Fic: By Appointment Only | cw rps/popslash | jensen/jc, jensen/jared

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By Appointment Only
(aka the Jensen the Happy Hooker Crossover AU of DOOM)

Fandoms: cw rps/popslash
Pairings: Jensen/JC, Jensen/Lance, Jensen/Jared, JC/Lance... they're HOOKERS, okay? They fuck a lot.
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: We wish this were true.
Comments: So, la_folle_allure asked me to write some J2 in which listening to JC's music makes Jensen instantly hard. And instead I wrote a Jensen-is-a-hooker AU. It made sense at the time. Many thanks to balefully and babyofthegroup for tromping through my run-on sentences and my new-found penchant for using commas in place of all other appropriate punctuation. All remain grammar retardedness is totally mine. They tried to fix me. To make me better, stronger, like a spaceship with an engine the size of a walnut! Yeah, look, I'm tired, I'm amusing myself, I'm using run-on sentences. Just read the fic.

Warnings: Hookers, recreational drug use, Chad Michael Murray.






Being a hooker pretty much sucks, but now that Jensen's been doing it for a couple years, he's used to it, it's not so bad as all that. Back when he was working street corners for this mean fucker called Johnny G, it was pretty awful. Jensen's not a small guy but he doesn't exactly have time to lift weights, either, and for a pimp, Johnny G did a shitty job of protecting him. Jensen got beat up a few times; he had a really bad run in with a group of frat boys who ended up fucking him up and not even paying after and that's how he met Jared.

Jared didn't even work in his neighborhood. He was just walking back from a club job, some easy cash blowing rich executives in the bathroom, found Jensen all fucked up and bloody and recognized him from the corner. "Dude," he said when took Jensen home and helped him clean up his face, "you gotta get off that corner, man. Street hooking is fucked and the money is shitty besides. It's all about appointments."

"John says I gotta pay my dues."

"John's a fuckhead. I bet I can get Jeff to buy you out. You're pretty when your face isn't a fucking mess-you could be making a lot more with the right guy. God, I hate frat boys."

And then it turned out Jeff didn't even need to buy him out because John died the next week. The cops said it was accidental, but Jensen's pretty sure that people don't accidentally get thrown off roofs and through the windshields of their BMWs. Not that Jensen's complaining, because now that he works for Jeff and is on appointments only, life's pretty great. Well. Relatively speaking, it's pretty great. It beats the fucking corner and asshole frat boys and weird fucks who want him to suck their dicks while they cry, anyway.

A year ago, right after he started working for Jeff and moved into his place with Chris and Steve, Steve gave him a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and it pretty much changed Jensen's life. He does yoga every day now and meditates, and it's really-it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to him. He feels more at peace with his life than he has since leaving home and moving to LA and not getting a job no matter how many gross-out television execs and dirty casting agents he blew for free. Now he at least gets paid for it. The book really helps, though, because now Jensen can pretty much put himself in a trance whenever he wants and it's like, if he gets some job with a really ugly guy who wants Jensen to fuck him, Jensen can just go into this tantric state thing and then it's an hour later and there's money on the table for him.

So it's not an ideal job or whatever-it's not how he imagined spending his young adult life, fucking rich guys for money-but he's pretty good at it and he has a lot of clients, a lot of guys who ask for him by name. He makes good money, good enough to live with Steve and Chris in their only-sort-of-shitty apartment in West Hollywood, which has spiders and ants, but also a big pool out in the courtyard that reminds Jensen of Melrose Place, only without Heather Locklear there to steal people's boyfriends and generally be a bitchface.

Well, there's Chad, who's certainly bitchy enough, but he really doesn't count. Chad lives with Jared in the apartment across the courtyard from him and Steve and Chris, but Jensen's not really sure what Chad does. He's not a hooker, that's for fucking sure. He'd probably give the johns diseases and try to blackmail them, it'd be really bad for business. Jensen thinks maybe Chad's a PA for Universal, which is an even worse job than hooking-bringing coffee to jacked up actors who think they're so great because they're in movies, having to kiss their asses and pet their egos. It's a lot like hooking, Jensen thinks, only you don't get to come, and you make a lot less money. Chad's such a fucking sell out.

Jensen's favorite client is this rich as fuck popstar guy he sees on Wednesdays when the guy is in town. Sometimes they meet at a hotel downtown, but usually JC wants Jensen to come to his house and he always wants Jensen to stay the night. JC's a cuddler, he always wants to sleep after sex; just sleep all tangled together on his gigantic white bed in his gigantic white house on the hill, but Jensen doesn't mind because JC's sweet and he's a good-looking guy-pretty even. Not really Jensen's type, but not exactly a chore, either, and he's only a little kinky. Sometimes he wants Jensen to tie him up or blindfold him, and he really likes Jensen to fuck his mouth. JC has a nice mouth and he can hold his breath for for fucking ever, so Jensen doesn't really mind. A blowjob's a blowjob, and those times, JC usually comes without Jensen even having to touch him. It's the easiest thousand bucks Jensen ever makes.

Jensen wakes up early on a Wednesday morning to Chris and Steve arguing over the last of the milk in the kitchen. He doesn't have to get up. He doesn't have anything to do until JC sends the car for him at nine except maybe yoga and meditation, but he's awake now and there's no way he's getting back to sleep. He stumbles into the bathroom and does his morning shit-showers, brushes his teeth, flosses. Hygiene is a lot more important to the whoring business than people assume, and Jensen doesn't want to get a reputation as being dirty. Unless it's in a Christina Aguilera sort of way, and then it might be hot. He's only mud wrestled once, but it was pretty awesome.

He crosses the courtyard to Jared's place, opens the door without knocking and walks right in. Chad is gone, probably working or something equally lame, so Jensen climbs up onto Jared's bed and jumps up and down until Jared wakes up with a shouted, "Jesus FUCK" and yanks Jensen down on top of him.

"Umph. You're fucking heavy. And annoying. I'm trying to sleep, you asshole."

Jensen kisses his cheek and grins. "Aww, baby. Come on, Jay-Jay, you gotta get up. I want breakfast."

Jared groans and shoves Jensen off the bed, rubs at his face. "Christ. Okay, fine, just let me fucking brush my teeth. God. You couldn't have let me sleep, you fucker?"

"Nope. Chris and Steve are doing their married couple thing again because Chris won't just give in and buy the fucking milk once in a while, and I figure if I have to suffer, so do you."

"Dude, I live with fucking Chad, I think I suffer enough."

"A valid point, but I still want breakfast, so get up, you lazy fuck. We can go to the diner. I'll even buy, because I'm a nice guy like that."

