Gettin' Stupid With Cupid
Title: Gettin' Stupid With Cupid
Fandom/Series: Red vs. Blue
Characters: Church, Caboose, Tucker, Vic, Sarge, Donut, Grif, Simmons, Doc, Junior
Pairings: Grif/Simmons; the others weren't intentional, but I'm sure if you squint and turn your head sideways you can find others.
Summary: The guys at Command send a care package to help the Reds and Blues celebrate the day of love. No time-line, you pick the setting - I don't care. Written for the V-Day Challenge.
Rating: PG-13 for sexual humor, alcohol usage, foul language and as always loving use of the F-Word (30 counts).
Challenge/Theme: For the Valentine's Day Challenge over at rvb_slash , I multi-claimed prompts, but the main one is "A mere friend will agree with you, but a real friend will argue."
Genre: Satire/Humor/Parody. Could be considered Crack fic.
Length: 2, 878 words.
Status: Complete, but unBeta'd.
Warning: Slash.
If there ever was a perfect example of an understatement, if would be something along these lines regarding the particular moment and situation: Church was not amused. He very much was not amused when he discovered the special care package Command had sent sitting there for him to find in the morning. He was even more not amused when it took him from 0900 to 2100 to finally-“About fuckin’ time!”- get a hold of Vic.
As soon as the communications officer was viewing him on the screen, he demonstrated just how much so he was not amused.
“Vic - what the hell is this shit?!” He held up a wicker basket decorated with roses, ribbons, plastic wrap, and faux pigeon wings, it contents still tenderly wrapped and lovingly set in the basket in a lovely and pre-planned aesthetically pleasing arrangement. “What the fuck are you guys at command trying to do with this shit?”
The basket’s contents were as follows: chocolate strawberry body paint, flavored condoms, Dr. Luvv lubricant, Me So Horny cream, Warming Erotic Massage Oil for Men, a twelve pack of Fruity-Fruit Candy Thongs (in seven stimulating colors!), three key ring vibrators, an economy pack of regular condoms, and a twenty four pack of Cupid’s Brew, a “special alcoholic V-Day love potion sure to make your lonely Single Life not as miserable!”
So it goes.
Vic told him in a voice that was formulated in such a dulcet tone, it was obviously fabricated to make Church feel better when he honestly didn’t give two shits, “That’s Command’s special way of wishing everyone at Blue Base a very Merry… whatever holiday it is that they sent that for.”
“Valentine’s Day,” Church offered, his unhappy scowl displaying vividly in Vic’s high-def monitor. “Not just any ol’ holiday - fuckin’ Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Vic said, suddenly recovering from his lapse of memory. “Yeah, yeah, fucking is right! Heh. Thought you guys would’ve enjoyed it, that little somethin’ somethin’.” His smile was lecherous and creepy. He said, “It was the next best thing we could do besides sending you more men. And we just know how much you would’ve loved that.”
“That’s fucking disgusting, and fuck you, Vic.”
“No thanks. But hey listen, dude, hope you make good use of all that stuff, all right? I gotta get going here, dude. Got a hot date with my wife with a candle-lit dinner and hot passionate heterosexual intercourse, if you get what I mean? Know what I’m sayin’ dude? Do. You. Know…” He paused for dramatic emphasis - “What I’m…saying? Gotta get my mack on, if you catch my drift. Wife’s warming up the house, if you know what I mean… She’s -- ”
Church angrily disconnected.
* * *
“What the fuck is all this shit?” Grif rummaged around inside Command’s care package and pulled out some interesting items, not knowing that the Blues had received the same products. “Me So Horny cream…? I’ll say it again: What the fuck is all this shit?”
“Command sent it to us,” said Simmons, a little red around the cheeks. “Since it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re all by ourselves at the base with no women around, they thought it was a good idea to send us some things to help us to, um…celebrate the holiday together.”
