J2 AU Fic: Egg My Nog (1/1) PG-13

[saone]

Title: Egg My Nog
Author: saone77
Summary: Featuring Jensen as a grinch, Aldis as an instigator, and Jared as Cindy Lou Who the Prince of Darkness.
Pairing: J2
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4641
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Notes: For raeschae for spn_j2_xmas. This is a number four, with a dash of number two, and a sprinkling of your general likes. Merry Christmas! Beta thanks go to gemini8. And, yes, the title is from the faux porn in A Very Supernatural Christmas. Hope you like it!





"I swear to Christ, the next guy who orders a Blowjob is gonna get a shot glass rammed down his throat." Jensen doesn't yell, but his voice projects enough that several men, all of whom had previously been not so subtly leering, back away from the bar. Jensen snorts and raises a challenging eyebrow at one of the remaining customers. "Choose wisely."

"Uh... beer?"

"What kind?"

"Whatever's easiest for you?"

Jensen pulls a chilled bottle out of one of the fridges under the counter. "Good call." He collects his payment and watches the man scurry off. Satisfied with the result of his carefully crafted surliness, he turns to find Mr Sheppard, his boss, leaning against the register.

It's unusual to see the London expat anywhere in the main area of the club when he wasn't doing his emcee duties. Most of his time is spent standing behind the large two-way mirror by the twenty foot tall columns of holographic fire - he delights on seeing the looks on newbies faces when they realized that the Inferno is less disco, and more Dante.

"Jensen," Mr. Sheppard says with that accent that absolutely does not get Jensen a little hot and bothered every time he hears it, "what have I told you about threatening the customers?"

"Uh," Jensen deposits the cash and reaches around to put the change in his tip jar, "don't actually follow through?"

"That would be it, yeah." Sheppard's eyes flit over the crowd. "Though, getting their money before you start talking about bodily harm would best."

Jensen eyes the few guys still milling around hoping to get his attention without putting themselves in the line of fire. He can practically see their horribly cliched when-in-a-strip-club drink orders stamped on their foreheads. "No promises," he says flatly.

"It's a good thing you're pretty. So..." Sheppard gives Jensen a sideways glance, "heard from the Cowboy, lately?"

Jensen starts a bit. "How did you-" He sighs, thinking of his fellow bartender. "Aldis."

"And Jake, and Brock, and a few of the others. They're concerned."

Jensen glances around the darkened club at the familiar and anxious faces he sees among the masses. He scowls, and their anxiousness turns to guilt which looks very out of place with their leather pants/mesh shirt outfits. "They're nosy."

"That too," Sheppard admits easily. "I must say, I truly loath getting involved in any sort of staff-related personal issues, but since it would ultimately be in my best interest to get you out of your little funk, as it were, then I suppose I must step in." He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. After holding his breath for a beat, he releases it, opens his eyes again, and smiles. Really smiles. Like a completely genuine, non-snarky smile.

Jensen backs up a step.

"You know," Sheppard says, "we could survive without you if you'd like to take a few days off around Christmas. Maybe head down to... where has that delightful little redneck relocated to again?"

"Nashville," Jensen says faintly.

"Ah, yes, Tennessee. Wonderful. No... wait..." Sheppard's face freezes for a moment before abruptly falling into his trademark smirk. "Couldn't hold it." He shrugs.

"Right." Jensen clears his throat. "Well, thank you? But I'm fine here. Completely fine."

Before Jensen can make any other assurances, a man wearing a suit that probably costs more than Jensen's monthly rent, gathers his courage, steps up the the bar, raises his chin and says, "Give me a Screaming Orgasm."

Jensen rolls his eyes and reaches for the tequila, dry vermouth, and Baileys.

"That's not how you-"

With a flick of his wrist Jensen sends the shot glass across the bar's polished surface. "This beverage is called an Apocalypse Now." Jensen cocks his head to the side. "Think about it."

The man thinks about it. Then he throws it back in one gulp and croaks out, "thank you very much," before very swiftly retreating.

Jensen nods, satisfied.

