tried to decipher the writing there. Narrowed crystal blue eyes focused extraordinary vision on the scene as a whole, trying to stay in touch with reality and not drown in the sea of pheromones attacking his nose (and other parts of him). The lone pair of dark brown eyes in the group roved over the stances of the two fighters, making notes for future reference, marking weakness, drooling more than a little bit (not that he'd let it show).
As the watchers swooned and the Force readied itself to meet and engulf the new challenge, the columns of energy transformed themselves into two tall men, dressed identically but for the colors along their shoulders, one light, one dark. The tall guy with the uber-flashlight flowed to face the blond man. The shorter guy twisted to face the brunet.
The new arrivals reacted as anyone who knew them would expect, which meant nobody in the room expected what came next. Using instincts honed through years of being the prettiest boy in military school and polished by time spent at the Auckland Penal Colony, Tom Paris darted past the blazing energy of the unfamiliar weapon, grabbed the tall attacker by the collar, pulled him in and kissed him. Hard. That way if the man tried to fry Tom, he'd fry himself as well.
Somehow, the younger guy knew what was going on behind him, because with a startled (and delicious) squawk of "Master!" he turned his back on the brunet. Dark brows arched over liquid chocolate eyes, and strong surgeon's hands reached out and grabbed the nearest portion of his enemy's anatomy. It was just luck that the portion in question should be a tight, muscular ass.
The younger man tried to turn, torn between assisting his 'Master' who was currently having his tonsils steam-cleaned via tongue hoovering from the blond, and protecting his assets from the skinny limpet with nine arms now attached to him from shoulders to knees. The Force wasn't much help. It was too busy pulsating with unleashed lust.
It was all much too much for the unseen audience (the ones behind the crates, that is). Acting on impulses buried beneath centuries of civilization (and, on the Sentinel's part, just doing what came naturally), two anthropologists and two warriors exploded from their hiding place and joined the fray. To help.
Yeah, that was it. Help.
"Help?" the younger of the two be-robed figures asked querulously as he was borne to the ground between a short anthropologist and a tall broad guy with a gold stamp on his forehead. The dark man behind him wasn't going to give up claim on his ass-ets any time soon, and Blair, ever flexible, accommodated him. After all, the butt beneath that black wool was nothing to sneeze at.
"Hllprmph--" his Master responded around a jaw-full of agile tongue, not his own. Then wide shoulders caught them both in an expert football-tackle, and two pairs of hands caught the falling bodies of Paris and the Jedi, lowering them onto the dark brown robe even as they helped the man on the bottom out of the capacious sleeves. Then Danny took one look at Paris and Jinn going at it, and dove in for some of the action. Ellison saw all those long legs tangled up together and howled like an over-sized cat in heat before falling in to the Gordian knot, sword at the ready. Boy, was he ready.
Qui Gon Jinn made a valiant attempt to calmly reach out with the Force and ascertain the state of his Padawan. Adrenaline and arousal spiked off the chart through their link, and a confusing image of arms, legs, tongues doing incredibly obscene things, naked skin and rampant erections leaking every which way overwhelmed him. Going under, he couldn't help but grin. He hadn't hoped for much when the spacequake had tossed their ship out of hyperdrive and landed them on this little mudball of a planet eons from anything. His hopes were thoroughly exceeded. As someone almost as big as he was squirmed under him and began to do unmentionable things to his hindquarters, he howled in concert with whatever cat was getting laid in the back alley, and gave up any attempt at calm.
A block away, a man in a dark suit, who could have passed for an escaped GQ model if not for the perplexed frown on his face, perked up at the caterwauling coming from a nearby abandoned building. Hastening his pace, caution tossed to the winds in the face of a puzzle to be solved, Special Agent Fox Mulder shouldered his way into the darkened doorway.
Dropped his gun as his extremities (well, all but one of them) went numb.
Turned around and staggered out. Shook his head. Hard.
Turned back around and staggered back in.
It was bedlam. It was steamy, hot, crowded and confused. And noisy.
A tall guy with a beard was face-fucking a tall blond guy who was pumping away at a tall guy with totally steamed glasses who was sucking a big wall of a guy who was making a sound suspiciously like a wildcat in heat. It was Valley of the Giants on Ecstasy. Writhing in a slightly more compact lump a few feet away, an edible young man with a weird combination of buzz cut and single long braid along with a very straggly ponytail was the center of a daisy without the chain, hands buried in dark thick curls as a short naked man made a meal of his groin, a very big guy with a gold seal on his forehead humped enthusiastically behind him, and yet another tall guy, this one the color of melted caramel, free-ranged all over the other three, muttered something ecstatically about alien physiology and licked everything he could reach.
For a mind-twisting moment, Mulder really missed Alex Krycek.
Before he could completely lose his mind, the guy nearest to him, who just happened to be the bearded guy, saw him. Dark blue eyes lit with unholy glee, and invisible hands started yanking at Mulder's clothes. Before he could so much as wonder what sort of X File he'd wandered into, he was completely naked and planted flat on his back directly between the two heaving masses of manflesh.
Once the vertigo calmed down, he discovered he was really, really comfortable.
As the two groups merged over and around him, he felt a hand reach out from somewhere, petting his thigh, his flank, his chest, and everything in between. A mouth latched onto his and did its best to suck his lower lip off. More hands showed up, along with other things, wet, hard, seeking, hungry other things, and he did his best to smile around the lips making a meal of his mouth. If he was going to have another recurring nightmare, at least this one was a hell of a lot of fun. And his sister was nowhere in sight. Thank god.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the muffled chime of his cell phone. His last coherent thought, right after a brief prayer of thanks that as usual he hadn't told anyone where he was going when he left the office, was a slightly hysterical, "I'm fine, Scully."
For once, it was nothing less than the truth. And it couldn't get any further out there.