Once they have their coffee and the waitress disappears with their orders, Jensen feels more awake. Getting up early is okay sometimes, he thinks, stirring about five million sugars into his coffee; now he'll have time to hang out at the used bookstore down the street and hide in the back to read without buying, or maybe catch the afternoon yoga class at Carmen's. He's been feeling pretty weird lately, pretty off-center and restless, but Jensen knows all he really needs is a nice, long bikram yoga class to get all cleansed and shit, get him back to the right frame of mind.

"So you're seeing that singer guy tonight?" Jared asks, sipping his coffee carefully.

"Every Wednesday, man. Unless he's, like, in New York or London for the fashion shows or whatever."

"Christ, he really is a fag. He goes to fashion shows, seriously?"

"Yeah," Jensen grins, "and dude, you should see his closet. Half of his clothes are pink, I'm not even kidding you. And the other half is, like, covered in glitter."

"My sister used to be obsessed with that guy," Jared says. "She probably still is. She had posters all over her room, dude. It was fucking sick."

"He's the easiest client I have, man. He's a fucking sweetheart. Sometimes he just wants me to jerk off and come on him. Easiest money in the world, and he makes me breakfast in the morning."

"Fuck you, Jen. You get all the easy ones. You get the guy who doesn't even want to fuck and feeds you and sends his fucking car service to get you, and I get the sick fucks who want to like, pee on me. I have this one guy, Tom? I'm pretty sure he's married, we always meet at this motel, and all he wants me to do is spank him and make him scrub the bathtub naked. It's fucking weird."

"Well, you know what I always say, Jay-Jay. As long as they don't try to pee in your mouth, hookers can't be choosers."

"And anything's better than the corner."

*

It's not until Lance comes out to him that JC ever really considers the whole gay thing. JC's not some kind of gay virgin-he's not Justin, for fuck's sake, but then, no one is able to maintain quite the level of denial that Justin does on a daily basis-he's just never really sat down and tried to come up with, like, some kind of philosophy on the whole thing. Gayness isn't something JC feels the need to think about, and really, he doesn't believe it should be something people have to sit around thinking about at all. It's not a question for the ages. It's not global warming or even eminent domain-it's just not something that deserves that much attention.

It comes as a complete shock to JC that there are entire University departments dedicated to studying the gays. It makes him sort of hate living in America and Weber and the spirit of capitalism and all that, if this is what his tax dollars are paying for. Or that's maybe Marx's fault, JC can never keep his social theorists straight. Swiss banks are definitely the way to go, he thinks, and he should maybe ask his money manager about transferring some funds. Or real estate. He's always wanted to own land. He could have a farm, maybe, where he'd go to write in solitude, all alone with his thoughts except for the coincidentally hotass farm boy that comes around to milk the cows and shovel hay, or whatever it is farm boys do. And then maybe there will be sex. But not in the hay, because that seems like it might be scratchy, and JC has very sensitive skin.

JC has seen The Princess Bride, he knows how these things go. The Princess Bride and about a million pornos.

JC has his own queer theory or whatever, and it's pretty simple: he'll fuck anyone who's pretty enough, not related to him, and willing to sign a waiver that says they'll never talk about it in exchange for a fabulous night of hot sex with him, JC Chasez, the best fuck they'll ever have.

That's in the waiver, too. It's not that JC's vain or arrogant or something; he's just really good at sex. It's a curse sometimes, but it's something he has to live with. It's a struggle.

So he has the whole waiver thing down, but lately JC doesn't even bother because real people are just too much trouble. He has to go out, find someone, pick them up, and then worry about them stabbing him in the night or talking to the press or whatever. And besides which, he's found something a million times better: hookers. They even make house calls. It's pretty much the coolest thing ever.

The best thing about having sex with hookers, JC thinks, is that they always do what he tells them, they don't talk back unless he wants them to, and they're a lot less scary than groupies, who are always doing freaky shit like begging him to sing to them or trying to steal his underwear or asking if he can introduce them to Justin. JC doesn't like feeling like he's being used, and hookers are great for that because all they want is his money. JC is cheap and maybe buys his shampoo and toilet paper in bulk straight from the factory, but he knows a good deal when he sees one.

Jensen's a really good deal for the money. He's hot, he has a perfect dick, and he couldn't give a shit less about who JC is. Not that JC's really anyone anymore, but it's nice not to have to deal with crazy bitches who are all needy afterward, all wanting him to call or see him again. Or worse, the guys who get all smug and threaten to go to the tabloids, like there aren't already a million rumors about JC and his big gay gayness. Like people don't already call him a fag to his face.

Which is so unfair, because he's not even really gay. He's just not. He totally likes girls, too, especially the lesbian ones. JC's not really sure what that makes him, exactly, but it's not gay. In theory, he'd even have sex with girls, except all the ones he brings home just look so much better doing each other that he usually doesn't bother. Plus, he has Jensen the friendly hooker now, so it's not like he even needs it.

Justin would say he's just being lazy, paying for sex to come to him instead of going out and working for it. But Justin is an arrogant little shit sometimes, and JC's pretty sure he's never had to actually work for sex. Plus, JC likes Jensen. If hiring a hooker makes him lazy, he's really pretty okay with that. He still doesn't think it makes him gay, though. Not completely, not entirely. He maybe sleeps with hookers, but he still likes lesbians an awful lot.

This is what he says when Lance calls him that afternoon. Not the thing about the hooker who comes to his house once a week, because there are some things Lance never needs to know about him and also, plausible deniability. Lance is a fantastic liar, but JC would never want to put his friends in that position. Plus, he doesn't want to talk about his specific level of gayness with Lance, pretty much ever. Then Lance would want to know why they never got together, and JC doesn't have the heart to explain about how Lance just isn't hot enough for him. Lance isn't even as hot as the hooker; it's sort of sad, really, and the poor boy already has self-esteem issues. If he'd only asked JC before getting his nose done, JC could've explained about Lance's weird eye and also? That no amount of plastic surgery could fix him being short and having child-bearing hips. Poor Lance. JC feels for him, really. He doesn't empathize, exactly, because JC is pretty much perfect in all ways, but the whole situation is pretty sad. At least Lance is rich. That's always gotten him laid in the past.

"I don't get the whole gay thing," he tells Lance. "Did you know people study it? They, you know, study gayness. That's just weird, man. And also, a waste of money. What do you think about a farm?"

"Would there be cows and chickens and, like, horses at this farm?"

"Sure. It'd be a full-service farm."

"Would I have to plow the fields?"

"Only if the hot farm boy is amenable to buttsex. But it's not a requirement, if that's what you mean."

"I'm pretty sure I meant, you know, corn or wheat fields or something. But if there are hot farm boys, I'm in."

"And you just. You really don't like girls at all?" JC rifles through his dresser, trying to find his pink and black-striped cardigan, but it's just not there. He thinks maybe his assistant burned it, which is probably just as well. He'd already worn it at least five times. It was practically ancient.

