Bootleg
By
Rose knelt at the edge of the tub, smiling. Harry bit his four teeth happily on a blue sponge starfish, splashing as Mac gently lathered his son’s chubby bare backside.
Bath time, Harry style required two adults and a dog, according to the youngest MacGyver.
Barnum hung his head over the side of the tub to watch his master and got a splash of bubble bath on his muzzle. He chuffed it patiently; Harry laughed.
“So you’ll do it?” Rose murmured, lathering up a washcloth.
“Sure. As long as it’s hockey—“
“Big surprise there, Mac!”
“So what are YOU signed up for? Diving?” Efficiently, Mac took the plastic seahorse bucket and rinsed Harry off; the nine month old gurgled, and grabbed at it.
“Surfing.”
“Oh yeah! In the pink and black body glove suit?”
“Maybe. I was thinking about the green maillot myself,” Rose murmured, fluttering her eyelashes at Mac. He dimpled.
“Brat, that would be the highlight of MY garage wall—“
“Flatterer. Are you trying to sweet talk me into getting in with the wigglewart here?”
“Whadda ya think, Harry? Is there room for Mama?”
“Mammmmmmmmmm” chortled Harry, delighted to have the company. Rose pulled her already wet shirt off and shucked her jeans as Mac gave a whistle.
“Harry, you have one good looking tub buddy—“
Rose giggled, stepping over the rim and settling into the water, sinking into the fluffy white suds with a pleased sigh. Harry reached for her and she scooped him up, rubbing noses with him. Mac watched them happily.
“So that’s two months covered—who else?”
“Pete for golf, Trevor for diving, I think they’re going to ask Cho to do her water-skiing,” Rose replied, leaning back against the tub making little soothing sounds. Harry took the bucket and banged it on the side of the tub, then began humming as Mac washed his face with the terry cloth. Harry smiled at his father and tried to bite the washcloth.
“No chomp, bud—“
“Mawah!” Harry agreed, giving a little bowlegged wiggle. He sat on Rose’s wet thigh, smiling while his mother flicked water at him. Mac shifted a little, and one hand slipped under the sudsy water; Rose felt it slide up her knee.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be washing Harry, not ME!” she giggled. He arched an eyebrow at her.
“Harry’s done—and Mrs. O is ready to get him dressed and fed,” came the soft purr. Rose shot a glance at the bathroom door.
“Mac, you wouldn’t!”
“Try me—“
“I have—that’s how we got Harry—“
“Never too early to start on a sibling—“
“Mac—“
“Kidding! Here—“ he reached for a towel and scooped up Harry, wrapping his son up tightly.
“Burrito boy!”
Harry giggled and squealed, looking like a little green terry covered egg roll. Mac carried him out, followed by Barnum. Rose heard Mrs. O’s Scottish accent as Mac handed over Harry.
“Gracious laddie, you’re quite the little nudie, aren’t ya? I have him, Mister MacGyver—Barnum and I’ll take him to the park for a few hours.”
“Good deal, Mrs. O.”
“Now don’t let the bath get cold—“ came the nanny’s knowing chide. When Mac stepped back in, Rose could see his blush.
“She got you again, huh?”
“Yep—Mrs. O has some sort of mythical Scottish nookie detector—“ Mac admitted with a twisted grin. He locked the door and began to pull off his shirt. Rose leered at him.
“Hey Mr. Hockey, slower! I need to get an eyeful!”
“You’ll get more than that, Brat—promise,” he replied with dangerous sweetness. With a flick of the knob, more hot water spilled into the claw-foot tub, and Mac climbed out of his jeans. Rose applauded.
“Now THAT’S a hockey stick!” she hooted. MacGyver shook his head good-naturedly and stepped into the tub, sliding behind his wife and letting his long legs stretch out along the outside of hers.
“Stop already—we have a good hour while the Three Musketeers are gone, and I want to enjoy you in the warm soapy goodness,” he purred in her ear. Rose snorted.
“I don’t know who’s more trouble in the tub—you or Harry—“
*** *** ***
MEMO
FROM: P. Thornton
TO: All participants in the Good Sport Charity Calendar shoot
Everyone who signed up should report to the Sierra Conference room to sign releases and pick up a shoot schedule from Dan and Anne. Pre sales are looking really good, and on a lighter unofficial note, we have enough interest in the limited print run of the Bootleg to do it again this year.
Thornton
Rose looked up at Mac with a puzzled face.
