Fic: Take It Easy
Title: Take It Easy
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural AU: It's a Terrible Life - Dean Smith/Sam Campbell
Author: casey679
Rating: Mature
Length: 2,569 words
Series: The Limbo Lounge
Community: Saturday Night Specials
Summary: Dean Smith finds more than he's expecting when he takes his client to the Limbo Lounge.
Dean had probably seen the man many, many times before, but never like this. He'd seen him in the hallways, the way you could pass someone every day without so much as a Nice-weather-we're-having. He'd never registered as a person before, just another face in the crowd.
He'd never seen him this way, the way you saw someone and couldn't help but stare because when you looked in their eyes, you saw something in them looking back at you in a way that made the world stop.
The way where you just thought- Oh. There you are. I've been waiting for you. And then everything in your life made sense.
It was just a damn shame he had no idea what to do with that knowledge.
* * *
When it came to entertaining clients, strip clubs were among Dean's least favorite venues. Tacky music, tacky outfits, and an audience full of entitled assholes who knew their money would always buy them slightly more than they were supposed to get, as long as they didn't push their luck too much.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Michael Seraph, CFO of Arkangel Technology and the man for whom Dean had been assigned the somewhat vexing task of keeping happy. Seraph came into town at least once a month to liaise with the partners at Sandover and receive a personal update on their accounts. There wasn't actually much to liaise over; it was a thinly veiled excuse for Seraph to have fun on his company's dime. Which is where Dean came in.
According to Zachariah Adler, Dean's boss, Seraph was "a six pack in the closet and two shots to the bed." It was Dean's job to keep him watered whenever he got thirsty. Dean had chuckled politely and slightly uncomfortably at the time, heartily aware of the fact that the same description could just as easily be aimed at him, and Zack could be kind of a dick like that. Some days he was a pretty decent boss, but there was always an undercurrent of joy he seemed to take in making Dean uncomfortable. It was probably also the reason he was always stuck overseeing Seraph's "needs."
Not that Dean had any interest in entertaining any of their clients that way. Seraph was easy on the eyes, with his black hair, wide smile and twinkling eyes, but Dean was a firm believer in not fucking where you worked.
Unfortunately, nights like the one happening right then blurred that line more than he'd like. Like usual, he and Seraph started off someplace at Seventh Heaven, the upscale, discreet bar where Dean preferred to go on his obligatory work outings. But also like usual, about an hour later his guest had started looking at the door and making comments about finding someplace livelier, maybe that quaint little place we went to last time-
By which, he meant the Limbo Lounge.
The Limbo Lounge was the gay bastard love child of a gentleman's club and a strip joint. The interior was as classy as they could make it, all dark wood, rich fabrics, and dark corners where you could get a private dance with some amount of discretion. The bar carried an impressive amount of top-shelf liquor, which Dean had been slowly working his way through on Seraph's expense account during each visit. There was even a separate smoking lounge, complete with animal head trophies on the walls and a fake, but impressive, fireplace, where it was easy to imagine Sherlock Holmes making himself at home.
The main stage sat opposite the bar, with a stripper pole on each side and a walkway between them that extended into the seating area with a third pole at the end. It was also where the illusion of the elegant gentlemen's club broke down; no amount of mahogany would disguise the fact that there were only so many ways you could class up oiled-up strippers humping the floor. No matter how attractive or talented the performer - and the Limbo Lounge was routinely graced by dancers who exemplified both of those - it was impossible to ignore the base transactional nature of the exchange.
It was particularly harder to ignore when the man you were charged with entertaining was getting a lap dance next to you by a twink dressed like a particularly salacious cherub, complete with fluffy white wings and a fuzzy halo.
Adam was Seraph's favorite at the lounge, and Dean was pretty sure that Seraph was Adam's favorite, too, if only because he was a big spender and an even bigger tipper. Right now, Adam was grinding down on top of Seraph, head thrown back in pretend ecstasy as his wings flapped forward and back in time to the thrusts.
After the fifth time Dean dodged a flap, he'd had enough. "You know what, I'm going to refresh my drink. Can I get you-"
Michael's hands tightened around Adam's hips.
