Clearly Harassment


What Part of 'No' Don't You Understand?

Chapter One: Game On, Kilroy

A/N This bit of silliness was written several months ago and was inspired by a few late-night brainstorming sessions with Deserthaze. Things started out small and then the plot jackalopes (not to be confused with their plot bunny cousins) had a population explosion. She drew a picture (the dA link is in my profile), and I started a oneshot that got out of control and turned into four chapters of grief for Mr. Green. With the exception of Morton, all these characters belong to Cartoon Network and their respective creators. I'll put them back when I'm done. Maybe.

And folks, this contains slash and adult situations. If that sort of thing offends you, move along to something else. If you read it anyway and get your knickers in a twist, blame yourself and not me.


Steam rolled around him as he opened the shower stall and stepped out, filling the room with clouds of vapor. Humming to himself, Kilroy Green combed his long white hair back between his horns with his fingers as he groped for the towel he had hung right beside the door. His hand met only empty air. No fluffy blue towel. Confused, he glanced at the floor, wondering if it had fallen, but the towel was not there.

"Looking for this, dreamboat?"

He froze. The voice was high-pitched, feminine, a little sinister, unexpected, unwelcome, and totally disturbing since Green was a single demon and lived alone. What was even more disturbing than the voice was the speaker – a tall, skinny, hatchet-faced, red-skinned, crab-clawed, goatee-bearded, skull capped, Christmas-elf-gone-kinky-costume-wearing demon in thigh-high patent leather stiletto boots lounging across the length of the bathroom counter.

Most disturbing of all, though, were the facts that Green was dripping wet, buck naked, and not only was his towel being held in that thing's claw, but the creature was draped atop the cabinet that held the rest of the towel's brethren. There was no mistaking that wanton look in its glittering black eyes or that seductive smile, making Green think longingly of his clothes . . . a wash cloth . . . a fig leaf. He stared in astonishment at this invader of privacy, speechless and slack-jawed.

"You know, I had exactly the same reaction when I saw you yesterday, gorgeous," purred the devilish-looking being.

"You were horrified?" he squeaked. Even by demonic standards – which admittedly were a lot looser than those of humans - this androgynous elf was a freak.

The tubular red diva giggled. Lithe as a cat, it somehow twisted around to extend its long legs up the wall, leaning on its elbows to tilt its head far back and smile at Green as he dripped on the tiles.

"More like you took my breath away, lover boy," said the singsong voice. "This is the best view I've seen since Maui." Gracefully it extended a claw with the towel hanging on the tip. "Come and get it!"

Lover boy? What-?

He felt a furious green blush climb up his face, as much as at what this thing was insinuating as at his state of undress. There was no escape, at least not through the door. Luckily there was more than one route available to him. He turned and stomped back into the shower stall with whatever dignity was left him, ignoring the elf's happy gasp as he slammed the door behind him. DexLabs Security hated when he did this, but they would have to lump it.

An instant later he was engulfed in a pillar of flames that vanished as swiftly as they appeared as Green transported himself out of there. From his upside-down perch, Him blinked in surprise as smoke seeped out of the stall and slowly cleared to show his dream come true had absconded. He broke into a sly smile.

"So you want to play hard to get?" asked the evil demon, delighted with a challenge. "Game on, Kilroy."


He materialized in the bathroom attached to his office in DexLabs HQ and stood stark still, waiting, mentally willing the drifting smoke to lay low and keep out of range of the ventilation system. He was listening not for that overgrown elf, but rather for the possibility of setting off the fire alarms (again) and the inevitable calls from Computress, whichever security sergeant was on duty (who would politely chew him out for bypassing security again), and Professor Utonium wondering why Security was in a tizzy (again). Nothing. Not yet. The smoke that had accompanied him slowly dissipated, water dripped from his hair onto the tile floor, and he allowed himself to sigh in relief.

He tried desperately hard to forget that thing's lusty stare and piercing voice. Who was that? Green had never seen him before. Demons, while not unheard of, rarely went mainstream and so were few and far between in regular society. Cast out from demon circles because of his fascination with the world that humans had created, Kilroy had not had much interaction with his own kind for decades and he rarely missed the demonic brand of companionship. Humans, he had found, were far more reasonable and balanced in things like relationships and friendships than his own kind. If that thing back in his apartment was an example of present day demon society (and fashion) then there was a lot to be said about being in exile.

Mr. Green was very content in the niche he had carved out for himself among these humans. He was immensely grateful to Professor Utonium for the opportunities working for DexCorp presented, and in return he gave his employers his utmost devotion and unwavering loyalty. He had been surprised by the number of companies and organizations that tried to tempt him away from working here after he started – some were even places that had turned him away in the past. Working for DexCorp had given him a completely new lease on his life and career. Professor Utonium, president of DexCorp International, didn't care that he was a demon. The Professor only cared that he was the best possible teacher for his brilliant ward. It was refreshing and heartening to be welcomed and treated as a peer, not a novelty, and to be respected for his intelligence.

And then there was the trust shown him. Very few people were even allowed near Dexter, far fewer people had regular access to him, and only one could give him detention. Not that Green ever had given his pupil detention, but the parties involved – namely Dexter, Mr. Green, and Professor Utonium – were well aware of the fact that he could. He liked Dexter far too well to ever do that, and he knew Dexter respected him too much to ever get so far out of line as to merit punishment.

Now his past seemed to be catching up to him with a vengeance and a mind for outrageous flirtations. He couldn't help but glance in the mirror and wonder what it was about his backside that had generated such a gasp of delight out of the overgrown elf when he had turned around earlier. His frame was lean and taut from hours of practice for his badminton league, though his green skin showed old scars that ran too deep to ever fade.

