K, here's my WIP contribution, which I guess is admitting I will never finish this. I think I started it in 2000, but it could have been earlier. I get it out every once in a while and write a couple words and close it again. I have to admit, I'm hot for Gord.
Title: Dancing Queen
Fandom Red Green
Pairing: Harold Green/Ranger Gord
NOTE 1: I hadn't planned to indulge my late-night fantasies about these two until I saw the episode where Harold reads The Pyjama Party Invitation from Ranger Gord. What would you have done?
NOTE 2: There is no possible way to represent in text that sound Harold makes. Just imagine it at appropriate moments.
Harold paused on the landing and adjusted his backpack. Only one more flight to go and he was hardly wheezing at all. That new inhaler was really working out. He started to climb and winced as the CD case jabbed through the pack and into his spine. Bring your Abba albums, the invitation said, but Harold didn't own any so he'd gone out and picked one up. Already he couldn't imagine life without it.
Almost at the top now. Friday night and he was out and happening. The trap door opened before he could knock and Ranger Gord stuck his head down. "Welcome, Harold. Come on in."
The lookout station seemed different in the twilight; sunset light glowed pink on the wooden half-walls. Then Harold realised that the glow was from the pink plastic Gord had wrapped around his lanterns. "Ranger Gord, you do know that that's a fire hazard, right?"
"Of course I do. At a moment's notice, I am ready to sound the alarm."
"Wouldn't it be easier to take the plastic off?"
"Certainly, Harold. You'd make a pretty sharp ranger yourself, you know." Only some of the plastic stuck. Gord burned his fingers.
"You should run that under a tap."
"I'll do that." Gord opened the trap door and lowered himself outside. Harold heard him run all the way down and then climb all the way back. "Excellent idea, Harold."
"So..." Harold sat on the couch. It was hard. Actually, it was a stack of Canadian Tire catalogs with an afghan thrown over them. "When are the other guys getting here?"
"You're the only one who replied, Harold. So we'll have to work double-time to get through all the activities." Gord set his hands on his hips. "Since this is a pyjama party, we should get into our jammies right away."
Harold looked around. He knew that the bathroom, such as it was, was six flights down and had birds nesting in it. There was just the one room. So, he closed his eyes while he changed, on the principle that if he couldn't see anyone, no one could see him. Which wasn't true, but if he could just convince himself it was, things would be just fine. He decided he'd better leave his underwear on.
Harold teetered but he managed to squirm into his pyjamas without falling over. They were his favourites -- a sky-blue set from Sears, a cool cotton-poly blend with a breast pocket piped in navy. He clipped in his penlight, slid his glasses back on, and opened his eyes.
Gord was wearing bright red Stanfields and quite probably nothing else. "Next, the music. Did you bring your albums?"
Rummaging in his backpack, Harold got out the CD and handed it over.
"What's this?" Gord opened the case and pulled out the disc, turning it over so he could see both sides.
"The Abba CD. It just came out -- it's got all their top hits."
"I think you got taken, Harold. You can't fit all Abba's hits onto a 45." Gord passed it back. "We'll just have to make do with mine." He flipped a record onto the turntable and "When I Kissed the Teacher" scratched out of the single speaker.
"I brought some popcorn, Gord. Do you have a microwave?"
"Yes, but it runs on solar power. Besides, we have to get through several other activities first before the snacks. I have a list from an article on pyjama parties."
"Uh...okay." Harold was a little dubious, but he'd never been to a pyjama party before.
"Good, good. First, make-overs."
"Make-overs? Shouldn't we be playing, you know, board games or something? I have my travel Scrabble set."
Gord checked his list again. "Make-overs. The article was very specific." He lifted a box onto the coffee table, which was actually a large sawn-off stump. "I spent all week making these. They're all natural." He sat down next to Harold. "I'll do you, then you can do me. Eyes first."
Harold took off his glasses, holding them in his lap. "Which magazine was this article in, exactly?"
Gord paused with a small pot of grey-green goop in his hand. "Young Miss, September 1982."
"But that's for--" Harold shut up as Gord leaned in with a smeared finger. The last thing he wanted to do was break the man's concentration. The goop smelled ... woodsey. It didn't exactly sting as Gord painted it over Harold's eyelid, but the fumes were strong. When Gord moved back to re-dip his finger, Harold blinked several times. "What's in this stuff?"
Gord sniffed at it. "Pine needles, spruce needles, water, and dirt." Then he did the other eye. "The trees don't mind if you take the needles, as long as you give something back to them."
Harold was on the point of asking what Gord meant by that but decided that he'd rather not know. "Is the mixture pH balanced? I've got sensitive skin."
"I'm assured by the trees that the needles are very good for you, Harold. I'm going to do your hair now, so hold still."
Something cold and wet dripped onto Harold's head. Gord's fingers massaged it into his scalp, then began twisting the hair this way and that. Or that's what it felt like. And what it smelt like was breakfast. Pancakes. "You're not putting maple syrup in my hair, are you? Because the last time I did that, the dog almost killed me by licking my head--"
"No, Harold, of course not. This is maple sap. Much better for you than the refined product. I use it to control dandruff."
"It probably makes the dandruff stick to your head." And Harold was so careful with his hair, too, only using Brylcreme from that little drugstore down the block. The sap would probably set his regimen back weeks.
And that's all there is. I do have notes that Gord's magazine article said they should practice kissing. Harold asks Gord if that's going to make him gay. Gord's answer: No, Harold, kissing another man will not make you gay. Wrestling makes you gay.
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