"-You know what? Never mind. I'll be at the bar."
He was pretty sure neither of them even noticed him leave.
Eli was manning the bar that night. At least, he thought it was Eli. There was always a chance it was Benny - it was almost impossible to tell the twins apart, especially since they took turns making people thirsty from the stage and satisfying their thirst on the taps, so you could never be 100% sure who you were talking to.
"Whiskey, neat."
The lights dimmed as the next dancer prepared to take the stage. Dean sipped his drink and steeled himself for another sensual R&B singer crooning about moving your body. Predictable. Boring. Ordinary. Which is why when a voice yelled out, "This is a song about a person I love" over a screech of feedback, he couldn't help but look at the stage in reflexive surprise.
The dancer standing there - Hunter, Dean remembered, that's how the DJ had introduced him, Hunter - was anything but ordinary. Clad in red and black PVC, he stood out like a sore thumb - black pants, knee-length red-and-black combat boots, black fingerless gloves, and a shiny black leather jacket over a red-and-black fishnet shirt that left little to the imagination. There was a cherry red spiked dog collar around his neck with an old-fashioned padlock hanging off it, and matching black-and-red spiked bracelets around his wrists. Silver rings jingled in a row down both ears, matching the nose and lip rings that glinted under the lights. Black lipstick, smudged black eyeliner and a red fake mohawk completed his look as a complete reprobate. He looked blindingly out of place, as if he'd been looking for a punk rock show and had accidentally wandered into the wrong establishment and then decided to make the best of it.
He couldn't have been a day older than 23, and even that might be generous.
He was gorgeous.
Dean was transfixed. He tossed the whiskey back like it was water, slapped a twenty down on the bar and walked toward the stage without a backwards glance.
As the guitars kicked in on the last word - "love" - the kid dropped into a split and then crawled toward the front of the stage, staring right at Dean the whole time as punk guitar riffs howled out of the speaker.
I got a toxic attitude and lack of self-control
A reasonably fucked up individual
Need you to cleanse my sins so I can go to school
P-p-p-please
When he reached the edge, he arched upward like a cat stretching and rolled onto his back for a few suggestive pelvic thrusts. Then he flipped onto his feet acrobatically and bent over, smirking at the audience with a come-hither grin as he grabbed his ankles and wiggled his ass.
Dean adjusted himself discreetly. The boy was a good dancer.
They're gonna lock me in a closet, but I'm coming out
Singing fuck all the oppression and the self-doubt
I'm gonna bite of all your fingers, put them in my mouth
I'm on my knees
He curled upright again and grabbed the pole in front of him, swinging himself around it a few times before landing on his knees in front of it and sucking his thumb like it was a cock. Then the kid bit down, grabbing the glove with his teeth and yanking it off with a twist of his head, and Dean's erection threatened to burst out of his pants.
So take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, girl
Take it easy, take it easy on me
I know you're so hard to please
Just take it easy, take it easy on me
Hunter stalked forward on all fours like a tiger on the prowl, preening under the audience's rapt attention. He reached the edge of the stage at the same time Dean did, smirking at the obvious hard outline in the businessman's pants.
Almost against his will, Dean swayed forward just as the stripper reached out and grabbed his tie, reeling him for a playful kiss as the singer sang about being hard to please. Then he winked, bright hazel eyes sparkling as he pushed him away, sucking and licking on his fingers of his remaining gloved hand seductively before stripping off that glove as well.
Dean's hand flew to his lips as the boy walked away, almost disappointed to find he'd left no smudged lipstick print behind.
She's got my heart in her hands like a headlock
I can't see straight, ten seconds past five o'clock
I don't know what she's doing but she'll do me wrong
She's such a tease
Hips swinging, the kid danced his way back to center stage, where he leaned over and ripped off his boots, the hidden tearaway tabs giving easily beneath his flexing muscles. Like a man in the throes of passion, he tossed his head back and swiveled his hips back and forth, running his hands over his chest and teasing his nipples with his fingers. In a flash, he gripped his fishnet shirt and yanked it out from under his jacket, which lifted up as he sent it flying, revealing the lithe, lean body underneath.
