New: "The Other Side of Life" [CMM/JA] PG-13
Title: The Other Side of Life
Author: candygramme
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles
Rating: PG-13
Beta: spoonlessone
Word Count: 7,000
Warnings: Chad
Author’s Notes: This was something of a departure for me. I was bought by lil-jei during a charity auction to raise funds for Planned Parenthood. What she asked for, was a Jensen Ackles/Chad Michael Murray story:
I just honestly want a happy ending fic with some hot sex and angst...Maybe they're together post-divorce...IDK. Oh and Jared and their fans and families should be ok with them-think they're perfect together of something...happy happy happy with some sex and angst.
So it's all her fault really!
Hon, I know it isn’t NC 17, but I do hope you like it anyway. I’ve never really written The Chad as other than a bit player, so I was a bit at sea about him. This is what I came up with.
“Please understand, Jen. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. I’m so sorry.”
Jensen had understood. He had. He’d been gracious, or at least he thought he had, even though he’d wanted to cry and scream and yell that his boyfriend had gotten his lucky break and was leaving him behind.
“It’s okay, Jay, it’s much too good an opportunity to pass up. You have to go!” He was impressed with the way his own voice sounded, so totally calm and serene, when inside he was sure his heart would break.
The two of them had been together since they’d joined the Los Angeles Ballet, come up through the corps de ballet and worked together, trained together, lived together and eventually loved together too. The week before, the two of them had both auditioned for Adam Lambert’s world tour, and Jared had made the cut. Jensen, sadly, had not. Now, fresh from meeting Adam and finding out about the tour which was set to take two years and visit countries all around the globe, Jared had left Jensen behind, and Jensen could only feel numb. He’d been so sure, so convinced that he was as good as Jared, but he’d been cut, and Jared hadn’t, and he was the one who had to stay behind, while Jared jetted off towards his bright future and the chance to see the world.
He’d stayed strong, stoic to the last and smiled as he waved his lover goodbye at LAX and stood watching as the light went out of his life.
~*~
Three months later, Jensen was struggling to find anything left to live for. He was in a tailspin, his whole life collapsing about his ears, and if he were honest he had only himself to blame. The loss of Jared had hit him hard, and it had been easy to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, although he would admit, if asked, that he had yet to find it there. He seemed to have a perpetual hangover these days, and his dancing eventually suffered. There came the day when he was summoned to the office of the Ballet Master, and he went with a heavy heart.
He’d been drinking all weekend with Kane, the orchestra leader, and late for practice that morning. His eyes were bloodshot, and his stomach uneasy as he tapped on the door of the Ballet Master’s office. The curt ‘Come’, that sounded through the heavy wooden door didn’t bode well, and when he entered, he was not invited to sit. Instead, Master Beaver, seated behind the desk, fixed him with a gimlet eyed stare.
When he finally did begin to speak, he rose to his feet and stalked towards Jensen, who stood quailing in the middle of the office. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ackles,” he said, his voice a mix of pity and contempt. “You had the makings of a dancer, but you’ve let yourself go. Look at you; you’re pathetic. Your reflexes are all messed up, and your balance is shot. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“No!” The wail that Jensen gave was soul deep. “Please don’t… I can be fine again. I promise I’ll be okay; I’ll train; I’ll give up the booze; I’ll get clean, I promise, Just give me another chance.”
The Ballet Master studied him intently for a minute or so and then heaved a sigh. “The company can’t afford to let you onstage in your current condition. Go away and get your life in order. When you’re finally fit again you can call me for an audition. If I think you’ve got a chance of making the cut, you can start over, but I warn you, we’re not in the business of carrying anyone, so you’d better make a real effort.”
To Jensen, that seemed like a death knell. He didn’t know what to say, so he contented himself with nodding and then turned and walked from the office and out of the building. He was officially out of options, and his life had hit rock bottom. He stood thinking for a moment. One direction would lead him to the gym, and in the other lay the liquor store. He turned towards the gym, and then shrugged his shoulders. He would have one last night to wallow and then, in the morning, he’d start to turn things around.
Pivoting, he altered his direction and headed towards the liquor store.
~*~
It was only 2am, and that was early for Chad Michael Murray, but he just wasn’t feeling it on this particular Monday night. Angelo Vespucci, also known as Jock Strapp, was his star turn, and tonight he just hadn’t shown up for work, which meant that Chad had been forced to dust off his gold lame g-string and do a turn. He’d always quite enjoyed his outings as The Bone Ranger, and let’s face it, that was how he’d come to be a successful club owner, but he was out of practice these days. As he strolled home, he made a mental note to do some work, because even though the patrons had clapped and cheered tonight, and showered him with cash, he knew he wasn’t as supple as he should be, as he always had been, back when he wasn’t sitting behind a desk doing accounts and stuff.
He was just mentally trying to decide whether or not he should give in and hire an accountant to take some of the work off his shoulders. It was about time, he thought. He liked to party, but he’d done precious little of that since buying ‘Swinging Richards’ and starting to try and make it into a premier hotspot for the gay population of West Hollywood. He’d enjoyed his outing as The Bone Ranger, and he knew he still had it. By the time he’d skinned down to his G-string, it had been stuffed with notes, and he had almost come from the sheer joy of showing himself off in front of the crowd.
“Who the fuck needs Jock Strapp anyway?” he muttered to himself as he made his way through the narrow alley way that was the short cut to his apartment. He was almost through before he heard the sounds and pulled up sharply, looking around.
Someone was crying; he could hear them, and it was seriously messing with his mellow mood. He turned and moved in the direction of the noises.
The man was half in darkness, and Chad couldn’t make out his features, but it was pretty obvious that he was both drunk and in distress . Chad wasn’t sure why he was weeping, but he could see a few clues that would make him weep, if he was stupid enough to pass out in a dirty alleyway in WeHo.
“Dude,” he grumbled. “Did you puke?”
“What of it?” The words were somewhat slurred, but the tone of voice held something that made Chad frown. He’d heard it before, that voice, although just then he couldn’t think where. Chad Michael Murray might not have been everyone’s pick for humanitarian of the year, but he had a good heart, deep down, so he cautiously picked his way closer in an attempt to see why the bells were going off in his head. The guy was a mess, vomit and tears and snot painted a grotesque abstract across a once white T-shirt, and Chad could see blood - a deep gash on his forearm that was glistening, black-red against fair skin.
“Jesus, dude, you’re bleeding, and covered in icky shit.” Chad was having an internal debate about whether or not to turn tail and flee or pursue his unfortunate curiosity until it was satisfied. Right at that moment the curiosity was winning, but he knew at any second he was going to think better of things and head for home as fast as his feet - which, now he noticed, were standing in a pool of something disgusting - could carry him.
“Whyn’t you tell me s’mf’n I don’ already know?” the voice was drunkenly dismissive, and the owner of it leaned forward enough that the light caught it, and Chad instantly knew why he’d recognized the man’s voice.
“Hey, I know you! You’re the dude that hangs around with Jay Padalecki, aren’t you?” The features were puffy and bloated, and the man himself was in a sorry state, but Chad recognized him anyway; he’d seen the sorry son of a bitch around, and wondered - who wouldn’t? - if he’d consider giving him a little taste of the things that endeared him to Jared. “Does Jay know where you are?”
“Doubt he cares,” slurred the human wreckage who still lolled on the ground at Chad’s feet. “Fucker’s somewhere in Europe w’ fuckin’ Adam Lambert.”
Chad wrinkled his nose in thought. That was right, wasn’t it? Jay had scored the job of a lifetime, and, by the looks of things, he’d left this sorry mess to fend for himself. It didn’t seem to have worked. Shit! This was different. This wasn’t something he could just walk away from. This involved friends. Damn! He wished he could run home and put his sweaty practice clothes on; they needed a wash anyway.
“Where do you live, dude? Still at Jay’s place?” he asked, wondering if he would be able to fumigate his car after running the poor fuck home.
“Don’ live anywhere. Los’ m’ job. Los’ m’ place. ‘M an official missing person.” The thought seemed to make the man sad, because he began to cry all over again, and Chad raised both hands as if to admit defeat.
“Oh, shit. Okay. Look, come on; get up. Can you get up?” The man stared at him blearily.
“Why?” And Chad felt himself starting to get a little mad.
“Because if you don’t; I’ma kick your ass?” Chad replied, sounding as fierce as he could, considering he was so much more a lover than he was a fighter. “Look, if you wanna spend the rest of your miserable life sitting in a pool of puke in a dirty alley, be my guest, but if you’d rather get showered and sleep on a couch or something, then get the fuck up and quit sniveling, got it?”