“Bootleg?”
They were sitting in the jeep, heading into morning traffic. Mac grinned.
“Yeah—the first year we did the calendar we had several photos that we couldn’t use because there were a tad—risqué. At least for the squeaky clean image the Foundation holds.”
“Risqué?” Rose looked over at Mac, intrigued. He blushed a little, but held his grin.
“Nothing terrible—we had a girl from Accounting in an unzipped wetsuit, and Rafe posing in a little towel in one shot—the sort of cheesecake beefcake stuff that’s just typical of horsing around sometimes. And let’s face it, the Foundation has a lot of pretty good looking folks working here.”
“Like YOU?”
He blushed a little, but nodded. Rose grinned.
“Spill!”
“A couple of years ago they talked me into mountain climbing shirtless,” he admitted, shifting gears and turning the jeep. Rose gaped at him.
“Mac! Really!”
“Yeah—I was trying to impress—well, never mind. The point is the Bootleg is sort of a Tri-annual Foundation tradition. We all pay a heck of a lot more for it than the five bucks the regular calendar costs, and it all goes to the in-house scholarship fund. To be asked is kind of a honor.”
Rose thought about this as she fingered her seatbelt.
“Are they the same folks at the regular calendar?”
“Not all of them—Pete’s never been in the bootleg, and Helen refuses, even though she does get asked.”
They pulled into the Foundation parking lot.
In the Sierra room, several people milled around as a couple circulated the room handing out papers. Rose noticed they almost looked alike: grey sweaters, long black ponytails, and bright emerald eyes.
“Anne and Dan Hawthorn, the photographers. They started here as interns and have their own studio now,” Mac told her. The man circled over and looked at Rose.
“Oh God your taste has hit the TOP, Mac—this is the bride?”
“Yep, this is Rose.”
“Love those curves—promise me you’ll do the Bootleg and stop me from slitting my wrists now—“ Dan smiled at Rose. She giggled, nodding as he beamed.
“Perfect! And YOU Mac—can we count on you flashing parts of your anatomy for money this year?”
He laughed, “Depends on which parts you mean.”
The woman of the pair came over, giving Mac a quick hug.
“Mac! Our double threat man!” she beamed. Rose liked her smile.
“Annie babe—check out our first Bootlegger—are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
The two looked at Rose then at each other and announced at the same time:
“Cleavage!”
Mac laughed at that, but Rose merely rolled her eyes. As he drifted away to go fill out forms, the Hawthorns nonchalantly pulled Rose aside.
“Rose, we need your help—“ Anne began with a grin. Dan nodded and slightly suspicious, Rose looked from one to the other.
“It’s about Mac. We want—“
“—Him for the calendar, yes I know. He’s got a lovely chest and really nice shoulders,” Rose warmed to the subject, but Dan shook his head.
“--His ass, baby. Anne and I have been after that for the last three years. We want his muscled heinie on glorious display. Do you have ANY idea how much the Foundation would make off that?”
Rose gulped and blushed, but Anne sighed, touching her arm.
“All kidding aside, we’ve gotten pledges of over two hundred bucks for calendars with shots of Mac’s rump, Rafe naked through a shower door and apparently YOUR features in almost any presentation. All tastefully done you know,” she added. Rose drew in a breath.
“Really?”
“Really—this could be the biggest Bootleg year yet, Rose. A mindblower,” Dan murmured. The twins were staring at her, and she glanced from one to the other.
“Sooooooo—what do you need ME to do?” she asked conspiratorially.
The studio was airy and well lit; Rose hefted her board and waited her turn.
Cho was on the platform, tangled in towlines laughing as Dan teased her.
“Come on, baby! You’ve got those GREAT teeth, show ’em to me!!” he bellowed at her while Anne circled around and took quick shots. The twins worked in perfect harmony, moving in tandem around their subject, snapping away. Both of them chattered at Cho at the same time.
“This way, Gorgeous—pretend it’s Brad Pitt shooting you—“
“Forget Brad—Try George Clooney!” Anne replied. Cho giggled and dimpled enticingly. Rose tugged on the bottom of her bathing suit as she waited patiently.
The twins were in no hurry, and managed several different versions of Cho’s picture before scooting her off to a dressing room and turning to Rose.
“Good to see you Rose! All right, let’s get you set up—“ Anne smiled. With practiced aplomb, they managed to get Rose to lie on her board, chin propped on her hands, smiling.