"Oh yeah," Sheppard says, "you're great." He checks his watch. "Eh, whatever, I tried. And now it's almost time for the main event. I'd better go rally the troops." He gives Jensen a last considering look. "You know, the offer still stands if you ever want to..." He gestures towards the stage.

Jensen simply raises an eyebrow, and Sheppard holds up his hands in a placating manner.

"No harm in asking every once in a while," Sheppard says, his face splitting into a grin that promises just as much wickedness as the twinkle in his eyes.

Jensen would disagree, but he holds his tongue, instead watching his boss effortlessly maneuver through the crowded room to a slightly recessed - and bouncer-protected - door that leads backstage. Sheppard's departure signals Aldis' return from his now suspiciously timed bathroom break.

"So," Aldis says jovially, tying his apron around his hips, "what did the bossman want?"

Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and glares.

"Ah." Aldis winces. "I'm guessing the talk didn't go well."

"You'd guess correctly. What the hell, man?"

"In my defense, you've been acting like a huge dick lately."

"Just because I've gotten fed up with making ten dozen Long, Slow, Screws every night?"

Aldis snorts. "I don't give a shit how you act towards the customers, but you made one of the waiters cry."

"He was... It was... Shut up," Jensen says, then retreats to his default setting. "I'm fine."

The look Aldis gives him is pure 'bitch, please' with the tiniest dash of 'your simplistic denials are pathetic, you sad, little man'. Aldis was very adept at non-verbal communication.

"I know that you've never exactly been Mary Sunshine, and if I'm being honest, your grumpiness is almost... endearing," Aldis says, "but lately you've been taking it to a whole new level. Like, a no-jury-would-convict-anyone-around-you level. And it's not exactly hard to figure out why. This is the first time you and Chris have spent any major time apart since you both came to L.A. on that mule train out of Hicksville-"

"It was an airplane. From Dallas."

"Whatever. My point is-"

"Oh, you have one?"

"My point is, Chris might not be your blood, but he is practically your brother, and I know he was there for you through some tough times. It's okay to feel bad that he's not here, especially around the holidays, but you could try missing him without being so much of an asshole."

For a moment Jensen lets his shoulders droop. He's not going to closely examine what Aldis said, mostly because he doesn't need to. He already knows he misses Chris; he's gotten that memo. He also knows that he doesn't have to be alone for the holidays. Chris invited him out to Nashville, even offered to let him sit in on a couple of the songs he's recording. He's also gotten the customary rote invite from his parents, and a rather sweet request from his brother's family. And he knows that his friends here in the city, Aldis included, would probably be calling or knocking on his door to make sure he'd be occupied Christmas Day. But even knowing all that, and not begrudging his best friend his long awaited chance to finally make an album, Jensen still couldn't help but feel Scrooge-like. Sometimes misery was meant to be wallowed in.

"I promise to try and not make anyone else cry," Jensen says, grudgingly.

"Could you also try and not drown in self-pity and loneliness?"

"Don't push it."

Aldis raises both hands in surrender and backs away towards the other end of the bar.

Jensen glances around, hoping to take his newfound bout of depression out on some unsuspecting patron, but the immediate area is clear. No one's milling around, or trying to get his attention for some ridiculous cocktail. Instead, everyone's seated at their tables and staring up at the stage in rapt attention. Jensen's eyes widen and just as he checks his watch Mr. Sheppard walks out and takes his position stage left, behind an old fashioned mic stand.

It's time.

"Good evening," Sheppard says, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue, "and welcome to Inferno. As always, we have a fine selection of devilish entertainment lined up for your pleasure."

After casting a quick, surreptitious glance at Aldis who seems to be occupied doing something on his phone, Jensen, as nonchalantly as possible, moves to the center of the bar and starts pretending to check on the garnishes.

"Those of you who are new to our establishment, take heed," Sheppard says darkly. "This place deals in sin. Not just of the flesh, but also of the mind, and the soul."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Yadda, yadda, yadda," he mutters. "Get to the good stuff."

A heavy, rhythmic drumming begins to play through hidden speakers in the walls. The slow and soft beat steadily increases in tempo and volume as Sheppard continues his spiel, giving an overview of the evening's performances, and outlining the rules regarding the dancers. Jensen's heard it so many times before he's practically mouthing along with the words.

