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Undertow	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 11341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Chapter List
- 1-1/?
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
- 4-4/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
- 10-10/?
- 11-11/?
- 12-12/?
- 13-13/?
- 14-14/?
- 15-15/?
- 16-16/?
- 17-17/?
- 18-18/?
- 19-19/?
- 20-20/?
- 21-21/?
- 22-22/?
- 23-23/?
- 24-24/?
- 25-25/?
- 26-26/?
- 27-27/?
- 28-28/?
- 29-29/?
- 30-30/?
- 31-31/?
- 32-32/?
- 33-33/?
- 34-34/?
- 35-35/?
- 36-36/?
- 37-37/?
- 38-38/?
- 39-39/?
- 40-40/?
- 41-41/?
- 42-42/?
- 43-43/?
- 44-44/?
- 45-45/?
- 46-46/?
- 47-47/?
- 48-48/?
- 49-49/?
- 50-50/?
- 51-51/?
- 52-52/?
- 53-53/?
- 54-54/?
- 55-55/?
- 56-56/?
- 57-57/?
- 58-58/?
- 59-59/?
- 60-60/?
- 61-61/?
- 62-62/?
- 63-63/?
- 64-64/?
- 65-65/?
- 66-66/?
- 67-67/?
- 68-68/?
- 69-69/?
- 70-70/?
- 71-71/?
- 72-72/?
- 73-73/?
- 74-74/?
- 75-75/?
- 76-76/?
- 77-77/?
- 78-78/?
- 79-79/?
- 80-80/?
- 81-81/?
- 82-82/?
- 83-83/?
- 84-84/?
- 85-85/?
- 86-86/?
- 87-87/?
- 88-88/?
- 89-89/?
- 90-90/?
- 91-91/?
- 92-92/?
- 93-93/?
- 94-94/?
- 95-95/?
- 96-96/?
- 97-97/?
- 98-97/?
- 99-99/?
- 100-100/?
- 101-101/?
- 102-102/?
- 103-103/?
- 104-104/?
- 105-105/?
- 106-106/?
- 107-107/?
- 108-108/?
- 109-109/?
- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
- 112-112/112
- 15
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- 17
Aw, there he was again, surfing off a wave of rhapsody, reverie or rumination about lunacorns. "Take your time to think about where we can go, Private, and if you need more than three days' rest after surviving a near fatal mud wrap in a swampy spa, that can happen, too." Actually, Skipper beached at a Kitka-derived strategy of taking turns planning dates even before asking Private to go out with him. If Private wibbled about decisions now and then, he was quite a bit improved over the Private of only one year ago. The Winky Factory mission remained a benchmark to cement the team further than ever before: leadership was Skipper's job, with Private supplying the cute to their team.
Before oiling up his beak once more, Skipper prompted, "Ask yourself what would Skipper do? and go from there." From his end, the pre-date preening by a nervous Private left Skipper itching for more action because Private's timid oiling and nibbling drove him crazy yet he didn't want to bust the mood by griping about it. Now it was his turn to drive his love crazy.
Private twitched when Skipper blew heavily on his earhole to tease right before rubbing his cheek against the delicate area and then licking it. "I w-want to do somethin' you and I have never done."
Skipper choked on a small feather before swiping it off his tongue. "Things you and I have never done are the humongous unseen fraction of the iceberg, Private, are you sure you're ready for --- "
"Photo snaps! K'walski, where's the nickel tin?"
Kowalski looked up from his latest hypothesis scribbling, elbows braced atop the clipboard on the table and thoughtful gleam in his eye. Rico stayed intent on polishing his bazooka with suggestive strokes, but the gleam in his eye could be called wicked.
"It's on the bottom most lab shelf between the Love-U-Laser and Trans-Dimensional Toothbrush."
Skittish as the friskiest kid in Nannygoat's brood, Private made to rise and Skipper had to vacate his lap quickly. "Sorry! In a rush, big time!"
Kowalski eyed Rico and nodded. Rico nodded back. "Sir, I'll help him find it. Rico, please come along."
Kowalski practically skipped to the lab door and he, Rico and Private disappeared behind it. Private was the only one to emerge, holding the tin and looking behind himself quizzically.