“Curvy and cute, but such a tame shot—“ Dan teased, clicking away. Rose cocked her head.
“So when do the OTHER pictures get taken?”
“Anne’s doing Cho’s right now—for the official pictures we usually tag team, but for the racier stuff, we go one on one for the comfort of the subject,” Dan replied absently, motioning her to sit up. Rose did, brushing her hair back and smiling.
“Sweet! Very Beach Boys looking. Is Mac coming down later?”
“Yeah, after lunch.”
“And are we all set? Dan asked softly. Rose gave him a slow smirky nod. Dan pumped a fist in the air.
“Oh yeah! Operation backshot is underway—okay, let’s get you finished and over to Anne. Smile---“
Within twenty minutes, Rose found herself naked, clutching her board protectively in front of her as she shivered.
“It’s not that cold—“ Anne chided playfully, pulling the board to rest in the upright stand. Rose huddled closer to it, blushing. Anne frowned a moment, thinking as she pulled the topical beach background screen down.
“Okay—just peek around the board, Rose—wrap your leg around it—let’s see some of that sleek hip, honey—good, good—wait a minute, we’ll let your hair juuuuuust cover the upper part of this breast—oh yes! Dan’s going to have kittens over THIS one.”
“Never mind Dan—this isn’t too much thigh is it?”
“Rose you can NEVER have too much thigh—trust me.”
*** *** ***
Mac frowned. He’d packed his gear himself, going through the old familiar checklist in his head by rote: pucks, tape, skates, blade covers, extra laces, socks, wrist protectors, pads, jersey, jockstrap, pants, tee-shirt, mouth guard, gloves-- He continued to rummage in the gear bag, growling to himself.
“Mac! We’re waaaaaiting!” came Dan’s impatient voice.
“Just hold on, okay? I’m looking for something!” he hollered back. Outside the dressing room booth, Rose and Anne shot looks at each other, both of them blushing. The spandex pants and Mac’s boxers were in Rose’s hands, behind her back.
“So he’s sans apparel from the waist down?”
He’s got the jock on—beat me to the punch on that one—“ Rose muttered softly. Anne grinned.
“Not going to impede the view in the least! Time to get this show on the road—ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Rose replied. She looked over at the dressing room nervously.
“Mac? Are you decent?”
“Not really—“ came the dry response. “Need a little help here, Brat—“
“Hang on—“ Taking a deep breath, Rose handed the clothing to Anne and skittered into the dressing room, a bright, artificial smile on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that my togs are gone—“ Mac muttered angrily, digging through the bag again. Rose eyed his backside and bit her lips hard to smother the guilty giggles that threatened to leak out of her. It was indeed a glorious tushie, as she well knew from a great deal of tactile experience. Mac looked over his shoulder at her and instantly, his brows drew together.
“Something wrong?”
“No, no, just admiring the view—“ she snorted. Mac tugged on the edge of his jersey, blushing.
“Knock it off—I need to find my pants NOW.”
Rose pretended to search, and finally turned to Mac shrugging.
“Are you sure you packed them?”
“Of COURSE I did! I only DREAM about playing hockey in the nude, babe—I don’t intend on DOING it!” he snapped back in frustration, running his hands through his hair. Rose patted his shoulder and took a deep breath, setting the trap with her next words.
“Okay fine—I can run home and get your spare from the hall closet, but it’s going to take about forty minutes, so why don’t you and Dan go ahead and do the bootleg while I’m on the mission?”
Mac’s head snapped up and he glared at her.
“Damn it, this is about my ASS again, isn’t it! DAN, ANNE!!” he bellowed.
Prudently neither photographer replied, but there were a few suspicious giggles. Furiously Mac turned on Rose, pointing at her, eyes blazing.
“And they roped you INTO it, didn’t they? I can’t believe it, my own WIFE—“
“—Mac, calm down! You’d think we were out to violate you or something!” she chortled, not taking his tirade seriously. Mac reached for her shoulders and gave her a light shake, growling.
“No, no, no—I am NOT flashing my bare ass for anyone!”
“Not even ME, the woman who worships and adores it?” Rose batted her eyelashes shamelessly at him; Mac gave a pained sigh. Standing in a dressing booth in a hockey jersey and a jockstrap arguing with his wife was NOT quite how he’d pictured spending his afternoon. Rose slid her hands around his hips and groped him; Mac gave a yelp of protest.
“Got him convinced yet?” came Anne’s cheerful question. A giggle bubbled out of Rose.
