Pairing: JC and Chris
Words: cult; knowing; bilingual; pretty


Christopher Kirkpatrick, dedicated agent of justice, was seated on
the low couch.  He wore a solemn expression appropriate for the
gravity of this situation.

His henchman, the notorious Justin Timberlake, looked behind him,
hands clasped behind his back, looking ready to deal with any
threat the narc they were confronting might pose to his superior.

Somehow, though, the dark, intense Kirkpatrick, unarmed and much
shorter than the informer he faced, looked more imposing.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept," he said to the
pathetic specimen of the criminal class seated before him, "is to
infiltrate the Fatone cult and discover the truth about its
practices and means.  We suspect that unlawful sexual activities
may be taking place as well as manufacture of weapons of mass
destruction.  You have been chosen for this mission because you are
bilingual and," he coughed, "very pretty, which should make you
acceptable to the Fatone cult.  Should you not choose to accept
this mission, the Notorious J here," he gestured at his henchman,
"will be forced to deal with you.  What, then, is your answer?  Do
you cooperate with us?  Or do you choose to suffer?"

JC clapped his hands together.  "You think I'm pretty, Chris!"

The Notorious J snickered.

"Shut up," Kirkpatrick snapped at his lackey.  He turned on the
informant, "And don't call me Chris.  To you, criminal scum, my
name is Special Agent Kirkpatrick."

"But you think I'm pretty!"

Through gritted teeth, Kirkpatrick forced out, "Do.  You.  Accept. 
The.  Mission?"

"Oh, um..."

"Hey, C, you should ask him what he means by bilingual," the
treacherous Timberlake commented helpfully.

JC turned big blue eyes on Chris, who looked uncomfortable.

The dauntless interrogator squirmed.  "I... I, um... may have heard
that your French was very good."

"But I don't speak French," JC said, confused.

Justin, who was obviously in league with the criminal, stuck out
his tongue and waggled it lewdly by way of demonstration.

"Oh!" JC said.  "Oh.  Yes.  My... 'French' is *very* good. 
Everybody says so."  He gave the erstwhile tough-as-nails agent a
measuring look.  "Would you like to find out for yourself?"

"Yes!" Justin said.  "He would!"

Chris glared at his disloyal lackey.  He was *so* fired.  Then he
looked at the eager face of his sacrificial pawn.  Chris put his
face in his hands.  "Look, JC, just go over to the other bus and
tell Joey to cut out all the farting and that his crush on Lance is
getting silly and that he should either trip the boy and beat him
to the ground or get over it already.  Okay?"

"But if I go over there, I won't be here with you."

"Yeah, that's the kind of the way it works.  When you go over
there, you have to leave here, which means you'll no longer *be*
here."

"And then I can't kiss you."

Chris groaned.

Justin grinned and slapped Chris on the shoulder.  "Y'know what? 
I don't think I really wanna watch blow 'em up movies with you
after all.  I'll go have a chat with Joey," he cracked his
knuckles, "and you and C," he gave JC a knowing grin, "can brush up
on your French."

"Kill me now," Chris muttered as Justin went forward to tell the
bus driver that he wanted to switch.

JC smiled at Chris.  "Did you know that the French phrase for
'orgasm' means 'little death'?"

"Yeah?" Chris looked up.

"Yeah," JC said, and came forward and kissed him.