Big Wolf on Campus: Parallel Lines (Double the Fun Remix)
Original Fic: Parallel Lines, by theswearingkind
Remix: Parallel Lines (Double the Fun Remix) [Merton/Tommy, 844 words, rated PG], by trascendenza
Merton was in what could only be termed a Sarah Michelle Gellar-coming-into-his-lair-and-deflowering-him good mood. Yes, it was that good. (Maybe even a little better. Which wasn't to say that SMG wasn't still the #1 flame burning in his vaunted hall of celebrity torches -- because that thing was still going like a bon fire and, frankly, if he wasn't careful Lucy Lawless would start getting jealous and there was no doubt that even the imaginary version of her that inhabited his mind could kick his ass -- it was really more a statement to how beyond amazing his mood was, in fact, it had rocketed straight past regular amazing and entered accidentally-but-brilliantly-creating-a-supernova-in-his-morning-Yoo-Hoo-and-Coco-Puffs-combo amazing.)
Today. Today was the day.
Today, he -- Merton J. Dingle, the most brilliant and underappreciated scientific time of his mind, cinematic cognoscente such as the world has never known, avid sunscreen-wearer, primary silent stockholder behind ChocDrinks, Inc., the esteemed manufacturers of the sweet ambrosia that sustained him -- had a date with a certain lycanthrope, who was blessed not only with otherworldy strength and speed, but a dashing sort of handsomeness that had kept Merton awake many a night, counting backwards from six hundred sixty-six in Hungarian just to get to sleep. (Only to be plagued, plagued, by lascivious dreams that while instructive did not make it even remotely possible to focus when he had to work on his dissertation for the Peruvian Occult Institute, jauntily titled Amistad licántropico: como conocerle a un licántropo.)
He whistled the Addams Family theme as he ran down the stairs, toweling off his hair. He still had four hours to get ready and he intended to use every minute (as if hair as cool as his just happened).
"I have a date with Tommy, I have a date with Tommy, I have a daaaaa-" He was sing-songing as he walked through his Lair door but he was cut-off mid-syllable by a sight that not only rendered his song depressingly ironic, but snuffed out every molecule of oxygen in his body, leaving him breathless and dizzy and just about ready to spew his lunch all over his impeccable black couch.
Tommy was standing in front of him. Not usually a cause for alarm, but Tommy was--Tommy was kissing someone, someone who wasn't Merton, he was here in Merton's Lair, and he was kissing someone and nine gates of hell weren't nearly enough to put this usuper through, Merton was seriously considering petitioning that they add, oh, another hundred thousand or so, and he'd be more than happy to personally escort this man-stealing back-stabbing sub-human through each and every one--
"Uh-oh," the traitor caught sight of him and backed away from Tommy and Merton was seeing red, he was seeing so much red and his vision was going so haywire that for a moment he didn't register that --
"Tommy?" He squeaked, and they both turned to him with the same sheepish expressions on their dashingly handsome, dashingly identical faces.
"Merton, I can explain--" They said in stereo, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish, and the last thing he heard before it all went black was his own voice asking bemusedly, "does this mean our date's off?"
*
Now, Merton might or might not--emphasis on the might not (because people who were quarterbacks, wore wranglers jeans to disgustingly attractive effect and still thought that every time Merton said the word "pi" that he meant a delicious flaky crust and warm fruit filling) were very prone to lying and/or exaggerating such matters--he might or might not have accidentally lapsed into unconsciousness twice more while they were trying to explain matters to him, but if he indeed did (which has not been verified by any reliable authorities), it was only because finding out that your almost-boyfriend is getting tips from his alternate universe counterpart on how to make out with guys--on specifically how to make out with Merton, because apparently alternaverse Tommy has been dating alternaverse Merton for an entire year!--is just a little boggling to any intelligent mind, and it has been well established up to this point that the mind we are dealing with surpasses all previously recorded levels of human intelligence, and, well. There you have it.
*
Somewhere midway in the midst his detailed and analytical comparison of Tommy Primus' (aka his Tommy) Ryan Reynolds-shirtless-and-chained-in-Blade III sex appeal with Tommy Secundus' (formerly The Usuper, aka alterna-Tommy aka Secundie for short) Guys and Dolls-era Marlon Brando-esque panache, he realized he was still clothed only in a towel, and oh my God, there were two Tommys, and they were both looking at him with their sexy-hungry-yellow-almost-wolfed-out-eyes, and they were both sitting right next to him and sidling closer hoo boy, this was going to be like the coolest date in the history of ever times two.
