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kasihyaOnce upon a time, I said that I'd probably never write Community fic, because the show itself is so good, and the fandom provides me with everything the show does not (namely, Troy/Abed/Annie and Vampire Hunter Shirley). And I write fanfic (mostly) because there is a story I want that I can't find.
Buuuuut I discovered the Old Spice Kink Meme, and this kind of wrote itself. So whoops.
Title: Troy and Abed Meet the Old Spice Guy
Fandom: Community
Words: 860
The imaginary backing chorus in his mind faded as Troy Barnes stopped singing and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed his towel off the rack and started drying himself with the stringy red fabric, thoughts turning towards the day ahead of him. Maybe he’d have Pop Tarts for breakfast. If he put maple syrup on one of those brown sugar ones, would that be too much? Did they even have maple syrup?
“Troy Barnes,” said a deep, manly voice from the doorway.
“Aah!” Troy leaped and spun around to face the door, scrambling to wrap the towel around his waist and preserve his dignity. He could have sworn he’d locked the door when he came in — he’d been very careful about that ever since the Rubber Ducky Incident — and he hadn’t heard it open, but open it was; open, and the space occupied by a tall black man clad only in a fluffy, cream-colored towel, whose muscles made Troy feel like Steve Rogers before he turned into Captain America. He flashed Troy a toothy smile that temporarily blinded him to everything else. Only after the shock faded did he realize that Abed was also in the doorway, standing awkwardly behind Buff Dude.
“Hi,” Troy said. “Do I know you?”
“He’s cool,” Abed reassured him.
Buff Dude pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Abed. “Look at your man. Now back at me.”
“But,” —
“Now back at your man. Now back at me. Sadly, he isn’t me,” said Buff Dude, talking right over him. He looked at Troy in a way that made him feel like he was standing in the presence of some sort of divine entity. Gabriel, maybe. “But if he stopped buying that lady-scented bodywash and switched to Old Spice, he could smell like me.”
He stopped talking, giving Troy a chance to process what was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t give him nearly enough time, which meant that when Troy spoke, he was still hung up on the first thing that had been said. He leaned in a bit to indicate Abed, who watched their unexpected houseguest with the slight frown that meant he was trying to find a fictional character who would serve as an appropriate analog. “He’s not my man,” said Troy.
Old Spice Man blinked, Adonis-like composure breaking for a split second. He looked between them. “He’s not?”
“No.” Troy hitched his towel up a little higher. “And he smells fine. I like it.”
“Thanks, Troy,” said Abed.
“I don’t understand.” Old Spice Man folded his arms across his glistening chest. “You want your roommate to smell like a lady?”
“I don’t care what he smells like. I mean, unless he has another three-day movie marathon and forgets to shower,” Troy added, after giving it a moment’s thought.
Abed made an apologetic face.
The Old Spice Man smiled at them, though it wasn’t so blinding this time. “Look down. Back up. Where are you? You’re on Kayaclasch with the man your man could smell like.” The bath mat under Troy’s feet gave way to vibrant red moss, and just as he was about to shriek, changed back into a bath mat.
“What’s in your hand?” the Old Spice Man continued, as though nothing had happened. “I have it.” He held it out.
Troy looked down. Abed shuffled sideways around the Old Spice Man and craned his neck. They both gasped.
“It’s two lost seasons of that show you love,” said the Old Spice Man unnecessarily.
Troy’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets; Abed looked as though he was experiencing the same sort of incredulous joy. They both reached out.
“Look again,” said the Old Spice Man, and Troy blinked. “Those two seasons are now diamonds.” A dozen perfect, clear stones lay on a red velvet cloth in the perfectly manicured hand of the Old Spice Man. Troy gaped at him and immediately turned to Abed, who stared at the diamonds with wide, horrified eyes and open mouth. He pulled Abed into a half-hug as the Old Spice Man curled his fingers shut. “Do you see? Anything is possible when you smell like Old Spice and not like a lady.”
Abed clung to Troy’s arm, breathing in short, shallow gasps and staring. “You broke Abed!” Troy cried, stroking his head and hoping like hell that his towel would stay in place while his hands were occupied. He tried to figure out what he could do to rectify the situation.
The Old Spice Man cleared his throat. Troy looked up. He stared. Blinked, and stared again at the bright red phone box that now stood in their shower. The Old Spice Man stood in the door, one hand on his hip.
“Abed,” Troy breathed. “Look.”
“I’m in a DARSIT,” said the Old Spice Man.
Troy and Abed looked at each other.
'I think I've found a new bodywash,' said Abed.
