A Long Time Ago In A Galaxy Far, Far Away...
So despite not feeling well since yesterday, I wrote more Eagle RPF. Because why not, really?
Title: Not The Droids You're Looking For
Pairing: Channing Tatum/Jamie Bell/Jenna Dewan-Tatum
Word Count: 4,331
Rating: R
Summary: "What are you supposed to be?" one of the guests asks him, a dapper-looking lad in a fedora and a three-piece suit that makes Jamie want to punch him a little because he isn't wearing a fucking sweat trap made of fur and glue and hate.
Disclaimer: Never happened, not real, and not just because I think Channing would actually go as C-3PO because he's that kind of guy.
Author's Note: Based on this conversation, I promised frackin_sweet a ridiculous story about Jamie and the Tatums getting up to Halloween shenanigans, so this is for her. I hope you like it, beebs. ♥
Jamie peers at his face in the mirror and examines his make-up, tilting his head this way and that, looking at it from all the angles before he sighs and gives up. Fuck it, the make-up won't work. He's going to have to go with the head, as much as he hates the idea. He's already going to be sweaty and filthy from the body suit, but he can't make the face work, even if he glued Meeka's fur to his cheeks, which is something he's really willing to try the longer he stares at the big, brown eyes on his Ewok head.
Christ, that's unsettling. How did Channing and Jenna even find this terror of a costume and how did he let himself get talked into wearing it? In front of strangers. For a whole evening.
They are going to owe him big for this.
He looks behind him and wonders if he can get one of them to help him get this muck off his face, especially since the make-up has enough chemicals in it to possibly be toxic and smother him in a matter of minutes. He can probably get Channing to do it since Jenna's costume is a little more elaborate and requires at least an hour with the curling iron to get her hair right. "Oi," he calls out, hearing it echo off the walls, "where's me cleanser?"
Channing pops his head through the door and waves a bottle at Jamie. "Here you go, princess," he grins, tossing the bottle to Jamie fast enough that Jamie doesn't have time to flip him off.
"Piss off," he tells Channing, who takes it as license to come in and wrap his arms around Jamie because he doesn't understand how insults work, kissing him thoroughly until Jamie is clinging to him like a bloody limpet. It'd be embarrassing if Channing wasn't grabbing him back, pulling him closer and mouthing his skin like he hadn't seen Jamie in years, instead of hours. Jamie's make-up is probably wrecked, but it's not like he was going to keep it on anyway. Besides, all those Ewok markings look better on Channing than they ever did on Jamie.
Jamie's so caught up in Channing's mouth that he almost misses the outfit that Channing has on. It's not until he's running his hands up Channing's arms and feels the metal curves at his biceps that he realizes that something has changed, and he pulls back to look at Channing.
"What?" Channing asks, sounding irritated and confused now that he's not touching Jamie anymore.
Jamie looks him over and starts laughing. "What the fuck are you wearing?"
"You don't like my outfit?" Channing looks down at his gold metal bra and metal crotchplate, the long red skirt dangling from the middle. Over the metal plate at his groin, his belly pokes out a bit, that little curve that drives Jamie mad every time they're in bed together, the curve that Channing actively works on when he doesn't have to get trim for the next fighting movie on his schedule. His hips and thighs are bare, and Jamie can't resist trailing his fingers over the lines of them, smiling when Channing's muscles jump under his touch.
"I thought Jenna was supposed to wear the Princess Leia slave girl costume," he says absently, wondering if he has time to pull off that plate and give Channing a quick blowjob before the party. It's ridiculous that Jamie finds him attractive like this, wearing a costume that's meant for curves and not flat lines and Romanesque sandals that lace up his legs instead of heels, but somehow, Channing makes it work.
Or maybe Jamie's just that easy for him. It's not the first time he's been a party to one of Channing's more absurd ideas and still wanted to shag his brains out.
Channing smiles and cups his metal bra, squeezing his non-existent tits. "I thought it would look better on me."
Jamie looks at him for a moment. "Jenna wanted to be Han Solo, didn't she?"
"Since she was six," Channing confirms with a nod. "I didn't have the heart to say no."
Smirking, Jamie cups Channing's hips and pulls him closer, enjoying the way Channing's eyes go dark when he runs his thumb over the blunt edge of Channing's hip. "Well," he says slowly, leaning up to brush his lips against Channing's, "at least this costume has easy access going for it."
Channing laughs against his mouth, moaning a little when Jamie licks in. "I'm not that kind of girl," he murmurs, nipping at Jamie's lower lip. "I am a princess."
"That you are, darling." Jamie laughs when Channing slaps his ass. "What?" he asks, all mock-innocence and delight. "I'm just agreeing with you."
"Ewoks," Channing sighs, pulling away and looking critically at Jamie. "You're going to have to wear the head, you know that?"
"I know." Jamie holds up his bottle of cleanser and wiggles it around. "'S why I asked you for this, innit?"
Channing rolls his eyes and heads over to the dresser on the other side of the room, rooting through drawers until he finds some cleaning pads. When he comes back, he's putting the lotion on one of the pads and starts wiping the make-up off of Jamie's face, his movements gentle and deliberate. "Jenna wants to win first place for Best Costume this year," he tells Jamie as he swipes the pad over his brow, taking off what feels like ten layers of make-up and dirt, and making Jamie sigh with relief.