Remix: Parallel Lines (Double the Fun Remix) [Merton/Tommy, 844 words, rated PG], by trascendenza
Merton was in what could only be termed a Sarah Michelle Gellar-coming-into-his-lair-and-deflowering-him good mood. Yes, it was that good. (Maybe even a little better. Which wasn't to say that SMG wasn't still the #1 flame burning in his vaunted hall of celebrity torches -- because that thing was still going like a bon fire and, frankly, if he wasn't careful Lucy Lawless would start getting jealous and there was no doubt that even the imaginary version of her that inhabited his mind could kick his ass -- it was really more a statement to how beyond amazing his mood was, in fact, it had rocketed straight past regular amazing and entered accidentally-but-brilliantly-creating-a-supernova-in-his-morning-Yoo-Hoo-and-Coco-Puffs-combo amazing.)
Today. Today was the day.
Today, he -- Merton J. Dingle, the most brilliant and underappreciated scientific time of his mind, cinematic cognoscente such as the world has never known, avid sunscreen-wearer, primary silent stockholder behind ChocDrinks, Inc., the esteemed manufacturers of the sweet ambrosia that sustained him -- had a date with a certain lycanthrope, who was blessed not only with otherworldy strength and speed, but a dashing sort of handsomeness that had kept Merton awake many a night, counting backwards from six hundred sixty-six in Hungarian just to get to sleep. (Only to be plagued, plagued, by lascivious dreams that while instructive did not make it even remotely possible to focus when he had to work on his dissertation for the Peruvian Occult Institute, jauntily titled Amistad licántropico: como conocerle a un licántropo.)
He whistled the Addams Family theme as he ran down the stairs, toweling off his hair. He still had four hours to get ready and he intended to use every minute (as if hair as cool as his just happened).
"I have a date with Tommy, I have a date with Tommy, I have a daaaaa-" He was sing-songing as he walked through his Lair door but he was cut-off mid-syllable by a sight that not only rendered his song depressingly ironic, but snuffed out every molecule of oxygen in his body, leaving him breathless and dizzy and just about ready to spew his lunch all over his impeccable black couch.
Tommy was standing in front of him. Not usually a cause for alarm, but Tommy was--Tommy was kissing someone, someone who wasn't Merton, he was here in Merton's Lair, and he was kissing someone and nine gates of hell weren't nearly enough to put this usuper through, Merton was seriously considering petitioning that they add, oh, another hundred thousand or so, and he'd be more than happy to personally escort this man-stealing back-stabbing sub-human through each and every one--
"Uh-oh," the traitor caught sight of him and backed away from Tommy and Merton was seeing red, he was seeing so much red and his vision was going so haywire that for a moment he didn't register that --
"Tommy?" He squeaked, and they both turned to him with the same sheepish expressions on their dashingly handsome, dashingly identical faces.
"Merton, I can explain--" They said in stereo, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish, and the last thing he heard before it all went black was his own voice asking bemusedly, "does this mean our date's off?"
*
Now, Merton might or might not--emphasis on the might not (because people who were quarterbacks, wore wranglers jeans to disgustingly attractive effect and still thought that every time Merton said the word "pi" that he meant a delicious flaky crust and warm fruit filling) were very prone to lying and/or exaggerating such matters--he might or might not have accidentally lapsed into unconsciousness twice more while they were trying to explain matters to him, but if he indeed did (which has not been verified by any reliable authorities), it was only because finding out that your almost-boyfriend is getting tips from his alternate universe counterpart on how to make out with guys--on specifically how to make out with Merton, because apparently alternaverse Tommy has been dating alternaverse Merton for an entire year!--is just a little boggling to any intelligent mind, and it has been well established up to this point that the mind we are dealing with surpasses all previously recorded levels of human intelligence, and, well. There you have it.
*
Somewhere midway in the midst his detailed and analytical comparison of Tommy Primus' (aka his Tommy) Ryan Reynolds-shirtless-and-chained-in-Blade III sex appeal with Tommy Secundus' (formerly The Usuper, aka alterna-Tommy aka Secundie for short) Guys and Dolls-era Marlon Brando-esque panache, he realized he was still clothed only in a towel, and oh my God, there were two Tommys, and they were both looking at him with their sexy-hungry-yellow-almost-wolfed-out-eyes, and they were both sitting right next to him and sidling closer hoo boy, this was going to be like the coolest date in the history of ever times two.