Shaking his head, Kilroy gave up. Poking his head out of the bathroom, he glanced around his shadowy office. No amorous suitors, no Security team rushing in with guns blazing. Another sigh escaped him and he slumped, feeling his horns droop a bit as his tension eased. He would deal with that home invader in his apartment later. He strongly suspected that thing in his bathroom wasn't interested in breaking and entering so much as rifling through his underwear drawer and a night on the town, which was why he hadn't called the police. Why couldn't he just have silverfish and water bugs in his bathroom like normal people?

Give it up, Kilroy, he thought, darting over to the closet.

Right now he had to get dressed and get to work. He'd been a substitute teacher for long enough to be prepared with a change of clothes and extra shoes wherever he went. The gray tunic and trousers were a bit formal for regular teaching duties, but he didn't care in the least, being glad just to have a backup plan after his escape.

"Mr. Green!"

He yelped and jumped a foot in the air, his clothes spilling from his hands. Panting from alarm, he turned to see Sgt. Morton appear on the screen of the communicator. The blond man blinked, then locked eyes with the demon and refused to look elsewhere. Demons in the buff were not common sights even in a place as strange as DexLabs, but Morton was too much of a professional to react.

Green followed his stoic example, trying desperately hard to pretend he wasn't as naked as the day he'd been born. His only prayer at preserving his bruised modesty was the shadowy office space or a close up on the monitor, but he knew he was too far away from the camera to hide his present state of undress.

"I know what you're going to say, Sergeant. Don't transport in, don't bypass security."

"Uh, yes, sir."

"My apologies, but today has been a bit . . . I don't even have a word for what it's been so far, Sergeant. Let's just say I was desperate."

"Uh, yes, sir. I'll let Professor Utonium and Computress know."

Wonderful. Great. Spectacular. Just what he needed. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. Uh, pardon me, Mr. Green, sir, but don't you normally wear clothes?"

His eye narrowed and he felt a stirring of anger. What, did Morton think he was going to streak through the halls of DexLabs headquarters? "Normally, Sgt. Morton, yes, I do wear clothes. Thank you for noticing. Today isn't normal."

"Yes, sir," agreed the security officer, giving him an odd look.

With a grumble he turned off the unit and collected his clothes again. It wasn't until he was in the restroom again that he realized he was going to have to go commando today. He groaned, instantly self-conscious even though the heavy gray tunic was long enough to hide any hints (whatever they may be) that he was sans underwear.

"Get a grip, Roy," he ordered himself, pulling on the tunic. He had an eye patch in his desk and his cape would hide any deficiencies in his wardrobe. Who would know? Who would care? Besides Kilroy Van Green, off the tip of his horns he could think of only one other being in existence that would find his lack of underwear interesting, and that crab-clawed freak would never, ever, ever find out.

No socks, either. With a grumble he pulled on his boots, then rose and looked in the mirror. Looking back was a tall, slim demon with green skin, long white hair swept to the side to conceal the scar crossing his right eye, and curved horns not unlike those of an antelope. Gorgeous? Well, the horns were definitely nicer than most, but beyond that, the demon that appeared in his bathroom this morning to proposition him must have been blind.


Your day will be a cross between April Fool's Day and the worst Friday the 13th on record, making you wonder and eventually beg if you can skip ahead to tomorrow. Too bad. Time travel and enclosed spaces should be avoided today. There's safety in numbers. You're dressed to kill, so love and passion will find you no matter how well you hide. Sudden action will yield satisfaction late in the day. You have a deep, inner mystery to solve.

Mr. Green stared at his horoscope as published by the Downtown Demonic Daily and wondered which complete pantheon of gods he had managed to offend between baking cookies last night and waking up this morning. He would have asked if the day could get any worse, but he feared the answer would be Yes, Mr. Green, it can. Would you like to see how?

"Bad morning, Roy?"

Tearing himself away from that miserably accurate prediction in a publication he abruptly decided was not far removed from a rag sheet, Green looked up to see Professor Utonium, smiling at him in his usual pleasant, absentminded way. He poured the demon a mug of coffee before refilling his own cup. Amazingly, the Professor didn't miss and dump the hot liquid on Green, himself, or the lesson plan on the table, so something had gone right so far. It wasn't much, but after this morning Green would take what he could get.

"Um . . . ?"

The Professor saw Mr. Green eyeing the coffee and got the hint. "Don't worry – Dexter made it, not Blossom. He drank some already and he's still alive last I checked, so we should be safe."

"Oh," he said, trying not to sound too relieved. "Good."

Three days ago Blossom, trying to be helpful, somehow made coffee that was not far removed from latex paint in consistency and hydrochloric acid in potency. You knew it was bad when the scientists you worked with felt the need to do a full analysis on the contents of the urn when their mugs had dissolved on contact with the brew. After that fateful and messy morning, Dexter had forbidden any of his sisters from making coffee. If nothing else, it paid to work for a coffee snob because it was a subject the fourteen-year-old billionaire genius and part-time caffeine addict took as seriously as the maintenance of his nuclear reactor. Of course now Dexter would be hyper, but Mr. Green was capable of dealing with legions of children be they tanked up on caffeine or sugar (or both).

He sighed long and deep and appreciatively as he wrapped his hands around the mug and smelled the steaming coffee. He finally looked up at the man that was as much his boss as his friend and said, "Professor, you have no idea."

Another glance at the horoscope gave him a twinge of apprehension.

You have a deep, inner mystery to solve.

I'll say, thought Mr. Green as he took a mouthful of coffee. Why me?