Chapter Text
Jared stared morosely out of his car window.
The lurid neon sign stared mockingly back and he was certain that if it could talk, it would be yelling "Chicken shit!" at him.
Fortunately for Jared and the laws of nature, the pink sign had not magically gained the power of speech and thus contented itself with displaying the name of the Cut-n-Thrust strip club to anyone in the vicinity who felt the urge to watch oiled up men taking their clothes off.
The urge had not quite struck Jared yet, but he was working on it.
Well, he was working on working on it. His brain was currently occupied by just how crappy "Cut-n-Thrust" was as a name for a strip joint, but when he finished deciding whether it sounded more like a Zorro-themed orgy or the To Do List of a murderous necrophiliac, he fully intended to work up the courage to leave the warmth of his car and go inside. Really.
His brain got over this hurdle quicker than he expected, helpfully pointing out that a) it was his job to design houses for ridiculously rich people and not to critique the name of strip clubs, and that b) he was still being a chicken shit. When he immediately started to weigh up the pros and cons of staying in his large, comfy Jeep instead of going outside, it then told him in no uncertain terms that his car still stank of wet dog after Harley and Sadie's latest puddle escapades and that he should get the hell out and go look at some naked men, goddammit.
Yielding to his higher reasoning, he pushed the car door open with a melodramatic sigh, wrapping his coat round him as the cold Vancouver air blasted his body, and headed reluctantly toward the club, making a determined mental note to kill Chad the next day.
That evening's trip, like many of his ill-advised activities, was the brainchild of his friend and fellow architect, Chad "I specialize in disturbingly phallic swimming pools" Michael Murray. Upon learning that Jared was struggling to find a boyfriend due to his entirely heterosexual social set, Chad had enthusiastically embarked on his unique version of Straight Eye for the Queer Guy in order to expand Jared's gay lifestyle and hopefully snare him a boyfriend.
He'd first sent him to Gay Sex Addicts Anonymous (which Jared hadn't even known existed) with the reasoning that since those guys were getting laid too much and Jared wasn't getting laid at all, the gods of gay sex would somehow make it all balance out. The deities in question were evidently elsewhere when he'd attended, however, and he'd left with unpleasant mental pictures of exactly what could fit up someone's ass, but without anybody's phone number.
Plan B was no better, this time involving Chad driving Jared to one of the "most varied" sex shops in the city with the instruction to loiter near the buttplugs. When he'd asked why, Chad had confidently explained that he was supposed to watch for people buying one for themselves - apparently you could tell from their behavior whether it was going in their own butt or someone else's - and then ask the guys in question if they'd rather have his cock up their ass instead. Before Jared could regain the power of speech after hearing this plan, Chad had already hustled him out of the car and driven off, leaving him to wander awkwardly around the shop until he was thrown out for accidentally setting off a vibrator and throwing it at the clerk in his panic.
And so he had reached Door Number Three: the male strip club. This one was probably least illogical, in that strip clubs were apparently where Chad got most of his girlfriends, but that didn't make Jared feel like any less of a freak for looking for a relationship in a strip joint. He'd tried to persuade Chad to come with him, but had been met with a snort of laughter and the statement that "No way in hell am I watching some dude in assless chaps floss his ass on a pole."
It wasn't until he'd made it through the door that he was faced with the terrifying prospect that Chad Michael Murray might actually be psychic.
The club itself was unremarkable, with low lighting along the walls, an oddly sticky floor, and tables and booths flanking a stage that jutted out into the center of the room. Contrary to Jared's previous guesses, the clientele was not solely made up of over-excitable gay men, but groups of giggling women, gay and straight couples, and the usual drunk sweaty loners sitting near the front and visibly drooling over the performers.
It was these performers which firmly separated this club from any of the others that Jared had been to in his college years. Instead of a woman with large breasts and badly-dyed hair, the stage at Cut-n-Thrust now proudly showcased a half naked cowboy sporting messy brown hair, a grin the size of Texas, and - oh, God - assless chaps.
He watched uncertainly from his position by the door as the cowboy leapt easily up the tall silver pole, one knee hooking around it as he swung slowly down, sinking low enough to allow the gaggle of women at the edge of the stage to stuff bills inside his chaps and thong. The women did so with enthusiasm, hands wandering greedily over the stripper's legs and butt as he winked cheerfully at them before springing back to his feet and taking slow strides over to a second, fully-dressed cowboy who had emerged to raucous cheers and wolf-whistles.
When the first cowboy started peeling the shirt off the blond newcomer, Jared was jolted back to reality and away from the Brokeback Mountain re-enactment by a nudge from behind him as a new group of customers tried to get around the 6 foot 4 Padalecki road block and into the club. Mumbling a quick apology, he moved hurriedly out of the way, edging along the wall and falling into a tiny booth with all the grace of a drunken yeti.
Comfortably inconspicuous, he surveyed the club again, tearing his eyes away from the cowboys on stage (who had now moved on to rhythmic groping) to notice for the first time the cowboys scattered around the club; some carrying trays of drinks, some grinding against particularly wealthy customers, and all wearing brightly colored hotpants and matching Stetsons. Apparently the club was having a Paint Your Wagon (Pink) themed evening.
"Can I get you anything?"
