The Bottle Show

Disclaimer: Miss Parker and Jarod were so sexually frustrated they have defected
to live out their fantasies in my fanfiction. Just kidding. The Pretender and
all its characters belong to Pretender Productions and TNT.
Author 's Notes: Please, nobody take this little story seriously. It's just a
little smut biscuit because I was feeling a bit down, so I wrote something
really smutty to cheer myself up. No plot involved here. I was reading some old
favorites (yes, they were smut too, and deliciously so, I might add), when I
realized I 've never written anything truly plotless. So here it is.

Ah, and in case you 're wondering about the title: Whilst reading my well
thumbed copy of Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion I became intrigued with
the idea of a bottle show. A bottle show being when a series is running low on
cash, so it will write a script that doesn 't need a huge budget, perhaps
setting it all in the one place. I thought, what would happen if a Pretender
story was set all in the one place? What if it was set all in the one room? What
if Miss Parker and Jarod were in the one room? What if they were hot, causing
one or more of them to start shedding clothes? Then I spent half an hour staring
into space. Then I took a shower. I painted my nails and stared into space a bit
more. Then I heated up some canned dead meat and ate it with toast. And finally
I went and WROTE THE STORY. Here is the result. Sorry for my abnormally long
ramblings...


The Bottle Show
by Mandy

Ten feet wide and twelve feet long. A TV that was made before Christ, and a
double bed that used to be a queens size, but has now shrunken into tight little
lumps. A mini-fridge full of beer, cheese and crackers, a ceiling fan on the
verge of giving up the ghost and a wobbly wooden bedside table. Some shelves
with some musty smelling bed linen on it. A microscopic bathroom that hasn 't
been cleaned since Reagan was in. And a very locked door.
This has to be Jarod 's fault.

'This has to be your fault.'' I tell him. Jarod turns away from the very locked
door to glare at me.

'Don 't. Start.'' He enunciates carefully, then turns back to the door. I pull
out a nail file, shifting my ass on the bed to try and get comfy.

Jarod turns around again, staring at my nail file. My long, thin, metal nail
file.

'Give me that!'' Jarod demands harshly. I roll my eyes, passing it to him. I
know what he 's thinking and I 've already thought of that.

'I know what you 're thinking and I 've already thought of that!'' I say, too
loudly. Jarod turns back to the door, swearing when he realises the hinges are
on the other side. He turns to the keyhole.

'Hello! Big bolt on the other side, genius, we both heard it slide home.'' I
yell. I study my nails. 'Can I have my file back now?''

'So, what?'' Jarod snarls, thrusting the file at me. 'We sit here in this steam
room and wait to be found?''

'The windows are just waiting to be opened.'' I sigh, and wave at the windows.

The two long windows with enough bars across them so that there 's no chance in
hell of either of us climbing through it, even if I did want to ruin my two
hundred dollar dress. Not to mention the shoes. And *silk* stockings. Not
pantyhose, but stockings. Garters and all. I was meant to be having a good time
today.

'Fine.' Jarod mutters, and leaps up onto the bed. I squeal as he rocks the bed,
striding across the bed and reaching for the windows. He stands over my legs,
shoving the windows open. Brilliant. They 're the kind onl only open halfway.
So much for a cool breeze. I hate Louisiana. In fact, I hate everywhere right
now. Jarod hops down from the bed, crashing his way into the bathroom. No window
there, either. He swears again, emerging to stand over the bed, glowering at me.
I file my nails. Polish needs a touch-up.

'I can 't believe you.'' He finally growls in disgust. I shrug, and one silk
shoulder strap slips. The bodice of my gorgeous dress drops a little. Jarod
sheds his suit jacket, and flops on the bed beside me in defeat.

We sit in silence. A fly buzzes in, bats around a bit then buzzes out again. The
fan overhead turns slowly, moving the hot air around but not cooling it. Sweat
is beginning to make my dress stick in all the wrong places. Then again,
Jarod's casting sidelong glances at me. Maybe it is in all the right places. I
uncross my legs, my back against the headboard, shift, then recross them. Jarod
watches every move.

'Nice dress.'' He says gruffly. I smile tightly. A peace offering.

'Nice suit.'' I tell him. He shrugs. An unspoken truce.

'Versace?'' he asks. I nod.

'Armani?'' I ask. He nods.

'Only the best.'' Jarod murmurs. I snicker.

'Anybody would think you were gay. Does the words 'Martha Stewart ' make you go
all tingly, Jarod?'' I sneer. Dead silence. A beat. Two beats. A whole moment
passes. Then there 's a sound that 's a little like a strangled cough. I look at
Jarod.

'You're laughing!'' I accuse. Jarod tries to pull a straight face.