The man didn’t say anything more, but after a minute or two he stumbled to his feet and stood, swaying, beside Chad, breathing heavily. Chad turned pale and took a step back.
“Jesus, dude, what the fuck have you been drinking? It smells like fucking rocket fuel. I bet I could set it on fire like one of those Roman candle things.” The man giggled and then hiccupped, and Chad decided that it was time to see what else he could do.
“Okay, dude, follow me, and you’re gonna have to go it alone, because I swear to god I ain’t touching you until you’re a whole lot less slimy than you are now.” He turned to head out of the alley and across the road to the apartment block, and was to a certain degree relieved to see that his stray was following, albeit in a somewhat erratic manner.
As they reached the door to the apartment building, Chad turned to watch his protégé lurch up to him, and held up his hand to stop. “Okay, dude, lose the shirt.”
“Huh?”
“Take it off. You ain’t comin’ in covered in puke. The concierge would have a blue fit and froth at the mouth, and I don’t wanna see that. Put it in your pocket or something and put this on.” He slipped off his own jacket, his Hugo Boss jacket, and held it out, and after a moment of vacant staring, his companion did remove the offending T-shirt and wadded it up, stuffing it into the back of his jeans. Chad eyed the still bleeding cut on the man’s arm and thought better of the idea. Pulling off his own T-shirt, he handed it over and replaced the jacket on himself. “Now we’re gonna just stroll through the lobby, and… what the fuck’s your name? Jason? Joseph…?”
“Jensen.”
“…Jensen, and if the concierge asks, we got mugged and I’m taking you upstairs to bandage you up; you got that?” Who’d have thunk? He was good at this deceitful shit, and not just with the chicks either! Maybe he should write a novel. Be an intellectual. He’d have to think seriously about that.
“Got it.” Jensen nodded, veering sideways as his equilibrium was disturbed, and Chad reached for his T-shirt to haul him back upright once more.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Chad applied his fob to the lock, and the door swung open for him. Squaring his shoulders, Chad marched in and made for the elevator with Jensen in tow. As luck would have it, the concierge had stepped away from his desk to find something in the manager’s office, and the two of them made it to the elevators without any further problems. It was only as the elevator actually discharged the two of them into his penthouse apartment that he finally began to breathe again. Turning to Jensen, he offered a high five, and then thought better of it as Jensen raised a filthy hand to return it.
“First things first, dude. Come and visit my shower. I only hope you don’t scare the poor thing, or clog it up or something. I love that shower.” Chad paused at the door to his laundry room. “Okay, before the shower, stuff your shit in the washing machine; I really can’t deal with the smell right now. It’s kinda vile.”
Jensen didn’t even protest. He merely shucked his dirty clothes and did as Chad had told him, before stumbling to lean back against the wall, face tinged with green. Chad dove for a bucket, shoving it at Jensen as he began to gag.
“Dude, if you’re gonna puke, be a gentleman and hit the spot,” he held the bucket as Jensen doubled over. When Jensen was done, and all that was coming was a thin string of bile, he set the bucket down and reached for the door. “Come on; shower time.”
The shower was just as wonderful as Chad had hinted. There were multiple jets that sprayed and pulsed, and steam that loosened tight muscles, and Jensen just stood looking at it, his apparently scrambled thought processes rendering him incapable of comprehending the controls. Finally, Chad sighed, stripped and climbed in with him, flipping the switches to start the hot water flowing. Jensen whimpered a little, but allowed Chad to scrub him down and, once clean, allowed him to lead him out and wrap him in several fluffy blue towels.
Finally, Chad handed him a toothbrush, and, for the first time, Jensen appeared to make an independent move, scrubbing his teeth and cleaning out his mouth. Once he was clean and dry, Chad studied him. There was beauty in him still. The normally lustrous green eyes were glazed and filmed over with exhaustion and the after effects of the alcohol, and the face was puffy, disguising somewhat the planes of his fine bone structure, but he was still scattered with freckles, creamy skin dotted with gold, the lashes were still long and thick, and his mouth was still plump, ripe and juicy as a fruit.
His dancer’s body was slim and strong, a little marred by the after effects of his binge, the definition blurred, but Chad could see that he was, or at least until recently had been fit, and his businessman’s mind was already calculating how long it would take to get him back to peak fitness. He was going to have to think what to call him when he appeared onstage in the club, because as of this moment, Chad was determined that was going to happen.
There was no need for further speech. Chad took the swaying Jensen by the elbow and shepherded him into his spare bedroom. “Lie down before you fall down, dude,” was his advice, and as Jensen folded himself gracelessly into the bed, he retreated to find a bottle of water and a pack of Tylenol to place beside the bed.
He spent the rest of the night thinking up stage names for Jensen and chortling.
~*~
The following day, Chad rolled out of bed at the crack of 2pm, and instantly sat bolt upright, worrying about his visitor.
“He’d better not have left,” he grumbled, staggering out of bed and reaching for a pair of jeans. “That would be a fine way to repay my tender loving care.”
By the time he reached the spare room, he’d almost talked himself into believing that Jensen would have taken off in the night, probably with all his finest silverware - not that he actually had any. When he pushed open the door and peeped in, he felt a rush of relief laced with panic to see Jensen, flat on his stomach, sleeping the sleep of the dreadfully hung over.
Repairing to the kitchen, he busied himself making coffee and breakfast, heavy on the grease. Once it was plated up, he filled a mug of coffee and, armed with a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes, made for the room where his guest was still sunk in slumber.
“C’mon, dude, rise and shine,” he called, shoving the door open and making enough noise to wake even the hardiest sleeper. “I’ve got your hangover cure right here. Come and get it.”
Jensen opened one very bloodshot eye and glared at Chad with enough venom that he thought he might spontaneously combust. “Mph. G’way,” said Jensen, and closed it again.
“Got coffee and painkillers. Come on, man, you know you want to feel better.”
“Coffee?” This time both eyes opened at least part way, and Jensen made a snuffling sound that Chad found rather endearing. “Where coffee?”
Apparently the word coffee was a powerful corpse reviver, or so Chad assumed, because the body in the bed stirred, and Jensen rose from the bedding, one trembling hand reaching out to Chad as if begging. Smirking, he placed the mug into those clutching fingers and watched as Jensen appeared to absorb the drink, sucking it down in a way that had him shuddering. That coffee was hotter than hell.
“Holy shit, dude, you got some weird super power that lets you drink boiling water?”
Jensen looked a little better for the cup he’d consumed, and now turned his attention to the breakfast that had accompanied it. He was about to raise a forkful of pancake to his lips, when he paused, fixed Chad with a fisheye stare and sat, unmoving, as he scanned Chad’s face. “Why are you doing this?” he asked after a moment.
“JPad is my buddy,” murmured Chad, assuming as much of an innocent expression as he could
manage. “We’ve been tight for years. I can’t let his boy go down if I can help.”
“Yeah?” Jensen took a bite of his breakfast. “Well thank you.” He chewed for a minute, and then raised his eyes to Chad’s once more, and Chad thought his expression was eerily reminiscent of Puss in Boots from Shrek when attempting to look pathetic. “If you wanna really help me, can I have more coffee?” he held out the empty mug. “Please?”
~*~
It was somewhere around four in the afternoon by the time Jensen was able to emerge from the bedroom, clad in his newly laundered clothes. Chad greeted him with a distracted wave. “I’m gonna have to go to work in a while. You gonna be okay? You can come with if you like.”
“Where?” Jensen frowned.
“Swinging Richards,” replied Chad, smirking.
“Isn’t that a strip joint over by Sunset?” Jensen’s frown deepened. “What are you? A stripper or something?”
“Not just a stripper, dude.” Chad took a bow. “Only the most awesome stripper in all of California. Also, I own the club, so if you want a job…”
“Wait? What?” The corner of Jensen’s mouth tilted up in a lop-sided smile. “You want me to take off my clothes for the punters? Are you insane?”
“Call me insane if you like, but I’m also fuckin’ loaded, and I don’t see your diamond encrusted Rolex anywhere.” Chad smirked. “Besides, it’s fun. All those panting, drooling people, wanting, and they can’t have you; they’ll never be able to have you no matter how hard they try. It’s a rush, dude, I’m telling you.”
“Yeah?” One of Jensen’s eyebrows went up in a manner that suggested he wasn’t taking Chad seriously. Chad nodded vigorously.
