I Remember

 
Winston

I remember living on packet noodles and instant coffee. God, how could I forget. Every day the same thing, over and over. Boil the water, add the stuff, slurp it up. Not many ways you can change it, either. Couple of times I'd add some grated cheese to the noodles, or a teaspoon full of butter. Sometimes I had milk with the coffee, mostly I went without. Once, in the middle of winter, I remember passing a food line out the back of a church and wondering - 'Is it time? Have I become that desperate yet?' The answer that day was 'no'. Other times it might have been yes, but I was too depressed to get up on those days, to tired of my life even to face the prospect of another day.

All that changed when I hired on board with the Ghostbusters. Man, I must have been desperate. These characters were seriously strange. But they paid good money and were the first people to show any interest in me in a long time. It felt good. And somewhere, somewhere deep inside, a part of me I didn't even know existed woke up. It woke up and asserted a fearful need to womp ectoplasmic butt. That was the Shima Buku inside of me, twitching to life. And he sure got a run for his money, because it wasn't long before we were kicking some serious booty, in the form of one Gozer the Destructor!

I remember it didn't take long before those loony collage professors didn't look so loony after all. They started to look like heroes - the sort of people I would be proud to call friends. Brothers, even. The kind of guys you could spend your whole life with, working and playing. Guys you'd trust not just with your life, but your very soul.

Although, it's never a good idea to get carried away with that kind of thing. I would never trust Ray in the kitchen, for instance. Or Peter with my sister. Or my Mom, come to think of it. I'm not sure my Aunt Greta would even be safe. And Egon and clothes shopping do not mix. I still have the bile green and red jumper he brought me one time for my birthday. To be honest I had complained recently about how cold the garage area for Ecto could get, but I still wouldn't wear that thing to a Bad Taste Theme Night, let alone any where near my baby. Ecto has a sense of style all her own and I wouldn't want to contaminate it.

Still, the trust does go pretty deeply. I have let the guys drive Ecto on occasion, although it pained me to do so. Have you ever seen Egon or Ray drive? Gives me nightmares. It does. Egon is the worst by far, but when a job calls for speed, there is no one can get us there faster, the guy is hell on wheels.

I remember realizing I'd fallen in love with Egon Spengler. He'd just shot off some tongue twister of an explanation, complete with half a dozen thesaurus-fed words. I said, 'Man, I love it when you talk dirty.' And he looked at me, with a pleased flush on his face, and I was gone, so gone.

Love those blue eyes of his. Love the blond hair and the height of him. Love that he uses big words and is one of the few people in the world that can talk Sumerian. Love his curl. Love his glasses and his suspenders. Love his strength and vulnerability both. Okay, not fond of the driving thing, or the way he regularly blows up the lab, but I can deal with it, if it comes as part of the package. Love his deep voice, it does things for me, it really does. I even love his opera and, god help me, his fungus collection. I just plain love him.

I remember the one and only time Peter Venkman hit me. It happened about three weeks ago. We were drunk and celebrating Peter having regained his freedom from girlfriend four hundred and twelve (he numbers them, I swear he does). I decided, between shooters, that it was time I told someone about my feelings for Egon. Never seen the guy get so mad, so fast. The punch surprised him more than me, it landed alongside my jaw, and he swiftly apologized for it. But that didn't stop the rant that followed. He said some things then, things I like to think he would regret, if he could remember them. But afterwards, when he calmed down (as he always does, I'll give him that. Peter's a powder keg of emotion, but he can rein it in when he wants to) and figured his anger would be enough to keep me away from his buddy, we got smashed on rum and cola and the next day he didn't remember a thing. Looks at me sometimes like maybe he's getting a flash back, but that's it.

I'm taking that as a sign from above. A second chance, if you will. What Pete don't know about Pete can't interfere with. Amen.

He was right about my not wanting to go back to noodles and instant coffee, even if he did kind of mention it as a threat. I'd hate to have to leave the team. And frankly, they need me. I worry about how they'd get on if I left. Worry about Ray being so impulsive, worry about Peter being so darn publicity crazy and Egon, jeez, some times he can be so
oblivious it hurts. And I know I'd miss them, my brothers in arms, if I left. But if it came to it, I could leave. For I know something Peter doesn't. Despite what he thinks, I won't be eating noodles again for quite some time.

