Out of the Locker for laura_iskra

[slash_cave]

Title:Out of the Locker.
Authors : gattodoro and silvan_lady
Rating: R
Pairing: Vigorli … sort of
Word Count: 1,519
Disclaimer: As ever, if you believe anything in the slash_cave is real, then you are crazier than us, and that’s saying something!
Crossposted:  switch_bottoms and orlandoslash
Note: Posted for the delightful laura_iskra on her birthday!



As regular readers will understand, the Slash Cave is a highly desirable residence with many design features not commonly found in a regular domestic property. If we were inclined to sell (over our dead bodies!) an Estate Agent would assuredly remark on the Cave’s deceptive spaciousness and generally excellent state of decorative repair. (Authors have to put this in to suck up to Mr Gatty who does the DIY), the exception being the master bedroom (because it is always in use, of course). Said Estate Agent, would sensibly overlook the strange, slightly sulphurous smell emanating from the kitchen drain (don’t ask) and completely fail to appreciate the importance of the corner storage unit in the living room. The ‘Locker of Licentiousness’ is, we admit, loosely based on JK Rowling’s ‘Room of Requirement’ but has the benefit of being smaller, easier to find, unburdened by teenage wizards and much, much more fun. Come to think of it, the Locker of Licentiousness (henceforth LOL, because Gatty is lazy and a lousy typist) has more in common with Douglas Adams’ ‘Infinite Improbability Drive’, as it works best after a cup of tea, except that if you put an infinite number of monkeys into the LOL, when you next open the door, out pops a late 1960’s vintage Davy Jones. ^{1 2}

The mechanics of the LOL is not well understood (and not understood by Viggo at all, truth be told), but the outcome of putting item A in, is to be able to withdraw a loosely related item B that is prettier, pervier, sexier, more amusing, or just downright decadent. The possibilities are endless, though likewise the potential for missteps as the LOL apparently has a sense of humour, thus a cucumber will return as a double ended dildo, a string bag (an accidental addition) as a crotch-less bikini (Sean refused to wear it, even though it was in Sheffield United colours, and a boiled egg and toast soldiers resulted in a scene best described a Sharpe’s Eagles meets BelAmi.³

The calamari was a huge mistake. Huge. Thank goodness for Hugh’s Wolverine claws.

Today we are on safer ground: Gatty is playing with dolls. Okay, experimenting with action figurines if one must pretend to be grown up. She has always wondered how Will Turner would get along with Aragorn (and does leather-on-leather squeak?).

In goes plastic Will, sans cutlass because that’s just asking for trouble.

Out comes….

Ooh!

(Pause while Author swoons.)

…very definitely, very real, flesh and blood Will. Will in his so deliciously snug leather trousers - see how they cling lovingly to his lean thighs. Will in his off-white smock shirt, the neck undone to reveal a glimpse of honey toned collar bone, and – oh dear – it seems to be wet. (Well it is now that Gatty has poured water over him.) That will have to come off before he catches his death. There, isn’t that better?

(Pause while author drools.)

Will seems quite unperturbed by his environs, but perhaps he is used to weird shit after sailing with Capt’n Jack (no, not that one, the other one, the one with the hat ⁴), not to mention relaxed about letting a strange woman (and she is very strange) rip off his shirt. (Author lacks patience.)

Will is also understanding of the author’s compulsion to stroke his well-developed biceps and sculpted abdomen – such lovely warm, smooth skin he has - but he draws a line at anything below the waistband of his snug-fitting trousers, this being territory reserved for masculine hands. The author pouts, but Will is unmoved and very sharp to react when sneaky fingers attempt to dip below the approved zone, (Author retreats to nurse her smarting wrist and try to remember what it was that she supposed to be doing here … ah yes.)

Well, I hear you ask, what happened to Aragorn? (Silv: It’s me asking; I’m impatient too and want them to get to the action!)

>>>> Fast forward>>>>

Settling Will down with a chilled bottle of beer, which he seems to regard as a very pleasing novelty, the author approaches the LOL once again, but this time with an Aragorn action figure in hand. The scale used to model the Aragorn is slightly larger than that applied to the Will doll, but the LOL seems to have done a decent job of resizing to life size on Will so she hopes that the same will apply on her second attempt … .or Will won’t be able to sit down for a week. Of more concern is her inability to detach Aragorn’s sword – as in life, he seems to be inseparable from his weapon; oh well, she can only hope that the soft furnishings aren’t too adversely impacted. She pops Aragorn into the LOL, shuts the door and stands well back, which is just as well, because the LOL dispenses a full-size, multi-jointed, and perfect in every way, Aragorn, after much shuddering and not a few sparks. > (Silv: Did you let Eric tweak the controls again?) This is also the real thing - the smell of horse and wet leather gives it away.

