This year, you want one thing for your birthday.

You already know you're not going to get it.  That's the problem
with wishing for large fireballs to swallow up your enemies and
sweep them off the face of the planet.  It's just so unlikely. 
Although you'd been kinda hopeful for a while there when you'd
heard about the solar storm thing and the magnetic storm hitting
the Earth.  Still.  So not happening.

It's a good birthday really, counting the naked buttocks,
drunkenness, and Lance presenting you the cake like it was a
trophy.  The hangover the day after isn't so good, but it's
overshadowed by the clear fact that you did not get the one present
you truly wanted.

You pout all the way to Jamaica.

Joey puts his arm around your shoulders.  "C'mon, Chris.  Cheer up
already."

"I'd rather have you ritually slaughtered and your corpse left to
be devoured by goats."

That pretty much leaves Joey standing there gaping at the rather
nifty display of open hostility and creative expression of anger,
but Lance just has to get his two cents in.  "Goats don't eat
people."

"How do you know?" you ask him.  "Have you tried?"

Lance gives you that superior expression through his sunglasses,
which could mean that he's thinking about getting a goat and
leaving it in your hotel room or could mean that he just doesn't
have a good retort.  It's very sad how the quality of retorts are
slipping these days.  In the good old days, why, a proper retort
was the only defense against scum and villainy.

And, okay, maybe you don't need any reminders about feeling old.

You're still feeling antsy when you check into the resort where
you're staying.  It's a nice place with bungalows on the grounds. 
You're sharing one with Lance and Joey, but you've got the two
closest ones booked also.  Expensive and wasteful, but at least
that means they're empty and no one's camping out there with
telephoto lenses.  Now the paparazzi'll have to hide in the water
like everyone else!  Hah!

Still, as the bell hop person is leading you to the bungalow, you
pull Dre aside and ask, "Do we have a shovel?  Or a spade?  A spade
would be good."

Dre gives you the look with lowered eyebrows that means he knows
that you're up to no good, but that he's going to humor you anyway,
maybe 'cause it was your birthday, maybe because you're his boss,
but probably because he's bored.  "Why do you need it?"

"I want to dig a moat.  Around the bungalow.  To keep people out."

Dre nods.  That means not only 'No', but that he's also gonna be
checking for signs of imminent moat-age later on and foiling any
such attempts.  You can tell these things.  Plus you've gotten used
to him pulling you up by the collar and removing you from the site
of interesting endeavors.  Like the time you'd been on the verge of
discovering just exactly what someone would do for a square inch of
Justin's t-shirt.  You'd had the scissors and everything.  But, no. 
Big hand on your collar and there goes all your fun.  As well as
the scissors.

The door's opened for you and you march in.  "Yeah, yeah, high
ceilings, gorgeous air, lots of light, curtains blowing in the
breeze.  Standard routine, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah."

Joey brushes past you.  "Where's the beds?  I just wanna lie down
for a while."

Lance follows him.  "Yeah, Kirkpatrick.  Not like you care anyway,
seeing as how you're bored with the place already."

"Hey!" you object, realizing their vile and nefarious plot.  "It's
my birthday!  I get to pick my room first!"

"Not anymore it's not," Lance says.

You start stripping off your clothes even as you run to look at the
rooms.  You find the one with the biggest bed and the best view
that doesn't include looking down anything steep or scary and then
leap on the bed.  That Joey is dropping his bag in the corner is
irrelevant.  You roll all over the bed.

"Mine, mine, mine!"

"Geez, Chris."

"Mine!" you say, trying to make sure your point here is absolutely
clear.  You're naked, you rubbed your naked body all over it, it's
yours.

Lance looks in to see what the commotion is about.  He lifts his
eyebrows as he looks at you, then turns to Joey.  "You wanted this
room?"

"That was the idea," Joey responds.

"Mine!" you insist.  Then you stand up and bounce on the bed,
bouncy parts bouncing along with you.  "Hey, y'know, I could always
pee all over it to mark it as my territory."  You grab your dick
and wave it about threateningly.  Not that it's very threatening
when it's all limp like this, but hey, you could pee at any moment.

Joey grumbles, grabs his bag and leaves.  Joey's a sensible kind of
guy.

Lance gives you a look.  "Don't even think about it."

