"No, I'm not doing it!" Brad exclaimed in protest as the boys waited patiently for their plane, laughing at the ridiculous request that had been asked of him to do. "I'm not streaking in public - not even for money," he added when Tom's hand darted into his coat pocket to pull out his wallet. Tom could offer him a million dollars to bribe him into streaking but he would continue to put his foot down. If Brad didn't want to do something, Brad wouldn't, unless he absolutely had to. And this wasn't one of those situations.

"Well, duh. That's why it's called streaking, Brad." Steven rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, in complete disbelief at Brad's ignorance. "You do it in public. It takes the fun out of it if you just do it at home. And it's not 'in public', it's just getting naked on the bloody 747. Nobody will give a shit."

"And I don't walk around naked at home! Only you do that."

"Yeah, to get Joe into your bed. That's why you do it," Joey stated matter-of-factly, fiddling with the cufflinks of his watch that were getting caught on the little hairs on his arm. "And don't forget to use condoms. We don't need screaming spawns of Satan running around."

Joey couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to babysit the twins' kids. And he didn't want to. He would most certainly have to attend frequent therapy sessions to cope with the sticky little bastards. After all was said and done, he was sure that even his therapist would need a therapist. The mere idea of Steven and Joe having sex and producing children that would probably scream louder than Steven ever could was enough to make him want to disappear off the face of the earth.

"No I'm not!" Steven flushed, twisting one of his rings anxiously around his finger. "Shut up, Joey!" he retorted, growing intensely flustered. "You don't know anything! And no, I do it because I'm Steven fucking Tyler and I like to live on the edge of the ledge," he spoke gratingly, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his glasses and his hands resting on his hips as he regained confidence. "And I always use condoms, I'm not daft. Also, my kids would be the most adorable and beautiful spawns of Satan."

Jesus when would people stop assuming that he was always trying to sleep with Joe? He wasn't. Honest.

"Oh come on, Brad, just do it," Tom prompted, nudging his shoulder forward with the palm of his hand. "You never do anything fun or crazy. Just lighten up and step out of your comfort zone for once."

"I like my comfort zone, it's comfy," Brad persisted, crossing his arms and taking a defensive stance. He wouldn't do it.

Tom sighed, rolling his head back. This dare was slowly becoming pointless. "Well, we can't force you. Joey?"

"Don't look at me, I'm not doing it!" Joey exclaimed, taking a worried step back, falling over his suitcase in the process. "Ow," he said, rubbing his head.

Before Tom even had a chance to open his mouth and go to help Joey, Brad was by his side, brushing dirt off Joey's clothes and out of his hair, asking if he was okay. Tom's shoulders fell back down in disappointment. So much for wanting to check Joey was okay.

"Jealous, much?" Steven said in barely a whisper, a devilish grin appearing on his face when he saw Tom's expression.

"Not at all," Tom lied, clutching his suitcase handle tightly. God, was he making his feelings that obvious? How embarrassing. Tom was beginning to obsess very insecurely over this that he was barely acknowledging how deep the handle was digging into his palm or how his hand was turning white.

"Well, I'm not streaking. So that only leaves, Steven…" He slowly turned to his left where Steven stood, looking as bored as he had when they'd left.

Steven groaned. "Always me. How much do you bet that I wouldn't dare streak naked into the upstairs lounge and make it back downstairs without getting caught?"

"I bet twenty dollars you wouldn't."

"Have a little faith, Tom!"

Christ, did people really have such little faith in him?

"Forty?"

Steven shook his head. He wasn't cheap. "Eighty?" he suggested slyly.

Tom sighed. Steven was incredibly difficult to make a deal with. It only worked if he benefited from it somehow.

"You drive a hard bargain, Tyler. Fine, if you streak naked into the upstairs lounge and make it back downstairs here then we'll give you eighty dollars." He reluctantly pulled eight crisp ten dollars out of his wallet and waved it under Steven's nose in a taunt. Tom wanted Steven to know he was being serious and not messing around with him. Steven was never one to turn down a bet either, so he grinned when he saw the dollar signs go up in Steven's eyes. It wasn't hard to get Steven to do something when money was involved.

"Ooo, well, you definitely have a bargain there."

"Agreed? Because you can't back out now. You don't want to look like a little pussy, do you?" Tom jeered. "We'll all remember you as 'Steven Tyler: The man who wussed out of a bet.'"

Steven's hands and feet curled up in annoyance. Tom was ruthless when it came to fair play. If you kept your side of the deal, he kept his.

"Pfftt," Steven huffed, crossing his arms, his expression holding nothing but irritation. There was no way in heaven or hell would he let anyone label him a pussy, especially not one of his friends. And he, Steven Tyler, wuss out of a bet? That was bullshit. He had never heard anything so ridiculous. Every bet and every dare that had ever been made, he had done.

Steven remained pouting for the next few minutes, but he eventually gave up when he realised Tom wasn't budging. He was deadly serious. He groaned in annoyance. "Fine," he grumbled, holding out his hand, which a smirking Tom politely shook.

"Good. Now, come on, the plane's here."