Fandom: The Drew Carey Show
E-mail : Scribe
Series/Sequel: Dunno. Gotta see what develops
Disclaimers: These characters belong to whoever the wonderful, demented person is who invented them.
Summary: Wicks is smitten, Oswald is confused. As usual.
Warnings: Can’t think of any warning except extreme silliness
Part One: Smitten
Drew peeled the wrapper down on a Slim Jim, took a bite, and laid it on his blotter. Another day with no time to take a decent coffee break, he groused mentally. Wick was being a real bastard about the annual work hours estimations, and he was trying to figure out how to cut hours without unduly hurting anyone’s income.
“Hey buddy!” Drew looked up from his desk to see the familiar, rangy figure of his friend Oswald lounging in the doorway of the office.
Drew frowned. “Oswald, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I am. I just delivered a package from Victoria’s Secret to Steve.”
“What the heck is Steve doing receiving personal packages at work?”
“Oh, it was addressed to his house, but I knew he was at work, and I wanted an excuse to goof off.” He came over and sat across from Drew. “Lewis wanted me to ask if you were going to be at the Warsaw tonight.”
“Oswald, I’m at the Warsaw every night.”
Oswald shrugged. “I know. He’s feeling a little insecure these days. Just a second, something’s binding.” Oswald stood up and adjusted his shorts. He was wearing his usual brown Global Parcels uniform, but something was different. “You’ve changed your style,” said Drew. “Don’t tell me, let me figure it out. Hm. Hat, okay, shirt, okay, shorts...” He blinked, took off his glasses and polished them, put them back on and looked again. “Shorts?”
Oswald’s usually almost knee length, baggy brown shorts were about the size of a pair of Daisy Dukes. What looked like several miles of strong, hairy legs were exposed. Oswald shifted uncomfortably. “Lewis washed them. They were covered in cod liver oil and grape jelly.”
“Do I want to know about this?”
“Not unless you’d really enjoy therapy for the next five years.”
“Anyway, my winter uniform is in storage. I have to wear these till I can get another pair.” He picked at the fabric. “I wouldn’t mind so much, but they keep riding up my crack.” Oswald’s eyes lit on the Slim Jim, then his eyes just lighted. “Hey, beef sticks!” He reached toward it. “Mind if I...?”
Drew snatched up his snack. “Get your own.”
Looking hurt, Oswald withdrew his hand. In the process, he knocked over a pencil holder, and several clattered to the floor. “Oops! I’ll get ‘em.” He turned and bent at the waist to pick up the pencils.
At that precise moment, Drew heard the door to Wick’s office open behind him. That supercilious, British accented voice said, “My goodness, what a luscious bum.”
Oswald straightened up and turned indignantly. “Hey! I work for a living.”
There was a shriek, and the door slammed again. “Was that Wick?” Drew inquired.
“Dark haired guy, well dressed, snotty English accent, looked a little green? Yep.”
“He screamed, Oswald.”
“Yeah, that’s funny. Usually it’s Lewis that gets that reaction. Well, gotta go. See you this evening.”
As he left, Drew heard the door creak open again. “Carey?”
Drew swiveled aroung to face Nigel Wick. “Sir?”
“Carey, I seem to be hallucinating. I could have sworn,” He giggled. “It’s so ridiculous, really. But I could have sworn that the vision who just flounced out of here was your friend, Oswald.”
“That vision was my friend Oswald, sir.”
“Really?” Wick’s eyes were round. “How extraordinary! Why...he’s beautiful without his pants. I haven’t seen a piece of tail that magnificent since my mum got rid of the family peacock.”
“Excuse me, sir, but are you drooling over OSWALD?”
“Yes. Oh, don’t look so surprised, Carey.” He waved a hand at himself. “Perfect grooming, exquisite style, poncy accent, British boys’ boarding school...I’m a pouf, all right? Bi, to be exact, but I prefer sausage to sushi, if you catch my drift.”
“Very fashionable, sir.”
“Damn straight. If you’ll pardon the expression.” Wick wandered out into the office, and went around to the chair Oswald had just vacated. “He was sitting here, wasn’t he?” Drew nodded. Wick put his hand on the seat, and closed his eyes. “Ooo, it’s still warm.” He sat down in the chair, squirming a little.
“Okay, now you’re creeping me out.”
“Why Carey,” Wick purred, “Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe in that.”
“Then how about lust at second look?”
“You know, I never noticed what a musical name that is. Osssss-wald.” Wick crooned the name. He sighed, then said matter of factly. “I want him. I’ll have him.”
“Mr. Wick, he isn’t like that.”
“Come now Carey. He’s a grown man living with a male room mate. He runs around all day in shorts. He’s not married...”
“He was almost married.”
“Close only counts in horseshoes, Carey. It doesn’t mean a damn thing in the sexual olympics. So.” He bounced brightly in the seat. “Tell him I like him.”