Telling you not to think about something is a guarantee that you'll
think about that and nothing else.  Since Lance knows this, that
can only mean one thing.  He wants you to.

You point your dick at him, cackling.

"Kirkpatrick..."

You really can't help it.  You pee on Lance.  All over his
tastefully casual yet expensive clothes.

Okay, so you *could* have helped it.  You actually had to do a lot
of helping if you count having to aim and make sure it went the
distance and hit Lance and all that.  But it was inevitable ever
since Lance told you not to think about it without immediately
fleeing the room thereafter.

Lance just stands there, staring down at his now-defaced shirt.  He
looks kind of pissed.  Not just pissed on.  Really kind of super
enormously pissed.

So naturally, you bounce down off the bed, onto the floor, within
easy reach.  "Aha!" you say triumphantly.  "I peed on you and now
you're all mine!"

Lance looks up at you, all shiny shark teeth.  "So what you're
saying is, you're a dog."

"I marked my territory, didn't I?"  You do the Kirkpatrick dance of
victory.

A hand grabs your arm and shoves you down on the bed.  You'd
forgotten how strong Lance is now.  That's probably because,
somewhere in your head, Lance is still the little fake blonde kid
who cried for his mama and could be trapped in his bed by tucking
in the covers really tight when he was already asleep.

You don't struggle much once you clue in, 'cause Lance *isn't* a
kid anymore, and he's yours now and him and you on the bed is
really kinda sorta what you wanted.  Subconsciously or something. 
Hyperconsciously, maybe, in some secret part of your brain that
knows what it's doing and sends out well-disguised directions to
the other parts who have no idea what's actually going on due to
the stringent security measures needed to keep you from
deliberately fucking up the plan.

Then he starts smacking your ass.  Hard.  You have no objections to
a little sensual pain among people you're sleeping with, but this
is definitely well across the line, especially since he hasn't
sucked your dick yet even.

"Hey!" you say, trying to get away.

Hard muscles pin you down and keep you from moving.  "You're a dog,
remember?  A very bad dog.  Bad!  Bad Chris!"

You growl, but he keeps hitting.

Joey interrupts.  "Do I want to know what's going on here?"

"Bastard pissed on me," Lance says, still holding you down firmly.

"Mine!" you assert.

"I'm not getting involved," Joey says.  There's the sound of the
door shutting.  Like you said, Joey's a sensible person.

 Lance swats you again, but the force has gone out of his blows. 
The interruption obviously rattled him.  He sighs and stops.  "What
am I going to do with you?"

He's not holding you as tight, so you squirm around.  No weight on
the butt cheeks though.  They're burning.

"Fuck me!" you say.

"You bitched and moaned all the way here, then you stole Joey's
room, *pissed on me*, and now you want me to have sex with you?"

You think about it for a second.  Sounds to you like he's got the
facts right.  "Yep!"

Lance gives you a look.  This is a look you are very familiar with. 
It's the one that means that the person giving it to you is
questioning their sanity due to something you've done, but that
they're going to do what you want anyway.

You grin and wriggle, exposing your slapped ass.  "C'mon.  You know
you want it."

Lance growls at you, but he takes off his shirt.

That's a victory in any world.  You clamber off of him and kneel
down on the bed, waggling your ass at him.  "And if you're going to
get kinky again, I want a dog collar first.  A spiked one.  And
maybe a leash.  And Scooby snacks.  And..."

Fingers pinch your ass.  Fuck, that hurts.

"Kinky?  You're the one who pissed on me."

"Just wanted to make perfectly clear to everyone what stuff belongs
to me."

Hands over your ass and naked thighs between your legs.  You grin
happily.

"I belong to you, do I?" Lance asks, fingers busy inside of you.

"Yep!"

"And who," he asks, fingers pressing deep, "do you belong to?"

You moan, pushing back against him.  "Come on me and we'll talk
about it."

A lot later, it's still sunny and breezy and the curtains are still
gauzy and floating.  There's a naked man napping next to you, hand
clutched around your forearm like he thinks you might get away if
he doesn't hold on.  He's smiling in his sleep, and there's a
bitemark on your collarbone to show that you're his as much as he
is yours.

It's not the birthday present that you were hoping to get, but this
is definitely the one that you want.