Jamie tilts his head back so that Channing can clean his neck. "Hence you in the slave girl outfit?"
"And you in the Ewok costume."
Jamie shakes his head. "Remind me how I got talked into this again?"
Channing bends his head and kisses Jamie firmly but gently on the mouth. "You love us and can't say no when we ask you to do things."
"Right," Jamie sighs. "Thanks, I'd forgotten that part."
"Welcome," Channing says, looking amused at whatever look is on Jamie's face right now, and then Jenna pokes her head through the door and glares at them both.
"Are you still getting dressed?" she asks, leaning in a little further so that Jamie can see her hair in a tight knot and the top of her Solo vest. "We have to be at the party in half an hour and you haven't even gotten your head on?" She scowls over at Channing. "You'd better not be peeling him out of that costume, Chan. We don't have time for you guys to get off."
Jamie admits that he's gawking at her a bit, but that's mostly because he's never seen Jenna this demanding about anything. She's about one step away from tapping her watch to remind them of the time, and then she steps into the room, high boots and tan pants and a gun strapped to her side, looking like a wet dream he didn't even know he'd had, and does exactly that. He thinks he might have gotten sucked into one of those alternative universes that Channing always goes on about after he watches the science specials on National Geographic. What the hell has his life become that seeing them like this makes him want to say fuck the party and just stay in bed with them all evening?
"What?" he asks Channing in a not-so-subtle whisper, trying for humor instead of going down on his knees like he wants. The body suit makes that too uncomfortable for him to even think about trying it anyway.
"She really wants to win this contest," Channing whispers back, as loud and unsubtle as he was because Jenna levels a cutting look at both of them. "Get your head on already before she gets mad."
"Is she going to shoot first?" Jamie asks, grinning when Channing starts shaking with helpless laughter.
Jenna rolls her eyes, but her mouth is quirked up in a reluctant smile. "Get your head on before I make you go as Greedo."
Jamie holds his hands up in defeat. "Knowing you, you probably already have the bloody costume." He combs his fingers through his hair and pushes it back, sliding the head on and making a face at the stale rubber scent inside it. "Ugh, this smells like a gym locker," he complains, and then yelps when Jenna slaps his ass.
"C'mon, Wicket," she says with a smile, smoothing his fur down. "Let's go win this thing."
Jamie moves his head with some difficulty and looks at Channing. "There'll be no living with her if we don't win this, right?"
"Right," Channing laughs. "So let's go win."
Jenna jerks her head toward the door of the bedroom, aiming a look at Channing. "Wipe the make-up off your face before we go. And don't forget your wig, babe. You can't be Leia in short hair."
Channing makes a face and runs a hand over his hair. "I hate the braid, Jen. It makes my head all itchy."
"Hey," Jamie says, his outrage muffled by the lack of a fully open mouth on this mask, "I had to learn fucking Ewok for this costume. Ewok. Do you know how complicated that shit is?"
Channing looks sulky. "Yeah, but you're good at languages."
"Wear the goddamn wig, Channing," Jenna and Jamie yell in unison, Jenna's scowl as fierce as Jamie's is, if only they could see under the head, and Channing sighs, all put-upon, the bastard.
"Fine, but I want blowjobs."
"Fuck you," Jamie retorts, already feeling hot and sticky in his costume. "I get blowjobs for life for wearing a bloody poodle on my face."
"Oh, boo," Jenna says, a sad look on her face as she reaches out and ruffles the fur on Jamie's cheek. "It's at least a couple of poodles for the amount of fur you have on there."
Jamie sighs as Jenna and Channing crack up. "Ha bloody ha," he says in a deadpan voice, but he might be smiling under the mask, not that he'll ever tell. "Let's just go to this party already. I need several beers to make me forget I'm wearing an Ewok costume."
"But you look so cute in fur," Jenna says, sounding earnest, while behind her, Channing has his face in his hands and is practically turning red from how hard he's laughing.
It's hard to glare at someone through a rubber head, but Jamie does his best. Jenna remains unmoved and he sighs. "God, I miss New York. No one ever made fun of me in New York. I had dignity there."
"You love us, sucker," Channing points out once he catches his breath again. "Can't back out of it now."
Jamie makes a rude gesture as he sweeps out of the room with as much dignity as he can, but he knows Channing's right: he was stupid enough to fall in love with the both of them, knowing exactly what they were like, so really, the Ewok costume is all on him.
It's going to be a long night, he thinks as he shuffles toward the elevator. He's going to need to drink all the booze to make it through tonight.
***
Two hours into the party, Jamie is piss-drunk, pissed off, and ready to call it a night. The costume is hot, he's sticky, no one has even asked him to speak Ewok, and it turns out that the head is bulky and heavy and impossible to drink through, so Jamie's had to take it off every time he wants a beer. And he needs a drink because everyone else at this fucking party has shown up in sexy costumes, Channing is the belle of the ball in his slave girl outfit, everyone loves that Jenna came as Han Solo, and he's in some dark corner of the room like the social leper that he is, drinking beer and scowling at people and hating his life.