Then, the introduction almost over, Sheppard says, "before we are entertained by the imps, we should pay respects to their prince."

Jensen's not even pretending to count his olives anymore. Instead, he's watching the stage, through his lashes, as the house lights dim. The drums stop, the last beat echoing through the room. At the very back of the stage, a head appears. It's the Dark Prince, rising from the depths - Jensen knows he's simply walking up a hidden staircase that leads to the club's lower level, but even with that knowledge the effect is impressive. His longish, dark hair is artfully messy, his black leather half-mask accentuates his strong jaw and sensual mouth. The rest of his outfit - more leather, with buckles and chains - does nothing to hide his impressive physique, or the golden tan of his skin. He is perfection made flesh and poured into S&M gear, and, just like every other night they share the same schedule, Jensen wants.

"Psst. You're drooling into your lemon twists."

The spell breaks and Jensen turns his head to glare at an all too smug looking Aldis. "Shut. Up." He focuses on the stage again just as the Prince stalks towards his 'throne' situated on a little platform on the left side of the stage. He doesn't so much sit, as sprawls, legs spread wide toward the audience, before gesturing imperiously to Sheppard.

"As you wish," Sheppard says, with a little bow. "Bring out the first tributes."

Another performer slinks into stage and starts into what will probably be an erotic, and elaborate striptease. Jensen could care less. He goes back to his olives, and hopes that Aldis will let this go.

Those hopes are quickly dashed when Aldis knocks their shoulders together, and says, "you are so sad. And creepy. But since you actually work here, mostly sad. Unless, you're not like, breaking into the changing area and stealing Jared's underwear or anything, because that would swing it back to creepy."

"I'm not creepy," Jensen hisses. "I'm a gay guy working in a gay strip club. What, I can't appreciate the view every once in while?"

"That was not appreciating the view. That was you being all mesmerized and nasty."

"For the third time this shift, shut up."

"Dude, if you're interested, and I don't mean in making a suit out of his skin, you should ask him out for coffee, or something. Jared's a nice guy, and you're not completely hideous."

"I'm gorgeous, and you know it," Jensen snarks. "And if we're at the dispensing relationship advice portion of the evening, have you talked to that blonde from the all-night diner recently? What's her name, Beth?"

"I... you... I think we're running low on cranberry juice." Aldis hightails it out of there, slipping through the door that leads to the storage rooms in back.

Jensen smiles, pleased that his attempt at deflection actually worked. Sure, he might have to pay for it later, but at least he's got a slight reprieve from having to tell Aldis that he had already tried to talk to Jared, back when the kid had first started at Inferno, and it had not gone well. Jared had all but turned tail and ran when Jensen had done nothing more than attempted to make polite small talk about Texas. Maybe Jared got freaked out that Jensen already knew where he was from, or maybe he could subconsciously tell all of the thoroughly debauched things Jensen wanted to do to him.

After that, Jared avoided the bar area - and Jensen - preferring to keep company with his fellow dancers, Milo in particular. For the first time Jensen seriously thought about taking Sheppard up on his offer, but he didn't. Instead he kept his distance and watched as Jared flirted with the other guys, and lounged on his throne, and at the end of every night, when he got up and did his own dance. When he owned the stage, slowly peeling off everything but a black thong...

Jensen blinks a few times, propelling himself back into the present. His fingers are pruney from olive juice and he wonders how long he was out of it. Maybe Aldis was right; he is kind of creepy.

___________


The next day, about an hour before the club opens, Jensen's keeping himself busy by checking the inventory in the mini fridges. He's just making note of how many whip cream cans to bring out - damn Blowjobs - when Aldis shows up and taps him on the shoulder. He's looking decidedly twitchy, and Jensen's automatically on full alert.

"Hey, man," Aldis says, loudly, "you still have that spare room, right?"

Jensen blinks. "What?"

"That spare room. At your place. The spare room at your place." Aldis' eyes are wide and he's making this kind of spastic movement with his head.