“Bet your ass, sweetcheeks.” He chuckled. “I did one five minute slot last night to fill in for someone who didn’t show, and I cleared close to three hundred dollars in tips before I came off the stage.”
The smile faded from Jensen’s face, and his eyes widened. “Really?” he murmured.
“Yep.” Chad inclined his head. “I tell ya. Money for nothin’, like the song says.” He paused, and then grinned. “Come with me tonight, and you’ll see.”
Jensen looked thoughtful. “I might just do that,” he murmured.
~*~
Swinging Richards was always jumping on a Friday night, and tonight was no exception. Chad led the way in past the bouncers and high fived one gigantic, hulking man who was guarding the entrance. The lineup to get in was already around 50 people long, and several of the people waiting burst into applause as Chad passed, and there was a call of, ‘Go, Bone Ranger!’. Chad gave the small group a wave and nodded to his security guys. “Ah, let those few in, Tony. They obviously appreciate great art.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Murray.” The big guy beckoned the cheering few forward to card them, and as Chad and Jensen passed through into the club, they were all calling their thanks and hopes that Chad would be performing later.
“See,” said Chad, smirking. “They love me.”
“They certainly seem to,” said Jensen, looking thoughtful. “So are you gonna dance for them?”
“Bet your ass, dude,” nodded Chad. “Gotta keep the fans happy, don’t I?”
Chuckling, Jensen raised his eyebrow. “Yeah.” He murmured. “I suspect that you do!”
Chad shot him a shrewd look. “Okay, this is how it’s gonna go tonight. Have fun. Stay with me or don’t, but you don’t drink anything alcoholic, or I’ll kick your ass from here to fucking Tijuana and back; you got it?”
Blinking a little, Jensen nodded, and Chad continued. “You can watch the show and get a feel for it if you like. I bet you’d love to get up on that stage and stir up some love, so I hope you appreciate that I’m gonna give you an opportunity. You don’t have to, but I think you’re gonna want to. Easy money, dude! Easy money all the way.”
“You reckon I’ll cave in and bastardize my muse just like that?” Jensen was grinning as he spoke. Chad spread his hands as he formed a reply.
“What can I say? I’m just that awesomely persuasive.”
They made their way backstage to the dressing rooms, and Chad saw that his absentee dancer was once more one of those present. “This is Jock,” he said to Jensen by way of introducing him to the olive skinned Latino who was busily performing stretches clad only in a tiny white g-string. “Right now, he’s my headliner, and very popular with the crowd, but I’m always looking for new talent.”
“There is nobody who can replace me,” announced Angelo. “And when I am not on stage, I am Angelo, not Jock Strapp.”
“If you default on one more performance, my friend, it won’t matter what your fucking name is, because you won’t be on the program again - at least not here.” Chad’s eyes flashed, and he could see Jensen frown a little. Angelo reared back in irritation, and for a moment it appeared as if he was going to argue, but then he smiled and nodded. Turning away, Chad led him out towards the next dressing room.
“Seriously? Jock Strapp?” Jensen had an amused smile on his face, and Chad laughed.
“Yeah. Some of the boys have awesome names,” he replied.
“So what would you call me if I were to start doing this shit?” Jensen asked warily.
Chad smirked. “Let me see. How about Mountain Mann?”
“Jeez! Sorry I asked.” Jensen turned away to examine a rack of costumes, slender fingers running over the silky fabrics as he rolled his eyes.
“So if you were going to perform, what kind of persona would you want to adopt? What kind of costume would you wear?” Chad started to pull the clothing out and drape it up against Jensen’s body. You could be a jungle boy,” he murmured, hanging the leopard print loincloth back on the rack. “Or maybe a football player? A superhero or a cowboy. We haven’t got a cowboy on the bill right now. I think you’d look pretty fucking hot as a cowboy. We could call you Dick Deadeye and get you into assless chaps.”
Jensen appeared to choke, but he took the cowboy outfit from Chad’s hands and studied it with a smirk. “Sure. I’ll be a cowboy, but Dick Deadeye? Man, that’s Gilbert and Sullivan, not the wild west.”
“Hmmm…” Chad pondered. “Well, all right. How about Wild Bill Booty, or maybe the Sharpshooter Kid?”
“I guess I could live with Sharpshooter Kid,” agreed Jensen, smiling fondly at the costume.
“So go get yourself dolled up.” Chad snickered.
“I wanna see what you do first,” replied Jensen.
“Come and watch the stage for a few minutes. Jolly Roger is about to go on. He’s got a real knack for using the pole.” Together the two of them moved around until they had a clear view of the stage and Chad watched Jensen as the young man dressed as a pirate sauntered onto the stage. “See that kid. His name is Jake, and one of these days he’ll be a star. He’s athletic, but he lacks the grace…”
Jensen was watching, lips pursed as he appraised the performance unfolding before his eyes. It was true that Jake’s style was a little less than fluid, but Chad could tell that the performance was starting to affect Jensen. The pirate onstage was busily using his cutlass to slice up the front of his own shirt, and as he slipped out of it there was a great cheer from the audience. Jensen’s eyes opened wide as he saw money being tossed onto the stage.
“He isn’t great, but the fans still tip him,” murmured Chad “You’d be better.”
Watching the audience as much as the boy on the stage, Jensen was fascinated. When Jake finally tossed his last item of clothing and strutted onto the edge of the stage, now down to his G-string, arms reached to pet, and hands tucked notes into the elastic of his one remaining garment.
As the dancer finally made his way off the stage, pausing to collect the couple of bills that were lying on the ground, Jensen turned to Chad. “Does anyone ever take it all off?” he asked. “I mean everything?”
“Once in a while,” nodded Chad. “But a word of warning. If you do that it’s best to step away from the edge of the stage, or you risk the punters feeling up your assets. If you can deal with that, it’s certainly a good way of getting them going, especially if you’re going to do two numbers. They go insane for the second number once they know you’re gonna show them the goodies.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be a cowboy. I wanna make them sit up and stare - be something they haven’t seen before.” Jensen grinned. “You got the facility to spray me gold? I’m gonna be an Inca God.”
“We sure don’t have one of those on the books,” agreed Chad. “Okay. We can spray you gold. What are you going to wear?”
“What have you got?” Jensen’s grin was widening. “Leather straps and a red cloak, pretty much. Maybe a feathered headdress.” He was evidently thinking this through, and there was a gleam in his eye that made Chad feel a little nervous. “It’s gonna be mostly make-up, but if you’re got a few rhinestones, I’ll take ‘em.”
“Well, all right.” Chad clapped him on the shoulder, intrigued. “Let’s go paint you gold.”
~*~
They went through the costumes together, and Jensen assembled a set of harnesses and straps for himself, and a black, shiny leotard that left his chest and legs bare. There was no red cloak, so he picked out a gold one and nodded, satisfied. Chad, true to his word, found a can of body make-up and sprayed him from head to foot. Jensen stared at himself for a few moments, nodded in satisfaction, and then he sat down at a mirror in Chad’s dressing room and began to make up his face, transforming it with the the aid of black eye liner and greasepaint as Chad left him to attend to the rest of his stable.
When Chad, who had been wrangling his performers, returned to see what he’d achieved, he whistled. Gone was the handsome man who had stepped into the club, and in his place was indeed an Inca god. He was remote and other worldly, and Chad felt himself getting hard.
“You cool with going on?” he asked, and Jensen nodded, unsmiling. “What are we gonna call you?”
“I’m going with Sexolotl, I think.” Jensen studied himself in the mirror on the back of the door. “Need a couple of piercings to make it look really good, and the cloak needs a red lining at least.”
“Well, that’ll be easy to arrange,” said Chad. “Let’s see how you go on stage.”
Chad hadn’t seen Jensen dance, and, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how well a washed-up ballet dancer would translate to the down and dirty raunch of the stripper’s pole. He needn’t have worried. Jensen stalked onto the stage, arrogance personified in every mannered step.
The audience grew quiet, and for a moment, Jensen stood, arms folded over his chest, staring down at them. Then he began to move. As he shed the garments and harnesses he wore, the audience remained quiet, but each move brought its own collective intake of breath.
The money began to land on the stage, and when Jensen slowly shimmied out of his leotard to reveal the black leather g-string, it was rapidly stuffed with notes of various denominations. He looked down at the audience and smirked, and then turned his back, walking away. At the back of the stage, he paused and slowly lowered the g-string, stepping out of it and stopping to listen to the audience pleading for him to turn around. The sounds of people begging made him turn to raise an eyebrow at Chad. Chad found himself holding his breath.