To add insult to injury, the paw part of his costume makes a beer bottle difficult to hold, so he has to tuck the head under his arm every time and hold the bottle with both hands like a kid still learning how to drink from a glass. His pride isn't just wounded, it's lying prostrate on the floor, dying a slow, painful death at how much he looks like a demented bear cub drinking his fancy European beer from a bottle. He is going to break Channing's camera before he ever has a chance to send his family any of those pictures of him. He takes enough shit from his sister on a semi-regular basis; he's not letting Channing and Jenna give her more ammunition to use against him at Christmas.
He finally gives up after an hour and just carries the head around with him while he downs beer after beer and curses how easy he is when it comes to the Tatums. He thinks that he should stop drinking eventually before he gets too drunk to collect on that lifetime of blowjobs owed to him, but then someone else walks by in a costume that isn't made of fake fur and heatstroke, and Jamie grabs another beer and tries to figure out how this became his life when he wasn't looking.
"What are you supposed to be?" one of the guests asks him, a dapper-looking lad in a fedora and a three-piece suit that makes Jamie want to punch him a little because he isn't wearing a fucking sweat trap made of fur and glue and hate.
"Ewok," he answers sourly, taking an angry sip of his beer while trying to keep a firm grip on the head, which keeps slipping out of his paw. "Not that anyone cares. Ewoks are fucking shite, mate. Don't ever dress up as one for a costume party. Nobody even looks at you. You might as well be invisible for all the fucks people give about your Ewok costume."
He knows he's slurring a little, but fuck it, this party sucks and his costume sucks and Jenna and Channing suck for putting him in it, although they really suck for not sucking him before this stupid fucking party, and anyway, he needs more beer. Lots more beer. Enough beer to float him home where he can forget that he's dressed like someone's twisted Star Wars furry fantasy, a fact that Channing was only too happy to tell him because he likes traumatizing Jamie with things that Jamie will need therapy to be able to forget.
"Ewoks suck," he adds after a moment, bitterness thick and heavy on his tongue. He could've at least been Lando. The cape was cool. He would've gotten righteously fucked if he'd had the cape.
The guy laughs. "You know you're too tall to be an Ewok, right?"
Jamie shrugs, the movement a little slower than normal because time moves differently when you're shitfaced. "Too short to be a Wookie," he sighs, which sets the other guy off. Jamie's too tired and hot to be as irritated as he should be, so he just sighs and finishes off his beer. "Right," he announces after a moment, "I need a piss. Hey, Tatum." He yells it out loud and has the pleasure of seeing Channing's hair whip around before the rest of his head does. "Get over here."
Channing jogs over, the skirt moving in interesting ways around his legs that makes Jamie really wish he'd gotten a chance to suck Channing off before he'd come to the party. "What's up, Wicket?"
"One, I hate you." Jamie ignores Channing's giggling and gestures down at his costume. "Two, I need to--" He trails off for a second as he forgets the word he was going to use. Which is really unfair because he had it a moment ago. He turns to the guy in the fedora. "What did I want to do again?"
The guy smiles, amused and a little fond. "Piss."
"Right," Jamie says triumphantly, turning back a little too fast and almost crashing into Channing. Channing holds him steady and looks at him with a concerned look. "I need to piss," Jamie tells him very carefully, not liking the worried look on Channing's face. "Help me."
"You," Channing says firmly, using his 'adult' voice,"need to sit down before you fall down. You're drunk off your ass."
Jamie shoves at his arm. "Did you not hear me? I need. To. Piss."
"Yeah, but--"
"Channing," he says, his words distinct and precise, which is how he knows he's too drunk for this, "I need you to take me to wherever the washroom is so that I can take this fucking torture suit off me and empty my bladder, and I need you to do it now before I have an accident on the bloody floor and ruin what's left of this hellish evening." He cocks his head at Channing in a questioning motion. "Are we clear?"
Channing looks torn between laughing and mothering Jamie. Luckily for Jamie's peace of mind, laughter wins out, and Channing is smiling as he says, "Clear. C'mon, this way." He grips Jamie's shoulder and tugs him toward a long hallway, pushing him through one of the doors after a minute of walking.
The bathroom is big and bright and decorated in a nautical theme that makes Jamie's eyes cross when he tries to make sense of it. The bath curtain has little anchors on it, there are fish all over the wall, and there is a set of oars bolted above the toilet for reasons that seem too complicated for Jamie's inebriated mind to grasp right now. It makes Jamie flash back to 'King Kong' and being on that bloody boat with Naomi and how he'd spent most of his time being wet and shivering with the cold. It's not a memory he particularly wants to be having now, so he pushes it out of his mind as he struggles with the zipper of his costume, belatedly realizing that he isn't going to be able to even grip the zipper with this stupid fucking paw. Whoever designed this costume clearly hated life and people, and wanted to make both as miserable as fucking possible.
"Help me," he snaps at Channing, who's hiding his face in Jamie's shoulder to muffle his laughter. "Before I piss in this costume."
"Don't do that," Channing says, pushing away Jamie's paw and tugging at the zipper. "This thing's a rental and we'll never get the deposit back if you do that."
Jamie turns his head at an awkward angle to glare drunkenly at Channing. "Fuck the deposit, just get this fucking fur suit off me."
Channing tugs harder at the zipper, a look of impatience crossing his face as it refuses to budge. "I'm trying, dude. I think this shit is welded on. What the fuck?"