"Well, they're in a rush, too. Is it havin' to do K'walski's latest theory thingy or somethin', then?"
Dear, sweet and naive Private. "Or something. How much in the kitty?"
Private spilled the contents on the table. "Five, ten, fifteen ... three whole dollars and thirty-five cents! We're rich!"
"We sure are. Come on, I'll finish preening you and we can be going. Plotz." Private plotzed on the floor to allow Skipper the use of his lap. A few nuzzles later, their momentum resumed. There was total silence coming from the lab, and Skipper enjoyed the novelty as he oiled, licked and smoothed.
"Almost done," Skipper said as he preened the corner of Private's mouth where teensy feathers almost unworthy to be called the name rimmed the hard yellow beak. He skirted the temptation to tease his way inside. "Alllllmoooooost --- "
"Good," Private said, his flippers coming to rest on Skipper's thighs. "Because you're startin' to distract me."
Outstanding. "Oh really?" Skipper asked with a straight face. He scooted up on Private's lap just enough to pry out a little groan.
"You're killin' me, Skippa," Private complained even as his touch made its way back to Skipper's tailfeathers, pulling him against him as he let his tongue ghost over Skipper's neck. "I'm a patient penguin --- "
" --- so let me finish," Skipper scolded, elbowing against Private's chest to push him back. As he nibbled the final strokes, Private's flippers wandered, running up the muscled back, slipping through his chest feathers and finally playing at the edges of his waist.
Private snickered when his commander doubled up to giggle at the tickle. "Oooooh, thought you fooled me, Skippa? Two can play this game!"
Three gasping minutes later, pits ruffled and head feathers in need of another preening, the two rolled across the floor in Full Metal Ticklefight. "Give! Give!"
"You first!"
"Never!"
They might have spent their entire second date like this, but a sneeze of Private's blasted powerfully enough to stop the tussle.
"Bless you. Damn, I thought Rico swept the floor free of dust yesterday. I might need to discipline --- "
A touch to a frowning brow brought Skipper out of officer space. "Not now. Please?"
"Awwww, I won't go soft, ever."
A look that Skipper had never seen bloomed on Private's face. "I should hope not."
"Heh. Um. Let's move out." Skipper addressed the lab's door. "See you later, no need to wait up, aw that's all right, don't let me interrupt --- "
The door opened a trifle and a Rico-type sneeze sounded from within. "Just go already!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Skipper cackled and ushered Private to the ladder. Private bowed with an elaborate flourish before gesturing to Skipper to head topside first. The urgency seemed to have fled and the young penguin looked shy, or was it tired? Eh, this second date ought to go smoother than confronting testy dwarf goats and they could be back before lights out, perhaps. Skipper led the way to the photo booth between Roy's and Burt's habitats.
IOIOIOIOIO
Tonight's clouds promised rain in the near future. "Out for your constitutional?" Roy sharpened his horn against his brick habitat wall, alternating sides until the point would appear alluringly dangerous to the looky loo guests tomorrow morning.
"That's classified," responded Skipper by rote. Oh oh, no need to be touchy about dating and arouse suspicion, even though he wanted to swim under the zoo sonar for a little while longer. Roy may not be able to sing well enough to join a penguin barbershop quartet, but he could sing in the sense of spreading gossip. "Um, yes, out for a walk to take new photos for our Big Boss to show, um, our current status."
"Skippa," Private whispered. "Eye-ut-kway!"
Gah, he was getting loose-beaked in his lovelorn state. He'd never, ever mentioned a Big Boss or any other bit of their command structure to zoomanity; he must be more cautious. "I mean --- "
Roy twisted his neck and rolled his armor plated shoulders. He stuck his long head over the wall, working his square upper lip. "Look, I don't want or need to know about you, buddy boy. Keep on keeping on protecting our zoo home, is what I always say. Just do your job and let me do mine."
"Job?" Private squeaked.
Roy stretched his mobile lips in a wide grin and wiggled his hips. "Runner up for the most photogenic animal, after you, Private, am I right? I'm right."
"Oh, photogenic, riiiiiiight, isn't that riiiiiight, Skippa?"