"Are you on something?" Jensen asks. "Should we go to the hospital? Do you need your stomach pumped? Did you eat that yogurt that's been in the bottom of the Frigidaire for the past six months? I don't care if Mike triple dogged dared you, that shit'll eat your brain."

"Ha! You're so funny! Funny guy!" Aldis is close to shouting now. "But didn't you say you hadn't found anyone to rent Chris' room yet? I think you said that."

Jensen's vacillating between concerned and really weirded out when a deep, and softly southern accented voice says, "you have an extra room?"

Jensen turns his head, and his tongue promptly ties itself into a knot at the sight of the speaker. It's the Dark Prince. Jared. He's standing on the other side of the bar, looking just as edible in street clothes as he does when he's in his stage outfit. Instead of a smoldering, seductive gaze though, there's this kind of adorably hopeful look on his face. A look that's fading the longer Jensen stays silent.

"Uh." Jensen blinks a few times.

"Does he ever!" Aldis chimes in. "See, his bff left to pursue his dreams in Music City, and Jensen here has been all by his lonesome." Aldis wraps his arm around Jensen's shoulder and squeezes. "Haven't you, Jensen?"

"Um."

"My best friend left town too," Jared says, smiling nervously, "except he saw Eat, Pray, Love and went to Bali to try and find himself - which is really just an international incident waiting to happen - leaving me with an apartment I can't afford. All any of my other friends can offer me is a couch, and I'd kind of rather sleep in my car than ask my parents for help."

Jensen knows that feeling. "Sucks," he says.

"Yeah." Jared smiles, showing off two deep dimples. "So?"

Jensen stares, and would probably keep on staring if Aldis didn't choose that moment to step down hard on his left foot. "So what? Oh! The room. Um, I'm not really-" Aldis stomps on his foot again. "Ow! Dammit."

Jared's smile has vanished and he looks about ready to bolt. "I can come back later," he offers.

"Just," Aldis holds up one finger, "give us a minute." He grabs Jensen's right bicep and practically drags him a few feet down the bar. "Dude, I really think you're taking this whole 'woe is me' thing too far. The guy you're lusting after wants to move in with you. Stop looking the gift stripper in the mouth, say thank you and give him your spare key."

"Well excuse me if I'm having a little trouble processing," Jensen hisses, "I don't even know what's going on."

Aldis sighs. "I heard some of the guys talking last night about Jared's predicament, and I thought, who do I know who not only has a spare room, but is also filled with a bone-crushing loneliness, and has a great, big, honking crush on the guy." Aldis pokes Jensen in the chest. "That's you, by the way."

"Thanks," Jensen says dryly, "I kind of figured that part out for myself. I am not filled with bone-crushing loneliness, you jack-ass. Also, in what universe is this a good idea?"

"The universe where you make things a hell of a lot harder then they need to be."

"He doesn't like me," Jensen says desperately.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I didn't tell you because it makes me feel stupid."

"You are stupid."

"You're not helping."

"I'm trying to." Aldis gives Jensen a fond, but exasperated look. "Trust me, young Padawan," he says, clapping Jensen on the shoulder, "much to learn you still have."

Jensen gives Aldis the deadliest, most spine-chilling stare he has in his repertoire. "I hate you so much."

Aldis laughs, big and bright. "Whatever. Merry Christmas. Go get 'im."

As Aldis walks away he starts to whistle Deck the Halls, and Jensen thinks about throwing one of the jars of maraschino cherries at his big, stupid head. Instead, figuring he'll plot his friend's demise later, he turns back to Jared who's leaning against the bar and looking quite apprehensive. Seeing the six and a half foot man as anything other than the dangerous and cutting figure he portrays on stage is really throwing Jensen for a loop. He looks normal, or as normal as a hard-bodied, smokin' hot giant can get. Jensen sighs. He already knows what he's going to say. Well, at least he'll have something pretty to look at while he's in abject misery.

"So," Jensen says, walking back over to Jared, "I wasn't exactly looking to rent out my spare room."

"Oh." Jared's face falls. "But Aldis said-"

"Aldis has issues. But, I do have an extra room, and you need a place to stay, and, well..." Jensen shrugs.