Jamie lets his head fall forward in defeat because of course Channing can't get this suit off. Why not? He's only been trapped in it all evening, sweating and cursing and feeling miserable, so why shouldn't he be stuck in it now that he needs to go badly? "God," he sighs, "just leave me here to die in this fucking costume and go back to Jenna. Why should your entire evening be ruined too?"
"You're such a depressing drunk," Channing complains, making a triumphant sound when he finally manages to yank the zipper down. "Why couldn't you be all cuddly and horny like Jenna gets when she's drunk, huh?"
Scowling, Jamie twists and grunts as he yanks the suit down, the cool air on his skin an enormous relief, shoving it down his thighs as quickly as he can so he can get his cock out. He almost over-balances and Channing braces him against his chest, reaches down to hold his cock and aim it at the toilet. Jamie makes a low sound of relief as his bladder empties, leaning his head back against Channing's shoulder, feeling Channing's arm around his waist, and feeling absurdly comforted in what should be the pinnacle of embarrassing moments in his life. It makes no sense, of course, but he's used to nothing making sense when it comes to Channing and Jenna and his relationship with them. He just goes with it and everything is better that way.
Channing lets out a little woof of sound. "Dude, you smell rank." He tightens his grip on Jamie's waist when Jamie tries to elbow him in the ribs, chuckling in Jamie's ear because he's a total bastard. "I meant it in a nice way."
"Prat," Jamie says through clenched teeth, shivering a little as Channing carefully wipes him up and tucks him back into his underwear, flushing when he's done. He feels like he's lost ten pounds and he's still dizzy, everything feeling too far away and wrapped in cotton, which either means he's sick or drunk. He's going with drunk. "You chose this fucking costume," he adds, petulance in his voice.
Channing noses the sweat-slick skin of his neck, mouthing the line of his nape until Jamie's making those little needy noises that seem to drive him crazy. "I thought you'd be cute as an Ewok," he argues, sliding his hand under Jamie's shirt to palm his belly. "Ewoks are cute, you're cute; ergo, an Ewok costume."
"Next time," and Jamie starts as Channing puts his teeth to the curve of his shoulder, his tongue following in a silent apology, "you can be a Wookie, yeah? And I can be Solo and Jenna can be Princess Leila-- Leiii-- Lulu-- fuck, you know who I mean."
Channing presses his face against Jamie's throat and snorts with laughter. "Baby, you are sooo drunk," he says, delighted and amused. "I don't think I've ever seen you this hammered before."
Jamie tries to turn his head to scowl at him, but Channing keeps his face pressed tight against him, so he settles for whacking him in the ribs with his elbow. "It was self-defensive drinking," he argues, well, slurs, really. "It was hot in there--"
"I know, I know." Channing sighs, bends his head down further to lick at Jamie's collarbone. "So does this mean you won't dress up as Toto for next year's Halloween party?"
Jamie can feel the curve of Channing's smile against his shoulder and wonders why it is that he cannot resist this annoying, bloody-minded, stupidly wonderful man and his equally aggravating, wonderful wife. It's something he's going to have to think seriously about once he has more blood in his brain and he isn't suffering from the onset of heatstroke from being trapped in that fucking furry sweatsuit all night long. "Shut up and suck my cock," he demands, imperious, and he can feel more than hear Channing's low, needy moan against his skin. "You owe me."
"God," Jenna sighs from the door, startling the both of them, "I turn my back for one minute and you're both in here, arguing with your dicks out. A girl could get a complex."
"I had to piss," Jamie argues while Channing says at the same time, "My dick isn't out, babe."
She rolls her eyes and steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. "Yeah, yeah, tell me another one." She watches them for a moment, amusement warring with lust as she takes in their positions, the way Jamie is dressed in only a thin T-shirt and his underwear, the way Channing's practically naked with only strategic bits of metal hiding his dangly bits, and then unbuckles her laser gun to put it down on the counter. Her hair is coming loose at the front, little strands curling around her face, and her movements are quick and confident as she unbuckles her pants and pushes them down her hips. Jamie watches, mesmerized, as she vaults herself up onto the counter and spreads her legs.
"So," she says with a smile, crooking her finger at both of them, "here's the deal: they're going to announce the winner of Best Costume in ten minutes. You have that much time to get me off and get each other off before we have to go back."
Behind him, Channing makes a soft keening sound, pushing him forward toward the counter and Jenna, and Jamie sucks in a quick, shaky breath, his whole body trembling from how much he wants this. "I'm a little smashed," he admits, feeling his heartbeat quicken when Jenna just smiles at him.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, boo," she says, reaching out to grab his shirt and pull him forward, her mouth pressed against his, her tongue licking out all his protests until all he can focus on is her and her pert breasts under her shirt and the slick heat of her against his fingers. When Channing goes to his knees and sucks Jamie's cock in his mouth, Jamie almost falls to his knees and it takes Jenna holding him up by his shoulders and Channing holding him steady by his hips for him to keep his balance.
It takes them longer than ten minutes, and they lose first prize to the Justice League of America, but by then, Jenna's too sated to care, and Jamie's holding onto Channing like a lifeline in case his knees give out on him and he falls on his ass again. The hangover is a complete fucking bitch to deal with the next day, but walking in on Channing going down on Jenna on the kitchen table with the second-place trophy near her head makes up for almost everything.
Jenna tilts her head back to look up at him, her eyes wide and dark and her mouth open as she moans Jamie's name. Jamie smiles, headache gone, and goes to hold her down and kiss her thoroughly so that they can start their morning off right.
