I'm soaking wet, shivering and hopping mad as I stalk through Lin's house, chasing my wayward clone with the determination of big cat who's scented her prey and is on the hunt. Thought he'd just dump water…no I correct myself…dump ice cold water from the beer cooler, on me, and get away with it, skin intact? Hell no. So I'm treading as quietly as I can through the unfamiliar house, my nose twitching like I could actually smell something. Deciding to actually use a sense I have, I stop short, focusing intently. A smile creeps across my lips as I flit through a familiar sensation of indignation briefly, scooting out quickly since it isn't the one I'm looking for. Finally I light upon the person I'm looking for, and following the trail, I enter a back bedroom, smiling when I hear off key singing coming from the bathroom.

Shucking the sodden silk dress and hosiery, I tiptoe into the bathroom, pulling back the curtain. Giggling at the orange tinted mess running down the drain, I step in behind my mate and pinch his ribs. He yelps, simultaneously jumping, getting shampoo in his eyes, and crashing to the tile as he slips. I look down at him, wanting to feel bad, but I'm too busy howling with laughter at the growling, game faced tangle of limbs before me. I think I'm about to rupture something when he finally manages to stand up and give me an evil look.

"Oh no, don't look at me like that. You only got what you deserved! Ice water, remember?"

His grin is positively filthy as he stalks towards me, backing me up against the shower wall. "This is supposed to be my punishment?"

Damn him for turning everything around on me. "Well, no. But I get to tease you for the rest of time about almost knocking yourself out here." Oh good. Nice to see my brain has at least half of its function in this situation. "Baby, we need to get clean and out there. I promised Fang I'd… well whatever it is he wants me to be doing next."

He lifts his head from my neck, his eyes streaking with gold lightning. "I'm positive you'd rather stay in here than go out there," he growls lowering his head back to my neck.

I grab his lengthening locks (that's an influence I can thank Toga for: his shaggy, hasn't been bleached in forever do that she encouraged), and pull his head up. "Why do I get the feeling that's not just cause you're all…eager?"

His fangy grin makes my heart thud and my body tighten in all the right places. And yet, I know it means something I really don't want to know is coming up. "Oh fuck. What's he got planned?"

"Not telling."

I yank his hair. Ha. That's what this mane is good for. "Are too."

He yanks my considerably longer hair and I yelp. "Are not."

"Oh, a hair pulling fight. How mature."

"Bloody hell, woman, you started it!"

"You are the most infuriating, pig headed-"

My complaints are cut off by a rough kiss, at which point I completely forget what I was arguing about. I decide it probably wasn't very important anyways, and let him do as he pleases, cause let's face it, his plan is much more fun than mine. By the time we actually get to washing the jello out of his hair and scrubbing the streaked makeup off my face, I'm one complacent kitty.

He carries me out into the room, dumping me on the bed with his characteristic need to tork me off whenever possible, and walks over to the closet, pulling out his clothes. My eyebrows furrow, wondering how they got there, but I quickly realize that he must have picked us out a room while Mr. Guest of Honor had me running around setting things up before people arrived.

I purr approvingly at the soft, dark brown leather jeans and untucked, rumpled blue jean shirt over a white wife beater. If there's one thing Raj can do, it's dress. He could wear a tow sack and look mouthwatering. But this recent trend towards the western is simply… well, not describable in public.

His nose twitches and I actually feel my bones melting at his grin. One of these days, I'm going to figure out how to keep my sex drive from short circuiting my brain, I swear it. Until then, I'll be the grinning idiot with the drool bucket over in the corner, okay? He takes a bandana out of our overnight bag and my eyes widen. If he ties that around his neck, that's it folks. I'm a goner. But instead, he ties it around my eyes, which I can't decide whether is more or less exciting.

"Now, you just lie still, and I'm going to suit you up…"

I hear what he's saying, but truthfully, it's like white noise. I'm too busy lost in the fantasy I was concocting before to actually pay attention. I can feel him slipping on clothes, hooking and straightening things methodically. I finally snap out of it when I notice that it's still awfully breezy in here for me to be dressed. Struggling with the blind fold as he leads me into the bathroom, I let him sit me down on the toilet to fiddle with my hair like he always does.

"Leave it on till I'm done pet, or you'll burn yourself on the curling iron," he chides, his hands sliding through my hair as he blow dries it.

I don't struggle because frankly, I love when he does this. There's something innately comforting about him doing our normal routine. I've just gotten used to him dolling me up when necessary, especially since he's been doing since before he was mine. He's incredibly skilled with this stuff...and even though I could easily do it myself, it's the one thing I'll let him do for me without a fight. So I sit quietly while he dries, curls, pins and paints me, only squirming when he stops to look at his work.

"Gotta take it off to do your eyes, pet. Turn away from the mirror so I can finish and then you can see," he murmurs, guiding me to where he wants me turned.

I sigh overdramatically, but do as he says, closing my eyes and letting him go to town, muttering about this and that as he works. Open, close, look up, look down, blink…

"I'm not a Barbie doll," I grumble, putting up my usual token resistance.

"Nope. Much more fun than a Barbie," he replies, "Plastic just doesn't shade as well."
He's talking around the brushes in his mouth, which is a trick I know he learned from me, and I giggle. "Oi, quit movin or I'll make you look like the Bride of Frankenstein," he threatens.

When he finally finishes, I leap to my feet, turning to the mirror, and all the color drains from my face, even with the perfectly applied foundation. "You-You… this… LOOK AT ME!" I shout.

He chuckles, holding his sides as if they'll split. "Don't shoot the messenger. Fang picked it out…"

I stomp my foot in indignation. "You set me up. Got me all complacent and content… and… I'm half NAKED!"

"Oh, like you were all that covered before," he snorts.

"But… but…," I sputter looking in the mirror again. The outfit is my nightmare, but obviously someone else's wet dream. A baby pink bustier and matching tiny pleated skirt, with bright red cherries all over them, over white thighs hooked to a garter belt that I'm betting money matches the clothes and the thong. My hair's in curly pigtails that rest on either side on my shoulders and whatever he did to my eyes makes them look huge. I sigh. I'm betting the shoes are even worse than the previous pair.

He chuckles, and grabs my arm, sensing my defeat. "You promised. Let's go."

"Oh god. I'm like walking bait in this get up," I whine.

"Probably exactly what Fang had in mind," he says, grinning from ear to ear. "And since you've brought your own perfume, looks like we're ready to go."

I blanch and he just tugs me out towards the party, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to get out bed in the morning.