who is the best ghostbuster?

re turtles Raph was the coolest, but I always admired Leo's stoic self-abnegation in the face of duty. good tension between the 2 as a result.

i will never participate in a reminisce discussion again.

(Okay, he was Ernie Hudson, but still.)

Could you fly higher than an eagle if he was the wind beneath your wings?

Egon opened the door and froze at that sight that met his eyes. Mirth overtook him and he laughed out loud, prompting a few companionable chuckles from his lover.

"So, Spengs, you like?" Peter said mock-innocently around the sprig of mistletoe clenched between his teeth.

Shaking his head, Egon collapsed to his knees and gasped for breath. Peter was lying in a middle of their bed with a sprig of mistletoe between his teeth and a Santa hat on his head -- naked.

Grinning smugly, Peter wiggled his eyebrows and said, "Come and unwrap your present."

Egon snorted, wiped at his eyes and walked over to his lover. He reached down to take the mistletoe from Peter's lips and examine it. "Thank God you got the non-poisonous variety, Dr. Venkman," he said before tracing a path with the herb from the hollow of Peter's throat to his navel. He circled that teasingly before pouncing on top of his lover with a throaty chuckle.

"Peter, you always come up with the most...interesting ideas." He wrapped his arms around the man in question tightly, buried his face against his throat and rumbled one last laugh.

"Only the best for you, Spengs," Peter whispered teasingly.

Egon fixed Peter with a gaze full of humor and affection. "You look rather...foolish, Peter." He chuckled.

"Huh!" Peter griped. "And this is the thanks I..."

Peter never had a chance to finish. He didn't mind. By the time he got Egon's clothes off, they were tangled in the sheets and laughing like children.

Peter leaned up to lick and suck on his lover's collarbone. Egon smiled, as their exertions so far had not managed to knock Peter's hat off -- it was slightly askew, giving him a rakish look, but it was still atop his head. Egon chuckled and rolled them to their sides, capturing Peter's mouth for a searing kiss.

Hands began roving, Peter's rubbing Egon's back, Egon's hands roaming over Peter's chest and pinching his nipples hard enough to make Peter groan.

"Mmm, you taste so good, Peter," Egon moaning, nibbling on the dark-haired man's ear.

"Thanks, Spengs, but could you please fuck me!" Peter shouted, frustrated beyond belief.

"I will need to get the lubricant first, P--" Egon started.

"I already did it," Peter interrupted him, a blush staining his cheeks. "Prepared myself, that is."

Egon's eyebrows rose and he traced a finger down Peter's chest, circling around his nipple and navel along the way. He bypassed his lover's straining cock and stroked down Peter's cleft, circling around the psychologist's slick hole. He carefully inserted his index finger into Peter's ass, unerringly hitting his lover's prostate.

Peter yelped. "Egon, come *on*!" he begged, pushing back onto his lover's hand.

"Be at ease, Peter, I will give you what you want," Egon said as he slid all the way inside his lover in one smooth stroke. He paused a moment to fight off the need to cum right then, then began thrusting in a slow tempo, grunting as Peter slammed back against him hard; apparently Peter wasn't willing to wait. That was good, neither was he; he'd just been holding back for Peter's sake.

Egon's body moved faster now, leaning back slightly to give room for his lover to move. And move Peter did, leaning up to nip, and kiss, and once to grab a mouthful of skin and tug. Peter grabbed onto Egon's back, fingers slipping for purchase on skin. Finally, with a desperate groan, he draped one leg over Egon's, and pulled himself as close as he could, encouraging Egon to fuck him hard. Egon complied, moaning loudly into Peter's mouth at the sensations flooding his groin.

Peter's groans smoothed out into harsh pants, now intermingled with the panting above him, each being lost again as sound was swallowed into more kisses, returning with more harsh whispers, more panting pleas for something, more, or simply echoes of one or the other's name.

Egon managed to nearly say Peter's name, once, before Peter gave a cry. For a second both bodies froze before Peter was writhing beneath Egon, and Egon was thrusting hard into his lover. Hands clenched skin, legs wrapped tightly around each other, bodies moving together as if in an erotic, almost violent dance.

A long, tortured wail began, and Peter tensed, throwing his head back as he came. Egon wrapped his right hand around Peter's arm and held on, whispering words of love, words of encouragement and endearment. When Peter screamed Egon's name, all motion seemed frozen. One on top of the other, only their hips moving, thrusting the last few times, the trembling of thigh muscles as Egon held himself up and drove himself down, the rhythmic clutching of Peter's long fingers around his lover's arms.

Another shattered cry, and Egon collapsed, his brain melted. If you'd asked him to add two plus two together, he would not even have understood the question.