“Well, don’ jus’ stand ther’!” Sarge shot up from his seat and grabbed three bottles of the Cupid’s Brew from the basket and shoved them his subordinates’ hands. “Let’s get ta celebratin’!
“Oooh, I just love parties!” Donut squealed. He grabbed a Brew. “Maybe we can get drunk enough and have an orgy!”
“How about not?” Grif replied.
Regardless of Donut’s perceived intentions, the men clinked their bottles together and began to celebrate.
And celebrate they did. It turned out that Cupid’s Brew was a 160 proof beverage, a vodka mixed with a few liquors and red corn syrup - a reasonable number, yes, but pretty fucking high. Sarge and Grif were drinking it without hesitation, practically guzzling the mix; Simmons was hesitant at first, took an experimental sip, decided he liked the flavor, and took another. Soon, they were all drinking the bottles straight, and within five minutes they were drunk - except for Simmons, who had only just gotten past his inhibitions and was taking it slowly.
It was 1900 when they started celebrating, and about 2200 when the discussion began:
“No, it doesn’t count,” Donut slurred. “if you’re wearing a cowboy outfit.”
Sarge gave a drunken laugh. “It’s cheatin’ if ya can’t git it up fer ‘em.”
“That’s not cheating,” Grif slurred. “That’s you being old… I say it’s not cheating if the pubes don’t touch.” He took another swing of Cupid.
Simmons had just came back from the bathroom when he heard Grif’s statement. “What the hell are you talking about?” He was the only one not drunk - he’d taken it slow, and the buzz was just softening the edges of his logic, not all the way obliterating it.
“What’s not considered cheating, which is my topic,” said Donut. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as Sarge and Grif but he was a bit loopy. “I say it’s not cheating if it’s with her mom.” He was smirking.
“What the --? Donut, that’s still cheating!” Simmons couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his comrades, feeling disgusted. The disgust was probably a result of the Cupid’s Brew sweetness and the sleazy topic. “Explain me how it’s not cheating.”
“How is it considered cheating, Simmons?” Sarge was now involved with the argument. “Tell us, then, if yer so smart.”
“I will! It’s her mom, and ‘her,’ I’m assuming, is your girlfriend. That’s two timing, sir,” Simmons said. “That’s wrong, and you know it…. Uh, sir.”
“And like everything else we’ve been saying isn’t?” Grif interrupted, glowering at his somewhat-sober teammate. “It’s just for fun, dude. Lighten the fuck up.”
Simmons’ face morphed from anger and disappointment to a simple and powerful pout. “You’re telling me you don’t actually believe anything you’re saying?” Was he losing this argument because it was all just fun and games and relationships of any sort were just some sort of a joke to them?
“Not at all,” said Donut. “We all know we’re stuck with each other here at Red Base, so how can we cheat on each other when there’s no way I’m going to keep a secret?” He dodged a box of condoms thrown at his forehead while giggling madly. It was unknown who threw them.
“No-one’s sleeping with anybody here.” Grif shot a look at Simmons for what seemed to be no apparent reason, which was not the case at all. “…It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Let’s change the subject.”
* * *
Somewhere, Elsewhere, in Elsewhereville.
Doc, who hadn’t spoken neither Red nor Blue since what seemed like forever in the land of Canon, was sitting on a cliff because he could. It was a nice cliff, he rather thought so.
It was also not lonely on this cliff for he was sharing it with someone else who has not been seen or spoken to in such a long time in the land of Canon: Junior.
Together they were sitting on this nice little cliff and eating chocolates from the box Doc had been given by Command when they discovered he wasn’t dead. They were required to give him something to celebrate Valentine’s Day since that’s what they did for everyone else in their employment.
So it goes.
Nothing was said as they chowed on caramel dark chocolate truffles with smiling faces.
* * *
Back at Blue Base:
Church had no use for flavored condoms. Or chocolate strawberry body paint. Or a key ring dildo or vibrator or whatever the fuck it was. He absolutely sure no one else had a use for those things, either, and he was about to throw it all away when Caboose stopped him.
