Title: One True Pairing
Fandom: The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

Disclaimer: I'm not entirely sure who owns the rights to these characers, it might be Polygram,but I know it's not me.

Authour's Note: I would like to jump in here and say that Tick's attitudes towards a certain male first name are entirely his own, and are in no way, shape or form shared by the authour, who actually thinks it's quite virile, manly, and positively radiates charm and dignity. Any persons with the name in question should in no way hold a grudge against her. They're very very welcome to hold anything else they've got against her, though.

WARNING: The in-jokes lay rather thick on the ground in this one, I was in a goofy mood.


One True Pairing

Dammit.

This was bloody intolerable.

It was bad enough that he had to put up with seeing Adam draped all over some little club-tart, both of them drunk as skunks and probably high as well, it was infinitely worse he had to still be hearing them, three hours later.

His room was all the way across the house from Adam's; he shouldn't have to listen to it, shouldn't be able to hear every last grunt and moan and wail.

It was probably theatrics, anyway. There was no way in hell... (Peter? He thought it was Peter...) was that good. He was overweight and hairy, and Adam was definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one, anyway.

Sour Grapes much, Mitz? a dry voice said in his head, and Tick was once again appalled that his inner monologue sounded like Adam.

Or are you fancying a plump bunch of grapes.....

Admit it, Mitz, you want what Dominic (Dominic? Because Peter was last week, he was fairly sure now....) is getting right now...

Dammit.

Dammit Dammit Dammit.

He threw off the covers, irritated, as a shrill cry of passion split the night, and Tick recognized it not as Adam's but belonging to (No, not Dominic, Dominic was on Saturday,) Hugo. Hugo? What a poncy name that was; trust Felicia to punch donuts with someone named after a clothing line, or a writer of intolerable French tragedies. Wasn't there a Porn director named Hugo Something-or-other? Maybe it was the same one....

Hell, there was no way of knowing it even was a Hugo, any Hugo, and not anything else; he doubted very much Adam knew his latest conquest's name...

Well, there was only one thing to do for it, Tick thought glumly, and that was to take matters in hand.

This was True Love, a joyous meeting of the ages, two sets of soulmates under one roof. Tick & Tick, and Adam & Peter/Dominic/Hugo/Paul/Robert/Bruce/Michael/Tom, Dick, and Harry/Who-the-fuck-ever. He certainly hoped Guy Whatsisfuck was as able and agile as his own Miss Del Bra's Right Hand Man, because otherwise Adam was sadly missing out. Because there was no way in hell the rotten little queer was ever getting a chance to sample it.

And in the end, Tick sighed and he guided himself over his shaft, trying not to wince at hearing Adam moan in ecstasy, that's what really hurts.