Title: Not The Droids You're Looking For
Pairing: Channing Tatum/Jamie Bell/Jenna Dewan-Tatum
Word Count: 4,331
Rating: R
Summary: "What are you supposed to be?" one of the guests asks him, a dapper-looking lad in a fedora and a three-piece suit that makes Jamie want to punch him a little because he isn't wearing a fucking sweat trap made of fur and glue and hate.
Disclaimer: Never happened, not real, and not just because I think Channing would actually go as C-3PO because he's that kind of guy.
Author's Note: Based on this conversation, I promised frackin_sweet a ridiculous story about Jamie and the Tatums getting up to Halloween shenanigans, so this is for her. I hope you like it, beebs. ♥
Jamie peers at his face in the mirror and examines his make-up, tilting his head this way and that, looking at it from all the angles before he sighs and gives up. Fuck it, the make-up won't work. He's going to have to go with the head, as much as he hates the idea. He's already going to be sweaty and filthy from the body suit, but he can't make the face work, even if he glued Meeka's fur to his cheeks, which is something he's really willing to try the longer he stares at the big, brown eyes on his Ewok head.
Christ, that's unsettling. How did Channing and Jenna even find this terror of a costume and how did he let himself get talked into wearing it? In front of strangers. For a whole evening.
They are going to owe him big for this.
He looks behind him and wonders if he can get one of them to help him get this muck off his face, especially since the make-up has enough chemicals in it to possibly be toxic and smother him in a matter of minutes. He can probably get Channing to do it since Jenna's costume is a little more elaborate and requires at least an hour with the curling iron to get her hair right. "Oi," he calls out, hearing it echo off the walls, "where's me cleanser?"
Channing pops his head through the door and waves a bottle at Jamie. "Here you go, princess," he grins, tossing the bottle to Jamie fast enough that Jamie doesn't have time to flip him off.
"Piss off," he tells Channing, who takes it as license to come in and wrap his arms around Jamie because he doesn't understand how insults work, kissing him thoroughly until Jamie is clinging to him like a bloody limpet. It'd be embarrassing if Channing wasn't grabbing him back, pulling him closer and mouthing his skin like he hadn't seen Jamie in years, instead of hours. Jamie's make-up is probably wrecked, but it's not like he was going to keep it on anyway. Besides, all those Ewok markings look better on Channing than they ever did on Jamie.
Jamie's so caught up in Channing's mouth that he almost misses the outfit that Channing has on. It's not until he's running his hands up Channing's arms and feels the metal curves at his biceps that he realizes that something has changed, and he pulls back to look at Channing.
"What?" Channing asks, sounding irritated and confused now that he's not touching Jamie anymore.
Jamie looks him over and starts laughing. "What the fuck are you wearing?"
"You don't like my outfit?" Channing looks down at his gold metal bra and metal crotchplate, the long red skirt dangling from the middle. Over the metal plate at his groin, his belly pokes out a bit, that little curve that drives Jamie mad every time they're in bed together, the curve that Channing actively works on when he doesn't have to get trim for the next fighting movie on his schedule. His hips and thighs are bare, and Jamie can't resist trailing his fingers over the lines of them, smiling when Channing's muscles jump under his touch.
"I thought Jenna was supposed to wear the Princess Leia slave girl costume," he says absently, wondering if he has time to pull off that plate and give Channing a quick blowjob before the party. It's ridiculous that Jamie finds him attractive like this, wearing a costume that's meant for curves and not flat lines and Romanesque sandals that lace up his legs instead of heels, but somehow, Channing makes it work.
Or maybe Jamie's just that easy for him. It's not the first time he's been a party to one of Channing's more absurd ideas and still wanted to shag his brains out.
Channing smiles and cups his metal bra, squeezing his non-existent tits. "I thought it would look better on me."
Jamie looks at him for a moment. "Jenna wanted to be Han Solo, didn't she?"
"Since she was six," Channing confirms with a nod. "I didn't have the heart to say no."
Smirking, Jamie cups Channing's hips and pulls him closer, enjoying the way Channing's eyes go dark when he runs his thumb over the blunt edge of Channing's hip. "Well," he says slowly, leaning up to brush his lips against Channing's, "at least this costume has easy access going for it."
Channing laughs against his mouth, moaning a little when Jamie licks in. "I'm not that kind of girl," he murmurs, nipping at Jamie's lower lip. "I am a princess."
"That you are, darling." Jamie laughs when Channing slaps his ass. "What?" he asks, all mock-innocence and delight. "I'm just agreeing with you."
"Ewoks," Channing sighs, pulling away and looking critically at Jamie. "You're going to have to wear the head, you know that?"
"I know." Jamie holds up his bottle of cleanser and wiggles it around. "'S why I asked you for this, innit?"
Channing rolls his eyes and heads over to the dresser on the other side of the room, rooting through drawers until he finds some cleaning pads. When he comes back, he's putting the lotion on one of the pads and starts wiping the make-up off of Jamie's face, his movements gentle and deliberate. "Jenna wants to win first place for Best Costume this year," he tells Jamie as he swipes the pad over his brow, taking off what feels like ten layers of make-up and dirt, and making Jamie sigh with relief.
Jamie tilts his head back so that Channing can clean his neck. "Hence you in the slave girl outfit?"
