Title: Your Mother Plays Canasta, aka, A Slightly Different Domestic Scene
Author: Amatia
Email: violinst@pitnet.net
Disclaimer: Nick Blair is MINE. MINE. Jeff Spender is not. He belongs to
Chris Carter.
Category: V, H (I hope), slash (Spender/other)
Rating: PG-13 for Spender's language and sexual themes.
Summary: A night at home with Jeffy, Nicky, and Princess...
Note: Ok, this is about the dumbest thing I've ever written. But it was fun!!

***

Your Mother Plays Canasta, aka, A Slightly Different Domestic Scene
by Amatia

	"Jeff!" Blair yelled down the stairs. "Either you take Princess for
her evening walk, or I'm not going to cook anymore!"

	Jeff Spender sighed, and set down his FBI-issue sidearm, which he
was cleaning. "I'll be right up, Nick!" He got up from the chair, and
jogged up the steps. "Don't you ever have to clean *your* weapon?"

	"When do I use my gun in the chemlab?" Blair asked, taking a head
of lettuce from the refridgerator. "Princess is waiting," he admonished.

	Spender shot his lover a perturbed look. "It was your idea to get a
puppy," he replied, then went into the hall to get Princess' leash.
"Princess!" he called. The golden retriever jumped down from the couch, and
bounded over to him. He clipped the leash on her collar. "I'll be back in
ten minutes!" he called to Blair.

	"Take your coat!" Blair called back.

	Spender ignored him, and went out the front door, Princess tugging
happily at the leash.

	The smell of spaghetti sauce greeted him when he returned. He
unhooked Princess, and she ran into the living room. He tossed the leash
into the closet and went into the kitchen. "Must you make things that will
eventually lose me to cause my figure?" he teased Blair, wrapping his arms
around the other man's waist as he stood at the stove.

	Blair leaned back into Spender's embrace. "I have to keep you well
fed," he replied, smiling. "Your field agent work is just so demanding."

	"Yeah, sitting at a desk and running X-Files through a paper
shredder is real demanding," Spender replied, letting go of Blair. He took
plates and glasses from the cupboard. "It's useless to do it, Nick, I know
Mulder has more copies of the important files. And why are we talking about
the X-Files anyway? You know I hate to discuss it at home."

	"Sorry, Jeff," Blair said. "Want bread with the pasta?"

	"You really are impossible," Spender replied with a grin. "No, I do
not want bread with my pasta. You and your carbohydrates."

	Blair set down the wooden spoon, and took the other man in his
arms. "You love me anyway."

	"Yes, I do," Spender replied, kissing him lightly. "With all my
heart, Nick."

	"I love you too, Jeff."

	Spender resumed setting the table, and Blair went back to his
sauce. "Anything interesting in the lab today?" Spender asked.

	"Nothing but the usual running tests for the field guys. You?"

	"Shredded about three-fourths of what came across my desk. Diana
filed the rest except for one, and we tacked that up and threw darts at it."

	"Don't you ever investigate *anything*?"

	"Occasionally, when Diana feels the need to get up off her ass."

	Blair let out a rich laugh. "Here, here's your pasta." He spooned
it onto the plates, then went to retrieve the sauce. Spender filled the
glasses with ice water adns et out the silverware. Princess ran into the
room, and settled underneath the table, ready to catch any scraps.

	Spender gave her a stern look. "You are spoiled."

	Princess just wagged her tail.

	Blair had finished putting sauce on the pasta, and surveyed the
table. "Napkins," he said to Spender.

	Spender fished them from a drawer, then sat down. "Can we eat
*now*?" he asked sarcastically.

	"Just because you'd rather wipe your arm on your sleeve, doesn't
mean we don't need napkins," Blair reprimanded with a grin.

	"You know what," Spender said, taking a bite of the pasta.

	"What?"

	"When we're done with dinner...." Spender paused, hopefully for
effect, "I want you to fuck me silly."

	Blair began to choke, but recovered quickly. "That would be
wonderful Jeff, but..."

	"But what?"

	"My mother is coming over to play canasta."

	It was Spender's turn to choke. "Can't you call her and tell her
you're sick or something?"

	"It's my *mother*. Mothers can tell when you're sick."

	Spender let out a long sigh. "How long is she going to be here?"

	"Two hours, max."

	"That's two hours we could spend naked, you know."

	"I know, Jeff!"

	"But *canasta*, Nick, for heaven's sake!" Spender rolled his eyes.

	"You can watch your tapes of Talk Soup."

	"And listen to John Henson yell "Oh yeah, baby! Get some! Yeah!"
and then feel bad because I could be getting some?"

	Blair couldn't suppress a grin. "Ok, ok, I'll call her."

	"Right now."

	"Okay, Jeffy," Blair couldn't stop laughing.

	"Stop that," Spender ordered, but he too was grinning. "Go call."

	"Can't I eat first?"

	"No, because she might decide to leave early," Spender said,
attempting to use his best FBI-agent voice, but failing miserably to to an
attack of laughter.

	Blair got up and picked up the phone. "Don't you say a word while
I'm talking to her, or I'll start laughing, and then she'll be over here to
play canasta!"

	Spender ate his pasta quietly while Blair told his mother that he
couldn't play canasta with her tonight. Then he spit pasta across the table
when Blair said he couldn't because he had to clean his gun.

	<end>



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