See, I learnt something from my time in the unemployment lines, and that is that I don't ever want to go there again. Ever. So in order to prevent that happening I've been taking my pay and investing it in little ventures here and there. My first 'big' investment was in a limousine taxi service. Then came the light airplane cab run and the locomotive dinners
club. Zeddemore's Transport just sort of grew up out of them, like it had a mind of its own. Scary thought. But the point is, I can afford to leave this job.

I'd hate like hell doing it, but I could if I had to. And if it came down to it, I could support Spengler a little too. Jeez, I get all goose bumped at the thought. Providing for my man. Load of he-man, macho crap. But I do. I want to take care of him. Stupid, huh? Like a Spengler would need 'my' help paying the bills. But I'd like to, I'd like to a whole lot.

I remember the day I figured out Egon wanted me back. It was about a week ago. We were coming home from a bust, just me, Ray and Egon. We were debating who should take first shower when Ray got this sly look and suggested that Egon and I should share the first shower. Surprised I looked up into the reversing mirror just in time to see Egon give Ray this big glare. Ray grinned unrepentantly back at him. Then Egon realized I was watching and he blushed and ducked his head. Looked real cute when he was doing it, too.

That's when I knew, though I needed one more clue to get me as ready to risk the friendship as I am now. Tonight Peter is out on another one of his endless dates and Ray had a sci-fi convention to go to. Just me and Egon in the house. I hope Peter will forgive us. I know he will if I make Egon happy. But even if he never forgives me, he better not take it out on Spengler. He even looks like he's going to punch Egon like he did me, I'm gonna wipe the floor with him, brother or no. He can fire me, not talk to me, whatever he wants, but he treats Egon badly and I'm going to kick his lily-white ass from here to Nebraska.

Hmm, sitting here thinking about kicking Venkman's butt, how stupid is that? Looks a lot to me like I might be stalling. Guess I am as shit scared as I imagined I'd be if I really went ahead with this. What if he doesn't like me that way? What if I got that look Ray was giving all wrong? What if I should have gone for the white tank top instead of the blue? What if...what if? To hell with what if.

I remember three nights ago, that final hint. The one I'm hoping will get me up and out the door. We had to camp out in a national park to catch some early morning spook as he buzzed the camping grounds. The tents we had were two-man only, so Peter bunked in
with Ray, and I got Egon. I woke up first and watched as Egon slept in his sleeping bag besides me. The soft morning light hit his face, all golden and glowing, and I'd been five centimeters and a dozen apologies from leaning over and kissing him awake.

I've thought of that moment often ever since. See, just before Ray burst in on our tent, meaning to get us up and moving, just as I got close enough to almost taste those dreamy, oh so kissable lips, I noticed a sliver of blue under the long eyelashes feathered against his cheek. He was awake, and he was smiling. A sign, a small sign, that maybe I wasn't wrong about what Ray's look said (and didn't he look annoyed with himself when he realized what he'd just broke in on, poor guy). Small signs are all Egon is capable of, I think, he can't just up and say stuff he's feeling. Egon never was very big on emotional stuff. Guess I'll have to teach him a few things.

Boy, is it hot in here all of a sudden? Guess I'd better get going. No time like the present. Got me a scientist to corral. Funny, Peter said once wasn't it odd how secretaries kept falling in love with Egon. I haven't told him yet, but I've been secretary of the New York Antique Motor-vehicles Association for the last six months now. God, I hope this works. Wish me luck.


Egon

Winston is standing in the doorway, looking at me again. He has looked at me often of late. But so far he has not made a move. I wish he would hurry up and do so.

Perhaps I would do well to follow Raymond's suggestion, and try to move things forwards myself. But alas my record in such things is not good. I shall wait for him to proceed first and hope that I am sufficiently knowledgeable to see his signal and recognize it for what it is. Some times I miss the subtle things, but I do not wish to miss this.

He is wearing that nice blue tank top that I so admire upon him. It shows his physique off very well, I think. I would very much like to run my hands over it, feeling the warm hardness of his body underneath. I am ready to have a long-term relationship again and Winston is the kind of stable, reliable man that I find so easy to fall in love with. Indeed, I fear I am already halfway to being committed to him already.

I do not know why he has waited for so long. We began to flirt almost as soon as we met, although now I begin to fear he may not have realized it. You see, I am not very good with subtly, I weld it either too lightly, or too hard. I hope Peter did not have words with him. Venkman can be overly protective of me at times, though he means well. I shall have to pummel him thoroughly if he has warned Winston off, however. I am quite capable of defending my own virtue, although in this case I am not particularly inclined
to.