"Seriously? You'd let me crash?" The grin's back. "That's... dude... Thank you."

Jensen tries to shrug it off, but he can't help feeling a little pleased with himself. "Yeah. You want to see the place tomorrow morning, or-"

"Tonight would be awesome," Jared interrupts. "If it's at all possible. I've been kind of living on my landlord's mostly non-existent goodwill. I think the only reason he hasn't kicked me out yet is because he's about a foot shorter than I am."

"Oh." Jensen blinks, trying desperately to remember if he had left any of his underwear in inappropriate places. "Tonight. Sure. Okay."

"Great! I just need to..." Jared gestures towards the door leading backstage, and he blushes. Blushes. Dark Princes are not supposed to blush.

"Yeah. Right." Jensen waves him off, and once he's gone, he lets his head thunk down onto the solid wood of the bartop.

___________

For the first time since Jared started at Inferno, Jensen doesn't watch him perform. It just seems weird now, and kind of pervy. Pervier. Plus, it was hard to reconcile the Dark Prince with the blushing and kind of sweet man from that afternoon.

The night drags, and the smug and knowing looks Aldis keep shooting him aren't helping. Finally, twenty minutes after the last of the customers had shuffled out, Jared walks out from backstage, his hair still damp from a shower, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Jensen grunts as he catches Aldis' elbow in his ribs.

"You two go on and head out," Aldis says, "I'll finish up."

Jensen scowls and rubs at his side, but when he turns to Jared he makes sure to smile, even if it comes out a bit strained. "Hey, you ready?"

Jared nods. "You're still in that Ford truck, right? I'll follow."

"Uh." Jensen blinks. How did Jared already know what kind of car he drove? Aldis must have told him. "Sure, man. Let's go."

___________

Jensen's apartment was about fifteen miles away from the club. The traffic was sparse - club workers going home, bakery workers going in - but Jensen still drove kind of slow, not wanting to lose Jared, especially when he turned from the highway into a more residential area. Jensen parked in his usual place on the street, and watched as Jared drove past, looking for a parking spot of his own.

For the umpteenth time Jensen asks himself what he's doing, then he thumped his head on the steering wheel a few times before finally exiting his vehicle. He sees Jared jogging down the street towards him, and he waits.

"Parking might be an issue. But not a deal breaker," Jared says quickly.

Jensen makes a non-committal noise and leads the way into his building.

"I'm on the bottom floor," Jensen says softly, inserting his key into the lock. "Danny lives upstairs. She's an actress and has to get up by six to get to her waitressing job, so I try to be as quiet as possible." His breath hitches as Jared moves up close behind him. With a turn of his wrist the door opens and Jensen practically tumbles into his living room, trying to get away from Jared's tempting heat.

Jensen rolls his shoulders and shrugs off his coat. His arm reaches out to sling it over the back of the couch when his mother's voice rises Lovecraftian-like from the depths of his mind reminding him that he has a guest. Jensen spins and stuffs the jacket into the closet instead.

"So, kitchen's over there," Jensen says, pointing. " Bathroom's down this way. My bedroom's on the right, Chris'... er, yours is on the left. And, yes, the walls are thin." He smiles wanly.

Jared tilts his head inquisitively, and when Jensen nods he opens the door to his new room. "Uh, wow. Did your friend leave a bunch of his stuff behind, or were you planning on using this as a walk-in closet?" He's smiling to take any possible sting out of the words.

Jensen flushes. "I was doing laundry," he mutters, gathering his clothes off the bare mattress. "I like to spread them out to... makes them easier... it's for folding."

"Uh huh." Jared grins as he looks around the room. "This is gonna be great. As long as, you know, you don't want more money in rent than what I normally have stuffed down my shorts."

Jensen swears he can feel his brain go offline for a moment. "Why don't we finalize that part in the morning."

"It is morning," Jared says cheekily.

"Later in the morning, then," Jensen growls.

Jared ducks his head, and Jensen feels like an ass.