"I don't hate them. They're good for going shopping with and they never try to borrow my clothes. I just don't want to fuck them."

"Not even, you know, the really hot ones? Like, not even Angelina Jolie?"

"I wouldn't fuck her with your dick."

"Lance, you dirty bitch." He hums to himself a little, balances the phone precariously on his shoulder, trying to find his favorite dildo in the bottom drawer and wondering how freaked out Jensen would be if JC wanted to try out some toys. Probably he'd just be relieved he didn't have to fuck JC with his own dick. "I still don't get it," JC continues. "I mean, a hole's a hole, right? Or. Oh! Are you, like, a whatsit? A bottom? I bet you are. I bet you're pushy about it, too. But dude, that's what strap-ons are for."

Lance is silent for a moment. JC hopes he's seriously contemplating the strap-on idea because really, limiting yourself to one gender is just stupid, especially if you wouldn't even fuck Angelina Jolie, because what if by some crazed miracle, Angelina and Brad wanted to have a threesome with Lance? They wouldn't, because let's face it, Lance has that weird eye thing and no amount of fabulously-shaped ass can make up for it, but what if? Lance would totally be missing out on Brad Pitt all because he's a narrow-minded gay only type. But Lance has always been stubborn. He's probably just fantasizing about JC and strap-ons. JC can't really blame him though. If he were Lance, he'd be fantasizing about himself, too. He's gorgeous and sexy, it's undeniable. Millions-okay, maybe thousands-of girls agree.

"JC, does this conversation have a point?" Lance says finally, which totally ignores his entire point, but okay, whatever.

"I'm thinking of investing in some real estate. Because of the thing with the taxes. I just think, if the government is going to-"

"I have to go, JC." Now that they're not talking about farms anymore, Lance sounds a lot less amused. He, actually, he sounds almost angry, or as angry as Lance gets, which is just dumb because here JC is, asking Lance about a potential business investment and, hang on-JC didn't say the crooked eye thing out loud did he? That would explain it, Lance is pretty insecure.

"But don't you want to hear about-"

"I'm pretty sure the answer is no. I gotta go, seriously. I'm sorry you don't get the 'gay thing'-" and even JC can hear the air quotes in Lance's voice, so that's a lot of sarcasm right there, because JC likes to assume that everyone is very sincere most of the time; it's why he and Chris don't get along on any sort of deep level-"but I'm not going be your guide to gayness, JC. That's just insulting, okay?"

"Hey, no, sweetie." JC rolls his eyes at himself in the mirror. Lance can be such a touchy little bitch sometimes. "I'm not. Uh, that's not what I meant. Plus, I'm not gay."

"You're not gay. Right." More sarcasm, but seriously, JC isn't gay. He totally likes girls, or at least appreciates them aesthetically, and hookers don't really count on any significant level, so if he's anything, he's celibate. "Call me later, C," Lance says, and hangs up before JC can explain. Which is probably a good thing, because somehow he doesn't think Lance would understand about the hookers. There are a lot of things that make sense in JC's head that no one else seems to get, but JC tries not to blame them or look down on them or whatever. It's not everyone else's fault that he's just too complicated to understand. It's like that Avril Lavigne song, only without all the shrieking.

JC spends the day doing JC things. He paints a little and pretends to garden, but really just spends an hour sticking his hands in the dirt to see if he can feel the earth beating. He met a girl once who claimed that she could feel the earth's heartbeat and, okay, maybe she was high on something at the time, but she seemed very sincere about the whole thing and how amazing it was and how she's pretty sure she saw God. JC's never actually felt the earth's heartbeat when he tries, but he likes the way the dirt slides against his fingers and also, how it makes him look like he has hobbies and things. The PR people keep telling him that 'sleeping' just isn't going to cut it anymore; he's supposed to develop outside interests. Fun ones.

Hmm, now that he thinks about it, the whole dirt thing maybe doesn't qualify. But it's probably better than going to museums and he can't really talk about his only real hobby of fucking hookers, so. Yeah. Dirt, it is.

He's playing PS2 when Jensen gets there. JC's favorite game is this one in which you push around this ball thing and collect random objects along the way, until the ball gets so big you can pick up dogs and people and cars. It's pretty awesome, like that totally fucked up Blondie song about the aliens eating bars full of people, and JC will play it for hours if he doesn't have anything better to do. Jensen sits down next to him on the couch and watches. Jensen is maybe something better to do, but only maybe. It's a pretty awesome game.

"Ooh, grab that cat, yeah, the yellow one," Jensen says, nudging JC's knee with his. "And the wrench! Dude, look out for the house, your thing is way not big enough to pick up buildings yet."

They play Soul Calibur for a while, but Jensen really sucks at it and it's no fun to just win all the time, so they switch to ProSkater and manage to unlock some new moves and shit before JC realizes that he hasn't eaten yet today and he should probably do that. He grabs some hummus and pita from the fridge, makes Jensen a drink and offers him food, but Jensen just wrinkles his nose and says, "No rabbit shit for me, thanks. Texas would never take me back," and drinks his drink instead. JC sits on the floor and watches the Discovery Channel, something about dolphin language, rests his head on Jensen's knee and chews his pita without really tasting it. This is nice, he thinks, and closes his eyes a little when Jensen runs his fingers through JC's hair, scratches at his scalp a little. This is really nice, actually, and if Jensen weren't a hooker, they could totally be friends. Well, if Jensen weren't a hooker and also, was rich and famous. JC has enough normal people friends. He doesn't need another one.

After that it's time for sex. They do it on the couch which is sort of nerve-wracking because JC really likes his couch and getting come on it would be pretty bad. But Jensen doesn't care about the couch and when JC complains, he just tells JC to shut up and fucks into him, just bends JC over the couch and fucks him like that and says, "So don't come if you're so worried."

It's pretty hot. Jensen is pretty good at the whole sex thing. Then again, he's a professional. JC is even better at the sex thing, and it's not his job. He's just, like, naturally talented. Gifted, even, some would say.

JC doesn't come because he really does love his couch and he doesn't want to have to scrub come out of the fabric, but it's a pretty close thing, Jensen really is good with his dick. But JC is pretty good and he does some hardcore visualizations like, thinking about repulsive things. George Bush naked. Mashed potatoes. Chris's beard horns.

After, Jensen sucks him, which is pretty good, plus no come on the couch, which is even better. They lie on the couch and Jensen still has all his clothes on. JC wanders into the kitchen and comes back with pot, sits cross-legged on the floor and lights up.

It's a good night. Just his average Wednesday night, playing video games and having sex and chilling with some good weed. Just his average Wednesday night. With his favorite hooker.

*

In the morning there's breakfast-the ridiculously strong coffee that JC makes and Jensen swears is trying to eat a hole in his stomach, and eggs and bacon, but with fancy garnishes and spices and things because JC likes to pretend he's really interested in cooking. But it's good, it's better than what Jensen would have at home (cereal with soy milk, or maybe toast if he's lucky and they have butter), and even though JC is barely lucid in the mornings, he likes for Jensen to talk, so Jensen does.

