TITLE: By The Power of Smut
AUTHORS: JHJ Armstrong and EPurSeMouve
CATEGORY: SRH.  Smut.  
KEYWORDS: Smut.  Moose/Squirrel Romance.  PWP.  
Humor
RATING: NC-17.  Because of smut.    
SPOILERS: Spoilers?  It's smut.  
SUMMARY: Be like Sally.  Practice safe smut.  
DISTRIBUTION: You really want it?  Well, let us know.  
Thanks.  <g>  
DISCLAIMER: No "official" names used. But the Red Shoe 
Diaries, we suppose, belong to Zalman King. And Real 
Genius is not ours, either.

Though we'd like it to be.  We'd REALLY like it to be.  

Dedicated to YV, and all the Sallys out there.  Fight on!  
Author's notes at end.  


By The Power of Smut
By JHJ Armstrong and EPurSeMouve
piglit1975@aol.com and epursemouve@goplay.com


Sisters of Mary Mercy Hail Grace University
Truth or Consequences, NM

Monday. 8:45 a.m. Another day, another class that's way too 
early in the morning. Argumentative writing. Boring as hell, 
though the professor's tasty.

Too tasty, to the level of distraction. He moves to the left, 
muscles flexing beneath his white dress shirt, and I think of 
the Red Shoe Diaries tape I watched yet again last night ... 
yeah, that's it, turn around, write on that white board and 
wiggle your ass ... he could totally pass for someone tall, 
dark and Yale-educated. 

Talk about your inspiration. I've been jonesing for some 
feedback; no time like the present. 

Let's see ... blank page. Title? Later. 

What shall we put our heroes through today? Casefile? 
Humor? Angst? Torture?

Another glance at Dr. Chase, who has now loosened his tie 
and rolled up his sleeves. Ah, of course. SMUT.

Side-to-side check.  The sorority sister next to me is falling 
asleep. The nerd on the other side of me is actually paying 
attention. I'm in the clear. Still, better go with Moose and 
Squirrel just to be safe. 

Plot ...  Hmmm. I need a plot ...  

Wait. No, I don't. This is SMUT.

<<Once upon a time, there was a man. And a woman. We'll 
call them Moose and Squirrel. 

Moose had a propensity for wild leaps of logic, frenzied 
supposition and unparalleled paranoia.

Which his partner, Squirrel, didn't really mind, but sometimes 
she wished he'd just lighten up, y'know?

But she was pretty, and he was hunky, and so they finally 
settled down to the inevitable.  It must have been fate. 

One day, Moose and Squirrel were on a case in the forest.  
They were being chased by a gun-toting madman when they 
came upon a log cabin.

This cabin was fully stocked for at least a week, no, TWO 
weeks of occupancy.  That, too, must have been fate. >> 

Hmmm.  I'm gonna drop the madman bit for now.  This is 
looking like much more fun. 

Of course, the madman could always become a voyeur later 
on ...  Oooh!  And people love 3rd person POV stories.  
Definitely a possibility.

<<So, inside the cabin, Moose and Squirrel were checking 
out their new habitat, and liking what they saw. Squirrel 
looked longingly at the claw-footed porcelain tub big enough 
for three people (of Moose size, even!). 

Moose was noting the alarming number of aphrodisiac 
candles and prophylactics in the bedroom. Apparently the 
owner of the cabin (who really wouldn't mind them breaking 
in and seeking refuge from the madman-who-might-be-a-
voyeur-later) was quite well prepared indeed. Though Moose 
teared up a bit at the sight of the wide variety of Trojans. He 
and Squirrel would never have need...

"Moose?" Squirrel's voice grew louder as she approached. 
"What are you looking ... oh." Interesting, Moose thought to 
himself. Squirrel's knees blush. He wondered if it was a 
head-to-toe thing.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, and he realized he'd 
been wondering out loud.  

Moose discovered it was, in fact, possible to gulp audibly. 
"Uh, yes?" 

Squirrel sauntered over to finger her partner's not-as-
hideous-as-some silk tie, then lit a star-shaped orange 
candle. A wild, primal scent filled the room, and Squirrel 
tipped the candle over, dripping a few drops of wax onto 
Moose's tie.

"Oops," she said. "Guess you'll just have to take that ... off."

He was startled, but the tone of her voice made his pupils 
dilate and his breath quicken.  "Careful, Squirrel," he 
murmured, his voice like dark chocolate.  "You wouldn't want 
to hurt me." 

In response, she leaned in closer to him. "And where do you 
draw the line between pain and pleasure, Moose?" she 
breathed huskily.

What could Moose do but kiss her?

As his lips touched hers, Squirrel felt something break free, 
fast and powerful as a tsunami, deep inside her. She 
suddenly knew she was the cat, and *all* the cream was 
hers just for the asking.

She pulled back, just a little, secretly enjoying the way 
Moose's head followed hers involuntarily. They looked at 
each other, barely breathing. 

"We should -- " Moose started.

"We could -- " Squirrel continued.

