Rude Return The New World of SwapTech chapter 4 by deleted_user

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry bees as Hal's body jerked upright in the recliner with a gasp that sounded more like a death rattle than relief. His eyes—his own watery, cataract-clouded eyes—blinked rapidly, refocusing on the common room instead of the opulent Genoa City penthouse. The taste of Nikki Newman's lipstick lingered on his lips like a cruel joke, cherry-red and expensive, fading fast.

"What the hell, Marge?!" Hal barked, voice cracking on the high notes. He rubbed his mouth with the back of a liver-spotted hand. "I was this close to—"

"To getting yourself arrested for indecent exposure on national television," Marge snapped, clutching the TVT Remote like it was a live grenade. Her knuckles were white. "You were about to mount Nikki Newman right there on the couch in front of God and the FCC. I saved your wrinkled hide."

Vic cackled, leaning on his cane. "Looked like you were enjoying the hell out of it, Hal. That bulge in Victor's pants? Christ, I haven't seen equipment like that since Eisenhower was president."

Hal shot him a glare that could curdle milk. "Jealous, Russo? At least I got some action. You were snoring through the whole thing."

The TV droned on in the background—Victor Newman now looking dazed on screen, touching his lips as if trying to remember what just happened. Nikki stared at him like he'd grown a second head. The camera lingered on the awkward silence before cutting to commercial.

Marge waved the remote. "This thing is dangerous. We should turn it in to the front desk. Or smash it. Tyler said donated electronics—probably some pervert's toy."

Hal lunged forward, surprisingly quick for a man who'd just been body-jacked. He snatched at the remote; Marge yanked it back. They tussled like kids over the last cookie until Vic stepped between them.

"Easy, easy! Nobody's smashing nothing till we figure this out." Vic's eyes gleamed with the same mischief he'd had back when he ran numbers in Jersey. "Hal's right. We should use it again. Carefully. Pick someone... better suited."

"Better suited?" Marge echoed, incredulous. "You mean younger? Hotter? Less likely to give us a coronary mid-coitus?"

"Exactly," Hal said, straightening his cardigan with dignity. "I'm 82. That body felt like twenty-five. No pain, no pills, no waiting ten minutes for the Viagra to kick in. I want more."

Marge huffed but didn't immediately argue. Her gaze flicked to the TV, then to the remote. Curiosity had wormed its way in; Hal could see it in the way her lips pursed.

Vic grabbed the channel guide from the coffee table. "Y&R's getting too weird now anyway. Let's find something fresh. Something with... possibilities."

He flipped channels. News. Weather. Infomercial for adult diapers (ironic). Then—

"Stop!" Hal said.

The screen showed the opening credits of The Bold and the Beautiful. Sultry saxophone music swelled. Ridge Forrester—still ruggedly handsome in his silver-fox phase—was arguing with Brooke Logan in the Forrester mansion, their faces inches apart, tension thick enough to cut with a diamond-encrusted letter opener. Brooke's cleavage was on generous display in a low-cut red dress that screamed "come hither." Ridge's shirt was open to the navel, showing tanned skin and chest hair that looked suspiciously well-groomed.

Vic whistled low. "Now that's premium real estate."

Marge tilted her head, studying Brooke. "She's what, fifty-something? Looks thirty. And those lips..."

Hal smirked. "Brooke Logan's been married what, nine times? She's got experience. Imagine waking up in that body. All those curves, that confidence. Men falling over themselves."

"Or women," Vic added slyly. "Steffy and Hope are both knockouts. Could be fun to... explore the family dynamics."

Marge flushed but didn't look away from the screen. "You're both disgusting. But... if we're doing this, we do it smart. No jumping into billionaires mid-argument. Pick someone alone. Someone who's about to get laid or something."

On screen, Ridge pulled Brooke into a passionate kiss. Her hands roamed down his back. The camera panned slowly, lovingly, over their entwined bodies as they stumbled toward the bedroom.

Hal grinned like a shark. "Perfect timing."

Vic held out his hand for the remote. "Who's first? Ladies' choice? Or should we rock-paper-scissors for Brooke?"