Winston has finally entered the lab. I find my hands are shaking as I hold my test tube so as to watch him as he comes to stand behind me. He reaches out and takes it from my hand, replacing it on the rack along with its brethren. His hands go up to grip my shoulders and he places a kiss feather soft against the side of my chin.

It appears I will not have to worry about missing his overtures after all. He knows me, and has read my awkwardness with such mating rituals. Cleverly he has decided to make his intentions obvious, so that even I might read them. This pleases me. Very much. I turn and his hands move to the small of my back, drawing us together. Smiling I bend my head a little and take his lips in a fierce and much longed for kiss. He smiles as he kisses and laughs deep in his throat. By this I guess that he had been uncertain of my reaction. Unfortunate. I would stop and reassure him, but I seem incapable of drawing myself away from his lips.

"Mmm, whoa, whoa!" Winston pushes away from me and I stumble, dazed from the emotions running through me and the lack of oxygen I feel. "Let's move this somewhere more comfortable."

"Ah, yes. Comfort." I sound faintly confused even to my own ears. Then a thought takes me and I head for the door, grabbing his hand and dragging him behind me.

He gives a surprised yelp and looks puzzled as I moved past the labs over stuffed couch. He no doubt thought that was were I had been heading, but I have anticipated this moment long enough and I intend claiming what I have so patiently been waiting for. I reach the bunkroom and push him down on Peter's bed.

"Poetic justice." He mumbles, by which my surmise of Venkman's behavior is proven correct. I will have words to say to him. Later, much later.

I begin to struggle with my clothes, but suddenly every fastening has become intricate beyond my means of understanding. Irritated I jerk at my shirt buttons and my tie at the same time, causing Winston to laugh and shake his head. He kneels up and works at the tie while I fumble about with my shirt. He gets it off and throws it away, then gets the shirt open and stoops to press a kiss against my sternum, next to my heart. It beats hard enough for him to hear, surely, for it is very loud in my own ears.

"Mmm, you taste nice." He says, running his tongue upwards over pale flesh to the dip of my collar bone, my Adams apple, my chin, until once more he meets my lips and we kiss, his hands straying down to grip my buttocks. At some time he had removed his tank top and I feel the scratch of his scant chest hair along my front. It has an amazing aphrodisiac like quality and suddenly I cannot bear to have so much as a single layer of clothing between us. I cant my hips away from him and wedge my hand between us in an attempt to undo our trousers, but he bucks up against me, trapping me there.

"Pants." I gasped, roughly taking my mouth away from his.

"Huh? Oh." He allows me to continue and I feel his tongue lick at my lips hungrily as I undo a button, unhitch the slide and unhook the next button before slowly dragging down the zip. We part for a moment as he removes his trousers and I hastily follow suit. Then it is all heat and the press of hard flesh, gasps and moaning, fingers sliding on skin wet with the perspiration of desire.

"Perfect." I murmur, running my palm down one well-muscled arm, enjoying the sight of his swelling biceps. His breathing becomes labored and he rolls me onto my back, settling firmly between my thighs. He entwines our fingers and places our hands either side of my head as he begins to thrust slowly against the cradle of my body.

It feels good, the draw of his manhood against mine. So long, it's been so long since I have felt this. This sensation and more importantly, this connection. It feels good, so good.

Sweat drips from Winston's body onto mine, the effort of keeping this slow and measured showing in his frown of concentration. I am glad he is being careful, this particular maneuver can lead to injury if done incorrectly. Having your erect penis suddenly bend the wrong way can really kill an evening of love making dead in its tracks. I suggest our loving might benefit from the lubricant I know Peter keeps in his top draw and with a groan Winston lunges over to the dresser at the side of the bed. I take my now rampant cock in hand and squeeze it, trying to soothe the sudden ache of abandonment it lets me know it feels.

Winston turns, tube held triumphantly in one hand, but pauses with a gasp to look at me. I hope he finds me an appealing sight, instead of the foolish one I suddenly suspect I must appear. From the way he strips the cap from the tube and jets the clear liquid onto his hand and belly I suspect it may be the former. He uses his now slippery hand to smooth lubricant carefully over us both, gently removing my grip to rub firmly at my cock.