"Fuck it," they said together, and fell against each other like 
demolished buildings.>>

"Sally?"

What? Oh, SHIT. Cute English prof asked me a question.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Dr. Chase, could you repeat the question?"

Damn. That man has no right to look that good this early in 
the morning. "I asked for an example of a fallacy of false 
analogy."

"Oh, ok, um, how about positing that the Minnesota Twins 
and New York Yankees are equal because they're both 
Major League Baseball teams?"

Hommina. I got the *big* smile. "Very good, Sally. At least 
*someone* is listening ..."

And he's off again. Whew. Now, where was I? Oh yes. 
Kissing.

<<"You know," Squirrel told Moose, in between sweetly 
passionate kisses, "in some states, seven years constitutes 
a common-law marriage."

"Yes, Squirrel," Moose replied, returning her kisses, "but that 
would imply certain *other* activities are common."

"What are you saying, Moose?" Squirrel was all innocence. 
"Don't hurl innuendo at me unless you mean it."

Moose pulled Squirrel closer, hands wandering into 
dangerous territory.  "I'd never hurl anything at you.  You 
could get hurt," he replied with a grin.  

"Hurts *so* good," breathed Squirrel.

His hands slipped even lower.  

"Just what are your intentions, mister?" Squirrel asked, even 
more breathless.

His eyes spoke innocence while his mouth teased hers with 
deviltry.  "To make sure you stay breathless," he said after a 
few slow, lingering kisses, a little out of breath himself For 
some reason, their right legs bent at the knee simultaneously 
and their feet lifted off the ground...>>

Wait.  I can find some better way to say that...  

<<Overcome, her right leg bent at the knee, lifting off the 
ground as she leaned closer towards him. His did the same.   
>>

Oooh, that's better.  Lemme see...  

<<Moose put thoughts of jokes about one-legged women 
aside and concentrated on Squirrel. 

He concentrated on her lips, her hips, the way her spine bent 
toward his when he ran his hands over her back. He let his 
mouth trail up her cheek, leaving a scarlet, slightly damp 
path behind him as he took her earlobe in his mouth and 
fiddled with it.  His nose slid through her strawberry-scented 
hair->> 

Aw, man, how'd THAT get in there? Try again:

<<His nose slid through her hair, which was full of herbal 
essence.  One thought of Scully having organic experiences 
had his tongue back in his mouth and his hands firmly 
attached to her ass.

Squirrel gasped at so suddenly being pressed up against the 
obvious sign of Moose's mood, but she wasn't complaining. 
She'd spent many nights thinking of long Moose legs and 
strong Moose arms and other manly adjectives.>>

Sure, sure, the newsgroup always whines about how POV 
wandering is bad. But it's just a rough draft. And her head is 
always nice to wander through -- even if his is just easier 
sometimes ...

<<"So, Moose," said Squirrel, lacing her words with sin, 
"seven years to get to the kiss. How long until the bed?"

Moose picked her up.

"About four seconds, give or take," he said with a smirk. 
"With traffic." 

"Thank God," was all Squirrel had time to say before they 
were horizontal and his mouth was devouring hers like she 
was the last cheese Danish on earth.>>

Ok. Now. Do I go for the six-second strip? Or the loooooong 
slow tease? Decisions, decisions. I think ... no, let's mix it up. 
Mwahahahaha.

<<Moose's tie was the first to go, followed by Squirrel's 
jacket. Moose nibbled on her neck while she made short 
work of his belt; one-inch heels (they were on a forest 
pursuit, after all) and Rockports thudded to the floor 
moments later.

"Squirrel," Moose murmured, "I have a confession to make, 
and something of a request."

"I'm not going to put on a toga and throw gherkin pickles at 
you," Squirrel retorted.>>

Dammit. I hate it when the Val Kilmer fixation takes over. 
Back up ...

<<He felt his voice get gravelly and serious, even though his 
words were light.  "It's been a while... for me.  Love me 
tender, Squirrel," he murmured.  "Love me sweet."

He wasn't sure, but She-Who-Never-Cried seemed to be 
getting a little teary.  "And never let you go," she said. 

He simply enjoyed her embrace for a few tender moments, 
but his soul yelped in protest when her arms abruptly 
dropped to his chest. But when her hands went for his 
buttons, he began to understand.  And groan.  Jesus Christ 
and Yahweh above, what a tongue...

Squirrel blazed a path down Moose's chest with her mouth. 
He thought he would die of pleasure until she got to his belt 
buckle.>>  

Oh, wait, back up.  She already took off his belt.    

<<Squirrel blazed a path down Moose's chest with her 
mouth. He thought he would die of pleasure until she got to 
his fly.

Then he KNEW he'd die of it.  

"Black silk boxers, Moose?" He couldn't decide whether 
Squirrel's voice was more a promise or a threat. "We 
match.">>

Oooh, make those green... 

<<Moose's desire-addled brain was still processing her last 
comment when she got up, stood beside the bed and 
revealed a dark green silk bra and high-cut briefs. Moose 
wondered if she would be insulted by drool.