'I am not!'' he exclaims solemnly, then ruins the effect by making a choked
giggle. He 's teetering on the edge of open amusement.

'Martha Stewart.'' Jarod mumbles to himself, and drops his head to his chest in
an attempt to hide a smile. I grin. The moment passes.

'What the hell were you doing at Veronica Dolliag 's garden party?'' He asks
finally. I smile bitterly.

'Daddy sent me. They used to date. One of the family had toend end to pay their
respects, and I drew the short straw.'' I explain. Jarod nods. 'And you?'' I
ask.

'Investigating Dr Charles Dolliag. He invited me to his mother 's birthday
party.'' Jarod tells me. I 'm not surprised. Everybody likes Jarod, even the
people he 's out to get.

'That must be the reason he took great offence to you rummaging through his
things, suspected both of us and pulled a gun.''

Jarod shrugs.

'Not my fault you followed me into the study. We 're just lucky that the good
doctor didn 't want to ruin his mother 's party by redecorating. Wall paper a la
brain matter.'' Jarod jokes. I chuckle, then contemplate my adorable shoes.

'Can 't believe the old bag finally turned sixty.'' I mutter. Jarod chuckles.

'I 've been told that Veronica 's parties are always the social spotlight of the
season.'' Jarod murmurs. I snort derisively.

'The Mardi Gras is the spotlight, Jarod. Veronica 's parties are a dim globe
rigged with gaffer tape off to one side of the main stage.''

'Ah.''

I hate awkward silences. And this has to be the most uncomfortable bed in human
history. We 'd better get out of here before tomorrow. I do not want to sleep
here.

'Where 's your cell?'' Jarod asks suddenly, reaching for my purse. I snatch it
away from him, sniffing disdainfully.
lawalaware. Along with my beeper and my gun. Thank your lucky stars for that last
one.'' I really, really wish I had my gun right now. Jarod sags back against the
bed.

'Thought you took your cell everywhere...'' he mumbles.

'Well, in some twisted way, it makes sense that I stumble across you the one
time I leave it behind.'' I grumble. Jarod nods absentmindedly, staring at the
wall. Afternoon sunshine falls across the bed. Its hot, and its going to get
hotter. I grab Jarod 's wrist and check his watch. Rolex? Just past one. I drop
his wrist. Jarod frowns.

'You paint your toenails?'' he gasps incredulously, his nose wrinkled up a bit.
I look down at my strappy stiletto sandals, said nails shining a glossy pink.
Matches my dress.

'Women do it a lot Jarod.'' I say, and Jarod stares at my feet in bemusement. In
fact, I had the whole deal, pedicure, manicure and facial.

'Whatever.'' He mumbles under his breath. I elbow him in the ribs. He makes an
'ooph ' noise, and wriggles.

'Quit squirming.'' I snap. He shrugs, and rests his head back on the headboard.
Stares at the ceiling for awhile.

'He 's not coming back, is he?'' Jarod finally says. I shake my head.

'This isn 't a practical joke Jarod. He 's locked us in the middle of frikkin '
nowhere, and he 's gone back to Veronica 's little garden party. Maybe he 'll be
back after that, but thanks to your poking around, it will probably be to kill
us. Thankyou very much.''

'How long do Veronica 's 'little garden parties ' usually last?''

'The weekend.'' I state. I know. I had to go a few years ago. I got as drunk as
possible as quickly as possible and spent the weekend fending of Charles and his
pals more amorous advances.

'Sorry Parker. I 'll find a way out.'' Jarod says quietly. Damn him.

'You 're not on my Christmas card list anymore.'' I say belligerently. Jarod
tries to suppress a laugh, but fails miserably.

My thighs are beginning to stick together. Damn this heat.

'You smell nice!'' Jarod says abruptly. I glower at him.

'If that 's some attempt to be funny, I swear to God-''

'No, really, you smell nice!'' Jarod interrupts. He leans into me and sniffs
delicately. 'Kinda tangy. Bit musky. Sweet.'' I remember the dabs of perfume I
put on this morning. Behind my ears, on my wrists, between my breasts. Named
simply 4711 , the perfume my mother used to wear. Jarod leans in even closer to
my neck and snuffles around some more. I open my purse and pull out a tiny glass
bottle, unscrewing the lid. I wave it under his nose.

'Like this?'' Jarod sits back, taking the bottle from me, closing his eyes and
inhaling.

'Very nice.'' He purrs. He 's got this look of bliss on his face. I grab the
bottle away, screw the lid on and put it away. Jarod eyes my purse.