Finally, when it seemed almost as though there would be a riot, Jensen turned around to reveal himself, naked save for the leather armband embellished with feathers and one similar band around his ankle. He’d shaved his pubic area, and had glued rhinestones along the length of his cock, which was hanging half hard at the attention. The roar from the audience demonstrated just how much they appreciated it.
As he gathered up his clothing, and the money that had been thrown, and made his way off the stage, Chad knew that Jensen was a keeper in more ways than one.
“Dude, that’s the first time in ages I’ve popped a boner watching someone on the stage,” he muttered as Jensen moved past him. Jensen winked in a most ungodlike manner and made his way back to the dressing room.
“Help me get this paint off me, and I’ll give you a hand with that, if you like.”
Jensen’s words had an instant effect on Chad, and he had to reach down and adjust himself in his carefully tailored slacks as he followed Jensen back to where he could clean off the gold that covered him.
“Really?” Chad’s voice actually cracked. So much for the cool persona he always tried to cultivate.
“Hey, you picked me up out of the gutter, man. You didn’t have to do that. I kinda want to show you some love.” The paint was gone from Jensen’s face, and now he was working down over his chest and arms with the remover. “Besides, I need you to get my back.”
“Oh, believe me, dude, I’ve got your back!” Chad moved around behind him and began to clean off the make-up across his shoulders and back. “This will wash off in the shower, you know, but I appreciate the opportunity to handle the goods.” He matched the thought to his deed as he slid his hand down to cup one very fine, tight buttock and massaged.
“Are you gonna go and dance?” Jensen quirked an eyebrow at Chad as he stepped away from him to make for the shower. “I think I should get a look at what I’m getting too.”
“You gonna make me go out on stage with a hard-on?” Chad scowled. “You’re a sadist, dude.”
“Bet your ass,” agreed Jensen with a sweet smile indicating his own happy little Jensen. “So suit up.”
With a put upon sigh, Chad went to retrieve his costume.
~*~
It was much later, when the two men left the club to head back to Chad’s condo. Jensen was still buzzed, and looked like he felt better than he had since Jared had left him behind all those weeks ago. Chad felt like he was floating. Jensen was a money making machine; he must have somehow known that when he’d seen the sorry mess back in the alley they’d just walked through. What a difference a day made, he thought, casting an eye sideways towards the vision that was stalking alongside him. Another victory for The Chad! He was a winner.
“You cleaned up nicely,” he said. “You got a job if you want one.”
Laughing, Jensen turned to look at him. “At the club?”
“Well, yeah, there too, but I meant with me, here. Right here with me.” Chad affected the plaintive expression that had always worked on its subjects before. “I kind of…”
Jensen laughed softly. “Why, Chad, are you propositioning me?” He raised an eyebrow in a way that expressed amusement laced with surprise, and Chad found himself feeling a surge of anger.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, stung in a way that was surprising even to himself.
“No. Not really. It’s just…” Jensen frowned a little, lost in thought. “Look, not so long ago I was in the chorus of the LA ballet, with a good chance of getting principal dancer when Oleg finally went off to the Colorado ballet. I had the hottest boyfriend ever. He and I were slowly moving up and we thought that the world was ours.” He gave Chad a bitter smile. “Well, he was right, but I was wrong, and here I am. That what you want?”
Chad shook his head at Jensen. “Negative, dude. So negative. You know what they say about turning your frown upside down? So, you think you could be happy with me and the club and dancing?” He tried the plaintive puppy look again, and Jensen frowned.
“Chad, why are you squinting at me? I got gold left up my nose or something?”
“Oh, come on, Ackles! That’s my best pleading look.” Chad looked mildly insulted. “I learned it from Jay.”
“Needs work.” Jensen’s lips were twitching, and after a moment, Chad laughed.
“You gonna take pity on me or what?” he said finally. “Still waiting for an answer here.”
“Why don’t we take it one step at a time?” Jensen murmured. “I’m a little too close to what might have been to make any promises right now. Let’s see what happens, shall we?”
“Sounds good,” agreed Chad, reaching to pull Jensen against him for a long, slow, passionate kiss. “Been wanting to do that ever since I saw you with Jay, way back on the “Legion of Extraordinary Dancers” along with Harry Shum Jr..”
“Oh, really?” was Jensen’s reply. “Well, we’d better do it again then.”
~*~
One year later
The club was rocking, packed to capacity as the Bone Ranger and Sexolotl finished their joint act with one last bump and grind and came down off the stage. The routine that they’d worked out, showing how death would overcome even the gods if given enough time, was worthy of the attention they’d brought, and the money they’d earned in tips that night made even Chad’s eyes widen.
The reporter from “Out” was waiting for them in the wings as they made their way through to their dressing room, and as they settled down to remove their makeup, he began his interview.
“So, Chad, I understand that this was originally your club. How did Jensen arrive on the scene?”
“Yeah.” Chad grinned, flush with the success of an excellent performance. “You know, I started off as a dancer here, and when the previous owner decided to get out of the business and go join his daughter in Australia I saw my chance and snapped it up. I had to make a few changes of course, but they all paid off. The difference is that we’re trendy now rather than sleazy.”
“Still a little sleazy,” interjected Jensen, slowly removing the rhinestones and pearls from his dick.
“Anyway, Jensen was with the LA Ballet company, but he decided to see how the other half lived one night, and now here we are.” Chad made a gesture that indicated that he was somehow the champion, and Jensen looked on, fondly.
“What Chad isn’t saying is that I was going through a bad patch. He pretty much turned me around and showed me that I still could be a dancer and a success. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.”
“So now you’re a couple?” The reporter had put his little recorder on the dresser between the two men, but he was scribbling furiously in his notebook too, and as Jensen rose to his feet to get Chad to clean the gold makeup off his back it was evident that he found it arousing from the way he dropped his notebook to cover his crotch.
“Yeah. We went up to Buffalo, New York a couple weeks ago and got hitched.” Chad flashed his platinum wedding ring as he spoke. “Everyone can look, but I’m the only one that gets to touch this.” He indicated Jensen’s body and looked smug.”
“How did your families take it?” The question was aimed at Jensen, but Chad was the one that responded.
“My family is there, and that’s why we went, but Jen’s came up from Texas…”
“All happy except my dad. He’s having a hard time with it, but he’ll come round. It’s more about my dancing than getting together with Chad. I went down to see him afterwards, and he gave me a lecture on what he called ‘flaunting my body’.” Jensen looked a little downcast as he shrugged on his robe and began removing the paint from his legs and feet. “I asked him what he thought about Chad, and he said that he was happy for me, but if I don’t stop exposing myself to lustful eyes, he thinks I’m going to hell.”
“That seems a little harsh.” The reporter looked from one man to the other and caught the adoring glance between them. “But you seem to be really happy anyway.”
“Yeah, we are,” said Chad, with a full on grin, bending to kiss the back of Jensen’s neck. “But Jen wanted to make his dad happy, so he’s officially retiring from the stage. Tonight was his swan song in the erotic dancing world, and that’s why we made it such a good one. We’ve found a new main attraction to take his place from now on.”
“He’ll be debuting tomorrow night, and he’s really good,” interjected Jensen. “You should come by and see him. He’s fresh from an overseas tour with Adam Lambert, and, man, I tell you, he’s good. Better than me.”
“Yeah.” Chad nodded. “I agree that he’s good, but nobody is better than Jen, here. They broke the mold.”
“Say what you like, but Adam picked him, and not me.” Jensen was pouting, full lips pursed, and Chad kissed him gently.
“From what I can see, he didn’t pick you, because he didn’t want the competition.” Chad gave him another kiss and then turned back to the reporter. “So Jay debuts tomorrow, and we’re handing the club over to my assistant manager, Danneel. She’s cruel but fair and will keep things under control for the next six months while Jen and I go around the world.”
“I still can’t believe it. If you had told me a year ago where I’d be today, I’d have laughed in your face, and yet here we are.” Jensen gave the kind of bright smile that made both Chad and the reporter gasp in unison. “We’re going around the world.”
“In more ways than one,” muttered Chad, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. He grabbed Jensen’s hand and pulled at it. “Come on. Time for bed.”
“Uh, thank you?” murmured the reporter, suddenly getting the memo that the interview was at an end. “Catch you tomorrow for the debut?”
“If we’re out of bed by then,” smirked Chad as they vanished along the corridor and out to find their happy ending.
