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No. 73852
>>70532
I wrote this a while back in honor of this pic. Enjoy.
Title: Kilt Party
Universe: Haust-verse (That's right Haust, you have your own marvel universe now!)
Based on: Kilt Party by the Haust
Rating: R (for naughty langauge and mention of naked man butts)
Summary: "Victor, take off yer pants!"
“Take off your pants, Victor,” Jimmy slurred.
Victor blinked. “Um, what was that, Jimmy?” Not that Victor was opposed to the idea of getting pantsless with his brother, but Jimmy tended to like keeping these activities private not in the middle of the common room.
“I said, take of yer pantsss,” Jimmy repeated slowly, stumbling into the couch. “Hey, watch where yer goin’, dammit.”
Fred had his head down on the table, Bradley was trying to logic out the television or something, David was clutching the floor while begging it to stop spinning, Wraith was trying to flick quarters into a shot glass, and Wade was… Wade. Jimmy was three quarters of the way through a six pack of whiskey.
“Why should I take off my pants?” Victor queried.
“’Cause we’re gonna go play… golf!” Jimmy announce, brandishing his nearly empty bottle of whiskey.
“Golf?” Victor asked, clearly bemused. “I’m pretty sure you have to wear pants to play golf, Jimmy.”
“No no no,” Jimmy mumbled. “We need to play golf propeller… poplar…. Properly. In kilts!”
Victor glanced at Wade. “In kilts, huh? And whose bright idea was this?”
“Hey, ya big pansy, real men wear kiltsss,” Jimmy prodded. “Come on, Nancy boy! Y’aren’t afraid of a l’il kilt ar’ya?”
Jimmy suddenly whipped off his pants and boxers, picking up one of the kilts that had been lain out on the couch and putting it on. Victor cast a suspicious glance at Wade. That kilt fit a little too perfectly for Victor’s taste… actually, Jimmy looked damn hot in a kilt. Victor found it very hard to look away from his brother suddenly. And when did it get so hot in the common room?
“Uh, Jimmy, one of your socks is pink,” was the only thing Victor could think of to say.
Wade snickered before falling off his chair. “I meant to d’that,” Wade giggled.
“Put on yer kilt, Victor,” Jimmy snapped, tossing a second kilt at Victor. He snapped his fingers, or at least tried to. “Hurry up. Wanna go play golf.” He went to take another swig of whiskey. Upon finding the bottle empty, he tossed it across the room and opened a new bottle.
Grumbling, Victor shucked his pants and put on the kilt. “There, are you happy now?”
“No, you’re wearing a skirt,” Jimmy accused.
“What?” Victor squawked.
“Unner-wear,” Bradley slurred, looking at Victor with one eye open. He kept switching back and forth between open eyes. “Skirts have unner-wear unner ‘em. Kilts only have th’breeze.”
Victor wanted to kill Wade. This was clearly all his idea. Muttering, he removed his boxers. Jimmy gave a drunken nod before spinning around on his heel, nearly falling over and making his way out of the common room. “To golf!”
Fifteen minutes later found Victor, Jimmy and the rest of the team on the golf course. Victor was surprised to find that the base had its own golf course. You think someone would have noticed this before.
But such is life.
Wraith and Bradley were amusing themselves by having golf cart races. Heaven help them if they figured out how to turn the stupid things on. But the racecar noises they were making were highly amusing.
“All right, Jimmy, let’s play golf,” Victor sighed. At some point, Jimmy had snagged another six pack of whiskey.
After nearly tipping over from setting up the tee, Jimmy stood over his golf ball with club in hand. He wriggled his rump a couple of times before swinging. The ball sailed neatly through the air, landing a few yards from the whole.
Well, how hard can this be? Victor mused. If Jimmy can do this shitfaced… Victor calmly approached his tee…and completely missed on the first swing. Fortunately, everyone else was too drunk to have noticed. Victor swung again. This time the ball sailed over to the left, bounced off a tree and ended up in the sand trap. “Oh, what the fuck?” Victor snarled.
Wade laughed at him, while David started yacking in the bushes. Fred just looked mildly amused and hiccupped.
“Stupid fucking golf,” Victor muttered, stalking over to where the little white ball mocked him from the sand trap. Victor took his first swing, sending sand in every direction. But not the golf ball.
Victor tried again. More sand, still no golf ball movement. He could hear Jimmy snickering above him. Gritting his teeth, Victor took a third swing. This time, sand and the golf club went flying. Jimmy was howling with laughter.
“Stupid fucking golf!” Victor roared, snatching his club back up. “I fucking hate this game!” The golf club barely survived the experience, becoming twisted in ways it was never meant to be.
“Man, you suck at this!” Jimmy crowed.
Growling, Victor tackled his brother. The two ferals tussled for a moment, but it wasn’t particularly satisfying for Victor as Jimmy kept giggling through the whole thing. Victor was panting heavily as he pulled back from Jimmy, who was sitting up on his elbows.
Victor noticed that one side of Jimmy’s kilt had crept up dangerously high on his thigh.
Victor started to lean forward to kiss Jimmy and help him forget this whole stupid golf idea. Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up. He pushed Victor out of the way and heaved the contents of his stomach onto the green.
“Hey, there was pizza?” Wade cried out petulantly.
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