“What is this, Sweet Valley High? You tell him.”
Wick pouted. “He’s your friend. Find out if he likes me.”
“Sir, I doubt you do more for him than register peripherally on his ‘piss off’ meter.”
Wick wailed and put his head down on Drew’s desk. “He doesn’t know I’m alive!”
People began peeking through doors. “Get ahold of yourself, man.”
Another wail. “That’s the problem. I’ve been getting ahold of myself for too damn long. I want Oswald to get ahold of me, or me to get ahold of him. I don’t care. I’m flexible.” He looked up suddenly, a familiar wicked light in his eyes. “In more ways than you can possibly imagine.”
“Oh man, major creepiness.”
“Just tell me what I should do, Carey. I haven’t been this smitten since Darcy Fitzhebert cornered me under the stands at the Eton-Harrow cricket match my senior year.”
“How the hell should I know what you should do? I’m not Dr. Ruth. She’s shorter and has an accent.” Wick’s bottom lip started to tremble. “Okay, okay! Geez, I can’t stand it when you cry.”
Wicks smirked. “Tears. The ultimate weapon.” he gloated.
“Look...what do you usually do when you’re courting a woman?”
“Give them the validation number of my VISA card.”
“No, no, courting, not ordering delivery.”
“Well, I find out what she likes. I send...” A light dawned. The evil glint was back. This time it brought a rapacious grin with it. “Ah, I see! Romance. Yes, excellent. Thank you, Carey. I’ll invite you to the wedding.” He got up and hurried back to his office, muttering busily, “Plots, plots, plots...”
Drew picked up the paper he had been working on before Oswald came in. He muttered, “Poor Oswald. He’s gonna make Bambi trapped in the headlights look like Godzilla. Maybe I should warn him.” He thought. “Nah. This is gonna be too good to miss.”
Part Two: The Declaration
The usual suspects gathered at their favorite table at the Warsaw that evening. Oswald had changed into his usual jeans and a crew neck sweater. He sat, his back to the door, and took a healthy (well, as healthy as it was possible to be with a caffeinated alcoholic beverage) gulp of Buzz Beer and sighed hugely. “Man, it’s good to get back into civies.”
“Sorry about your shorts, man.” Lewis apologized.
“Ahh, don’t mention it. Aside from a lowered sperm count, there’s no harm done. In fact, it really helped with my tips.”
“Yeah. Ladies kept tucking dollar bills in my waistband.”
“I know one person you impressed,” said Drew.
Oswald turned white. “Please God, tell me it wasn’t Mimi!”
“God, no, man! Don’t you trust me enough to shoot you if that happens?”
“I’m sorry I doubted you, Drew.”
“No, it was Wick.”
“Wick?” Oswald looked indignant again. “He called me a bum.”
“Oswald, in British slang, ‘bum’ means ‘ass’.” Kate informed him.
Oswald looked molified. “Oh, he called me an ass. Okay, that I can deal with.”
“To be specific, he called you ‘a luscious ass’. That, and a ‘vision’ and ‘a magnificent piece of tail’.”
Lewis said, “And what do those terms mean in American?”
Drew saw a delivery boy enter The Warsaw, carrying a long white cardboard box. He spoke to Steve at the bar, and was directed over to their table. He plopped the box down on the table between Kate and Oswald. “Got a flower delivery here.”
“Drew, you dog!” Oswald grinned, as Kate began to reach for the red satin ribbon that closed the box.
“I didn’t send them.”
The delivery boy slapped Kate’s hand. “Ow! Hey!”
“Those aren’t for you, unless your name is Oswald.”
The other three chorused “Oswald?”
Oswald had been in the middle of another gulp of beer. He looked around, puzzled. “Present.”
The delivery boy handed him a clipboard and pen. “Sign here, Camille.” Oswald scratched his name on the clipboard, and the boy left.
“Flowers?” Lewis frowned. “Oswald, are you sick?”
“Are you dead?”
Oswald thought about it. “No.”
“Then why is someone sending you flowers?”
“Check the card and find out. Unless you’ve got a secret admirer, there’ll be a card.” Kate declared.
Oswald untied the ribbon and lifted off the lid. A dozen long stemmed roses were revealed. They were lush, half open pink buds, almost as large as hen’s eggs. “Oh, Oswald!” Kate breathed. “I need to get a picture of this. This is what I want for when I finally get married.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty nice.” Oswald removed one flower, and held it up along his cheek, smiling.
“But who sent them?” asked Lewis. He looked a bit agitated.
“I dunno.” Oswald was rubbing the soft petals over his lips. “See if there’s a card.”
Lewis fished in the box, and came up with a pasteboard square covered in fine copperplated script. Kate and Drew saw Mr. Wick enter The Warsaw, but their two friends didn’t. Mr. Wick’s eyes zeroed in on Oswald, and he made a bee line.