Author: candygramme
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles
Rating: PG-13
Beta: spoonlessone
Word Count: 7,000
Warnings: Chad
Author’s Notes: This was something of a departure for me. I was bought by lil-jei during a charity auction to raise funds for Planned Parenthood. What she asked for, was a Jensen Ackles/Chad Michael Murray story:
I just honestly want a happy ending fic with some hot sex and angst...Maybe they're together post-divorce...IDK. Oh and Jared and their fans and families should be ok with them-think they're perfect together of something...happy happy happy with some sex and angst.
So it's all her fault really!
Hon, I know it isn’t NC 17, but I do hope you like it anyway. I’ve never really written The Chad as other than a bit player, so I was a bit at sea about him. This is what I came up with.
“Please understand, Jen. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. I’m so sorry.”
Jensen had understood. He had. He’d been gracious, or at least he thought he had, even though he’d wanted to cry and scream and yell that his boyfriend had gotten his lucky break and was leaving him behind.
“It’s okay, Jay, it’s much too good an opportunity to pass up. You have to go!” He was impressed with the way his own voice sounded, so totally calm and serene, when inside he was sure his heart would break.
The two of them had been together since they’d joined the Los Angeles Ballet, come up through the corps de ballet and worked together, trained together, lived together and eventually loved together too. The week before, the two of them had both auditioned for Adam Lambert’s world tour, and Jared had made the cut. Jensen, sadly, had not. Now, fresh from meeting Adam and finding out about the tour which was set to take two years and visit countries all around the globe, Jared had left Jensen behind, and Jensen could only feel numb. He’d been so sure, so convinced that he was as good as Jared, but he’d been cut, and Jared hadn’t, and he was the one who had to stay behind, while Jared jetted off towards his bright future and the chance to see the world.
He’d stayed strong, stoic to the last and smiled as he waved his lover goodbye at LAX and stood watching as the light went out of his life.
~*~
Three months later, Jensen was struggling to find anything left to live for. He was in a tailspin, his whole life collapsing about his ears, and if he were honest he had only himself to blame. The loss of Jared had hit him hard, and it had been easy to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, although he would admit, if asked, that he had yet to find it there. He seemed to have a perpetual hangover these days, and his dancing eventually suffered. There came the day when he was summoned to the office of the Ballet Master, and he went with a heavy heart.
He’d been drinking all weekend with Kane, the orchestra leader, and late for practice that morning. His eyes were bloodshot, and his stomach uneasy as he tapped on the door of the Ballet Master’s office. The curt ‘Come’, that sounded through the heavy wooden door didn’t bode well, and when he entered, he was not invited to sit. Instead, Master Beaver, seated behind the desk, fixed him with a gimlet eyed stare.
When he finally did begin to speak, he rose to his feet and stalked towards Jensen, who stood quailing in the middle of the office. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ackles,” he said, his voice a mix of pity and contempt. “You had the makings of a dancer, but you’ve let yourself go. Look at you; you’re pathetic. Your reflexes are all messed up, and your balance is shot. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“No!” The wail that Jensen gave was soul deep. “Please don’t… I can be fine again. I promise I’ll be okay; I’ll train; I’ll give up the booze; I’ll get clean, I promise, Just give me another chance.”
The Ballet Master studied him intently for a minute or so and then heaved a sigh. “The company can’t afford to let you onstage in your current condition. Go away and get your life in order. When you’re finally fit again you can call me for an audition. If I think you’ve got a chance of making the cut, you can start over, but I warn you, we’re not in the business of carrying anyone, so you’d better make a real effort.”
To Jensen, that seemed like a death knell. He didn’t know what to say, so he contented himself with nodding and then turned and walked from the office and out of the building. He was officially out of options, and his life had hit rock bottom. He stood thinking for a moment. One direction would lead him to the gym, and in the other lay the liquor store. He turned towards the gym, and then shrugged his shoulders. He would have one last night to wallow and then, in the morning, he’d start to turn things around.
Pivoting, he altered his direction and headed towards the liquor store.
~*~
It was only 2am, and that was early for Chad Michael Murray, but he just wasn’t feeling it on this particular Monday night. Angelo Vespucci, also known as Jock Strapp, was his star turn, and tonight he just hadn’t shown up for work, which meant that Chad had been forced to dust off his gold lame g-string and do a turn. He’d always quite enjoyed his outings as The Bone Ranger, and let’s face it, that was how he’d come to be a successful club owner, but he was out of practice these days. As he strolled home, he made a mental note to do some work, because even though the patrons had clapped and cheered tonight, and showered him with cash, he knew he wasn’t as supple as he should be, as he always had been, back when he wasn’t sitting behind a desk doing accounts and stuff.
He was just mentally trying to decide whether or not he should give in and hire an accountant to take some of the work off his shoulders. It was about time, he thought. He liked to party, but he’d done precious little of that since buying ‘Swinging Richards’ and starting to try and make it into a premier hotspot for the gay population of West Hollywood. He’d enjoyed his outing as The Bone Ranger, and he knew he still had it. By the time he’d skinned down to his G-string, it had been stuffed with notes, and he had almost come from the sheer joy of showing himself off in front of the crowd.
“Who the fuck needs Jock Strapp anyway?” he muttered to himself as he made his way through the narrow alley way that was the short cut to his apartment. He was almost through before he heard the sounds and pulled up sharply, looking around.
Someone was crying; he could hear them, and it was seriously messing with his mellow mood. He turned and moved in the direction of the noises.
The man was half in darkness, and Chad couldn’t make out his features, but it was pretty obvious that he was both drunk and in distress . Chad wasn’t sure why he was weeping, but he could see a few clues that would make him weep, if he was stupid enough to pass out in a dirty alleyway in WeHo.
“Dude,” he grumbled. “Did you puke?”
“What of it?” The words were somewhat slurred, but the tone of voice held something that made Chad frown. He’d heard it before, that voice, although just then he couldn’t think where. Chad Michael Murray might not have been everyone’s pick for humanitarian of the year, but he had a good heart, deep down, so he cautiously picked his way closer in an attempt to see why the bells were going off in his head. The guy was a mess, vomit and tears and snot painted a grotesque abstract across a once white T-shirt, and Chad could see blood - a deep gash on his forearm that was glistening, black-red against fair skin.
“Jesus, dude, you’re bleeding, and covered in icky shit.” Chad was having an internal debate about whether or not to turn tail and flee or pursue his unfortunate curiosity until it was satisfied. Right at that moment the curiosity was winning, but he knew at any second he was going to think better of things and head for home as fast as his feet - which, now he noticed, were standing in a pool of something disgusting - could carry him.
“Whyn’t you tell me s’mf’n I don’ already know?” the voice was drunkenly dismissive, and the owner of it leaned forward enough that the light caught it, and Chad instantly knew why he’d recognized the man’s voice.
“Hey, I know you! You’re the dude that hangs around with Jay Padalecki, aren’t you?” The features were puffy and bloated, and the man himself was in a sorry state, but Chad recognized him anyway; he’d seen the sorry son of a bitch around, and wondered - who wouldn’t? - if he’d consider giving him a little taste of the things that endeared him to Jared. “Does Jay know where you are?”
“Doubt he cares,” slurred the human wreckage who still lolled on the ground at Chad’s feet. “Fucker’s somewhere in Europe w’ fuckin’ Adam Lambert.”
Chad wrinkled his nose in thought. That was right, wasn’t it? Jay had scored the job of a lifetime, and, by the looks of things, he’d left this sorry mess to fend for himself. It didn’t seem to have worked. Shit! This was different. This wasn’t something he could just walk away from. This involved friends. Damn! He wished he could run home and put his sweaty practice clothes on; they needed a wash anyway.
“Where do you live, dude? Still at Jay’s place?” he asked, wondering if he would be able to fumigate his car after running the poor fuck home.
“Don’ live anywhere. Los’ m’ job. Los’ m’ place. ‘M an official missing person.” The thought seemed to make the man sad, because he began to cry all over again, and Chad raised both hands as if to admit defeat.
“Oh, shit. Okay. Look, come on; get up. Can you get up?” The man stared at him blearily.
“Why?” And Chad felt himself starting to get a little mad.
“Because if you don’t; I’ma kick your ass?” Chad replied, sounding as fierce as he could, considering he was so much more a lover than he was a fighter. “Look, if you wanna spend the rest of your miserable life sitting in a pool of puke in a dirty alley, be my guest, but if you’d rather get showered and sleep on a couch or something, then get the fuck up and quit sniveling, got it?”