She holds all the p-p-power in her fingertips
She's gonna suck on my strawberry lipstick
She's gonna taste my body with her fingertips
I cannot breathe
I can't breathe
He stalked along the central catwalk, toying with the release tabs on his pants, then grabbing his cock and pumping his hips to the beat. Once he reached the pole, he turned around and thrust his ass out, trailing his fingers between his legs and over his thighs before grabbing the tabs and ripping the pants off, revealing the garter belt, fishnet stockings and skimpy black boy shorts hidden underneath.
Before Dean had barely had time to appreciate the way the fabric sat taut against his ass, he yanked the shorts off as well, exposing two round pink globes, perfectly framed by the black elastic lines of a jockstrap. Tiny locks hung down from the top of the jock where the elastic met the fabric.
So take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, girl
Take it easy, take it easy on me
I know you're so hard to please
Just take it easy, take it easy on me
Clad only in his jacket, stockings and jockstrap, Hunter launched himself around the pole in a frenzy, flipping upside down and back upright again as he spread his legs wide to give the audience tantalizing glimpses of his ass and the bulge in his jock strap.
Take it easy on me
As the guitars wailed out, he launched himself down off the pole, crouching down and thrusting his hips forward suggestively as the men pressed along the edge of the stage handed their bills over. He even let a lucky few tuck them into the elastic on his jock strap.
You can have it all
If you don't take my heart
When Dean held out two fifties, Hunter's smile turned into a delighted grin, and he crawled towards him, rubbing his face against Dean's hand like a pet greeting his master before taking the bills with his teeth.
You can have it all
If you, you take it easy, take it easy on me
He tucked the bills into his jock and stood up, blowing Dean a kiss before dancing back to the middle of the stage as the song finished.
You take it easy, take it easy on me
Dean realized he was still extending his hand like an idiot and yanked it back like he'd touched a live wire. Perhaps he had - his heart was racing, and he could almost swear his flesh was still tingling from the touch of Hunter's cheek.
You take it easy,
Take it easy on me-e-e-e
With a final wink over his shoulder, Hunter collected his clothes and sauntered offstage to the crowd's applause.
As the lights went up, Dean turned away from the stage, feeling suddenly exposed. It was just a striptease. Just a show.
The kid was just grateful that Dean had tipped the price of a private dance. He'd singled Dean out because he could tell he was an easy mark, just like all the other men who'd been happy to hand over their hard-earned money for a dance that - Dean checked his watch - had barely lasted three minutes. A hundred dollars? What was he thinking? He could expense it, but still… Zack would have a field day with it if he found out.
Which was ridiculous. Nothing had even happened that was worth mocking - nor would it.
Quiet, discreet encounters with quiet, discreet men, that was Dean's style, not street punks whose entire personality was clearly based around daddy issues and a clear need to make themselves unignorable by- by anyone with fifty miles of them. Even if Seraph enjoyed regularly partaking in these dubious pleasures, Dean certainly didn't do that kind of thing.
Seraph. His client. Yes. Dean needed to sure he was okay, and he would.
Just as soon as he had another shot.
With enough whiskey, surely he could put the kid out of his mind entirely. It wasn't like he would see him again.
* * *
"Do I know you?"
Dean looked at the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed IT guy sharing the elevator with him and felt a deep-seated loathing for anyone who could be so cheerful and happy when he himself was hungover and half-awake. Even the guy's shirt was a cheery yellow color, for fuck's sake.
Hell had a special place reserved for people who started conversations in elevators.
"I don't think so." Was it a lie if he didn't even care enough to look? Dean stared forward resolutely, praying that the kid took the hint and shut the fuck up.
Instead- "I'm sorry, man, you just look… really familiar."
Seriously? The guy was hitting on him, here and now? He was lucky Dean didn't report him.
He gritted his teeth. "Save it for the health club, pal."
As the elevators dinged open on the IT guy's floor, he stepped off the lift, then looked back at Dean with a smirk. "Health club? Is that what we're calling it these days?"
Dean scowled at him, ready to tell him off, and then their eyes met, and he saw a pair of achingly familiar hazel eyes.
Oh, Dean thought dumbly. There you are.