"And you in the Ewok costume."
Jamie shakes his head. "Remind me how I got talked into this again?"
Channing bends his head and kisses Jamie firmly but gently on the mouth. "You love us and can't say no when we ask you to do things."
"Right," Jamie sighs. "Thanks, I'd forgotten that part."
"Welcome," Channing says, looking amused at whatever look is on Jamie's face right now, and then Jenna pokes her head through the door and glares at them both.
"Are you still getting dressed?" she asks, leaning in a little further so that Jamie can see her hair in a tight knot and the top of her Solo vest. "We have to be at the party in half an hour and you haven't even gotten your head on?" She scowls over at Channing. "You'd better not be peeling him out of that costume, Chan. We don't have time for you guys to get off."
Jamie admits that he's gawking at her a bit, but that's mostly because he's never seen Jenna this demanding about anything. She's about one step away from tapping her watch to remind them of the time, and then she steps into the room, high boots and tan pants and a gun strapped to her side, looking like a wet dream he didn't even know he'd had, and does exactly that. He thinks he might have gotten sucked into one of those alternative universes that Channing always goes on about after he watches the science specials on National Geographic. What the hell has his life become that seeing them like this makes him want to say fuck the party and just stay in bed with them all evening?
"What?" he asks Channing in a not-so-subtle whisper, trying for humor instead of going down on his knees like he wants. The body suit makes that too uncomfortable for him to even think about trying it anyway.
"She really wants to win this contest," Channing whispers back, as loud and unsubtle as he was because Jenna levels a cutting look at both of them. "Get your head on already before she gets mad."
"Is she going to shoot first?" Jamie asks, grinning when Channing starts shaking with helpless laughter.
Jenna rolls her eyes, but her mouth is quirked up in a reluctant smile. "Get your head on before I make you go as Greedo."
Jamie holds his hands up in defeat. "Knowing you, you probably already have the bloody costume." He combs his fingers through his hair and pushes it back, sliding the head on and making a face at the stale rubber scent inside it. "Ugh, this smells like a gym locker," he complains, and then yelps when Jenna slaps his ass.
"C'mon, Wicket," she says with a smile, smoothing his fur down. "Let's go win this thing."
Jamie moves his head with some difficulty and looks at Channing. "There'll be no living with her if we don't win this, right?"
"Right," Channing laughs. "So let's go win."
Jenna jerks her head toward the door of the bedroom, aiming a look at Channing. "Wipe the make-up off your face before we go. And don't forget your wig, babe. You can't be Leia in short hair."
Channing makes a face and runs a hand over his hair. "I hate the braid, Jen. It makes my head all itchy."
"Hey," Jamie says, his outrage muffled by the lack of a fully open mouth on this mask, "I had to learn fucking Ewok for this costume. Ewok. Do you know how complicated that shit is?"
Channing looks sulky. "Yeah, but you're good at languages."
"Wear the goddamn wig, Channing," Jenna and Jamie yell in unison, Jenna's scowl as fierce as Jamie's is, if only they could see under the head, and Channing sighs, all put-upon, the bastard.
"Fine, but I want blowjobs."
"Fuck you," Jamie retorts, already feeling hot and sticky in his costume. "I get blowjobs for life for wearing a bloody poodle on my face."
"Oh, boo," Jenna says, a sad look on her face as she reaches out and ruffles the fur on Jamie's cheek. "It's at least a couple of poodles for the amount of fur you have on there."
Jamie sighs as Jenna and Channing crack up. "Ha bloody ha," he says in a deadpan voice, but he might be smiling under the mask, not that he'll ever tell. "Let's just go to this party already. I need several beers to make me forget I'm wearing an Ewok costume."
"But you look so cute in fur," Jenna says, sounding earnest, while behind her, Channing has his face in his hands and is practically turning red from how hard he's laughing.
It's hard to glare at someone through a rubber head, but Jamie does his best. Jenna remains unmoved and he sighs. "God, I miss New York. No one ever made fun of me in New York. I had dignity there."
"You love us, sucker," Channing points out once he catches his breath again. "Can't back out of it now."
Jamie makes a rude gesture as he sweeps out of the room with as much dignity as he can, but he knows Channing's right: he was stupid enough to fall in love with the both of them, knowing exactly what they were like, so really, the Ewok costume is all on him.
It's going to be a long night, he thinks as he shuffles toward the elevator. He's going to need to drink all the booze to make it through tonight.
***
Two hours into the party, Jamie is piss-drunk, pissed off, and ready to call it a night. The costume is hot, he's sticky, no one has even asked him to speak Ewok, and it turns out that the head is bulky and heavy and impossible to drink through, so Jamie's had to take it off every time he wants a beer. And he needs a drink because everyone else at this fucking party has shown up in sexy costumes, Channing is the belle of the ball in his slave girl outfit, everyone loves that Jenna came as Han Solo, and he's in some dark corner of the room like the social leper that he is, drinking beer and scowling at people and hating his life.
To add insult to injury, the paw part of his costume makes a beer bottle difficult to hold, so he has to tuck the head under his arm every time and hold the bottle with both hands like a kid still learning how to drink from a glass. His pride isn't just wounded, it's lying prostrate on the floor, dying a slow, painful death at how much he looks like a demented bear cub drinking his fancy European beer from a bottle. He is going to break Channing's camera before he ever has a chance to send his family any of those pictures of him. He takes enough shit from his sister on a semi-regular basis; he's not letting Channing and Jenna give her more ammunition to use against him at Christmas.