The man didn’t say anything more, but after a minute or two he stumbled to his feet and stood, swaying, beside Chad, breathing heavily. Chad turned pale and took a step back.
“Jesus, dude, what the fuck have you been drinking? It smells like fucking rocket fuel. I bet I could set it on fire like one of those Roman candle things.” The man giggled and then hiccupped, and Chad decided that it was time to see what else he could do.
“Okay, dude, follow me, and you’re gonna have to go it alone, because I swear to god I ain’t touching you until you’re a whole lot less slimy than you are now.” He turned to head out of the alley and across the road to the apartment block, and was to a certain degree relieved to see that his stray was following, albeit in a somewhat erratic manner.
As they reached the door to the apartment building, Chad turned to watch his protégé lurch up to him, and held up his hand to stop. “Okay, dude, lose the shirt.”
“Huh?”
“Take it off. You ain’t comin’ in covered in puke. The concierge would have a blue fit and froth at the mouth, and I don’t wanna see that. Put it in your pocket or something and put this on.” He slipped off his own jacket, his Hugo Boss jacket, and held it out, and after a moment of vacant staring, his companion did remove the offending T-shirt and wadded it up, stuffing it into the back of his jeans. Chad eyed the still bleeding cut on the man’s arm and thought better of the idea. Pulling off his own T-shirt, he handed it over and replaced the jacket on himself. “Now we’re gonna just stroll through the lobby, and… what the fuck’s your name? Jason? Joseph…?”
“Jensen.”
“…Jensen, and if the concierge asks, we got mugged and I’m taking you upstairs to bandage you up; you got that?” Who’d have thunk? He was good at this deceitful shit, and not just with the chicks either! Maybe he should write a novel. Be an intellectual. He’d have to think seriously about that.
“Got it.” Jensen nodded, veering sideways as his equilibrium was disturbed, and Chad reached for his T-shirt to haul him back upright once more.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Chad applied his fob to the lock, and the door swung open for him. Squaring his shoulders, Chad marched in and made for the elevator with Jensen in tow. As luck would have it, the concierge had stepped away from his desk to find something in the manager’s office, and the two of them made it to the elevators without any further problems. It was only as the elevator actually discharged the two of them into his penthouse apartment that he finally began to breathe again. Turning to Jensen, he offered a high five, and then thought better of it as Jensen raised a filthy hand to return it.
“First things first, dude. Come and visit my shower. I only hope you don’t scare the poor thing, or clog it up or something. I love that shower.” Chad paused at the door to his laundry room. “Okay, before the shower, stuff your shit in the washing machine; I really can’t deal with the smell right now. It’s kinda vile.”
Jensen didn’t even protest. He merely shucked his dirty clothes and did as Chad had told him, before stumbling to lean back against the wall, face tinged with green. Chad dove for a bucket, shoving it at Jensen as he began to gag.
“Dude, if you’re gonna puke, be a gentleman and hit the spot,” he held the bucket as Jensen doubled over. When Jensen was done, and all that was coming was a thin string of bile, he set the bucket down and reached for the door. “Come on; shower time.”
The shower was just as wonderful as Chad had hinted. There were multiple jets that sprayed and pulsed, and steam that loosened tight muscles, and Jensen just stood looking at it, his apparently scrambled thought processes rendering him incapable of comprehending the controls. Finally, Chad sighed, stripped and climbed in with him, flipping the switches to start the hot water flowing. Jensen whimpered a little, but allowed Chad to scrub him down and, once clean, allowed him to lead him out and wrap him in several fluffy blue towels.
Finally, Chad handed him a toothbrush, and, for the first time, Jensen appeared to make an independent move, scrubbing his teeth and cleaning out his mouth. Once he was clean and dry, Chad studied him. There was beauty in him still. The normally lustrous green eyes were glazed and filmed over with exhaustion and the after effects of the alcohol, and the face was puffy, disguising somewhat the planes of his fine bone structure, but he was still scattered with freckles, creamy skin dotted with gold, the lashes were still long and thick, and his mouth was still plump, ripe and juicy as a fruit.
His dancer’s body was slim and strong, a little marred by the after effects of his binge, the definition blurred, but Chad could see that he was, or at least until recently had been fit, and his businessman’s mind was already calculating how long it would take to get him back to peak fitness. He was going to have to think what to call him when he appeared onstage in the club, because as of this moment, Chad was determined that was going to happen.
There was no need for further speech. Chad took the swaying Jensen by the elbow and shepherded him into his spare bedroom. “Lie down before you fall down, dude,” was his advice, and as Jensen folded himself gracelessly into the bed, he retreated to find a bottle of water and a pack of Tylenol to place beside the bed.
He spent the rest of the night thinking up stage names for Jensen and chortling.
~*~
The following day, Chad rolled out of bed at the crack of 2pm, and instantly sat bolt upright, worrying about his visitor.
“He’d better not have left,” he grumbled, staggering out of bed and reaching for a pair of jeans. “That would be a fine way to repay my tender loving care.”
By the time he reached the spare room, he’d almost talked himself into believing that Jensen would have taken off in the night, probably with all his finest silverware - not that he actually had any. When he pushed open the door and peeped in, he felt a rush of relief laced with panic to see Jensen, flat on his stomach, sleeping the sleep of the dreadfully hung over.
Repairing to the kitchen, he busied himself making coffee and breakfast, heavy on the grease. Once it was plated up, he filled a mug of coffee and, armed with a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes, made for the room where his guest was still sunk in slumber.
“C’mon, dude, rise and shine,” he called, shoving the door open and making enough noise to wake even the hardiest sleeper. “I’ve got your hangover cure right here. Come and get it.”
Jensen opened one very bloodshot eye and glared at Chad with enough venom that he thought he might spontaneously combust. “Mph. G’way,” said Jensen, and closed it again.
“Got coffee and painkillers. Come on, man, you know you want to feel better.”
“Coffee?” This time both eyes opened at least part way, and Jensen made a snuffling sound that Chad found rather endearing. “Where coffee?”
Apparently the word coffee was a powerful corpse reviver, or so Chad assumed, because the body in the bed stirred, and Jensen rose from the bedding, one trembling hand reaching out to Chad as if begging. Smirking, he placed the mug into those clutching fingers and watched as Jensen appeared to absorb the drink, sucking it down in a way that had him shuddering. That coffee was hotter than hell.
“Holy shit, dude, you got some weird super power that lets you drink boiling water?”
Jensen looked a little better for the cup he’d consumed, and now turned his attention to the breakfast that had accompanied it. He was about to raise a forkful of pancake to his lips, when he paused, fixed Chad with a fisheye stare and sat, unmoving, as he scanned Chad’s face. “Why are you doing this?” he asked after a moment.
“JPad is my buddy,” murmured Chad, assuming as much of an innocent expression as he could
manage. “We’ve been tight for years. I can’t let his boy go down if I can help.”
“Yeah?” Jensen took a bite of his breakfast. “Well thank you.” He chewed for a minute, and then raised his eyes to Chad’s once more, and Chad thought his expression was eerily reminiscent of Puss in Boots from Shrek when attempting to look pathetic. “If you wanna really help me, can I have more coffee?” he held out the empty mug. “Please?”
~*~
It was somewhere around four in the afternoon by the time Jensen was able to emerge from the bedroom, clad in his newly laundered clothes. Chad greeted him with a distracted wave. “I’m gonna have to go to work in a while. You gonna be okay? You can come with if you like.”
“Where?” Jensen frowned.
“Swinging Richards,” replied Chad, smirking.
“Isn’t that a strip joint over by Sunset?” Jensen’s frown deepened. “What are you? A stripper or something?”
“Not just a stripper, dude.” Chad took a bow. “Only the most awesome stripper in all of California. Also, I own the club, so if you want a job…”
“Wait? What?” The corner of Jensen’s mouth tilted up in a lop-sided smile. “You want me to take off my clothes for the punters? Are you insane?”
“Call me insane if you like, but I’m also fuckin’ loaded, and I don’t see your diamond encrusted Rolex anywhere.” Chad smirked. “Besides, it’s fun. All those panting, drooling people, wanting, and they can’t have you; they’ll never be able to have you no matter how hard they try. It’s a rush, dude, I’m telling you.”
“Yeah?” One of Jensen’s eyebrows went up in a manner that suggested he wasn’t taking Chad seriously. Chad nodded vigorously.