Unable to observe these ministrations and prevent myself from instant orgasm I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling. My view is obscured by a smiling face as Winston eases back into position. I hiss with pleasure and buck up into him. He has taken time to dry his hands on a section of Peter's sheets and runs his palm firmly along my side, gliding it up and over one hard nipple, then reaches up further to tangle it in my hair. We kiss and he starts to rock against me, slow, slow agonizingly slow. Where our hips meet is soon well gilded with lubricant and pre-cum, Winston tightens his hold on my hair and increases his pace. Unable to get enough air we end the kiss, but our lips keep meeting in brief passes as we grind ourselves together. Freed by the application of lubricant Winston begins to ride me hard. As the ridden partner my part is to try and hold still, making my thrusts as shallow as possible so as to not endanger our delicate members. It becomes harder to do so, but I endure. Finally this pays off as with a whoop Winston strains against me, gasping out my name. His face, limed with sweat, tightened with ecstasy, draw my seed from me and I grunt loudly as he collapses onto my chest.

The warmth of semen and heated lubricant warms my belly and I smile as I wrap my arms around Winston's chest, pulling his weight down onto me even more. I rest my chin upon his head, which is cradled against my neck, stroking the short hair of his head and enjoying the closeness. I feel his smile against my skin and make an inquisitive noise, which he rightly interprets to mean I want him to share.

He rises up a little and looks down into my eyes. Tenderly he brushes my somewhat disarrayed curl back into place, then glances around the mess we have made of Peter's bed. Ah, I see what has made him smile. Our activities have loosened the sheets and they form a near nest about us. Lubricant glistens where Winston wiped his hands and on the coverlet about us too. As, I should imagine, does the excess semen that I have felt make its way down my hips and between my thighs. Peter is not going to be pleased with us. We chuckle at his imagined wrath, knowing full well that we will have cleaned it all away long before Peter makes his belated reappearance tomorrow morning.

"Hey, Egon." Winston whispers, and he is serious now, his eyes tell me so.

"Yes Winston?" My voice lowers at such times and I listen to its deeper tones with interest. Most peculiar.

"You have one sexy after glow voice." Winston mentions, having picked up on the change in my voice too. But that is not what he set out to say and his eyes dart away and then back again nervously. "I want domesticity," he begins, "I want us to pick out china patterns together, buy a house, have a yard overgrown with weeds we pretend we know nothing about, get old together, make two terrible roguish uncles for however many rug rats Janine and Ray eventually end up churning out." My mind wanders to images of Ray and Janine with multiple offspring in tow, as I know Ray at least hopes will occur in the future. It is nice to see Winston also shares our belief that one day it will happen.

So engrossed do I become in this future image that I almost miss his next words. "I want you by my side, in my bed, in my heart, forever and a day. If you don't want that, say so now, because I'm already so in love with you, if I fall any further I wont ever be able to let go."

I blink witlessly at him. Hmm? Luckily my photographic like memory comes to the rescue and I am able to play back what he has just said, blushing brightly with my delight.

"Winston, I don't know what to say, except yes. Yes, I will stay by your side and yes I love you, very much. We shall of course have to get our own home together, somewhere close. I like art deco china patterns, by the way, and I will not settle for Willow." The last I said in hopes of breaking the tension between us, and it did for we both laughed.

"So," Winston continued eventually, "we gonna move or stay here and get stuck together? Not to mention you get to sleep on one heck of a wet spot." He jiggled his hips and I felt an unpleasant pulling/gluey sensation.

"We get up." I said, and gingerly we did. Both still naked we walked through to the bathroom, holding hands. There Winston filled the sink with warm soapy water and used a washcloth to clean us both down with. It felt nice to have him handling me in such a manner, comforting. Then we returned to the bunkroom and, as my bed is somewhat newer and more spacious (although still technically a single bed) we slipped together between the sheets. Winston immediately curled about me, one arm going about my waist. He stroked gently over my stomach, seemingly enjoying the action.

Sated and tired, still a few worries popped up to occupy my mind. I felt Winston reach up and gently stroke my hair, whispering softly directly into my ear.

"Sshh, don't worry. It will all be all right. We'll make it work. Now go to sleep and in the morning we'll tidy up and form our plan of attack. I'm good with tactical, remember? We'll get by." He kissed my shoulder reassuringly.

I nodded agreement against the pillow and felt myself begin to relax. Soon I was falling asleep in his arms. I will have to remember this moment, I thought. And then I was gone, to walk the streets of the land of Nod, hopefully with Winston by my side.

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