“Wait, Church!” he said. “I do not want to throw away the fruit snacks.”
“Caboose, we don’t have any fruit snacks,” Church said, trying not to get angry. “We ran out of them last month.”
“Church, you should not lie to me. It is very mean.”
“Why the fuck would I lie to you about fucking fruit snacks, Caboose? I don’t fucking have them. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
“Then what are those in the box, mister? Hmmm?” He pointed at the box of Fruity-Fruit Candy Thongs sticking out of the basket.
“They’re -… You know what? Fuck it. Here, just have them.” Church tossed Caboose the thongs.
“Yay! Thank you, Church! I forgive you for lying to me.”
Church had been aggravated at Caboose bothering him, but watching him happily open up a box of candy thongs just because he thought they were fruit snacks amused Church greatly to no end. He forgot about Vic pissing him off, forgot about the perverts at Command, and enjoyed the moment - the moment being the one when Caboose unwrapped the gummi undies and stuck one in his mouth.
“I like these,” Caboose said, tearing the undies with his teeth and chewing. “They taste like Fruit Roll-ups.”
“Oh my god...” Church’s day was now a hellava lot better.
Tucker, with his omnipotent and incredible ability of suddenly walking in at the most opportune moments, walked in on Church with the sex fiend gift basket in hand and Caboose gnawing on a candy thong out the corner of his mouth.
“It’s not what you think,” Church said. “He thought they were fruit snacks.”
“Riiiiiight… Hey, I was wondering if we were going to drink the cherry beer they sent us.” Tucker was a little weirded out by the situation. “You said something about throwing out the basket and I wanted to make sure the Cupid’s Brew or whatever the fuck it is wasn’t in there.”
“It’s in the fridge,” Church told him.
They relocated to the galley.
Church told Tucker he could go ahead and start without him while he got rid of that accursed basket once and for all. When he returned from dropping the porny goods in the dumpster, Caboose had a bottle of Cupid’s Brew in his hand.
“Caboose, give that to me!” He stepped right up to the rookie and snatched it from him. “You’re not old enough to drink.”
“The fuck he isn’t!” Tucker grabbed the bottle from Church and gave it back to Caboose. “He joined the army - that means he’s old enough!”
“Caboose,” Church said. “How old are you?”
“I do not know, Church… I cannot remember when my birthday is.”
“Dammit…” Church growled. “I’m still not letting him drink.”
“Oh, come on Church! He’s old enough,” Tucker said. “They wouldn’t have let him in if he wasn’t.”
“That may be true, but his mind isn’t mature enough to handle a-” Church seized the bottle from Tucker and read the label: “ alcoholic V-Day love potion sure to make your lonely Single Life not as miserable.” What the fuck?” He was jolted slightly off his righteous horse and then snapped out of it. “Anyways, I’m not letting him have this. It’s for grown-ups only.”
“That’s my point! We’re all grown-ups here! We’re in the fucking Blue Army!”
“Fuck you, Tucker! I’m helping him.”
“No, fuck you, Church. Let him make his own decisions for once!”
Church opened his mouth to say something else but he was cut off -
“It is okay, Church,” Caboose said, quieting them down. “I will not drink if you do not want me to.”
Church smiled triumphantly at Tucker and ruffled the rookie’s hair. “Good boy, Caboose,” he said. “Now you won’t turn into a lush like Tucker.”
“Hey, what the fuck? I am not a lush! I only have one beer a day.”
“You’re an alcoholic, Tucker, and I’m making sure Caboose doesn’t follow your bad example.”
“You know what Church? Fuck you,” Tucker spat. He took a long gulp of Brew so that he wouldn’t have to look at Church’s smug expression.
* * *
The first box of chocolate was gone now.
Junior surprised Doc with another box of chocolates that he magically pulled out from behind his back.
Doc gave Junior a pat on the head before they started on the new box, going straight for the bonbons.
