Making Waves by alyse and rhianne [ - ]
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Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Humour
Warnings: None

Summary: Curtis, Keel and the hotel room from hell...

Notes: Well... Blame Aberdeen for this. There we all were on Friday night, talking away about Curtis and Keel, as you do, and the subject of waterbeds came up. I'm claiming no responsibility whatsoever for the way the conversation went. So Munchie and I stayed up until 4am discussing the possibilities, which were expanded upon by several contributors the next day. Come Saturday night, after a lot of alcohol and lots of chatter, Rhianne and I sat down and wrote this :) Thanks to everyone who contributed suggestions and to Munchie for coming up with the title. Self-beta'd.


The end of another long day protecting isles, sceptred or otherwise, from the wiles of the wily, and Chris was looking forward to retiring to bed - preferably not alone. They'd been driving for what seemed like eons, the flat Kansas landscape stretching on and on before them, only the occasional car passing them. Finally, when he'd begun to believe that they'd be driving forever, stuck in some twilight zone, he spotted a billboard for a motel.


"I see it. Want to stop?"

It was a remarkably stupid question, he thought, since they'd been searching for somewhere to rest their weary heads for hours. "No, Sam. I want you to keep on driving absolutely nowhere for the rest of the night."

Sam gave him a distinctly irritated look. "You want to stay in a motel called the Heavenly Paradise Motel?"

"Do we have a choice?"

His partner sighed heavily. "I suppose we don't really, do we?"

"Nope. Pull over."

Another heavy sigh. Chris rolled his eyes but didn't comment. He'd get Sam into a room, into a bath and then into bed and his lover's mood was bound to improve. It usually did.

Unfortunately his plan stumbled at the very first hurdle.

"What do you mean you have no rooms?"

Sam's voice, under the circumstances, was restrained both in tone and in volume. However, the slight twitching of the muscle in his cheek gave Chris ample indication of his irritation even if someone else missed it.

"You're a motel in the middle of nowhere. How can you have no rooms free?"

The clerk looked nervously between them. Actually, thinking about it he'd looked nervous before they'd ever entered his office. Almost frazzled in fact.

"Well, sir. I'm afraid that we're fully booked with a convention."

"Convention?" Sam's voice rose slightly. "What the hell can you have a convention about in the middle of nowhere?"

The clerk looked over his shoulder twitchily, his shoulders coming up to almost cover his ears. He looked completely miserable. "They said something about needing some quiet, sir. Something about the shrieks not disturbing anyone."

"Shrieks? What kind of convention is it?" Chris had to admit that he was wondering that too.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir, except that they seem to be a mixture of British and European women and they all seem to be equipped with laptops."

"A computer convention?"

"Maybe, sir, but they do seem to need a lot of videos, chocolate and alcohol, and Manuel overheard some of their conversation this morning at breakfast and hasn't been quite the same since."

Chris grew concerned and glanced at his partner. International terrorists perhaps? Sam was already on the case.

"What exactly did he overhear?"

The clerk looked shifty for a moment. "Something about professional men and, erm... cock rings..."

Sam rapidly dropped the subject and moved to safer ground. "If you are full, where the hell is the next closest motel?"

"About sixty miles up the interstate, sir."

At least another hour's drive, assuming that Sam, for once, kept to the speed limit. And given what Malone had threatened to do to him if he got another speeding ticket, his partner had sensibly been playing it safe recently.

"Shit," he muttered, to the clerk's sympathetic look. Sam just closed his eyes briefly, looking completely exhausted.

The clerk glanced between them, and then looked over his shoulder again, nervously. "Actually, there might be something we could do..." he began.

"Something like what?" Chris asked, trying not to jump down the man's throat when he was finally being helpful.

"Well, sir, we do have one room left, only..."

"Only?" This time Sam asked the impatient question.

The clerk swallowed heavily.

"Only it's the honeymoon suite, sir. There's only one bed."

There was a long, stunned silence. The clerk avoided their eyes, obviously thinking that he'd overstepped some invisible line, but Chris was intensely relieved. There he'd been, wondering how he and Sam were supposed to justify once again to the admin staff at Ops why their expense claims only covered one room (the excuses about credit cards not being accepted and being short on cash, one of them being injured and the other having to keep an eye on them and being really enthusiastic about Malone's economy drive were wearing a bit thin), and here they were being handed the perfect excuse. No one would ever believe that they'd taken the honeymoon suite out of choice. And even the inevitable jokes about the honeymoon and why no one had been invited to the wedding would help - something about trees and not seeing the wood for them sprung to mind. This was a veritable lumberyard full of trees, and talking of wood...

"Fine. Just give us the goddamned keys."

He injected just the right note of world-weary cynicism into his voice, successfully hiding the glee, and the clerk almost stumbled over himself in his eagerness to be helpful. He even escorted them personally to the door instead of giving them directions, and then fled. Chris wasn't entirely sure why he was so keen to flee, unless it had something to do with the cackles coming from a nearby function room and some muffled comment that sounded strangely like, "Eek. Thigh strap!"

No, Chris decided. It was probably because the clerk had anticipated Sam's reaction on opening the door and seeing the bed.