"Tell me about your friends again," JC says, and Jensen goes on about Chris and Steve and their band for a while. He mentions Jared and Chad, but mostly what a tool Chad is. JC nods tiredly like he gets that, like he knows a lot of tools and has to deal with them on a regular basis. JC has to do interviews with Ryan Seacrest, though, so Jensen thinks he probably understands how annoying tools are a lot better than Jensen. JC is kind of a tool himself, but Jensen doesn't say that. JC's a tool, he's totally an in-denial-about-himself tool, but he's a sweet guy and he never hassles Jensen about the money, so.

"Jared. He's the one who…?" JC doesn't finish his sentences in the mornings. Jensen has learned how to interpret his mumbling, though.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not a good story. But I was working corners and I had a bad night, he got me out of there."

"Are you, like, dating or something?" JC munches on his bacon and stares vacantly at the table. Jensen stopped trying to figure out how JC's mind works a long time ago. It gave him headaches. He doesn't listen to JC's music, either, because it would be too weird. He doesn't want to know that person, he just wants to know this one, with the sex and the video games and the random conversation and the money at the end. Especially the money at the end.

Jensen frowns at the question. "No. I mean, no. I'm a hooker, JC. Dating is sort of beside the point."

After breakfast JC's car service takes Jensen home. Jared is hanging out in the living room when Jensen walks in, watching their television because Chris bribed the cable guy a while back and now they get the movie channels and everything for free. Jensen settles on the couch, lays his head in Jared's lap and tries to pay attention to whatever it is Carrie and Samantha and the cute one and the lawyer are up to this week on Sex and the City, but he's tired and Jared's fingers in his hair are all relaxing and shit, so he falls asleep instead, drifts in and out and it's nice. Lazy.

Jared doesn't ask him about his night, and he doesn't ask Jared about his. They both had appointments and they have basically the same job, so they pretty much know all there is to know and rehashing details is pointless. Jensen's had other jobs, like back when he was in Richardson and he worked at the DQ for a summer. People at normal jobs like to talk about work, about bosses and annoying co-workers and trading shifts so they can go see Garth at the rodeo. But those are normal jobs and this isn't-it's different. It's not bad, but it's not really something Jensen wants to have long bitch sessions about, either.

Jensen wakes up because Jared's lying on top of him, drooling on Jensen's cheek, it's pretty gross. Jensen wipes his face off on Jared's shirt and pokes him awake. They walk down to the taco shack on the corner for lunch, but end up buying tamales from a woman wandering around with a Styrofoam cooler, selling them for a buck a piece. Jensen buys three and they eat in the public park a few blocks away, sitting under a gigantic tree and watching the joggers and dog walkers and things.

"Do you ever think about, like, what your life would be like?" Jared says.

"What do you mean? Like, if I had stayed in Texas or gone to college or whatever?"

"Sure."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, no point in thinking about it, really. I figure, I tried the acting thing and it didn't pan out. Now I make really good money, it's easy. I have friends and, you know. My life is pretty good. Better than most."

Jared gives him a look, one of his deep, thoughtful, brooding looks, but he just says, "I guess, sure," and shrugs. Jensen doesn't push it. He and Jared are friends, really good friends, and Jensen wants to keep it that way. He doesn't know exactly how Jared got into hooking and he's not really interested in some big origin myth story, either. Jared's a good guy, he's one of the best people Jensen knows. It doesn't matter how things happened, really, just that they are where they are.

Jared, Jensen thinks, isn't content with his situation anymore, even just doing the easy, high-paying appointment gigs. Jared wants something else, and that's. It's pretty cool, actually. They can't be hookers forever, anyway. Eventually they won't be pretty enough for this anymore and Jensen is not going back to working corners-hell no.

But that's not today. Today it's sunny and Jared is grinning at him and he has tamales. Today is a good day. Jensen thinks Jared maybe needs to read the motorcycle maintenance book, find his Zen. He'd loan Jared his copy, but it has all his notes and things in it and besides, Jared makes the same amount of money Jensen does; he can buy his own damn copy.

It's a club gig that night, some sort of party for some production company and Jensen's job is to hang out in the bathroom and offer guys blowjobs. It's the easiest job ever and mostly no one even takes Jensen up on it; they're too scared or freaked out or think they're going to get caught even though the company paid for Jensen to be here. Jensen's there for a five-hour shift and halfway through, a hot blond guy comes in. It's only Jensen's second blowjob of the night and the guy is super polite. He doesn't draw it out like some guys do, he's not rude, and then he wants to suck Jensen, too, which is pretty awesome. The guy is good, he's almost as good as Jensen and when he moans low in his throat Jensen comes suddenly, almost by accident. It's okay, though, the guy is totally cool with it. He just smirks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He's pretty hot. He has green eyes-like, really green, not like Jensen's eyes which are only hazel but he says they're green because that sounds so much cooler-and Jensen thinks about giving him Jeff's phone number, but he doesn't want to push things. A guy like this can probably get laid whenever he wants. He doesn't need a call boy.

He meets Jared for pancakes at the all-night diner on Sunset after his shift ends. Jared whistles when he sees Jensen, says, "You look hot tonight," and winks.

Jensen gives him the finger and laughs. "Fuck off, this is my work uniform." He's wearing vinyl pants and a mesh shirt and a lot of eyeliner, he looks like a total prostitute. He looks like an emo rocker kid and yeah, it's pretty hot. He can't really blame Jared for thinking it.

They talk about the football game Jensen missed so he could work tonight and Jared goes on for fifteen minutes about the Cowboys' offense and how much it blows, until their food comes and Jensen tells him about the hot blond in the bathroom.

"That's the best," Jared says, drizzling strawberry syrup on his pancakes. "Like, when they're hot and you'd totally do them for free if you met them in a club or something? But instead you get to come and you get paid and you never have to see them again. Sometimes this job fucking rocks, dude."

"Sometimes you have to fuck fat old guys who cry the whole time, too," Jensen says. He grins. "But the hot ones are almost worth it. Do you ever notice, though, that it's like. Like, okay, the other day my popstar guy-"

"The sweetheart?" Jared smirks and shoves a forkful of pancake in his mouth.

"Yeah, the sweetheart. He is, shut up, he's a nice guy. Whatever. The other day JC was all, wanting to know if I have a boyfriend. And it's like, you know, I never really thought about it. Because what would be the point, you know? I mean, who am I gonna be interested in when I'm already getting laid a lot more than I really want to? Sex is, like, blah, now."