“Almost, but he’s quite a handful you know—“
“Ah, well I do have the trump card here—“
Mac peeked out the curtain to glare at Anne, who held not only the spandex hockey pants and boxers, but also the jeans he’d been wearing. Mac growled.
“This is BLACKMAIL!”
“You bet!” Dan cheerfully agreed, coming to stand behind his sister, “So how about being a good sport, just like the calendar suggests, and letting us give the women of the Phoenix Foundation something to admire, Mac? They’re doing it anyway, so you might as well concede—“
Mac’s head disappeared, and the furious tones of a whispered argument drifted out of the dressing booth.
“—SET UP. . . GET YOURS, ROSE MACGYVER!”
“TOUCHY . . . SEE YOU TRY!”
“FINE!”
“FINE!”
Rose flew out of the dressing room, eyes blazing, mouth in wide grin. She high-fived Anne and collected the pants, then sat down on one of the studio chairs with the regal air of a queen.
“Damn it! Fine—Anne, take a hike. Dan, you get FIVE minutes, not ONE second more, GOT THAT?” Mac’s voice rang out. Anne scooted off, patting her brother on the shoulder in passing. Dan pulled down the Arena backdrop, humming happily to himself. Mac stalked out glumly, lugging his gear bag in front of his waist. Rose burst out laughing.
“Mac!”
“Don’t you ‘Mac’ me—you are in SO much trouble, Brat—“ he warned. She shook her head in mock-sadness, handing him his hockey stick, which he took with a brusque swing of his hand.
“You’re so gorgeous when you’re angry, babe—you’re turning me ON here—“ she teased. Mac threw the bag to his feet in frustration and glared at her. Surreptitiously, Dan circled behind Mac, motioning to Rose to keep talking. Mac crossed his arms and glared at her.
“Rose, I resent the hell out of this, okay? I’ve been turning down this particular shot because I’m uncomfortable with it. I’m not some Cabana boy, you know?”
“I know—“ Rose told him, her tone unexpectedly tender. Caught off-guard, Mac shifted, looked at her warm blue gaze.
“Mac, you’re an intelligent, resourceful, kind and compassionate man. You also have a fabulous ass, and much as I love you for the former qualities, we can’t photograph them,” she told him gently. Mac squinted at her.
“So you’re completely comfortable with objectifying me as a fabulous ass—“
“Mac that’s not true! I see you as a whole person, darling, body and soul, mind and muscle, brains and—“
“—Butt?” Mac finally laughed. He leaned on his hockey stick and sighed, resigned. Rose giggled again.
“Mac, let’s just say you integrate the physical with the cerebral very well, okay darling? I love you, I love your ass, and I love your mind.”
“Sure you say that NOW—“ Mac grumbled playfully, shifting to rest the stick across his shoulders. Rose applauded, since this made the jersey ride up, revealing his long furry thighs and the jockstrap. Mac flushed, but merely rolled his eyes.
“I feel so cheap and USED—“ he muttered, glaring. Rose wet her lips.
“Oh Mac—if this doesn’t personify the motto of good sport, I don’t know what does, babe. And I’ll make it up to you somehow, okay?”
“All done!” Dan broke in softly, a compassionate smile on his face. Mac whirled, nearly clocking the photographer with the hockey stick as he did so.
“Geez! Don’t sneak up on me!” he complained. Dan held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture.
“Fine, fine—but for the record, Mac, you get your pick of which shot we use, you know. Hawthorns Photography believes in artistic integrity AND a spirit of cooperation.”
“Like I’m going to buy that NOW—“ Mac grumbled. Dan handed him the spandex pants with a grin.
“So let’s get you dressed and looking good for the official photo now, Cheeky Boy!”
“You SEE? You SEE what I’m going to have to put up with?” Mac hissed at Rose as he climbed into the pants. Rose held the stick and waited for his anger to subside.
“Mac, you’re preaching to the choir here, remember?” she pointed out. Mac shot her a look, and she gave a one-shouldered shrug of commiseration that he couldn’t resist; she tiptoed up to kiss him.
“Thanks for the nice words, but you STILL got a lot of making up to do—“ he warned her.
*** *** ***
The official Phoenix Foundation Good Sports Calendar had a print run of two thousand copies. Most of those went to the sponsors, who carried them in their shops or stores, selling them right next to the sporting goods. The five-dollar price was reasonable, considering the coupons offered in it were valued at over two hundred and fifty dollars, and sales were brisk.