It wasn't just that it was huge, dominating the entire room. It wasn't even that it was heart shaped, although the pink, frilly satin coverlet may have had something to do with it. Chris' bet, however, was that it was the mirror on the ceiling over it that really proved to be the final straw.

"Jesus Christ," Sam breathed when he'd recovered the power of speech. Chris couldn't have agreed more. "What the hell...?"

Chris, as always, focused on practicalities. "It's a bed, Sam. Somewhere to sleep for one night, and let's face it, odd as it looks it's better than the car."

"I'm not too sure about that," Sam muttered, just loudly enough for him to hear.

Once again, more cackles drifted through the wall, almost in response to their predicament.

"You want to go out and brave the cock ring crowd?" Chris asked pointedly.

Sam seemed to briefly consider this, so Chris clinched it with an added, "They're female, Sam. And apparently interested in professional men. Like you and me."

"We stay," Sam decided, throwing his overnight bag onto the chair. He stalked towards the bed, muttering under his breath. This time Chris didn't catch the words but he got the drift anyway and pitied the poor clerk.

His lover seated himself heavily on the bed.

And moved.

"What the...!"

Sam's startled expression only served to highlight the gentle undulations of the bed beneath him as he bobbed up and down.

"Cool!" said Chris cheerfully. "Waterbed!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Can today get any worse?"

Chris bit back the comment hovering on his lips, having spotted something curious by the head of the bed, and settled on a wry grin instead. "Never mind," he said soothingly. "Waterbeds are supposed to very comfortable and relaxing. Just... go with the flow..." He hid a smirk.

Sam didn't look convinced, but sighed and lay back rather gingerly onto the bed, still bobbing gently.

Chris kicked his shoes off and dived onto the bed with him.

"Shit!" came a startled exclamation.

Chris gave Sam's bounce off the bed 5.6. It would have been higher, as the trajectory and flight were good, but he decided that his lover really needed to work on the landing.

"For God's sake, Chris! Haven't you ever heard of the ripple effect?"

"No leaping on the bed?"

"Not when I'm on it, no."

He reached out one hand and helped his partner onto his feet. Sam was rather more restrained in climbing on, sitting down even more gingerly than before and then sliding his feet onto the mattress. Even so, Chris still felt the swell as the water moved to and fro, and he thought that that was cool too. Luckily he retained enough presence of mind not to comment on it to his partner. Somehow, he didn't think Sam would appreciate his enthusiasm for their watery boudoir.

"So," he said brightly. "Wanna get naked?"

"Keel," sighed Sam. "Your finesse never fails to astound me."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Once again, Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'one track mind' so Chris pulled out all the stops. He pouted.

"That's a yes, Chris," Sam sighed again, and then his eyes glazed over as Chris responded to getting his own way with a flash of The Dimples. Never failed.

Deciding that Sam deserved some consideration for folding so completely and so rapidly, he leapt off the bed again and went to dim the lights, trying to put his lover in a more romantic frame of mind. This time Sam held on for dear life and managed to stay on the bed although he did aim a glare in Chris' direction. Chris returned it with a grin of his own, The Dimples deployed to full effect. Sam continued to glare.

Realising that perhaps Sam was too wound up to fully appreciate The Dimples, Chris decided that perhaps mechanical assistance was required to help his lover to relax. And he had just the thing in mind.

Digging into his pockets he retrieved a handful of quarters, and headed over to the wall, Sam watching him suspiciously the whole time. He didn't give the Englishman any time to comment, feeding them into the meter he'd spotted earlier one by one.

This time Sam leapt off the bed under his own steam, unable to come up with anything more coherent than a startled cry. Wide eyes met Chris' own, Sam's mouth moving although no words came out.

"Oops," said Chris, looking repentant and lying through his teeth. "Honestly, Sam. I thought that was for the TV."

Sam scowled. "What TV?" he growled.

"Erm..." Thankfully he was saved from responding by Sam going into full-blown rant mode.

"The fucking bed is moving, Chris! Not just moving, but bloody vibrating! We're stuck in the honeymoon suite from hell with a fuckin' vibrating waterbed. A pink, heart shaped fuckin' vibrating waterbed!" He stared at Chris, the muscle in his cheek now twitching madly, before he added rather plaintively, "Why me?"

Chris put on his most sympathetic face, struggling manfully not to laugh. "Why don't you go and get ready for bed, Sam?" he asked soothingly. "It'll have stopped by the time you get out of the shower, I promise. And I'll pour you a whisky and when you come out I'll even give you a back massage. How does that sound?"

Sam stared at him for a moment and then his shoulders drooped and he wended his weary way to the bathroom door.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

It was Chris' turn to sigh as he wondered what now.

"There is no shower, Chris. It's a bath."

"What's wrong with that. A nice soak might do you good."

"Not in a fuckin' heart shaped one!"

Oh. There wasn't a great deal Chris could say to that. Pointing out that a bath was a bath, heart shaped or otherwise, was hardly likely to endear him to Sam in his partner's current mood.

"Just forget the bath, Sam," he ground out, pasting a fake smile on his face as his patience wore thin. "Just get ready for bed, and then we'll have that drink." And by now, Sam wasn't the only one who needed it.