"Huh," Jared says, and shrugs. "I think, actually. I think you're maybe wrong about that, but. Yeah." Jensen waits for him to say something more, put up an argument or whatever to make his point, but he doesn't. He just looks at Jensen and eats his pancakes with his mouth open.

*

JC spends a lot of time in the studio. He writes some songs with Justin and he thinks they're pretty neat; they're going to be really big, he thinks. He has one about how hot American girls are that he thinks is one of the best things he's ever written. He's pretty happy and it's good to hang out with Justin again, good to be working with him again. Justin is only slightly less bratty than he was last time they were in the studio together, but this time it's JC's record so Justin can't make demands and whine until he gets his way. This time Justin doesn't actually care if he gets his way, though. JC's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

He has lunch with Lance on Friday, and Lance is wearing this stupid hat and dark glasses, he looks like a total moron. JC nearly refuses to sit down at the table with him, he looks so dumb. Lance finally takes off the hat and that's okay, sort of. JC sits down.

"What's with the weird disguise, dude?" JC asks, studying the menu with a frown. They have good food here and JC wants to try something new that he hasn't had before. JC is all about new things and exploration. He thinks that should be his hobby-trying new things and exploring-but the suits at Jive just give him this crazy look when he tells them that. The new girl they set him up with to fix his image, Mandy or Katie or something, actually punched him in the arm when he told her that last time. She punched him hard and it hurt, he maybe even got a bruise, and she told him he's the most boring person she's ever met. She doesn't know about the hookers, though, so she can't really say.

"-stupid bloggers, I'm getting really sick of it." JC looks up, Lance has been talking for a couple minutes and JC has no idea what he just said.

"Yeah," JC says, "Uh, I can see how that would be frustrating or something."

"It's awful, dude. I can't walk down the fucking street anymore. And I think I'm being cheated on but we can't break up because, uh. So I think maybe I'm going to come out."

"Come out where? Wait, you have a. A person? Like, a boyfriend?"

Lance glares at him. "I've been seeing this guy for months, JC."

"Don't be a bitch, man, I've been working, okay?" Lance has a boyfriend. Huh. A boyfriend who's probably cheating on him, but still. A boyfriend. It's pretty weird. JC's never really thought about Lance actually with a guy before and it's. No, weird is pretty much the only thing he can come up with. He's pretty sure he doesn't like the idea. "Wait, so who is this guy?"

"He's just a guy, it's not important. I mean, I like him and all, but I'm pretty sure he's cheating on me, so, yeah." Lance sounds kind of miserable about it, and JC doesn't like that either. He sort of wants to kick the guy's ass, except that he's a pacifist and stuff, and violence is totally beneath him.

"Is he hot?"

"No, he's disgusting, that's why I'm with him."

The waitress comes and takes their orders and JC wants wine, too. He gets what she recommends because waitresses at fancy places like this usually know their shit. He gets a bottle for the table and it comes quickly, but JC hasn't eaten so it goes right to his head. His teeth are probably sort of purple, too, which he hates, but he's feeling good and a little giggly and then he remembers-

"Wait so. You mean, like, come out, come out? Like, of the closet thing?"

Lance sips his wine and gives JC a look. JC knows Lance is trying really hard not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, JC, the closet thing. I'm getting outted anyway. And if I'm gonna do it, I need a boyfriend so the gossip people don't start, like, accusing every guy I know of being my secret lover."

"You have a secret lover?" JC frowns. He thinks he's pretty sure he doesn't like this boyfriend guy, especially because he's a cheater, and Lance has a wonky eye thing, sure, but he deserves better than that, and now there's a secret lover who JC hates maybe more than the boyfriend. Secret lovers are trouble. JC is pretty sure about that, he read it in a magazine once. He thinks it was Jane, so that's a fairly credible source.

"No, there's no secret lover. I mean, okay, there was a guy in a bathroom at some club a few days ago, but I'm pretty sure he was a hooker, so."

JC accidentally spits out his wine and then chokes on some and starts coughing until he can't breath. "You fucked a prostitute?"

"Nah, just blowjobs. He was hot, it's not a big deal, happens all the time. What, you've never been to one of those parties and gone into the bathroom and there's, like, a hot guy there handing out blowjobs?"

"I'm not gay," JC says, and coughs some more.

Lance narrows his eyes behind his sunglasses and his mouth tightens a little in the corners before he looks away. "Whatever, right. You're not gay," he says.

*

Another Wednesday means another night at JC's house, but this time JC is working on something so they don't even fuck. JC opens the door, points Jensen toward the living room, says, "I just have to… there's a thing. I'm feeling this vibe and I gotta go with it so just, uh, you know. Make yourself comfortable, watch whatever, play something." Jensen just nods and installs himself on JC's gigantic couch while JC disappears down a flight of stairs to the basement studio, where Jensen's never been.

"It's sort of, you know, it's holy," JC told him when he asked about it. "Not that I think, you know. I don't think you're going to, uh, fuck things up or whatever, but it's like a spiritual place for me and I don't really let other people down there."

Jensen waits in the living room. He watches all the episodes of Battlestar Galactica and Veronica Mars that JC has saved on his TiVo and ends up passing out somewhere around the time when Veronica is trying to figure out if her ex-boyfriend is really her brother. JC's still in his studio; Jensen can feel the bass through the floorboards, a heavy thud-thud sort of thing that echoes in his chest. It's sort of cool-Jensen thinks JC has a really cool job. Way better than hooking, that's for fucking sure.

So Jensen passes out before Veronica can confront her brother/boyfriend/possible rapist and when he wakes up it's morning and there's a familiar-looking blond guy standing over him, frowning. The sun is really bright so it must be sort of late, later than Jensen usually sticks around, and all he can do is blink against the light and try to figure out where he knows the guy from. Maybe he's famous. JC knows a lot of famous people, he thinks. JC knows Tara Reid and Britney Spears, so yeah. Famous people and trashy blondes. Jensen wonders if this blond is trashy, too.

"What's, uh." Jensen sits up, rubs at his eyes. "What time is it?"

The guy keeps frowning, but not in a mean way. Not like he's going to kick Jensen's ass or anything, which is a relief. "It's almost noon, man. Did you. Where's JC?"

Jensen shrugs. "He, uh, said he was feeling a vibe and went downstairs. I must've fallen asleep."

The guy shakes his head, gives Jensen an assessing look. "Hmm, okay, look. Uh. He probably passed out down there working on something. He loses track of things when he's working. Does he. How much does he owe you?"

Jensen coughs but he doesn't look away. He's a hooker, he's not ashamed of that because really? It's a perfectly legitimate profession. Okay, not exactly legal or whatever, at least not in California, but pretty much it is, they don't even prosecute appointment-only guys like him. Plus, now he remembers where he knows the guy from. Hot blond guy from the party last week, mouth like a fucking Hoover.

"It's a grand, usually. And uh, he has his car service take me home, so."