But before he could consult his Miss Manners In the 
Bedroom, she was upon him. 

Not that he was complaining. 

She straddled him, kissing him fiercely, like a tiger at the end 
of its leash with the prey in sight.

And soon, he was right where he wanted to be -- between 
her two plump, heaving globes of desire. 'Her boobies!' his 
8-year-old self screamed with mental delight.  'Squirrel 
boobies!'

Moose wasn't sure what her eight-year-old self was thinking 
-- her middle-of-sexual-prime self seemed very preoccupied 
with getting his boxers off.  

Fortunately, his 38-year-old self reclaimed his thoughts as 
Squirrel's boobies, er, breasts brushed his ribcage on her 
way down to Electric Avenue.>>

Jesus Christ, what am I, in eighth grade? 

Aw, crap, no.  College.  And my hunky professor is giving me 
a really weird look.  

"Sally?  Are you feeling okay?  It's not that warm in here." 
Oh, damn, I'm blushing ... Cigarette-smoking men in 
Speedos, girl, cigarette-smoking men in Speedos ...  

"Uh ... Don't worry, I'm feeling fine," I manage to stammer 
out.  With another concerned look, he returns to the lecture.  
Out of guilt, I use a margin to scribble down a page number 
he just mentioned.

Now, back to the cabin ...

<<Squirrel, having divested Moose of his boxers, traced the 
underside of his tool of passion with a fingernail. He twitched 
in response, and held his breath as her perfect lips 
descended toward the tip. He closed his eyes as he felt her 
breath on him, but she went no further.

He opened his eyes, meeting her hungry gaze. "What?" he 
breathed.

"Nothing," she replied. "I just wanted you to watch." And with 
that, she slipped the first few inches inside her mouth, 
swirling her tongue around and sucking lightly.

She took him deeper and deeper, keeping her eyes on his 
the whole time, and he thanked his lucky stars he wasn't 
nearsighted.

Sensation took over pretty much all his conscious thought.  
He tended to overfocus at times, anyways.  And besides, her 
tongue was proving to be pretty damn hard to keep track of. 

Finally, he gave up, letting himself drift closer and closer to 
the edge, until he realized that he wanted to be jumping over 
with her. 

But it was harder than it seemed -- he tapped her shoulder, 
nudged her head; she wouldn't let go, cheeks hollowing as 
she bobbed up and down. Oh, dear God ... "Squirrel!" he 
yelped. "The little engine that could is about to run out of 
gas!" 

It got her mouth to stop moving, at least.  "Not so little from 
this angle, Moose," she giggled.  

With a somewhat self-satisfied growl, he grabbed her and 
flipped them over.  When it came to congress of any kind, he 
had to admit that he liked it rooted in old traditions.

The way Squirrel was looking at him, she wasn't about to 
protest. She took him in her hand, lifted her hips, and with 
one sure movement Tab A went into Slot B and the universe 
seemed to tilt.

For a white boy, he's got rhythm, thought Squirrel. 

OhmyGodohmyGodI'mfuckingSquirrelandshe'snotgoingforhe
rgun, thought Moose.

The pace quickened, his manroot hammering into her love 
cave. She wrapped her legs high on his hips and slung her 
right arm around his neck, reaching down between them to 
caress her glistening pearl.

"Oh, yes, Moose! Yes! Right there! Oh God! Oh! Yes! Oh --
>>

Hey, where's everybody going? Oh, shit, class is over. I 
gotta go ...

"Good class today," I murmur to Dr. Chase. I run out, my 
belongings stacked together haphazardly.

"Sally, you dropped something ... Sally?" I turn around to see 
Dr. Chase holding what I just wrote. Wonderful. If I was 
blushing before, I'm the color of molten lava now.

"Uh, sorry, I'll be taking that," I stammer, grabbing it only a 
little rudely from his hands and rushing out the door. But his 
voice, curious and -- interested? -- stops me:

"Usually, I just abbreviate.  M and S.  And don't you think 
she deserves better than 'love cave'?"

I suddenly remember that story I read last night -- after the 
Red Shoe Diaries marathon -- the characters sitting around 
and talking about argumentative writing, which led up to 
smut.  Oh, my god...  

That story really sucked.  

"Um, sir," I say blandly.  "I'm afraid I don't know what you're 
talking about."


END

Authors' Notes: We're not sure where this came from. 

"I think it was probably something one of us mentioned late 
at night," EPur said. "Innocent passersby asking about 
Squirrel's love cave." 

JHJ nodded. "And wondering if a manroot was something to 
eat." 

"But in the long run, we probably don't want to know where it 
came from," EPur added. "Right?"

"Right?" asked JHJ. 

"Roit," replied the Wolverine action figure.  

And then EPur and JHJ and Wolverine snickered, drank 
cherry milkshakes, and went to bed.  

We are done now.  Tell us if we rock the casbah.  And 
thanks for sharing our madness.  
piglit1975@aol.com and epursemouve@goplay.com
http://copygirl.softballjunkies.com/pigsfly.html
http://www.goplay.com/epursemouve/