Thankfully, the bed had stopped its gyrations by the time Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in boxers and t-shirt. Chris had stripped down to his own boxers and poured the drinks, already half way through his, and was reclining seductively on the pink and frilly bed.

Sam eyed it suspiciously, and then with another heavy sigh, which seemed to be about the only communication he was capable of at the moment, headed over to climb slightly nervously onto the bed with Chris. He hadn't been this unenthusiastic about something since the last time they'd had to do a HALO drop.

"It's not going to bite, Sam," he teased.

Sam gave him a hard look. "You mean you haven't found the switch for that yet?" he asked sarcastically.

"Would I?" asked Chris, aiming for innocence. Judging by the look on Sam's face, he failed.

"If you could, probably."

Chris decided not to comment on the obvious unfairness of that comment, and merely handed Sam his drink, which Sam took gratefully and drained to the last drop in one swallow.

Chris blinked and picked up the hipflask again. "Another?"

Sam held out his glass wordlessly and drained that one too.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yes," admitted Sam reluctantly. "Just don't touch anything. God only knows what else will happen."

Chris had high hopes of what would happen next, and with that in mind placed his glass on the bedside table and gave Sam his best come hither look.

"You have got to be joking."

He pouted again, and although Sam wavered he managed to hold firm. "I am not having sex in a pink, fluffy, heart shaped waterbed with a mirror above it."

"Why not?"

"It's tacky, Chris," Sam ground out through gritted teeth. "I don't do tacky."

Chris was sorely tempted to mention the back of the CI5 surveillance van, the lift to the underground car park and on top of the photocopier at the last CI5 Christmas do (which he still had the pictures to prove), but decided that in this case, honey would work better than vinegar.

"It's not tacky, Sam. Not when you're in lurve." He decided The Dimples were losing their power, and so moved straight on to The Puppy Dog Eyes.

Sam remained unmoved so he lounged back on the bed, stretched his arms up and placed them underneath his head and let his pecs speak for themselves.

Sam caved almost instantaneously. "Fine," he sighed. "Just let me put my clean shirt in the drawer so it doesn't crease." Chris was about to object and insist that Sam did that later when Sam did something really underhand and despicable.

He pouted.

Chris caved.

"Fine, just be quick."

He grew rather concerned when Sam merely stared down into the open drawer, speechless, his mouth slightly open and his expression almost goldfish-like. Spotting the slight green glow emanating from the drawer, a number of possible explanations shot through his mind, up to and including the discovery of a genuine X-File. The true explanation was rather more prosaic.

"Cool," he said. "Full service. They even provide condoms."

Sam spluttered. "Glow in the dark, green condoms, Chris!"

"It's the thought that counts."

"Glow in the dark condoms, Chris. Arranged in a fuckin' smiley face!"

"We don't have to use them," he said soothingly, trying to pacify his almost incandescently irritated partner. "We have our own."

"I take it you missed the pink fluffy handcuffs?"

"Really?" Chris perked up and attempted to peer into the drawer, thwarted when Sam slapped him away and glared at him.

"What kind of place is this?" he demanded loudly. "A convention of mad women obsessing about sexual aids, a honeymoon suite from hell, and pink, fluffy handcuffs!"

"You forgot about the mirror on the ceiling," Chris interjected helpfully.

"How could I possibly forget the bloody mirror on the fuckin' ceiling? I will be remembering that mirror for a bloody long time!"

Chris leered at him suggestively. "How about we give you something to really remember about it?"

For a second Sam gaped at him, and then he relaxed slightly, rolling his eyes and apparently deciding to humour his obviously deranged partner. Taking advantage of his partner's returning good humour, Chris combined both The Puppy Dog Eyes and The Dimples to stunning effect and coaxed his lover back onto the bed.

Rolling Sam underneath him, Chris went to work, sliding his hands underneath Sam's t-shirt and sucking gently on the sensitive flesh of Sam's neck. He used the undulations of the bed to rock his erection against Sam's.


He moved downwards, leaving a trail of kisses along Sam's collarbone.


Sam's breastbone was mapped with Chris' tongue and then he headed down towards Sam's nipples, successfully bracing himself against the rolling mattress.



"I want to get off..."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"No..." Sam's voice sounded strained. "I mean, I really want to get off."

He didn't know whether it was the dim lighting, the soft, fluorescent glow still emanating from the drawer or the neon light from outside, even now flashing -E-VENLY P----IS-, but Sam's skin tone seemed to have taken on a distinctive green tinge.

Chris backed away hurriedly, moving just in time to avoid Sam bowling him over on the way to the bathroom.

"Don't tell me you got seasick on a goddamned waterbed!" he yelled at his lover's retreating back. "And don't try blaming it on the drink this time either!"

Listening to Sam retch, he threw himself back onto the rocking bed and stared up at the mirror in disgust. From down the corridor drifted another shriek and, "Oh my God! He's got his shirt off!"

"They both have!" came a different voice.

At least someone was having fun tonight. It was just a pity it wasn't him.

Life just sucked sometimes.

The End.