Lewis read the card, “These roses are the same pink that I hope some day to see in your blushing cheeks.” Oswald fluttered his eyelashes and took the stem of the rose between his teeth, like a flamenco dancer. Drew sincerely hoped that Mr. Wick would refrain from sitting on Oswald’s lap. “There’s more on the back.” Lewis flipped the card over and read, “All four of them. Nigel Wick.”
Mr. Wick’s hands settled on Oswald’s shoulders, and he leaned down and said softly, “I take this to mean that you like the flowers.” Oswald swallowed visibly. Wick leaned down and neatly nipped the rose out of Oswald’s mouth with his own teeth. He stood back up, then tucked the bud behind his ear, murmuring, “Olé.”
“Uh...yeah. They’re...nice.” He held up a hand beside his face and mouthed, “HELP!”
Drew commented. “Kate was just saying she’d like to have some just like them for her wedding.”
“Oh, I don’t know about pink roses for a wedding.” Wick quickly dragged a chair up to the table, between Oswald and Lewis. He set his back to Lewis, leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, and gazed up at Oswald flirtatiously. “I think that white roses would be more appropriate for a wedding, don’t you?” His voice deepened on the last two words.
“Or perhaps something more exotic.” Wick put a fingertip against the back of Oswald’s hand, where it rested on the beer bottle, and began to slowly stroke. “Say, magnolia blossoms, to match your lovely skin.”
“You have a positively musical voice, did you know that? I could listen to you read the phone book aloud.”
Lewis said sourly. “It’s not such a thrill. Trust me. He bogs down on the Gees.”
Not looking back, Wick said, “I wasn’t speaking to you, Mop Boy. Have I ever said anything to you about your eyes, Ossss-wald?”
Kate’s shoulders jerked. “Damn, he’s good. That gave me a shiver.”
Oswald was gazing at Wick with something akin to the look a sparrow might give the cobra waving over it. “No. What about my eyes?”
“OSWALD!” Lewis barked. Oswald jumped, blinking. “Get ahold of yourself. He’s a man!”
Wick drew himself up with dignity. “That’s right, I’m a man. And when you’re through playing with the little boys” he shot Lewis a look that singed his hair. “I’ll be waiting. But don’t make me wait too long.” Before anyone could react, Wick grabbed a handful of Oswald’s curly hair, jerked his head back, and kissed him. Hard. With tongue. He righted Oswald, released him, straightened his tie, and said. “Growl.” Then he left.
Part Three: The Chapter After ‘The Declaration’
“Oswald?” Kate waved a hand in front of Oswald’s face. No reaction. “Yo, Earth to Oswald.”
Oswald snapped back to...well, as close to reality as he ever got.
“Yeah, what about the present? I think Wick may be serious.” She gently touched the flowers still lying in the box. “I know roses have gotten more common these days, but he didn’t stop by the floral department of the MiniMart and get these on a blue light special..”
Lewis snorted. “I’d say he’d stopped by the cemetery, but they aren’t in wreath form.”
“What’s going on?” Oswald sounded even more bewildered than usual.
“Well, let’s see,” said Drew. “Nigel Wick just gave you flowers, declared his intention to have his way with your body, and tried to check your tonsils with his tongue. Typical day.”
Oswald frowned. “That was pretty presumptuous of him.” Lewis was nodding. “He didn’t even buy me a beer. What kind of guy does he think I am?”
“Cute.” Kate supplied.
Oswald grinned. “Oh. Yeah.”
Lewis said, “Yeah, well he’s sniffing up the wrong hetro, isn’t he buddy? Oswald is a MAN’s man.”
Drew said, “Lewis, a gay guy IS a man’s man.”
Kate ate a pretzel. “You know, there’s a theory out there that all people are basically bisexual. They just have to find the right person to kick the switch. I don’t know. I can’t think of any woman I ‘d rather have sex with than, say, Rob Lowe.”
“Not a fair analogy, Kate,” said Drew. “He’s so pretty even I’d have sex with him.” They looked at him. “Theoretically.”
“Excuse me,” said Lewis loudly. “Let’s save the fantasies for the Penthouse Forum. We have a serious problem here. Wick has Oswald in his sights. We have to do something.”
Drew shrugged. “Why? All Oswald has to do is ignore him. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to rape him or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Lewis said darkly. “You can’t trust his kind.”
Kate gasped. “I’m surprised at you, Lewis. I never would have expected such intolerance from you.”
“Well, I’m sorry Kate. But I’ve never felt comfortable around Republicans.”
“Look, Lewis, Oswald is a grown man.” Drew argued. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.” He looked over at Oswald. Oswald was trying to balance his beer bottle on his forehead. Drew sighed and got a notebook out of his pocket, beginning to scribble on the page. “Here’s the number for the rape crises line, just in case.”
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