And then the elevator doors dinged closed.
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural AU: It's a Terrible Life - Dean Smith/Sam Campbell
Author: casey679
Rating: Mature
Length: 2,569 words
Series: The Limbo Lounge
Community: Saturday Night Specials
Summary: Dean Smith finds more than he's expecting when he takes his client to the Limbo Lounge.
Dean had probably seen the man many, many times before, but never like this. He'd seen him in the hallways, the way you could pass someone every day without so much as a Nice-weather-we're-having. He'd never registered as a person before, just another face in the crowd.
He'd never seen him this way, the way you saw someone and couldn't help but stare because when you looked in their eyes, you saw something in them looking back at you in a way that made the world stop.
The way where you just thought- Oh. There you are. I've been waiting for you. And then everything in your life made sense.
It was just a damn shame he had no idea what to do with that knowledge.
* * *
When it came to entertaining clients, strip clubs were among Dean's least favorite venues. Tacky music, tacky outfits, and an audience full of entitled assholes who knew their money would always buy them slightly more than they were supposed to get, as long as they didn't push their luck too much.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Michael Seraph, CFO of Arkangel Technology and the man for whom Dean had been assigned the somewhat vexing task of keeping happy. Seraph came into town at least once a month to liaise with the partners at Sandover and receive a personal update on their accounts. There wasn't actually much to liaise over; it was a thinly veiled excuse for Seraph to have fun on his company's dime. Which is where Dean came in.
According to Zachariah Adler, Dean's boss, Seraph was "a six pack in the closet and two shots to the bed." It was Dean's job to keep him watered whenever he got thirsty. Dean had chuckled politely and slightly uncomfortably at the time, heartily aware of the fact that the same description could just as easily be aimed at him, and Zack could be kind of a dick like that. Some days he was a pretty decent boss, but there was always an undercurrent of joy he seemed to take in making Dean uncomfortable. It was probably also the reason he was always stuck overseeing Seraph's "needs."
Not that Dean had any interest in entertaining any of their clients that way. Seraph was easy on the eyes, with his black hair, wide smile and twinkling eyes, but Dean was a firm believer in not fucking where you worked.
Unfortunately, nights like the one happening right then blurred that line more than he'd like. Like usual, he and Seraph started off someplace at Seventh Heaven, the upscale, discreet bar where Dean preferred to go on his obligatory work outings. But also like usual, about an hour later his guest had started looking at the door and making comments about finding someplace livelier, maybe that quaint little place we went to last time-
By which, he meant the Limbo Lounge.
The Limbo Lounge was the gay bastard love child of a gentleman's club and a strip joint. The interior was as classy as they could make it, all dark wood, rich fabrics, and dark corners where you could get a private dance with some amount of discretion. The bar carried an impressive amount of top-shelf liquor, which Dean had been slowly working his way through on Seraph's expense account during each visit. There was even a separate smoking lounge, complete with animal head trophies on the walls and a fake, but impressive, fireplace, where it was easy to imagine Sherlock Holmes making himself at home.
The main stage sat opposite the bar, with a stripper pole on each side and a walkway between them that extended into the seating area with a third pole at the end. It was also where the illusion of the elegant gentlemen's club broke down; no amount of mahogany would disguise the fact that there were only so many ways you could class up oiled-up strippers humping the floor. No matter how attractive or talented the performer - and the Limbo Lounge was routinely graced by dancers who exemplified both of those - it was impossible to ignore the base transactional nature of the exchange.
It was particularly harder to ignore when the man you were charged with entertaining was getting a lap dance next to you by a twink dressed like a particularly salacious cherub, complete with fluffy white wings and a fuzzy halo.
Adam was Seraph's favorite at the lounge, and Dean was pretty sure that Seraph was Adam's favorite, too, if only because he was a big spender and an even bigger tipper. Right now, Adam was grinding down on top of Seraph, head thrown back in pretend ecstasy as his wings flapped forward and back in time to the thrusts.
After the fifth time Dean dodged a flap, he'd had enough. "You know what, I'm going to refresh my drink. Can I get you-"
Michael's hands tightened around Adam's hips.
"-You know what? Never mind. I'll be at the bar."