What’s the fascination with wet anyway? It makes the leather cling? Very good. Do you need a hand with that jug?

Gatty is struck dumb by the impressive sight (and thank goodness for that, we hear you say). Will seems similarly astonished and is clearly taken with the workmanship, though whether of sword or man it is hard to say. Aragorn’s intense blue-grey eyes flit briefly over the author, turning her into even more of a jibbering wreck than usual, but linger on Will, his expression one of interest mixed with confusion.

“Your face seems familiar to me sir. It seems to me that you must have kin amongst the Elves of Mirkwood, though your colouring is quite different from theirs.”

“I think not,” says Will, his deep brown eyes wide in amazement as he drinks in the sight of this wild-haired stranger and his impressive weapon, “for I would surely remember a man such as yourself had you visited Port Royal.” From the look of the man, he’d be more at home leading a buccaneer crew out of Tortuga, than hobnobbing with the Governor and his flunkies, but Will is far too polite to say so and in any case has come to prefer the company of pirates.

(Or even prefers to come in the company of pirates, or is that too pervy for the delicate readers? Hah, we thought not!)

“Oi,” interjects Silv, still impatient for action, “you can compare your social networks later, there are more important things to attend to.”

Will and Aragorn look at her blankly.

“Oh for goodness sake, just get on and do what you know you want to do.”

“You surely don’t mean…?” Will, bless him, can’t bring himself to say what he is thinking, but his shocked expression is matched by Aragorn’s, which is hugely amusing, but not moving things forward.

“Yes I do mean.” Silv nods vigorously and follows this up with an astonishingly graphic hand gesture, just in case they still haven’t got the idea, but it appears that they have, as Aragorn has put down his sword so that he can peel off his sodden coat and Will is wearing a lustful smirk that Elizabeth Swann would never have got to see.

“What is this place?” Will asks as he struggles to undo the knots on his breeches.

“We call it ‘The Slash Cave’,” replies Gatty, “and here what we say, or write down in blue ink, goes. Just ask nicely and if it tickles our pervy fancy we’ll oblige you.”

“Like the brothel in Lake Town?” asks Aragorn hopefully.

“Better, you don’t need to use fish oil as lubricant⁵ here, and ALL the men are good looking.”

(Gatty: Memo to Self – invite Luke Evans to visit Slash Cave if not already smuggled in by the others.

There was a commotion at the door of the Slash Cave at that moment, which briefly distracted Silv and Gatty, although it has to be said that Will and Aragorn seemed to be far too intent on comparing their hides to pay any attention. (By that we are referring to their leather clothing of course, whatever did you think?)

It was fortunate that they were distracted as a figure vaguely resembling Captain Sharpe of the South Essex had just arrived looking very confused, not least because he was wearing a Blades shirt over some delightfully tight green trousers.

“I heard this was the locker room,” he said gruffly. “Although God knows how I’m meant to play footie in these bluidy trousers!”

Silv blushed and looked guiltily at Gatty. “Sorry, I was experimenting with the Locker of Licentiousness, a Sharpe doll and a Blades shirt earlier.”

“I like it!” Gatty approved of being able to produce handsome men in the clothes of the authors’ choosing.

And as for what happened next… well, some things need to be left to the imagination.



________________________________________________

¹ For the benefit of younger readers, Davy Jones was the lead singer of ‘The Monkees’, who were probably the first ever boy band.
² This is NOT the origin of the expression ‘Davy Jones Locker’, although after the seventeenth chorus of ‘I’m a Believer’, Sean did threaten to send Davy to the depths of the Thames.
³ If you don’t know who they are, you are insufficiently debauched to be reading this, please rectify this failing at the earliest opportunity. But not at work.
⁴ Yes, I know both Jack’s have hats, author is being willful.
⁵ Just pop a small tube of hand cream into the LOL and out comes a gallon container of Slick
⁶ Aidan and Richard are already in residence, of course.