"Christ," the guys says, shaking his head. "Okay, I know where he keeps his stash of emergency cash and I'll give you a ride home, if that's okay. I'm, uh. I'm Lance, by the way."

"Jensen." He grins. "We've met before. Last week. I wouldn't usually mention it, dude, but uh. I would've done you for free."

Lance laughs. "I wasn't the one paying."

Lance gets Jensen his money and they drive back to West Hollywood in Lance's BMW. It's nice but not extravagant and not what he'd expect a popstar to have. "You're in JC's group, right? The uh, the band thing?"

"Yeah," Lance says. "I'm in JC's band thing." He smiles and it's not really a nice smile; it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't know if you have some sort of client confidentiality thing so I'll understand if you don't want to answer this, but how long have you been, um. Seeing JC?"

Jensen picks imaginary threads from his pants and tries to decide if he should answer. He signed something back when he first started seeing JC, and actually it was a pretty funny contract about basically how great JC is in bed and how he could never talk about it to anyone, ever, but Lance seems like a good guy and Lance is the one who paid him today. Plus, the important bit about Jensen being a hooker is already out. And anyway, Jensen's pretty sure that contract wasn't legal. It certainly wouldn't hold up in court, that's for sure.

"I did-I signed something, but since you already know, it's probably okay. Um. I don't know, actually. A while. Like, a year, maybe? Off and on."

"Fuck," Lance says, and his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. They don't talk for the rest of the drive except for Jensen giving directions and it's pretty uncomfortable, but Jensen guesses that finding out your bandmate has been keeping secret weekly appointments with a hooker for the past year is probably pretty unsettling. Jensen would almost feel sorry for the guy, except that Lance is a famous popstar with more money than Jensen can even really imagine, so, yeah. Lance probably has enough money to, like, roll around naked in it and stuff, although he doesn't really seem like the type of guy who'd do that. He gave Jensen a blowjob, and that says something about a guy. Reciprocity bodes well and all that.

They get to the apartment complex and Jensen reaches for the door, says, "Thanks, man," and starts to get out, but Lance stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen," he says, "you seem like a good guy and you're attractive. You're a hot guy. I'm going to give you my card, okay? And just, I have some things that start filming soon, small TV movies, but uh. Just take my card. Call my assistant, she'll get you hooked up with audition information."

Jensen takes the card and slips it in his jacket pocket. "Thanks, man," he says, and Lance smiles. Jensen won't call; it would be too weird and he never gets those jobs anyway. He knows what this is about. Because seriously, it's not like this is the first time this someone's slipped him a card-it's about Lance wanting to make sure Jensen keeps quiet. He doesn't blame Lance, though, he's just protecting his friend the best way he knows how, and he seems like a nice guy, so.

"Thanks," he says again, and gets out of the car. He's watching Lance drive away when someone wraps an arm around him from behind, leans his chin on Jensen's shoulder-Jared.

"Who was that?" Jared asks, squeezing a little. A little one-armed, backwards hug. It's kind of nice.

"Uh, one of JC's friends. Lance? Also, dude, totally my hot blond from last week. Fucking small world, right?"

"Nice!" Jared laughs. "Lance, as in Lance Bass?" Jensen shrugs and Jared laughs again. "Holy shit, man. You totally sucked off a popstar astronaut. That's so fucking cool, you get all the luck."

Jensen grins and leans back against Jared. "Yeah, I'm pretty lucky."

*

JC wakes up because Lance is pinching him and it hurts and why the fuck is Lance pinching him? Lance has never seemed like a violent kind of guy and JC can't even remember a time he's seen Lance really really pissed off, but possibly that's because JC has issues with paying attention to what other people are doing. It's not that he doesn't care; it's just that mostly, other people are totally uninteresting, even Lance, who at least knows stuff about science and space and can say that one phrase in Russian really well.

"Dude, what the fuck?" JC mumbles, swatting at Lance. Lance gets in one more pinch before he backs away, glaring at JC like JC's the one who entered Lance's holy shrine sanctuary of music-making genius and totally committed vibe-ruining violence.

"I met your friend," Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest, which actually is pretty distracting because Lance maybe has a weird eye thing and big hips, but he has super nice arms. It's an interesting development and-wait. Hang on.

"My, um. My friend?"

"Yeah. You know, your friend Jensen, the happy hooker?"

"Oh, him." JC stares at his feet and makes his mind very very blank. Possibly, he thinks, if he doesn't look at Lance and only thinks about how nicely shaped his arches are and how he doesn't have hardly any toe hair, unlike Chris who looks like a fucking hobbit or something-possibly if he does that, Lance will forget he's here.

"You're fucking hookers now, JC? What happened to not being gay?" Lance is sort of hissing and it's maybe kind of sexy. JC tries to ignore that part; it's just because he forgot to have sex last night. He really does have nice feet.

"We didn't fuck," JC says finally. "I passed out in the studio, so we totally did not fuck."

"But you have fucked, in the past." It's not a question when Lance says it.

"It's easier than picking up and having to deal with skeezy guys who try to sell you to the press. You should know."

"He's a hooker, JC! You don't think that's just a little bit skeezy?"

"It's. No! Jensen's a nice guy. He signed a thing, he can't tell anyone and he would've done it already if he was going to, so. It's fine, Lance." JC maybe has the nicest-looking feet he's ever seen, now that he really studies them. His toes are perfectly shaped. It's pretty amazing, actually.

Lance's voice is low and a little shaky when he replies. "It's not fine, JC."

JC rolls his eyes and finally looks at Lance. When Lance is upset his eyes get even wonkier. Upset or drunk, and he's definitely upset right now. Which is pretty weird, because seriously, JC is the one fucking the hooker, JC's the one with the Issues. And okay, so maybe he does have some issues that he needs to address or whatever, and possibly he could start by admitting that guys are hot and he likes fucking them, but there were reasons why he never did before. Good ones that involved preserving Lance's self-esteem, and from the looks of him, JC was totally right on that.

Lance doesn't just look like he's going to cry. He looks like someone just kicked his dog and the space station blew up and Tim McGraw died in a tragic boating accident all on the same day. He looks devastated, actually. It's pretty weird, and also weirdly hot. The eye thing isn't bothering JC as much as it used to.

"Why do you care so much?" JC says.

"If you don't know. Christ, why do I even bother?"

JC shrugs and pokes at one of the dials on his production console. "Look, I. I'm sorry?" That seems like the right response in this situation, although JC's still not really sure what he's sorry for. So, he fucked a hooker. Lance has fucked hookers too, or at least gotten blown by them. He's just a hooker hypocrite, and ooh, that's kind of catchy, there's maybe a song in that, JC thinks. What rhymes with hypocrite?

"Fuck you, JC. Just. You know what, don't call me for a while, okay?"