“Bet your ass, sweetcheeks.” He chuckled. “I did one five minute slot last night to fill in for someone who didn’t show, and I cleared close to three hundred dollars in tips before I came off the stage.”
The smile faded from Jensen’s face, and his eyes widened. “Really?” he murmured.
“Yep.” Chad inclined his head. “I tell ya. Money for nothin’, like the song says.” He paused, and then grinned. “Come with me tonight, and you’ll see.”
Jensen looked thoughtful. “I might just do that,” he murmured.
~*~
Swinging Richards was always jumping on a Friday night, and tonight was no exception. Chad led the way in past the bouncers and high fived one gigantic, hulking man who was guarding the entrance. The lineup to get in was already around 50 people long, and several of the people waiting burst into applause as Chad passed, and there was a call of, ‘Go, Bone Ranger!’. Chad gave the small group a wave and nodded to his security guys. “Ah, let those few in, Tony. They obviously appreciate great art.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Murray.” The big guy beckoned the cheering few forward to card them, and as Chad and Jensen passed through into the club, they were all calling their thanks and hopes that Chad would be performing later.
“See,” said Chad, smirking. “They love me.”
“They certainly seem to,” said Jensen, looking thoughtful. “So are you gonna dance for them?”
“Bet your ass, dude,” nodded Chad. “Gotta keep the fans happy, don’t I?”
Chuckling, Jensen raised his eyebrow. “Yeah.” He murmured. “I suspect that you do!”
Chad shot him a shrewd look. “Okay, this is how it’s gonna go tonight. Have fun. Stay with me or don’t, but you don’t drink anything alcoholic, or I’ll kick your ass from here to fucking Tijuana and back; you got it?”
Blinking a little, Jensen nodded, and Chad continued. “You can watch the show and get a feel for it if you like. I bet you’d love to get up on that stage and stir up some love, so I hope you appreciate that I’m gonna give you an opportunity. You don’t have to, but I think you’re gonna want to. Easy money, dude! Easy money all the way.”
“You reckon I’ll cave in and bastardize my muse just like that?” Jensen was grinning as he spoke. Chad spread his hands as he formed a reply.
“What can I say? I’m just that awesomely persuasive.”
They made their way backstage to the dressing rooms, and Chad saw that his absentee dancer was once more one of those present. “This is Jock,” he said to Jensen by way of introducing him to the olive skinned Latino who was busily performing stretches clad only in a tiny white g-string. “Right now, he’s my headliner, and very popular with the crowd, but I’m always looking for new talent.”
“There is nobody who can replace me,” announced Angelo. “And when I am not on stage, I am Angelo, not Jock Strapp.”
“If you default on one more performance, my friend, it won’t matter what your fucking name is, because you won’t be on the program again - at least not here.” Chad’s eyes flashed, and he could see Jensen frown a little. Angelo reared back in irritation, and for a moment it appeared as if he was going to argue, but then he smiled and nodded. Turning away, Chad led him out towards the next dressing room.
“Seriously? Jock Strapp?” Jensen had an amused smile on his face, and Chad laughed.
“Yeah. Some of the boys have awesome names,” he replied.
“So what would you call me if I were to start doing this shit?” Jensen asked warily.
Chad smirked. “Let me see. How about Mountain Mann?”
“Jeez! Sorry I asked.” Jensen turned away to examine a rack of costumes, slender fingers running over the silky fabrics as he rolled his eyes.
“So if you were going to perform, what kind of persona would you want to adopt? What kind of costume would you wear?” Chad started to pull the clothing out and drape it up against Jensen’s body. You could be a jungle boy,” he murmured, hanging the leopard print loincloth back on the rack. “Or maybe a football player? A superhero or a cowboy. We haven’t got a cowboy on the bill right now. I think you’d look pretty fucking hot as a cowboy. We could call you Dick Deadeye and get you into assless chaps.”
Jensen appeared to choke, but he took the cowboy outfit from Chad’s hands and studied it with a smirk. “Sure. I’ll be a cowboy, but Dick Deadeye? Man, that’s Gilbert and Sullivan, not the wild west.”
“Hmmm…” Chad pondered. “Well, all right. How about Wild Bill Booty, or maybe the Sharpshooter Kid?”
“I guess I could live with Sharpshooter Kid,” agreed Jensen, smiling fondly at the costume.
“So go get yourself dolled up.” Chad snickered.
“I wanna see what you do first,” replied Jensen.
“Come and watch the stage for a few minutes. Jolly Roger is about to go on. He’s got a real knack for using the pole.” Together the two of them moved around until they had a clear view of the stage and Chad watched Jensen as the young man dressed as a pirate sauntered onto the stage. “See that kid. His name is Jake, and one of these days he’ll be a star. He’s athletic, but he lacks the grace…”
Jensen was watching, lips pursed as he appraised the performance unfolding before his eyes. It was true that Jake’s style was a little less than fluid, but Chad could tell that the performance was starting to affect Jensen. The pirate onstage was busily using his cutlass to slice up the front of his own shirt, and as he slipped out of it there was a great cheer from the audience. Jensen’s eyes opened wide as he saw money being tossed onto the stage.
“He isn’t great, but the fans still tip him,” murmured Chad “You’d be better.”
Watching the audience as much as the boy on the stage, Jensen was fascinated. When Jake finally tossed his last item of clothing and strutted onto the edge of the stage, now down to his G-string, arms reached to pet, and hands tucked notes into the elastic of his one remaining garment.
As the dancer finally made his way off the stage, pausing to collect the couple of bills that were lying on the ground, Jensen turned to Chad. “Does anyone ever take it all off?” he asked. “I mean everything?”
“Once in a while,” nodded Chad. “But a word of warning. If you do that it’s best to step away from the edge of the stage, or you risk the punters feeling up your assets. If you can deal with that, it’s certainly a good way of getting them going, especially if you’re going to do two numbers. They go insane for the second number once they know you’re gonna show them the goodies.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be a cowboy. I wanna make them sit up and stare - be something they haven’t seen before.” Jensen grinned. “You got the facility to spray me gold? I’m gonna be an Inca God.”
“We sure don’t have one of those on the books,” agreed Chad. “Okay. We can spray you gold. What are you going to wear?”
“What have you got?” Jensen’s grin was widening. “Leather straps and a red cloak, pretty much. Maybe a feathered headdress.” He was evidently thinking this through, and there was a gleam in his eye that made Chad feel a little nervous. “It’s gonna be mostly make-up, but if you’re got a few rhinestones, I’ll take ‘em.”
“Well, all right.” Chad clapped him on the shoulder, intrigued. “Let’s go paint you gold.”
~*~
They went through the costumes together, and Jensen assembled a set of harnesses and straps for himself, and a black, shiny leotard that left his chest and legs bare. There was no red cloak, so he picked out a gold one and nodded, satisfied. Chad, true to his word, found a can of body make-up and sprayed him from head to foot. Jensen stared at himself for a few moments, nodded in satisfaction, and then he sat down at a mirror in Chad’s dressing room and began to make up his face, transforming it with the the aid of black eye liner and greasepaint as Chad left him to attend to the rest of his stable.
When Chad, who had been wrangling his performers, returned to see what he’d achieved, he whistled. Gone was the handsome man who had stepped into the club, and in his place was indeed an Inca god. He was remote and other worldly, and Chad felt himself getting hard.
“You cool with going on?” he asked, and Jensen nodded, unsmiling. “What are we gonna call you?”
“I’m going with Sexolotl, I think.” Jensen studied himself in the mirror on the back of the door. “Need a couple of piercings to make it look really good, and the cloak needs a red lining at least.”
“Well, that’ll be easy to arrange,” said Chad. “Let’s see how you go on stage.”
Chad hadn’t seen Jensen dance, and, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how well a washed-up ballet dancer would translate to the down and dirty raunch of the stripper’s pole. He needn’t have worried. Jensen stalked onto the stage, arrogance personified in every mannered step.
The audience grew quiet, and for a moment, Jensen stood, arms folded over his chest, staring down at them. Then he began to move. As he shed the garments and harnesses he wore, the audience remained quiet, but each move brought its own collective intake of breath.
The money began to land on the stage, and when Jensen slowly shimmied out of his leotard to reveal the black leather g-string, it was rapidly stuffed with notes of various denominations. He looked down at the audience and smirked, and then turned his back, walking away. At the back of the stage, he paused and slowly lowered the g-string, stepping out of it and stopping to listen to the audience pleading for him to turn around. The sounds of people begging made him turn to raise an eyebrow at Chad. Chad found himself holding his breath.