The Phoenix Foundation Unofficial D*** Good Sports Calendar or Bootleg as it was better known, had a print run of two hundred fifteen copies. This one had no coupons, and never made it beyond the lockers and garages and storage rooms of Foundation Employees. Every copy sold for over two hundred dollars, and lucky buyers were offered far more for their copies by other employees who missed out on the twenty-minute selling window. The current edition was indeed the most sought after, much to the chagrin of the December model.
“It’s insane!” Mac moaned, glaring balefully at Rose, who clutched her precious copy out of his reach as they left the lunchroom mob and headed for the Marine Studies labs.
“I don’t think so—I never knew Rafe was quite so muscled and man, Nikki sporting catcher’s mitts for a bra? Who’d a thunk it?”
“Not me—“ Mac admitted sheepishly. They stepped into an empty elevator, and Mac snatched the calendar from Rose.
“Hey!”
“Give someone else a chance—let’s see—whoa! Didn’t know Talisha had LEGS like that!” he announced in surprise. Rose reached over and flipped to the next month, where a young Asian American man was coyly leaning over the handlebars of a mountain bike. He was shirtless, and his spandex pants were so low they were almost under his hipbones. Rose whistled. Mac frowned.
“Hudson’s sort of—trim—“ he reluctantly observed, quickly flipping to the month of June.
“Me!” Rose groaned at the shot of herself half-wrapped around her surfboard, her bare flesh demurely visible.
“I look goofy.”
“You look unacceptably hot—“ Mac complained as the elevator stopped, “And too damned sexy for your own good. Woe to the employee who actually says so to MY face. Let’s see how far the family shame goes—“
He flipped to the back of the calendar, reaching December just as he and Rose stepped into the Marine Studies offices. Mac gritted his teeth even as Rose sucked in a breath and exhaled it in an interested rumble.
His back. Had to be him since the block lettering on the jersey announced it: MACGYVER. He was looking to the side, off-camera at Rose, looking particularly angry if the intense stare and drawn brows were any indication. His arms were locked over the hockey stick resting on his wide shoulders, dangling over and around it rather like a scarecrow would. The jersey rode up, so there were his hips, his waist and oh geez, yes, his ASS, clenched and muscled and BARE.
“Oh dear God you’re beautiful—“ Rose breathed reverently. Startled by her tone, Mac glanced at her and a shiver ran through him.
She was utterly sincere, her little fingers tracing over the photo, a dreamy look in her eyes. He stared at Rose while she gazed at his photo.
“Mmmmmmmmmm,” came the throaty purr, a sound of utter feminine appreciation that sent a surge of heat through his lower belly. Mac tugged on the edge of the calendar, but Rose pouted, and didn’t release her grip.
“Not in public, babe—“ he warned, steering her into her office. Rose sauntered in, spinning and grabbing him the minute they were through the door. Prudently, Mac kicked backwards, using his boot to slam it closed behind them. Rose launched herself at his chin, her hands going behind Mac’s hips to turn the lock.
“Mr. MacGyver, you’ve got the most succulent derriere I’ve seen in a LONG time—“
“Mrs. MacGyver, all your sweet talk isn’t going to sway me a damned bit—“ he panted between kisses, his hands coming around to pin her back against her desk. Rose tugged impatiently at his shirt.
“Fine—let’s try some body language then—“
“—Oh I speak THAT fluently,” Mac muttered against her lips, grinning.
*** *** ***
“Mr. MacGyver?” came the shy voice. Mac looked up to see the ten-year-old boy peeking into the cubicle, staring at him with large eyes.
“Joe, right? Joe DeBoer?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you thanks.”
“For what?” Amused, Mac studied the boy, wondering why David DeBoer’s youngest was expressing gratitude to him. The boy squirmed.
“Well because of YOU, my sister Vickie is going to college—“ the boy admitted. Mac smiled.
The calendar. The scholarship fund. Despite the weeks of embarrassment and teasing, it all came down to the fact that the Bootleg fundraising had a concrete and honorable benefit; Vickie DeBoer was going to college!
The smile broadened.
“That’s great—“
“—Yeah. You made a real impression on her—“
“Really?”
“Yeah. Mr. MacGyver?”
“Yes Joe?”
“I think my sister’s kidding, but--Can Vickie really major in Booty Studies?” the boy asked.
Mac dropped his head in his hands.
END