"Lance…" JC tries, but Lance is already taking the stairs two at a time like he wants to get out of there fast. Hypocrite, JC thinks. Hooker hypocrite. Pantolet? Calumet! This is going to be the best song ever, JC thinks. The hooker hypocrite from Calumet wearing pantolets. It's going to be the next 'Roxanne.'

*

There's a party that weekend in the apartment complex, so Jensen puts on his least hookery-looking clothes and heads out to the pool area with the stash of liquor he keeps hidden in his closet so Steve and Chris don't drink it. It's important when attending a party to contribute to the delinquency of others, Jensen thinks as he deposits his half-empty vodka bottle and random plastic jug of rum on the booze table before wandering off to find Jared.

Jared and Chad have claimed a couple pool loungers. Jensen pokes at Jared until he makes room for Jensen on his lounger and Chad pauses in the middle of some asinine story about how Brad Pitt has to have three lattes a day to survive just to roll his eyes at Jensen. The girl perched at the end of Chad's lounger-Sadie? Sally? Sophie?-pokes at him and says, "Chad, come on, more about Brad, damn it" but Chad ignores her in favor of giving Jensen the evil eye. Jensen just grins and leans back against Jared, because Chad is so jealous right now. Chad wishes he could be as good-looking as Jensen. Chad wishes people would actually want to pay to have sex with him.

Jensen and Chad maybe don't get along very well, but whatever. Chad's a bitch and Jensen's a whore, so it just wasn't ever meant to be. Jared leans closer, whispers, "Be nice," in Jensen's ear. Be nice. Yeah, right. Jensen is always nice.

"You guys are fucking sick," Chad says, smiling his gross-out evil smile. God, Jensen really doesn't like him. "When are you going to fuck and just fucking get it out of your systems because all this lame sexual tension shit is driving the rest of us crazy."

"What are you-" Jensen starts to say, but Jared interrupts, "Fucking shut it, Murray. Isn't there a high school girl you haven't given VD to yet?"

"No need to be so touchy," Chad says. "Just pointing out the obvious is all, since you two don't seem to have a fucking clue. I thought you were, like, professionals at this."

And then Chad goes back to his Brad Pitt stories and Chris and Steve wander by with shots and pot. Jensen doesn't have anything until Monday; he can afford to get loaded so he does. He gets totally fucked up on vodka shots and weed, which has the effect of making him feel like he's swimming underwater and there are, like, warm birds on his shoulder, which doesn't make sense except that it's just Jared's head and his stupid fly-away hair, and that makes a lot more sense. Jensen really loves pot.

And it's nice, just lying there. Somehow Jared has shifted around until he's using Jensen as a pillow and that's nice, too, because it's breezy and a little cool but Jared is warm and Jensen can feel the smooth skin of Jared's back against his fingers. He's maybe feeling Jared up a little-he's got his hand under Jared's shirt and he can walk his fingers up Jared's spine-it's pretty nice. Jared doesn't seem to mind, he just sighs and tilts his head up and then they're kissing, and yeah. It's pretty nice. It's pretty amazing.

It's pretty different from what Jensen's used to. Jensen has only kissed johns for the past few years and he never really wanted to kiss anyone else. Hooking kind of kills any desire for a normal sex life or whatever so he never really tried, but Jared's a good kisser. He's a professional; he should be a good kisser and he is, but it's sloppy and wet and tastes like vodka and smoke. It's very Jared, and Jensen doesn't think he's ever been this hard just from a few kisses that didn't even use that much tongue or anything.

"Mmmm," Jared hums against Jensen's neck and thrusts against his hip a little. It's not urgent or anything, just hot and nice.

"Mmm," Jensen hums back, rubbing his palm up and down Jared's back. They fall asleep like that, and it's, yeah. It's pretty nice.

Waking up is an entirely different matter.

Jensen feels like he's been hard for a fucking year or something and he's still sort of fucked up, but mostly sober. It's during one of those weird haze times with moments of perfect clarity that Jensen realizes he's following Jared into his apartment and climbing into his bed. And then Jared's kissing him again but with more intent and it's, yeah, it's pretty fucking hot and Jared makes the best noises in the world, all low and throaty and better yet-Jensen's pretty sure Jared won't cry afterward or give Jensen a lecture about how, really, he loves his wife a lot and that's why he does this.

No, that's not going to happen and this is so completely different from hooking, it's like another planet. Mars, maybe. It feels like red. Jared's mouth is hot on his when he sucks at Jensen's bottom lip, fingers fumbling with Jensen's zipper until they can wrap around Jensen's dick, until they're both out and rubbing together and it's, yeah. It's fucking perfect, Jared's hot and his hands are ridiculously huge, he just wraps one around both of them and jacks them slow, their hips pushing together. It's the most languid fuck Jensen's ever had. And the hottest. It's definitely like Mars.

Yeah, this pretty much beats hooking any day.

And then Jared does this thing-rubs the palm of his free hand right over the tips of their dicks and Jensen comes just like that, hips jerking, face pressed into Jared's neck. He reaches down with his own hand and wraps his fingers around Jared's wrist, makes him jack himself faster until he comes, gasping and laughing a little and just sounding, yeah, just sounding really pleased.

"Fuck," Jensen whispers. "That, uh. Yeah."

"Pretty much," Jared says. Then, "I told you it'd be different, man."

It was different, Jensen thinks. It was so different that Jensen didn't think once about finding his Zen and he falls asleep with his fingers still wrapped around Jared's wrist wondering how he's ever going to go back to the way things were before. The corner was shit and appointments are better, but Jared is maybe the best yet.

*

JC spends most of the next few days leaving Lance voicemail messages and hating himself and feeling stupid because he can't figure out what he's done wrong. He decides that he needs to bring someone else in on it, someone who knows him and can maybe explain himself to, uh, himself, so he calls Chris, who laughs and laughs and says, "I knew it, you kinky bitch, I fucking knew it!" but doesn't hang up on him or freak out the way Justin would.

Chris, JC thinks, gets the whole hooker thing because Chris hangs out with whores all the time. Or at least, Chris hangs out with chicks he meets up with from myspace based on the size of their tits in the pictures they send him, so he gets it better than Justin.

"So, let me get this straight," Chris says, and snickers a little at his own pun. JC rolls his eyes. Chris likes to think he's funny and JC likes to let him think that because otherwise they'll just get into an argument about the relevance of puns in modern culture and JC will never figure out this Lance situation thing. "Straight, get it?" Chris prods.

"Yeah, Chris. Ha ha. Straight."

"So, you're totally gay-"

"I'm, look, I'm not gay exactly. I like girls."

"You like looking at girls, C. It's not really the same thing. That's like, you know, liking a Monet or one of those naked sculpture things-

"Michelangelo?"

"No no, the really naked ones. The sexy ones. Anyway. It's like, you know, appreciation is different than actually wanting to do the nasty with someone. Therefore, you're totally gay."

