Just a little A/N: A friend of mine requested a story with the title of Ladies and Gentlemen. This is just a little thing that spawned from it. It's just a little fun piece with no real plot. Make of it what you like!

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It's over and done with. This is the end. There isn't anymore and no matter how much you ask, there never will be any more.

I'm satisfied with this and that and I'm happy with the way it looks, the way I look and the way he looks.

I'm glad you enjoyed it and I'm even more pleased that you want to see more, but there isn't any more.

The show is over, so you can move on. We're done, finito, completed and what not.

Damn it brain, you can think of more than that! We're known for knowing too many words and three synonyms is the best you can do?

Trust me, the cheeks won't become any more flushed, the embarrassment will go away and I will, really I will, unbury my head from his chest.

He better stop laughing about this soon or his head will roll.

I didn't ask for this, didn't want to be caught out here but then he did that little thing with his hands and we were in what I thought was an enclosed space . . .

It wasn't that bad, I suppose. No one was caught with their pants down, though I have a sneaking feeling that they were headed that way. We do, how ever, look like we were caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

His hands were definitely in something, but it wasn't a cookie jar.

So, there you have it, you can go away now and leave me in my embarrassment at the situation. He seems rather amused by all of this and I don't appreciate that at all.

Don't worry, my pride says, he'll pay. This is all his fault after all.

Well, I'm the one that wanted to take the walk and he wanted to stay at home.

But that doesn't matter. He should be able to control himself!

We both should . . . .

Then again, we should both be able to do a lot of things.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that.