Egon landed on top of his lover, who moved as bonelessly as he, though Peter collected him well enough to hold him in place, curling around him. There was a gasp for air, and a whispered 'oh', then, as quickly as they had begun, they fell into stillness.

"Merry Christmas, Egon," Peter said softly.

Egon opened half-lidded eyes and purred, "Merry Christmas, Peter. I'll have to come up with something special for New Year's."

"I'm looking forward to it, Spengs," Peter said before snuggling against the physicist.

Egon wrapped his arms around his lover and held on tight, falling asleep in love's arms.

"Uh-oh, I know that one," Winston said with a sidelong glance at Spengler. "What was she playing that drove you up here?"

"I Can't Make You Love Me," Peter said, with a grimace as he threw himself onto the battered couch. The couch was old and ugly, but it was comfortable and the best place from which to watch or harangue his favorite two scientists.

"Bonnie Raitt." Ray nodded. "That's a great album."

Egon shook his head forcefully. "You are missing the point. Janine and I are both adults. Our decision to engage in a physical relationship is a purely personal matter. Both of us have entered it with our eyes open, fully aware that it implies only a desire to..."

"Be intimate." Peter snorted. "You said it yourself, that exact wording. That's a lot more than a little friendly or casual sex." He pushed himself to his feet but remained hovering in front of the couch.

"Peter, we are both long past the age of consent. You are implying that Janine is unable to make her own decisions, something you know very well that she'd refute. Quite angrily, I imagine."

Peter bit the inside of his lip and began pacing slowly around the nearest lab table. Egon leaned back against the couch, watching warily as Peter obviously sought and prepared a counter argument.

"Think of it this way," Peter said slowly, as if he was thinking as he spoke, "if she was drunk would she be competent to give consent? The courts say no."

Egon scowled at the irrelevance and Peter laughed lightly, as if he had foreseen Egon's objection.

"She's in love. Trust me, sometimes that feels a lot like being drunk except there's a lot less barfing and you don't need the aspirin until you actually get married. Or so I've been told."

In the bathroom, he stripped off his nightshirt and turned on the taps. He made the water as hot as he could stand it, since he wanted to ease the ache in his muscles caused from too much hunching over the lab table. Egon stepped into the tub, letting the warm spray wash over him for a few moments. His trademark curl slowly unwound itself, and was soon plastered against his face.

"Darn," he swore. He had forgotten that Peter used quite a bit of soap whenever he was slimed on a bust, and must not have replaced the bar when he was finished.

Looking about, he spotted a bottle of thick, pinkish liquid, with a pump top. Egon picked up the bottle to read the label.

"Hmm...raspberry shower gel," he murmured. "Who left this here?"

He pumped a dollop of the dark pink glop into his palm. The fruity smell of raspberries wafted up on the steam, and Egon smiled. He was reminded of the way their secretary smelled, whenever Egon was close enough to catch a whiff.

"It must be Janine's," he mused aloud. "She must have left it here when she used the shower this morning while they are replacing the hot water heaters in her apartment building." He paused for a moment, rubbing the slick stuff between his fingertips. "I guess this is better than nothing."

But how to apply it? He had no washcloth here in the tub, and using his hands seemed inadequate, somehow. And then his gaze fell upon the pink, scrubbing puff hanging from the showerhead. Long fingers reached up, and retrieved it.

"One pink gel plus one pink puff equals two, so I'd bet that this is what is used for application."

He pumped a couple more dollops into the puff, and lathered it up with his hands.

"Hmm...abrasive, but invigorating."

He then started scrubbing his body with gusto, until his skin tingled all over, and turned a shade of delicate pink; a healthy pink. With a smile, he wet his hair down again, and reached for the shampoo bottle.

Alas, but Venkman had gotten to this, also, and the bottle was woefully empty. With a shrug of resignation, Egon again reached for the shower gel. A couple of more dollops, and Egon was happily lathering up his head, whistling a jaunty tune, and letting the scent of rasberries flood his mind with thoughts of Janine.

"I wish she was here right now," Egon found himself saying. He froze, wondering how that little sentiment slipped out.

And what would happen if she were here? his mind asked. Visions of a naked, slippery Janine danced behind his eyes, and Egon found himself turning pink again; not from scrubbing, not from the hot water, but from an internal heat this time.

His mind's eye pictured Janine sinking to her knees on the floor of the tub, and wrapping her lips around his penis, taking him deep into her throat.

Egon moaned, and one of his lathered hands removed itself from his head, and soapy fingers curled around the hardening shaft, stroking as his fantasy took flight.

I've changed my mind, Peter wins by a long chalk. Everyone loves him, he's the champion of charm and the winner of wit. ability to make a bad situation feel like a light situation.

but Winston had the best line:
"Ray, when someone asks you if you're a god, you say YES!"