"I think there are extra sheets in my dresser. I'll just go and... yeah." Jensen hurries out of the room. He throws his clothes onto his own bed, and thinks about trying to smother himself in their Downey softness. "This is gonna be a disaster," he says to himself. Or, at least, he thought he said it to himself, but when he looks over to his door he sees Jared standing there.

"I can go," Jared says. "I should-"

"No! You don't have to. I was just..."

"Saying how this was gonna be a disaster?" Jared's wry smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Dude, I don't know what I was thinking. I totally imposed myself on you and-"

"Actually, Aldis imposed you on me."

"But the key word is imposed." Jared shook his head. "I just thought... nevermind. I'm gonna get my bag."

"Wait." Jensen reaches out a hand and comes just short of touching Jared's arm. "what did you think?"

"It's stupid."

"Trust me, I'm no stranger to stupid," Jensen says.

"I thought..." Jared takes a deep breath. "If we live together, we could get to know each other." He stares at Jensen. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Jensen takes a step backwards. "Did Aldis put you up to this? 'Cause if he did, I-"

"No one put me up to this. I..." Jared's eyes narrow, and he cocks his head to the side. "But," he says thoughtfully, "he did put you up to this, didn't he?"

"I... uh..."

Jared starts to slowly circle Jensen. It's easy to see the Dark Prince now. "That whole thing with you and him was a performance for me, wasn't it?"

"It's not... I didn't..."

"It was. It really was." Jared stops in front of Jensen. He's breathing deeply and standing so close that Jensen has to crane his neck to look into his face.

"I know you watch me," Jared says. "You know how I know that?"

"How?" Jensen licks his lips and watches as Jared's eyes darken.

"Because I watch you, too."

Jensen shakes his head. "You... No. You're not interested in me."

"Seriously?" Jared laughs. "How could anyone not be interested in you?"

"I tried to talk to you," Jensen says. "I was all, making conversation and being flirty, and you blew me off."

"When? Wait," Jared's face scrunches up, "you mean...That was my first day, man. I was intimidated."

"Intimidated? You?" Jensen's eyes trail over Jared's chest. "You're huge, and built, and, and the freakin' Dark Prince."

"Yeah, well, you're gorgeous and... scary." Jared crosses his arms over his chest. "You make waiters cry."

"One waiter," Jensen says testily. "Jeez, a guy can get branded for life."

"Well," Jared says, uncrossing his arms and settling his hands on Jensen's hips, "lucky for you, I think grumpiness is kind of a turn on. I've been waiting for you to talk to me again, since I got my courage all worked up. But you never did."

"I was respecting your boundaries," Jensen says gruffly. "But if you've been so interested, why have you been flirting with Milo and not with me?"

Jared's cheeks pink again, and it doesn't get any less fetching the more Jensen sees it. "I might have, ah..." Jared hems a bit, "been trying to make you jealous enough to approach me?" He tugs on Jensen's hips. "Please tell me you find that endearing and not sad?"

Jensen lets himself be pulled flush with Jared's body. He knows that they should sit, and talk, and clear up any other misunderstandings. He doesn't really know anything about they guy after all. Jared could be a serial killer, or a vegetarian, or a, God forbid, Spurs fan.

Eh, fuck it. Jensen reaches up, tangles his hands in Jared's hair, and pulls him down for a kiss. It's toe-curling, and in the middle of Jared sucking on his bottom lip, Jensen is hit by a truly terrible thought.

"Son of a bitch," he says, only slightly garbled.

Jared pulls back immediately. "What? What's wrong?"

Jensen scowls. "I'm gonna have to say thank you to Aldis."

"We're really going to have to work on your social skills, aren't we?"

Jensen rolls his eyes and pulls Jared into another kiss. Maybe a verbal thank you wouldn't be needed. Maybe he could swing by the diner before work and invite a certain blonde waitress to the club.

He should maybe apologize to that waiter, though.

___________

end

Comments

[saone77.livejournal.com]

This is just so...you. Hot and nuts and crazy, goofy fun and every so slightly creepy :)

HA! You always say the nicest things. ;D

[wirrrn.livejournal.com]

You're clearly my alternate universe female self :)

btw- Faaaacebook. Gavin Pitts there. My human alias...