He was pretty sure neither of them even noticed him leave.
Eli was manning the bar that night. At least, he thought it was Eli. There was always a chance it was Benny - it was almost impossible to tell the twins apart, especially since they took turns making people thirsty from the stage and satisfying their thirst on the taps, so you could never be 100% sure who you were talking to.
"Whiskey, neat."
The lights dimmed as the next dancer prepared to take the stage. Dean sipped his drink and steeled himself for another sensual R&B singer crooning about moving your body. Predictable. Boring. Ordinary. Which is why when a voice yelled out, "This is a song about a person I love" over a screech of feedback, he couldn't help but look at the stage in reflexive surprise.
The dancer standing there - Hunter, Dean remembered, that's how the DJ had introduced him, Hunter - was anything but ordinary. Clad in red and black PVC, he stood out like a sore thumb - black pants, knee-length red-and-black combat boots, black fingerless gloves, and a shiny black leather jacket over a red-and-black fishnet shirt that left little to the imagination. There was a cherry red spiked dog collar around his neck with an old-fashioned padlock hanging off it, and matching black-and-red spiked bracelets around his wrists. Silver rings jingled in a row down both ears, matching the nose and lip rings that glinted under the lights. Black lipstick, smudged black eyeliner and a red fake mohawk completed his look as a complete reprobate. He looked blindingly out of place, as if he'd been looking for a punk rock show and had accidentally wandered into the wrong establishment and then decided to make the best of it.
He couldn't have been a day older than 23, and even that might be generous.
He was gorgeous.
Dean was transfixed. He tossed the whiskey back like it was water, slapped a twenty down on the bar and walked toward the stage without a backwards glance.
As the guitars kicked in on the last word - "love" - the kid dropped into a split and then crawled toward the front of the stage, staring right at Dean the whole time as punk guitar riffs howled out of the speaker.
I got a toxic attitude and lack of self-control
A reasonably fucked up individual
Need you to cleanse my sins so I can go to school
P-p-p-please
When he reached the edge, he arched upward like a cat stretching and rolled onto his back for a few suggestive pelvic thrusts. Then he flipped onto his feet acrobatically and bent over, smirking at the audience with a come-hither grin as he grabbed his ankles and wiggled his ass.
Dean adjusted himself discreetly. The boy was a good dancer.
They're gonna lock me in a closet, but I'm coming out
Singing fuck all the oppression and the self-doubt
I'm gonna bite of all your fingers, put them in my mouth
I'm on my knees
He curled upright again and grabbed the pole in front of him, swinging himself around it a few times before landing on his knees in front of it and sucking his thumb like it was a cock. Then the kid bit down, grabbing the glove with his teeth and yanking it off with a twist of his head, and Dean's erection threatened to burst out of his pants.
So take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, girl
Take it easy, take it easy on me
I know you're so hard to please
Just take it easy, take it easy on me
Hunter stalked forward on all fours like a tiger on the prowl, preening under the audience's rapt attention. He reached the edge of the stage at the same time Dean did, smirking at the obvious hard outline in the businessman's pants.
Almost against his will, Dean swayed forward just as the stripper reached out and grabbed his tie, reeling him for a playful kiss as the singer sang about being hard to please. Then he winked, bright hazel eyes sparkling as he pushed him away, sucking and licking on his fingers of his remaining gloved hand seductively before stripping off that glove as well.
Dean's hand flew to his lips as the boy walked away, almost disappointed to find he'd left no smudged lipstick print behind.
She's got my heart in her hands like a headlock
I can't see straight, ten seconds past five o'clock
I don't know what she's doing but she'll do me wrong
She's such a tease
Hips swinging, the kid danced his way back to center stage, where he leaned over and ripped off his boots, the hidden tearaway tabs giving easily beneath his flexing muscles. Like a man in the throes of passion, he tossed his head back and swiveled his hips back and forth, running his hands over his chest and teasing his nipples with his fingers. In a flash, he gripped his fishnet shirt and yanked it out from under his jacket, which lifted up as he sent it flying, revealing the lithe, lean body underneath.