"Whatever."

"So you're totally gay and Lance is pissed because you've been doing some whore for the past year?"

"Well. Mostly he's been doing me."

Chris laughs. "That figures. So you're taking it up the ass from a whore."

"You make it sound so. Base. And, and seedy. It's, you know, it's not like that. Sometimes we just hang out and play video games and-"

"Dude, you're paying some guy a thousand bucks a week to play your Xbox? Baby, I'd do that for free."

"Fuck off and die." Calling Chris was obviously the worst idea in the world and JC officially hates him. Plus, he's not even helping and Lance won't return his calls and it's starting to make him feel really sad. He misses Lance. He misses Lance's sarcasm and his bitchiness and how he reads all the same dorky science crap that JC does. He even misses Lance's weird eye thing. It just, it sucks. He wants Lance back and he can't even figure out why he left in the first place.

"Okay listen," Chris says, sounding suddenly serious. "You're all torn up about this and you're not stupid, JC. You know exactly what's going on."

"I do?" He so doesn't. He just knows that there's no one to take him to lunch and mock Justin mean-spiritedly behind his back with, now.

"You're totally in love with Lance and he's pissed because you've been taking it from some streetwalker all year instead of having hot, meaningful, man-love with Lance."

"He's not a streetwalker," JC says. "He's, like, by appointment only. He's a high class hooker."

"I rest my case," Chris says, and hangs up.

*

After last week and the whole Lance debacle, Jensen is pretty surprised when JC doesn't cancel their appointment and the car shows up at nine like always. When he gets to the house, though, JC looks pretty miserable. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that's so old it's nearly worn bare in patches and he looks like he hasn't slept since the last time Jensen saw him.

"Dude," Jensen says, "not to be rude or anything, but you look like shit."

JC gestures listlessly toward the living room and the settle on the couch, JC pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, sighing all sad and mopey-like. It's pretty ridiculous, actually, but Jensen tries really hard not to laugh because JC is obviously upset and he clearly wants to talk about it. Jensen's not getting paid to be JC's shrink, but whatever. He's a nice guy and Jensen would rather talk to him than fuck him, so that's okay. It's maybe better, actually, considering.

"So, uh. What's wrong, man? Is it. Did I get you in trouble with your friend?"

JC sighs again. "He won't talk to me. And. And Chris says it's not the whole hooker thing, it's because I wasn't fucking him. Uh, not Chris, that would be a disaster. But, you know, because I wasn't with Lance and-"

"I think you need a drink," Jensen says. "You just. Look, just sit there, okay, and I'm going to make you something and we'll figure it out."

JC nods sadly and Jensen wonders how anyone so completely clueless and spacey somehow became so successful. JC's lucky he's pretty.

Jensen searches the kitchen cupboards and finds some hot chocolate mix. He makes it with milk and everything and manages to find JC's stash of peppermint schnapps hidden in the cupboard above the stove with the vinegars and cooking wines and shit, pours some of that in.

JC drinks his cocoa and tells Jensen the story and Jensen just nods and says, "Okay, so. Chris thinks you're in love with Lance."

"Yeah, which is just. I mean, I love Lance, but I'm not in love with him. Am I? I mean, he has that weird eye thing."

"Lance is pretty hot, JC. His eye isn't that weird."

JC just looks at him over his mug, eyes wide. "Really? I mean. Really, you think Lance is hot?"

"I'd do him for free," Jensen says. "So yeah, he's pretty hot. Also, he gives great head."

JC coughs. "Mmm. Okay, but. He's not even taking my calls and I just, you know. I miss him."

"I think I got that from the other ninety million times you said it," Jensen says, and JC glares at him. "Look, here's the deal. You're totally in love with Lance. You're gay and you're in love and he loves you back, so you should probably stop fucking me and start fucking him instead. Plus, think of all the money you'll save."

JC freezes and blinks at him slowly. "You think, uh. Lance loves me back?"

"He tried to buy me off with a job offer, so yeah, he's pretty in love. He tried to turn me legit, dude. He totally loves you."

"This cocoa is really good," JC announces loudly. He looks like he might have a heart attack at any moment.

"I'm the best. Now pay me and call Lance. And if I ever see you at a club or whatever, I'll pretend like I don't know you."

"Dude. You're a good friend, you know that?"

"I'm not your friend, JC, I'm your hooker."

"Former hooker," JC says, and smiles.

*

"So, I think I'm gonna quit my job," Jensen says. He and Jared are playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, which never really goes over well because Jared point blank refuses to beat any hookers with baseball bats. It's pretty ridiculous, but no matter how many times Jensen points out that they're computer animated hookers and also, that they totally deserve to get beaten, Jared just won't do it. It totally brings down their score.

"You're-what?" Jared says, and his car promptly crashes into a house. Jared turns to look at him. "You're quitting? For serious?"

Jensen shrugs and stares at the floor. Now that he's said it, he feels sort of embarrassed about the whole thing because, yeah, hooking is a pretty good gig for him, great money and all, but the whole Jared situation has totally ruined Jensen's Zen. He can't even trance out anymore, he just spends the whole time wondering what Jared's doing and wishing he was sucking Jared's dick instead. Rereading the motorcycle book and meditating on it doesn't even help-Jared has a really nice dick. Jensen could spend forever just licking and sucking at it, and then he just ends up meditating on that and thinking about dicks is probably not the path toward spiritual enlightenment that Buddha envisioned.

"Jensen, come on, man. You're quitting?"

"I. Yeah. I just, I don't want to do it anymore. JC has a boyfriend now and what if I get some freak in his place and I just. I dunno. I kind of just want to… you know."

"To what?" And when Jensen looks up Jared is grinning at him, a wide, silly grin that Jensen wants to kiss, so he does.

"I think, um. You should be my boyfriend. We could both quit. We could just quit hooking and move to San Francisco and get, like, jobs or something. I could sell fancy cheeses and you could wait tables. We could live in a one-bedroom on a hill and hang a pride flag outside the balcony and, like, go to marches and parades and shit."

"Or," Jared says, his fingers rubbing along the back of Jensen's neck, "you could call that guy, get your audition. And I could, um. I could take the scholarship UCLA wants to give me and go back to school."

"But the boyfriend thing?" Jensen can't stop smiling. His face is maybe going to get stuck this way and he totally doesn't care.

"Oh, definitely the boyfriend thing. I'll treat you good, baby." Jared's smiling wide, his fingers tugging Jensen closer. "Now come here so I can kiss you."

"Wait," Jensen says, looking thoughtful. "I think it's 'well.' 'I'll treat you well.' If you're gonna be a college boy, Jay-Jay, you gotta know your grammar."

"Fuck you, man," Jared laughs.

"Yeah," Jensen says, "and I'll totally do you for free."