'Yeah.' Troy grabbed his clothes from off the floor, and they both crowded into the DARSIT after the Old Spice Man. The door shut behind them, and the DARSIT disappeared, leaving a strong, manly smell in its wake.
END
Buuuuut I discovered the Old Spice Kink Meme, and this kind of wrote itself. So whoops.
Title: Troy and Abed Meet the Old Spice Guy
Fandom: Community
Words: 860
The imaginary backing chorus in his mind faded as Troy Barnes stopped singing and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed his towel off the rack and started drying himself with the stringy red fabric, thoughts turning towards the day ahead of him. Maybe he’d have Pop Tarts for breakfast. If he put maple syrup on one of those brown sugar ones, would that be too much? Did they even have maple syrup?
“Troy Barnes,” said a deep, manly voice from the doorway.
“Aah!” Troy leaped and spun around to face the door, scrambling to wrap the towel around his waist and preserve his dignity. He could have sworn he’d locked the door when he came in — he’d been very careful about that ever since the Rubber Ducky Incident — and he hadn’t heard it open, but open it was; open, and the space occupied by a tall black man clad only in a fluffy, cream-colored towel, whose muscles made Troy feel like Steve Rogers before he turned into Captain America. He flashed Troy a toothy smile that temporarily blinded him to everything else. Only after the shock faded did he realize that Abed was also in the doorway, standing awkwardly behind Buff Dude.
“Hi,” Troy said. “Do I know you?”
“He’s cool,” Abed reassured him.
Buff Dude pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Abed. “Look at your man. Now back at me.”
“But,” —
“Now back at your man. Now back at me. Sadly, he isn’t me,” said Buff Dude, talking right over him. He looked at Troy in a way that made him feel like he was standing in the presence of some sort of divine entity. Gabriel, maybe. “But if he stopped buying that lady-scented bodywash and switched to Old Spice, he could smell like me.”
He stopped talking, giving Troy a chance to process what was going on. Unfortunately, he didn’t give him nearly enough time, which meant that when Troy spoke, he was still hung up on the first thing that had been said. He leaned in a bit to indicate Abed, who watched their unexpected houseguest with the slight frown that meant he was trying to find a fictional character who would serve as an appropriate analog. “He’s not my man,” said Troy.
Old Spice Man blinked, Adonis-like composure breaking for a split second. He looked between them. “He’s not?”
“No.” Troy hitched his towel up a little higher. “And he smells fine. I like it.”
“Thanks, Troy,” said Abed.
“I don’t understand.” Old Spice Man folded his arms across his glistening chest. “You want your roommate to smell like a lady?”
“I don’t care what he smells like. I mean, unless he has another three-day movie marathon and forgets to shower,” Troy added, after giving it a moment’s thought.
Abed made an apologetic face.
The Old Spice Man smiled at them, though it wasn’t so blinding this time. “Look down. Back up. Where are you? You’re on Kayaclasch with the man your man could smell like.” The bath mat under Troy’s feet gave way to vibrant red moss, and just as he was about to shriek, changed back into a bath mat.
“What’s in your hand?” the Old Spice Man continued, as though nothing had happened. “I have it.” He held it out.
Troy looked down. Abed shuffled sideways around the Old Spice Man and craned his neck. They both gasped.
“It’s two lost seasons of that show you love,” said the Old Spice Man unnecessarily.
Troy’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets; Abed looked as though he was experiencing the same sort of incredulous joy. They both reached out.
“Look again,” said the Old Spice Man, and Troy blinked. “Those two seasons are now diamonds.” A dozen perfect, clear stones lay on a red velvet cloth in the perfectly manicured hand of the Old Spice Man. Troy gaped at him and immediately turned to Abed, who stared at the diamonds with wide, horrified eyes and open mouth. He pulled Abed into a half-hug as the Old Spice Man curled his fingers shut. “Do you see? Anything is possible when you smell like Old Spice and not like a lady.”
Abed clung to Troy’s arm, breathing in short, shallow gasps and staring. “You broke Abed!” Troy cried, stroking his head and hoping like hell that his towel would stay in place while his hands were occupied. He tried to figure out what he could do to rectify the situation.
The Old Spice Man cleared his throat. Troy looked up. He stared. Blinked, and stared again at the bright red phone box that now stood in their shower. The Old Spice Man stood in the door, one hand on his hip.
“Abed,” Troy breathed. “Look.”
“I’m in a DARSIT,” said the Old Spice Man.
Troy and Abed looked at each other.
'I think I've found a new bodywash,' said Abed.
'Yeah.' Troy grabbed his clothes from off the floor, and they both crowded into the DARSIT after the Old Spice Man. The door shut behind them, and the DARSIT disappeared, leaving a strong, manly smell in its wake.
END