'What else you got in there?'' he ventures with a smile. Just what I don 't
need. Playful Jarod. He grabs the purse before I can protest, rummaging through
it. Might as well let him. He 'll sook unless he gets to play with my stuff.
Jarod pulls out my lipstick, takes the lid of, winds the stick up and gazes at
the colour. He looks at my lips, looks at the colour, then looks at my breasts.

I frown.

'Go like this.'' Jarod drags his eyes back up to mine and demonstrates a pout. I
groan. 'Come on. I 've never put make-up on a woman before.'' He pleads. I close
my eyes, lean forward and pout.

'Jarod, most men have never put lipstick on a woman before.'' I mumble.

'Hold still.''

Jarod catches my chin with his hand, bringing it forward. He must be close, I
can feel his breath on my cheek. Then comes the familiar sensation of lipstick
being applied, the waxy texture sliding across my mouth. Jarod 's breathing has
grown a little erratic, and he smudges more colour over my lips. The firm press
of the lipstick leaves, but his hand on my chin doesn 't. I rub my lips together
to spread the colour. Jarod sighs. I hear the lid snapping back on the lipstick,
but his hand doesn 't let me go. In fact, it drops lower, cupping the arch of
my throat. I keep my eyes closed. I feel one long finger slide across my collar
bone, and the other strap of my dress slip off my shoulder. I am so completely
awaret tht this must leave my breasts half exposed. Almost to the nipple,
perhaps.

'All done.'' Jarod breathes. He withdraws his hands and the slight fan of his
breath is no longer on my cheek. I open my eyes, furious.

'You fucker!'' I growl, and storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind
me. I can hear Jarod laughing on the other side.

****

It 's hotter in the bathroom than the other room, and after only twenty minutes
I 'm sweating like Roseanne after a quick walk. Damn him. I can hear him
shifting about, the TV on. Cartoons or something, the way he 's laughing with
glee. I 'll make him suffer for what he did to me. I 'll make him suffer in the
worse way. I fling the door open and stand in the doorway, glaring at him. Jarod
spares a quick glance from the TV to look at me, then quickly looks away. He
chuckles as Wile E Coyote falls off yet another cliff.

I stroll over to 'my ' side of the bed, picking up my purse. I really am
starting to smell. I take out my little bottle of perfume, and pour a few drops
onto my hands. Jarod casts another quick glance at me, but I pointedly ignore
him. Then I arch my back, tip my head back and start smoothing the perfume onto
my neck in long, caressing strokes. Jarod gulps. A few more drops on my hands
and I start on my chest. My dress has done wonderful things to my breasts, being
tight across the bodice, pressing them up and out. I smooth my hands down my
breastbone and across the tops of my breasts, which bounce invitingly with the
motion. Jarod now has his eyes glued to my chest. Time for phase 2.

The beer, straight from the mini-fridge, is refreshingly cool in my hot little
hands. I deliberately knock it on the fridge door on the way out, then twist the
lid off. Good little thing that it is, it froths, and runs over a little. What a
mess, have to clean that up straight away. With my tongue of course. I have
Jarod 's complete and undivided attention as I lick the dribble of overflowing
beer from the side of the bottle. Making sure to catch every drop, I make slow
progress, licking and lapping at the long, thick, bottle, finally reaching the
top, only to wrap my mouth around the rim tightly and throw my head back, taking
a long, deep draw...

I think he groaned. Or, at least, tried to stifle a groan. Phase three.
The temperature is close to unbearable, I caI can see Jarod is sweating quite
heavily in his dark trousers and business shirt. At some stage he 's shed his
shoes and socks, leaving him barefoot. Very carefully I place my beer on top of
the fridge and step out of my sandals. Jarod gulps as I reach under my skirt,
letting it ride up a bit, and begin to remove one stocking, smoothing it down my
leg with my open palms, revealing bare, silky skin. I happen to know that my
legs are my best asset, and I 'll make sure that Jarod fully appreciates that.
Jarod makes a strangled noise when I toss the discarded stocking on the bed near
him, and is damn close to panting as I start on the other stocking.

This time I prop my leg up on the bed, the skirt of my dress falling so that
Jarod just barely avoids getting an eyeful. I finally tug the scrap of sheer
silk off my toes and toss it on the bed. Jarod 's eyes are as big as saucers as
I clamber up onto the bed beside him, crawling over to bring my lips close to
his ear, making sure my breasts are pressing against his arm. I can see his
hatwitchinching in his lap, lie wae wants to touch me but doesn 't dare.

'Jarod?'' I sigh in his ear, porn star-esque. He makes some little choked up
noises, which I take to be an answer. I place my hand on his shoulder and rub my
breasts against him.

'Don 't ever fuck with the master!'' I snap, and shove. Jarod topples off the
bed, landing on his ass with a thud and staring up at me in surprise. I cackle
with laughter.

****