He finally gives up after an hour and just carries the head around with him while he downs beer after beer and curses how easy he is when it comes to the Tatums. He thinks that he should stop drinking eventually before he gets too drunk to collect on that lifetime of blowjobs owed to him, but then someone else walks by in a costume that isn't made of fake fur and heatstroke, and Jamie grabs another beer and tries to figure out how this became his life when he wasn't looking.
"What are you supposed to be?" one of the guests asks him, a dapper-looking lad in a fedora and a three-piece suit that makes Jamie want to punch him a little because he isn't wearing a fucking sweat trap made of fur and glue and hate.
"Ewok," he answers sourly, taking an angry sip of his beer while trying to keep a firm grip on the head, which keeps slipping out of his paw. "Not that anyone cares. Ewoks are fucking shite, mate. Don't ever dress up as one for a costume party. Nobody even looks at you. You might as well be invisible for all the fucks people give about your Ewok costume."
He knows he's slurring a little, but fuck it, this party sucks and his costume sucks and Jenna and Channing suck for putting him in it, although they really suck for not sucking him before this stupid fucking party, and anyway, he needs more beer. Lots more beer. Enough beer to float him home where he can forget that he's dressed like someone's twisted Star Wars furry fantasy, a fact that Channing was only too happy to tell him because he likes traumatizing Jamie with things that Jamie will need therapy to be able to forget.
"Ewoks suck," he adds after a moment, bitterness thick and heavy on his tongue. He could've at least been Lando. The cape was cool. He would've gotten righteously fucked if he'd had the cape.
The guy laughs. "You know you're too tall to be an Ewok, right?"
Jamie shrugs, the movement a little slower than normal because time moves differently when you're shitfaced. "Too short to be a Wookie," he sighs, which sets the other guy off. Jamie's too tired and hot to be as irritated as he should be, so he just sighs and finishes off his beer. "Right," he announces after a moment, "I need a piss. Hey, Tatum." He yells it out loud and has the pleasure of seeing Channing's hair whip around before the rest of his head does. "Get over here."
Channing jogs over, the skirt moving in interesting ways around his legs that makes Jamie really wish he'd gotten a chance to suck Channing off before he'd come to the party. "What's up, Wicket?"
"One, I hate you." Jamie ignores Channing's giggling and gestures down at his costume. "Two, I need to--" He trails off for a second as he forgets the word he was going to use. Which is really unfair because he had it a moment ago. He turns to the guy in the fedora. "What did I want to do again?"
The guy smiles, amused and a little fond. "Piss."
"Right," Jamie says triumphantly, turning back a little too fast and almost crashing into Channing. Channing holds him steady and looks at him with a concerned look. "I need to piss," Jamie tells him very carefully, not liking the worried look on Channing's face. "Help me."
"You," Channing says firmly, using his 'adult' voice,"need to sit down before you fall down. You're drunk off your ass."
Jamie shoves at his arm. "Did you not hear me? I need. To. Piss."
"Yeah, but--"
"Channing," he says, his words distinct and precise, which is how he knows he's too drunk for this, "I need you to take me to wherever the washroom is so that I can take this fucking torture suit off me and empty my bladder, and I need you to do it now before I have an accident on the bloody floor and ruin what's left of this hellish evening." He cocks his head at Channing in a questioning motion. "Are we clear?"
Channing looks torn between laughing and mothering Jamie. Luckily for Jamie's peace of mind, laughter wins out, and Channing is smiling as he says, "Clear. C'mon, this way." He grips Jamie's shoulder and tugs him toward a long hallway, pushing him through one of the doors after a minute of walking.
The bathroom is big and bright and decorated in a nautical theme that makes Jamie's eyes cross when he tries to make sense of it. The bath curtain has little anchors on it, there are fish all over the wall, and there is a set of oars bolted above the toilet for reasons that seem too complicated for Jamie's inebriated mind to grasp right now. It makes Jamie flash back to 'King Kong' and being on that bloody boat with Naomi and how he'd spent most of his time being wet and shivering with the cold. It's not a memory he particularly wants to be having now, so he pushes it out of his mind as he struggles with the zipper of his costume, belatedly realizing that he isn't going to be able to even grip the zipper with this stupid fucking paw. Whoever designed this costume clearly hated life and people, and wanted to make both as miserable as fucking possible.
"Help me," he snaps at Channing, who's hiding his face in Jamie's shoulder to muffle his laughter. "Before I piss in this costume."
"Don't do that," Channing says, pushing away Jamie's paw and tugging at the zipper. "This thing's a rental and we'll never get the deposit back if you do that."
Jamie turns his head at an awkward angle to glare drunkenly at Channing. "Fuck the deposit, just get this fucking fur suit off me."
Channing tugs harder at the zipper, a look of impatience crossing his face as it refuses to budge. "I'm trying, dude. I think this shit is welded on. What the fuck?"
Jamie lets his head fall forward in defeat because of course Channing can't get this suit off. Why not? He's only been trapped in it all evening, sweating and cursing and feeling miserable, so why shouldn't he be stuck in it now that he needs to go badly? "God," he sighs, "just leave me here to die in this fucking costume and go back to Jenna. Why should your entire evening be ruined too?"