"Yes, Private, it is and I'm winking to indicate that. Okay, Roy, hang loose." He and Private each stuck their flippers five inches apart at the correct angles to make the shaka sign before scooting through the booth's curtains. Roy waggled his horn back at them with a knowing grin.
Skipper and Private were already inside the booth and didn't see it.
IOIOIOIOIO
Skipper let Private trickle in the coins before hustling them both into the photo booth's seat. Foresight demanded he spin the seat to its tallest setting before Private activated the device. Since this was Private's scheme for a date, he endured various background choices on the screen. The young penguin tapped pixelated arrows to disperse Madagascar-type jungle clearings and Manhattan candlelit scenes before deciding on an Atlantis mermaid's castle motif.
Private speared the 'go' arrow. "Smile, Skippa."
"For you? All right, I will."
The first snap went swimmingly, a classic cheek to cheek pose to treasure always. The second of four shots was to be of a chaste peck on the forehead, but Nature intervened with the diva insistence she always displayed. By eight thirty p.m., their second date was over. By six thirty a.m. the following morning after dawn exercises, two somethings had developed and they weren't happy photo snaps.
IOIOIOIOIO
"Bless you, Private."
"Bless you, Rico."
"Bless you, Rico."
"Bless you, Private."
"Enough with the blessin's! wheeeeze Kaff! Kaff! Does this mean shroopf our date is left hangin'?"
The photo booth strip of poses showed three concluding snaps of Private's second by second descent into an onslaught of sneezes, which Skipper personally thought was funny but Private didn't. "Short answer? Yes. Chill out, we'll take more snaps when you're better. Get under the covers, you two, don't make me turn a suggestion into an order." Stubborn adherence to their routine prevailed, however, as both Rico and Private snorted and sniffled and said 'it's not too bad.' The four settled into TV watching mode in the chilly morning on a chilly cement floor.
Skipper just knew he had a dippy look on his face as he snuggled close to Private's spine. Damn, I love this little guy. But how do I show it without seeming too soppy? After dawn calisthenics, it was pleasant simply to sit no matter what was on the TV, and allow the alpha waves of the morning juvenile programming to roll over the brain like rollers on Wailea Beach. Skipper rested his chin on Private's shoulder as the TV unleashed its pacifistic message.
The lunacorn known as Prince Sharesalot chirped a tune as Skipper rolled his eyes, which Private couldn't see because the two penguins in love sat spoon fashion in front of their TV. The young penguin leaned forward out of Skipper's loose embrace, quivering with delight as his hero twittered in a decent enough voice, "Come along and sing a song, I will show you how it's strong, To reveal your ev'ry feeling, Even when your heart is reeling! Spill your guts and up you go, To the clouds of Love's Rainbow!" Prince Sharesalot's mouth did not move with the poor animation, but his head wobbled up and down as his feet pranced stiffly, front legs out of sync with the hind legs. Riding on that dying horse's back three days ago was easy compared to riding a lunacorn, Skipper surmised and needed his love's joyous exclamation to carry him out of sudden sobriety.
"Yayyyy! It's their one hundredth episode, Skippa! Did you ever think it would get so popular on TV and even spin off an ice show?" Private did not register that he joined spin with ice show in a poetic fashion, but Skipper noticed and nibbled Private's earhole feathers fondly.
"No, can't say I did." Hmmph, and the network high muckety mucks cancelled Apocalyptic World Road Rage after only six episodes! The outstanding show ended in a cliffhanger that no fan could parse into a logical second season opener, which now would never happen. Figures.
Prince Sharesalot continued his theme of, well, sharing. "Croon your love a song that --- " and then Skipper's patience frayed. He stood as an idea hit him and Private craned his head backwards with a look that made Skipper's heart skip a beat.
"Private, I'm up for us singing and, you know, actively creating rather than just sitting around? We're rested and ready to chirp, right, men?" Two out of sorts faces looked less than frosty and perhaps a bit feverish with the third in a basal state.
Rico and Kowalski hauled themselves to their feet. Rico yawned and Kowalski pushed him back down into a sit, which Rico turned into a sprawl. "He needs to rest, sir, after our date last night --- "
"Halt babble that nobody needs to know!" Tee Em Eye hadn't been a problem before Åland and if he had anything to say about it, it never would. Certain issues needed to remain in shadow, for Mata Hari's sake. He charged ahead like a beachmaster sea lion herding in his harem. "I have a suggestion" --- he avoided looking at Private --- "that we sing doo-wop alternatively from barbershop for our zoo and make the song, oh I don't know" --- he glanced out the nearest porthole --- "how about Earth Angel?"