Finally, when it seemed almost as though there would be a riot, Jensen turned around to reveal himself, naked save for the leather armband embellished with feathers and one similar band around his ankle. He’d shaved his pubic area, and had glued rhinestones along the length of his cock, which was hanging half hard at the attention. The roar from the audience demonstrated just how much they appreciated it.
As he gathered up his clothing, and the money that had been thrown, and made his way off the stage, Chad knew that Jensen was a keeper in more ways than one.
“Dude, that’s the first time in ages I’ve popped a boner watching someone on the stage,” he muttered as Jensen moved past him. Jensen winked in a most ungodlike manner and made his way back to the dressing room.
“Help me get this paint off me, and I’ll give you a hand with that, if you like.”
Jensen’s words had an instant effect on Chad, and he had to reach down and adjust himself in his carefully tailored slacks as he followed Jensen back to where he could clean off the gold that covered him.
“Really?” Chad’s voice actually cracked. So much for the cool persona he always tried to cultivate.
“Hey, you picked me up out of the gutter, man. You didn’t have to do that. I kinda want to show you some love.” The paint was gone from Jensen’s face, and now he was working down over his chest and arms with the remover. “Besides, I need you to get my back.”
“Oh, believe me, dude, I’ve got your back!” Chad moved around behind him and began to clean off the make-up across his shoulders and back. “This will wash off in the shower, you know, but I appreciate the opportunity to handle the goods.” He matched the thought to his deed as he slid his hand down to cup one very fine, tight buttock and massaged.
“Are you gonna go and dance?” Jensen quirked an eyebrow at Chad as he stepped away from him to make for the shower. “I think I should get a look at what I’m getting too.”
“You gonna make me go out on stage with a hard-on?” Chad scowled. “You’re a sadist, dude.”
“Bet your ass,” agreed Jensen with a sweet smile indicating his own happy little Jensen. “So suit up.”
With a put upon sigh, Chad went to retrieve his costume.
~*~
It was much later, when the two men left the club to head back to Chad’s condo. Jensen was still buzzed, and looked like he felt better than he had since Jared had left him behind all those weeks ago. Chad felt like he was floating. Jensen was a money making machine; he must have somehow known that when he’d seen the sorry mess back in the alley they’d just walked through. What a difference a day made, he thought, casting an eye sideways towards the vision that was stalking alongside him. Another victory for The Chad! He was a winner.
“You cleaned up nicely,” he said. “You got a job if you want one.”
Laughing, Jensen turned to look at him. “At the club?”
“Well, yeah, there too, but I meant with me, here. Right here with me.” Chad affected the plaintive expression that had always worked on its subjects before. “I kind of…”
Jensen laughed softly. “Why, Chad, are you propositioning me?” He raised an eyebrow in a way that expressed amusement laced with surprise, and Chad found himself feeling a surge of anger.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, stung in a way that was surprising even to himself.
“No. Not really. It’s just…” Jensen frowned a little, lost in thought. “Look, not so long ago I was in the chorus of the LA ballet, with a good chance of getting principal dancer when Oleg finally went off to the Colorado ballet. I had the hottest boyfriend ever. He and I were slowly moving up and we thought that the world was ours.” He gave Chad a bitter smile. “Well, he was right, but I was wrong, and here I am. That what you want?”
Chad shook his head at Jensen. “Negative, dude. So negative. You know what they say about turning your frown upside down? So, you think you could be happy with me and the club and dancing?” He tried the plaintive puppy look again, and Jensen frowned.
“Chad, why are you squinting at me? I got gold left up my nose or something?”
“Oh, come on, Ackles! That’s my best pleading look.” Chad looked mildly insulted. “I learned it from Jay.”
“Needs work.” Jensen’s lips were twitching, and after a moment, Chad laughed.
“You gonna take pity on me or what?” he said finally. “Still waiting for an answer here.”
“Why don’t we take it one step at a time?” Jensen murmured. “I’m a little too close to what might have been to make any promises right now. Let’s see what happens, shall we?”
“Sounds good,” agreed Chad, reaching to pull Jensen against him for a long, slow, passionate kiss. “Been wanting to do that ever since I saw you with Jay, way back on the “Legion of Extraordinary Dancers” along with Harry Shum Jr..”
“Oh, really?” was Jensen’s reply. “Well, we’d better do it again then.”
~*~
One year later
The club was rocking, packed to capacity as the Bone Ranger and Sexolotl finished their joint act with one last bump and grind and came down off the stage. The routine that they’d worked out, showing how death would overcome even the gods if given enough time, was worthy of the attention they’d brought, and the money they’d earned in tips that night made even Chad’s eyes widen.
The reporter from “Out” was waiting for them in the wings as they made their way through to their dressing room, and as they settled down to remove their makeup, he began his interview.
“So, Chad, I understand that this was originally your club. How did Jensen arrive on the scene?”
“Yeah.” Chad grinned, flush with the success of an excellent performance. “You know, I started off as a dancer here, and when the previous owner decided to get out of the business and go join his daughter in Australia I saw my chance and snapped it up. I had to make a few changes of course, but they all paid off. The difference is that we’re trendy now rather than sleazy.”
“Still a little sleazy,” interjected Jensen, slowly removing the rhinestones and pearls from his dick.
“Anyway, Jensen was with the LA Ballet company, but he decided to see how the other half lived one night, and now here we are.” Chad made a gesture that indicated that he was somehow the champion, and Jensen looked on, fondly.
“What Chad isn’t saying is that I was going through a bad patch. He pretty much turned me around and showed me that I still could be a dancer and a success. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.”
“So now you’re a couple?” The reporter had put his little recorder on the dresser between the two men, but he was scribbling furiously in his notebook too, and as Jensen rose to his feet to get Chad to clean the gold makeup off his back it was evident that he found it arousing from the way he dropped his notebook to cover his crotch.
“Yeah. We went up to Buffalo, New York a couple weeks ago and got hitched.” Chad flashed his platinum wedding ring as he spoke. “Everyone can look, but I’m the only one that gets to touch this.” He indicated Jensen’s body and looked smug.”
“How did your families take it?” The question was aimed at Jensen, but Chad was the one that responded.
“My family is there, and that’s why we went, but Jen’s came up from Texas…”
“All happy except my dad. He’s having a hard time with it, but he’ll come round. It’s more about my dancing than getting together with Chad. I went down to see him afterwards, and he gave me a lecture on what he called ‘flaunting my body’.” Jensen looked a little downcast as he shrugged on his robe and began removing the paint from his legs and feet. “I asked him what he thought about Chad, and he said that he was happy for me, but if I don’t stop exposing myself to lustful eyes, he thinks I’m going to hell.”
“That seems a little harsh.” The reporter looked from one man to the other and caught the adoring glance between them. “But you seem to be really happy anyway.”
“Yeah, we are,” said Chad, with a full on grin, bending to kiss the back of Jensen’s neck. “But Jen wanted to make his dad happy, so he’s officially retiring from the stage. Tonight was his swan song in the erotic dancing world, and that’s why we made it such a good one. We’ve found a new main attraction to take his place from now on.”
“He’ll be debuting tomorrow night, and he’s really good,” interjected Jensen. “You should come by and see him. He’s fresh from an overseas tour with Adam Lambert, and, man, I tell you, he’s good. Better than me.”
“Yeah.” Chad nodded. “I agree that he’s good, but nobody is better than Jen, here. They broke the mold.”
“Say what you like, but Adam picked him, and not me.” Jensen was pouting, full lips pursed, and Chad kissed him gently.
“From what I can see, he didn’t pick you, because he didn’t want the competition.” Chad gave him another kiss and then turned back to the reporter. “So Jay debuts tomorrow, and we’re handing the club over to my assistant manager, Danneel. She’s cruel but fair and will keep things under control for the next six months while Jen and I go around the world.”
“I still can’t believe it. If you had told me a year ago where I’d be today, I’d have laughed in your face, and yet here we are.” Jensen gave the kind of bright smile that made both Chad and the reporter gasp in unison. “We’re going around the world.”
“In more ways than one,” muttered Chad, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. He grabbed Jensen’s hand and pulled at it. “Come on. Time for bed.”
“Uh, thank you?” murmured the reporter, suddenly getting the memo that the interview was at an end. “Catch you tomorrow for the debut?”
“If we’re out of bed by then,” smirked Chad as they vanished along the corridor and out to find their happy ending.