fic: Odd Man Out
Title: Odd Man Out, or: EVERYONE PULES.
Rating: R 'cause this isn't descriptive like at all.
Pairing: EVERYONE/EVERYONE
Spoilers: NONE.
Warnings: CRACK. CRAZY ORGY. PULING.
Word Count: ~300
Disclaimer: Disclaimed!
Summary: The warring show choirs set aside their differences in a very special way.
NO APOLOGIES. YOU ASKED FOR THIS.
--
No one's sure how it started, really. The only thing on any given person's mind is, at the moment, pleasure. Somewhere, in the back of their collective conscience, they're dimly aware that a not -so-friendly pre-Regionals scrimmage had turned into what can only be called a free-for-all orgy.
It's weird, to say the very least. New Directions, Vocal Adrenaline, and the Dalton Warblers have all merged into one mass of pitch-perfect moans and practiced hip movements. In the center of a beautifully-lit stage, of course. They've dropped all titles and stipulations (and costumes, tossed haphazardly around the auditorium) and are now simply a unit of sensation.
The Warblers tip the gender scale in the male favor. Not that anyone's complaining, as they've all come to a wordless agreement that it's all very, very hot. And if the Dalton boys seem like they're old pros at this, well, no one says a thing.
The weirdest part comes when the orgasms start happening. It begins with a weak gasp, giving way to a choked moan. Similar sounds follow, almost like a chain reaction. It's a sweet harmony, not one person off pitch or losing the rhythm of their desperate motions.
In their climactic bliss, no one seems to notice that only eleven members of New Directions are present amongst the sprawl of debauchery. They also fail to notice that the missing member is standing at the back of the auditorium, watching the puling crowd with a video camera in one hand and a half-eaten Cookies and Cream bar in the other.
Sometimes, Lauren Zizes thinks, it's good being the odd man out.
Rating: R 'cause this isn't descriptive like at all.
Pairing: EVERYONE/EVERYONE
Spoilers: NONE.
Warnings: CRACK. CRAZY ORGY. PULING.
Word Count: ~300
Disclaimer: Disclaimed!
Summary: The warring show choirs set aside their differences in a very special way.
NO APOLOGIES. YOU ASKED FOR THIS.
--
No one's sure how it started, really. The only thing on any given person's mind is, at the moment, pleasure. Somewhere, in the back of their collective conscience, they're dimly aware that a not -so-friendly pre-Regionals scrimmage had turned into what can only be called a free-for-all orgy.
It's weird, to say the very least. New Directions, Vocal Adrenaline, and the Dalton Warblers have all merged into one mass of pitch-perfect moans and practiced hip movements. In the center of a beautifully-lit stage, of course. They've dropped all titles and stipulations (and costumes, tossed haphazardly around the auditorium) and are now simply a unit of sensation.
The Warblers tip the gender scale in the male favor. Not that anyone's complaining, as they've all come to a wordless agreement that it's all very, very hot. And if the Dalton boys seem like they're old pros at this, well, no one says a thing.
The weirdest part comes when the orgasms start happening. It begins with a weak gasp, giving way to a choked moan. Similar sounds follow, almost like a chain reaction. It's a sweet harmony, not one person off pitch or losing the rhythm of their desperate motions.
In their climactic bliss, no one seems to notice that only eleven members of New Directions are present amongst the sprawl of debauchery. They also fail to notice that the missing member is standing at the back of the auditorium, watching the puling crowd with a video camera in one hand and a half-eaten Cookies and Cream bar in the other.
Sometimes, Lauren Zizes thinks, it's good being the odd man out.