* * *
The topics no longer made sense.
Donut brought up a fear of nanny goats, Grif suggested that they start a band, and Sarge went on and on ad nauseum about the validity of Grif ball as a sport.
Simmons wasn’t participating in the conversations. He sat there drinking his Brew, away from the drinking party having retreated into his liquored thoughts. It had been nearly an hour since they got away from the topic but Simmons was still stuck on “it’s not cheating if…” Grif’s answers were the most shocking: “It’s not cheating if it’s in a different zip code… if it’s a threesome…if she’s wearing a costume…if you’re with your girlfriend and you’re thinking of someone else…if you get away with it.”
That was the major one: “It’s not cheating if you get away with it.”
That’s fucked up.
Grif claimed to not believe what he was telling them. Claimed it was all for the fun and not for real.
Simmons, needless to say, didn’t believe that Grif didn’t believe what he was saying: cheating was cheating, no matter what excuse you used to explain it away.
He was sure that nobody had noticed that the discussion had been upsetting for him. Nobody cared, especially the only person who should have cared how he felt about those certain things.
Happy fucking Valentine’s Day, Simmons. Grif just gave you and your potential relationship the big “Fuck you.”
* * *
Doc worried about the amount of calories and sugar he and Junior had ingested, but decided he would worry about it later. Right now he was enjoying his company and the chocolate turtles that were leftover in the last box.
* * *
Back at Red Base:
Sarge and Donut passed out and were sprawled out all over the floor, drooling and draped all over the furniture of the common room. Donut had gotten into the tube of chocolate strawberry body paint and started eating out of the tube. It left a mess on his face.
Sarge had the giant pink ribbon from the basket tied in a huge bow around his neck.
There was no explanation for this other than that they both had had too much to drink.
So it goes.
Grif was somehow to still awake, somehow not snockered from alcohol poisioning. He was also severely hammered.
He stood up awkwardly and stumbled over to where Simmons had sat like a lump all night long. He plunked down next to him, taking up the other side of the love seat.
“Dick…Did I ever tell you you’re pretty?” His words were slow and bumbling.
“Girls are pretty,” said Simmons, still nursing his Cupid’s Brew. “You obviously like girls since you cheat on them.” After he said that, he realized that what he just said didn’t make any sense. He also discovered that the Brew had achieved its goal of inebriating him.
“Nuh-uh… That was all talk,” Grif said. “I don’t like girls…unless you’re a girl.”
“Last time I checked I wasn’t.”
“I could check now, if you wanted me to.”
“You’re drunk, Grif.”
“And you’re sexy.”
Simmons’ alcohol intake was finally affecting his brain. He felt groggy and incoherent, fuzzy and blurred. “…really?”
Grif nodded his head heavily. “Yup…I want to kiss you now. Is that okay?”
“I don’t care,” Simmons said. And he really didn’t care. He was too buzzed on booze to really put up any real resistance and he wasn’t thinking clearly: the Brew wasn’t allowing any logical thought.
They kissed. It was one long and slow kiss that it was hard to say if Simmons had initiated it or Grif. Either way, it was something they both wanted, boozed up and otherwise.
It didn’t go anywhere.
Grif fell asleep on Simmons before the second kiss, and Simmons was too tired and foggy-brained to really understand what had just happened. It felt like he was on drugs, and before he slipped off into a dreamless sleep, he remembered something about love being something like a drug.
Maybe this was it.
* * *
Back at Blue Base:
Caboose captured his teammates in a group hug. “I love you guys!”
“Aww, I love you too, Caboose,” said Tucker. “In a totally manly way.”
“Get the fuck off me, get the FUCK off me!” Church wriggled and punched Caboose in the jaw; the rookie didn’t notice the right hook.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, and to all a good night!” Caboose squeezed them tight, cracking their backs.
“-AH! Okay, now you’re hurting…me…” Tucker struggled with his words, his air passage now blocked.
“I said, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
* * *
THE END.
* * *