"You're such a depressing drunk," Channing complains, making a triumphant sound when he finally manages to yank the zipper down. "Why couldn't you be all cuddly and horny like Jenna gets when she's drunk, huh?"
Scowling, Jamie twists and grunts as he yanks the suit down, the cool air on his skin an enormous relief, shoving it down his thighs as quickly as he can so he can get his cock out. He almost over-balances and Channing braces him against his chest, reaches down to hold his cock and aim it at the toilet. Jamie makes a low sound of relief as his bladder empties, leaning his head back against Channing's shoulder, feeling Channing's arm around his waist, and feeling absurdly comforted in what should be the pinnacle of embarrassing moments in his life. It makes no sense, of course, but he's used to nothing making sense when it comes to Channing and Jenna and his relationship with them. He just goes with it and everything is better that way.
Channing lets out a little woof of sound. "Dude, you smell rank." He tightens his grip on Jamie's waist when Jamie tries to elbow him in the ribs, chuckling in Jamie's ear because he's a total bastard. "I meant it in a nice way."
"Prat," Jamie says through clenched teeth, shivering a little as Channing carefully wipes him up and tucks him back into his underwear, flushing when he's done. He feels like he's lost ten pounds and he's still dizzy, everything feeling too far away and wrapped in cotton, which either means he's sick or drunk. He's going with drunk. "You chose this fucking costume," he adds, petulance in his voice.
Channing noses the sweat-slick skin of his neck, mouthing the line of his nape until Jamie's making those little needy noises that seem to drive him crazy. "I thought you'd be cute as an Ewok," he argues, sliding his hand under Jamie's shirt to palm his belly. "Ewoks are cute, you're cute; ergo, an Ewok costume."
"Next time," and Jamie starts as Channing puts his teeth to the curve of his shoulder, his tongue following in a silent apology, "you can be a Wookie, yeah? And I can be Solo and Jenna can be Princess Leila-- Leiii-- Lulu-- fuck, you know who I mean."
Channing presses his face against Jamie's throat and snorts with laughter. "Baby, you are sooo drunk," he says, delighted and amused. "I don't think I've ever seen you this hammered before."
Jamie tries to turn his head to scowl at him, but Channing keeps his face pressed tight against him, so he settles for whacking him in the ribs with his elbow. "It was self-defensive drinking," he argues, well, slurs, really. "It was hot in there--"
"I know, I know." Channing sighs, bends his head down further to lick at Jamie's collarbone. "So does this mean you won't dress up as Toto for next year's Halloween party?"
Jamie can feel the curve of Channing's smile against his shoulder and wonders why it is that he cannot resist this annoying, bloody-minded, stupidly wonderful man and his equally aggravating, wonderful wife. It's something he's going to have to think seriously about once he has more blood in his brain and he isn't suffering from the onset of heatstroke from being trapped in that fucking furry sweatsuit all night long. "Shut up and suck my cock," he demands, imperious, and he can feel more than hear Channing's low, needy moan against his skin. "You owe me."
"God," Jenna sighs from the door, startling the both of them, "I turn my back for one minute and you're both in here, arguing with your dicks out. A girl could get a complex."
"I had to piss," Jamie argues while Channing says at the same time, "My dick isn't out, babe."
She rolls her eyes and steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. "Yeah, yeah, tell me another one." She watches them for a moment, amusement warring with lust as she takes in their positions, the way Jamie is dressed in only a thin T-shirt and his underwear, the way Channing's practically naked with only strategic bits of metal hiding his dangly bits, and then unbuckles her laser gun to put it down on the counter. Her hair is coming loose at the front, little strands curling around her face, and her movements are quick and confident as she unbuckles her pants and pushes them down her hips. Jamie watches, mesmerized, as she vaults herself up onto the counter and spreads her legs.
"So," she says with a smile, crooking her finger at both of them, "here's the deal: they're going to announce the winner of Best Costume in ten minutes. You have that much time to get me off and get each other off before we have to go back."
Behind him, Channing makes a soft keening sound, pushing him forward toward the counter and Jenna, and Jamie sucks in a quick, shaky breath, his whole body trembling from how much he wants this. "I'm a little smashed," he admits, feeling his heartbeat quicken when Jenna just smiles at him.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, boo," she says, reaching out to grab his shirt and pull him forward, her mouth pressed against his, her tongue licking out all his protests until all he can focus on is her and her pert breasts under her shirt and the slick heat of her against his fingers. When Channing goes to his knees and sucks Jamie's cock in his mouth, Jamie almost falls to his knees and it takes Jenna holding him up by his shoulders and Channing holding him steady by his hips for him to keep his balance.
It takes them longer than ten minutes, and they lose first prize to the Justice League of America, but by then, Jenna's too sated to care, and Jamie's holding onto Channing like a lifeline in case his knees give out on him and he falls on his ass again. The hangover is a complete fucking bitch to deal with the next day, but walking in on Channing going down on Jenna on the kitchen table with the second-place trophy near her head makes up for almost everything.
Jenna tilts her head back to look up at him, her eyes wide and dark and her mouth open as she moans Jamie's name. Jamie smiles, headache gone, and goes to hold her down and kiss her thoroughly so that they can start their morning off right.