"Earth Angel is classic doo-wop, Skipper. We've never attempted doo-wop," said Kowalski evenly. Being the recipient of questioning looks never bothered Skipper before, but it did now, just a trifle. He stifled the feeling and gestured impatiently to one bunk occupied by a lunacorn and one by an abacus. Rico and Private looked their thanks after an official salute and stumbled to their rest with a don't blow your beak too hard from Kowalski.
Skipper regarded the lair's ceiling spikes. "Oh well, if you three are afraid to try something new, I sure can't sing barbershop or doo-wop harmony on my own --- "
This wasn't fooling Kowalski, not really. "Sir, you know us better than that. Of course we'll take a whack at it with a six foot whacking stick. Singing doo-wop Earth Angel could be a tribute to the most splendiferously named group of all times, The Penguins."
"You're kidding, right?" This romantic operation took an unexpected turn and Skipper backpedaled. "I mean, what's the connection?"
Kowalski put on his overweening face of superior knowledge. "The Penguins' 1954 version of the song is an iconic example of doo-wop, sharing honors with In The Still Of The Night by the Five Satins --- "
Skipper put on his it's-not-an-order-but-aw-please-for-me? face that stopped short of begging. "Oh. I just know the song. I leave that extra jibber jabber to you, but hey, dial down the intel, compadre, and promise me you'll sing falsetto." That would stop the infodump, for sure.
Kowalski broke off explaining the history of barbershop vis a vis doo-wop to whine, "Falsetto? But, but I'm a manly baritone!"
"Rico's bass is deep enough for a subwoofer, I sing tenor and Private does that adorable, I mean adequate countertenor. Doo-wop needs a falsetto, so you're it. Bing, bang, bum, done. End of story."
Kowalski crossed his flippers in a perfervid fashion. "Why not ask Roger? He's into falsetto. I. Am. A. Bar-i-tone. End of story."
Sass mouth, thought Skipper, but what came out was, "He's gone uptown, you know that. A single accidental Broadway performance on one of our missions and he's handing out business cards to his friends with 'Fully Broadway Trained' on them, or so he says. I can't read, so they could say 'Fully Potty Trained' for all I know. Phil made up the cards and it would be just like a joke that poo flinger would pull on everyone."
The sitch threatened to turn grumpy until Kowalski thought a moment. "Wait, you want to give a performance for the zoo? The week after the week after next week is Thanksgiving. Are you saying you're thankful for --- "
"Ahhahchoozowizzle! Kaff! Kaff!"
"Kaboolitzum! Mrrrrmrrrahem. Crikaffey."
Private and Rico sneezed in unison, too submerged in their colds to involve themselves in the dispute. Skipper directed the conversation into more comfortable levels.
"Ah bup bup bup! Never you mind! We're giving back to the zoo as a team, and yeah, we're thankful for what we've got. So what?"
Kowalski looked wise. "You're thankful for Private? And that all he and Rico suffered after their rollover by a full grown horse was a cold in the head?"
"Um."
Sticky, gooey mush bubbled from Kowalski's heart as it had done with Jiggles and of course Doris in times past. "It's okay to say it, Skipper. I'm thankful for Rico every day of my life."
"Er."
Rico and Private coughed and sniffled from their bunks, honking loud enough to drive the congestion deeper into their earholes despite Kowalski's warnings. Kowalski lowered his voice.
"They'll be recovered enough by next week to rehearse, is that what you figured?"
Skipper seized on the chance to display his foresight. "Yup, and as long as you and I don't catch what they've got, we're golden for the All-American holiday talent show on Thanksgiving." He frowned. "It's going to be tough not kissing them for a week, am I right?"
He and Kowalski regarded their loves at their unloveliest: sneezing, kacking and hacking up disgusting bits from their throats to deposit into a tissue. The commander and his second made rueful faces at each other. "Not really," they said together.
- 15
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Undertow