She holds all the p-p-power in her fingertips
She's gonna suck on my strawberry lipstick
She's gonna taste my body with her fingertips
I cannot breathe
I can't breathe
He stalked along the central catwalk, toying with the release tabs on his pants, then grabbing his cock and pumping his hips to the beat. Once he reached the pole, he turned around and thrust his ass out, trailing his fingers between his legs and over his thighs before grabbing the tabs and ripping the pants off, revealing the garter belt, fishnet stockings and skimpy black boy shorts hidden underneath.
Before Dean had barely had time to appreciate the way the fabric sat taut against his ass, he yanked the shorts off as well, exposing two round pink globes, perfectly framed by the black elastic lines of a jockstrap. Tiny locks hung down from the top of the jock where the elastic met the fabric.
So take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, girl
Take it easy, take it easy on me
I know you're so hard to please
Just take it easy, take it easy on me
Clad only in his jacket, stockings and jockstrap, Hunter launched himself around the pole in a frenzy, flipping upside down and back upright again as he spread his legs wide to give the audience tantalizing glimpses of his ass and the bulge in his jock strap.
Take it easy on me
As the guitars wailed out, he launched himself down off the pole, crouching down and thrusting his hips forward suggestively as the men pressed along the edge of the stage handed their bills over. He even let a lucky few tuck them into the elastic on his jock strap.
You can have it all
If you don't take my heart
When Dean held out two fifties, Hunter's smile turned into a delighted grin, and he crawled towards him, rubbing his face against Dean's hand like a pet greeting his master before taking the bills with his teeth.
You can have it all
If you, you take it easy, take it easy on me
He tucked the bills into his jock and stood up, blowing Dean a kiss before dancing back to the middle of the stage as the song finished.
You take it easy, take it easy on me
Dean realized he was still extending his hand like an idiot and yanked it back like he'd touched a live wire. Perhaps he had - his heart was racing, and he could almost swear his flesh was still tingling from the touch of Hunter's cheek.
You take it easy,
Take it easy on me-e-e-e
With a final wink over his shoulder, Hunter collected his clothes and sauntered offstage to the crowd's applause.
As the lights went up, Dean turned away from the stage, feeling suddenly exposed. It was just a striptease. Just a show.
The kid was just grateful that Dean had tipped the price of a private dance. He'd singled Dean out because he could tell he was an easy mark, just like all the other men who'd been happy to hand over their hard-earned money for a dance that - Dean checked his watch - had barely lasted three minutes. A hundred dollars? What was he thinking? He could expense it, but still… Zack would have a field day with it if he found out.
Which was ridiculous. Nothing had even happened that was worth mocking - nor would it.
Quiet, discreet encounters with quiet, discreet men, that was Dean's style, not street punks whose entire personality was clearly based around daddy issues and a clear need to make themselves unignorable by- by anyone with fifty miles of them. Even if Seraph enjoyed regularly partaking in these dubious pleasures, Dean certainly didn't do that kind of thing.
Seraph. His client. Yes. Dean needed to sure he was okay, and he would.
Just as soon as he had another shot.
With enough whiskey, surely he could put the kid out of his mind entirely. It wasn't like he would see him again.
* * *
"Do I know you?"
Dean looked at the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed IT guy sharing the elevator with him and felt a deep-seated loathing for anyone who could be so cheerful and happy when he himself was hungover and half-awake. Even the guy's shirt was a cheery yellow color, for fuck's sake.
Hell had a special place reserved for people who started conversations in elevators.
"I don't think so." Was it a lie if he didn't even care enough to look? Dean stared forward resolutely, praying that the kid took the hint and shut the fuck up.
Instead- "I'm sorry, man, you just look… really familiar."
Seriously? The guy was hitting on him, here and now? He was lucky Dean didn't report him.
He gritted his teeth. "Save it for the health club, pal."
As the elevators dinged open on the IT guy's floor, he stepped off the lift, then looked back at Dean with a smirk. "Health club? Is that what we're calling it these days?"
Dean scowled at him, ready to tell him off, and then their eyes met, and he saw a pair of achingly familiar hazel eyes.
Oh, Dean thought dumbly. There you are.
And then the elevator doors dinged closed.