Dylan kicked off his boots as soon as the door to his quarters shut behind him. It had been a bitch of a day and all he wanted was to kick back and relax. He was pouring himself a glass of Scotch when he heard the unmistakable sound of Harper giggling coming from the bedroom.

Dylan leaned against the doorframe and smiled at the sight of Harper wearing only garish yellow boxers, sitting in his bed, reading a flexi and laughing. "Good read?" Dylan asked.

Harper looked up and grinned. "Hiya hotstuff. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surprised. I could hear you laughing all the way through there." Dylan sat down on the bed and tugged at the flexi.

"Hey, get your own. I'm only up to the 'C's."

"The what? What is that anyway?" Dylan peered over Harper's shoulder, letting his hand slip around and caress the warm skin of Harper's stomach.

"It's a historical document."

"Hmmm, yes. History always gives me the giggles too." Dylan ruthlessly went in for the kill and dug his fingers into Harper's weak spot: his ticklish ribs.

Harper squealed and collapsed on the bed as Dylan snatched the flexi. "No fair," Harper pouted, rubbing his abused ribs. "I knew I should never have let you find out I was ticklish."

Dylan snorted. "Like there was any chance of me not finding out once you crawled into my bed." Dylan peered at the flexi. "Roger's Profanisaurus?"

Harper giggled again. "Yeah, it's ancient slang. It was in a box of stuff that Beka bought on our last supply run. She got a couple of CDs and let me have the rest. The notes say it was translated from 20th and 21st Century English. I can't believe how many euphemisms they had for jerking off."

Dylan laughed, "Yes, I suppose that would appeal to you. Good God! Cheesy wheelbarrow? And what the hell is an uphill gardener?"

"Cross reference." Harper was grinning wildly.

Dylan cross-referenced and tried not to laugh. "Appropriate I suppose, although I think I should be offended. I'm going to have a shower. Are you joining me, or do you want this back?" Dylan waved the flexi at Harper.

Harper wavered for a moment before grabbing the flexi. "I'll be through in a minute. I just want to find out what psychedelic yodelling is."

Dylan rolled his eyes and headed off for his shower.

~

Dylan had enjoyed his shower, despite the notable lack of hyperactive engineers to wash all those hard to reach places. He climbed out and towelled off, listening to Harper still snickering in the bedroom. Dylan wrapped the towel around his hips and went to investigate. "So did you find out what psychedelic yodelling was?"

"Huh? Oh hi Dylan, sorry. I lost track of time," Harper grinned, "As for the yodelling... remember the time I ate all that shellfish and cherry pie, and then drank too much kumquat liqueur?"

Dylan shuddered. "Vividly."

"That's psychedelic yodelling."

"I don't think I wanted to know that." Dylan sat down on the bed. "What's it going to take to get you out of that flexi?"

"Hmm... You could J Arthur my meat seeking pissile?"

"I could what?"

"Or how about, jerkin' my gherkin?"

"Okay, I can guess what that one is."

Harper was laughing again. "Do you want to pick something?" Harper waved the flexi at Dylan.

"No thanks, I think I saw enough before I went for my shower. And I rather liked the idea of introducing my custard cannon to your chocolate starfish."

Harper checked the flexi, then tossed it over the side of the bed. "Now that sounds like a good idea."

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