Jared jumped at the sudden voice at his side. Instantly panicking that he was about to be jumped by Woody the Lapdancing Cowboy, he scuttled back into his booth in an attempt to get out of range.
"Sir?"
Deciding that he was definitely, definitely going to kill Chad in the morning, Jared forced a smile on his face and looked up at the speaker for the first time.
He sighed in relief when he saw that the speaker was clothed.
He sat up and started paying attention when he saw that the speaker was hot.
After taking in the plain black pants and tee he wore, Jared's attention switched to the guy underneath the clothes, eyes raking over his tanned arms, broad shoulders, wide green eyes, and kissable lips (and since when was kissing the first thing he wanted to do with a guy's lips?)
He was too busy cursing the fact that the guy was apparently the only clothed Cut-n-Thrust employee to register what was being said to him and couldn't stop himself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind when faced with the man's expectant stare.
"You're, uh- You're wearing clothes."
His brain caught up to his mouth a moment too late, but before he could properly express that no, he was not a creepy, sweaty pervert, the hot non-stripper replied with a half smile, "Yep. If all the waiters gave individual performances, no-one would ever get any drinks in this place."
Jared blinked. His brain fumbled for the helpful chunk of memories on 'How to Hold a Conversation Like a Sane Person' before eventually coming out with, "So, you're a waiter?"
The guy nodded, smile widening a little. "Sure am. Got myself a tray and everything." He held up his round black tray in mock demonstration. "Can I get you something to drink?" He seemed to remember Jared's earlier words as he added, "Or if you're looking for a dance, I can find you someone..." He glanced over at the stage where Blond Cowboy was now cheerfully lassoing Brunette Cowboy. "Chris and Steve should have finished their set soon; they're both good at personal performances." He looked around the club, continuing before Jared could stop him, "Or there's Mike, in the pink hat, if you want someone a little wilder? Tom - blue hat - is really flexible if you'd prefer-"
Cutting off the recitation of the stripper menu, Jared passed him a note with a smile and a request, "Just a beer and a shot of Jim Beam, thanks. Keep the change."
Receiving a quick nod in return, Jared watched as the waiter disappeared around the corner of his booth and then turned his attention back to the club. Bypassing the gyrating cowboys on stage, he started to notice other non-stripping staff dotted around the club, all wearing the same black uniform as his waiter and all concerned with distributing drinks rather than providing entertainment, although, from what he could see, that didn't make them immune from wandering hands.
He occupied himself with deciding which of the dancers he'd prefer to see putting clothes on rather than taking them off, and another question had sprung to mind by the time his waiter returned with his drinks.
"Do you ever dance?" Green eyes narrowed in confusion and Jared elaborated quickly, hoping the subtext of 'Can I ever watch you take your clothes off?' wouldn't be too noticeable, "Here, I mean. Do you switch off on who dances and who waits tables?"
His shoulders slumped when the waiter shook his head, full lips quirking up in amusement. "No, the same guys dance every night. Well, I guess they have different shifts on different nights, but it's always the same people who perform and the same people who wait tables." His eyes flickered back to Jared's as he added with a good-natured shrug, "Not like anyone's going to want to see me strip anyway."
Jared conveyed his disagreement by involuntarily spewing his whiskey across the table.
The fact that none of the alcohol had apparently made it into his bloodstream didn't stop him from stating with ill-advised candor, "Dude, I would totally want to see you strip."
The waiter's mouth parted in surprise at the admission, his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment, and Jared resisted the urge to smack his head against the wooden table as his brain caught up to his mouth for the second time that evening.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry- I didn't mean-" Taking a deep breath, he tried again, "I'm not some creepy stalker, I swear. And I'm not about to start groping you or anything; I just..." He flashed him a small smile. "It was a compliment, I guess."
The other man did not look convinced but shrugged it off with practiced ease. "I've heard worse."
He tugged a cloth out from one of his belt loops and leaned in to wipe the alcohol from the table.
The alcohol that Jared had oh so smoothly spat out a few moments earlier.
"Wait, wait," he stammered quickly, really not wanting to lower the guy's opinion of him any further. "It's alright, just leave it." He fumbled for the cloth, trying to snag it out of the his hands and do it himself. "I'm sorry - I'll clean it up."
The waiter held on, attempting to wipe the table down as he said in polite disagreement, "Don't worry about it, sir; it's my job."
Jared didn't let up, protesting good-naturedly, "It's my drink, let me get it."
When his efforts to grab the cloth proved futile, his hand closed playfully around the waiter's wrist. He'd barely lifted his arm an inch when the other man froze up, pulling quickly against him. Jared instinctively tightened his grip but regretted it as soon as the waiter's eyes shot up to meet his, a mixture of surprise and panic flashing through them.
He let go like he'd been scalded, yet another apology spilling from his lips, "Jeez, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay," the waiter interrupted, professional smile back in place as he wiped up the remaining liquid while Jared was distracted. He gestured to the now empty shot glass. "You want another one of those?"
He shook his head, looking down at his beer. "I'm good." The guy nodded and moved to walk away, but Jared called out before he could stop himself, figuring that he couldn't do any more damage than he already had, "Wait!"
The waiter paused, looking at him expectantly, and he gave him what he hoped was his most endearing and least insane expression. "Listen, I'm an idiot, okay? I promise, I'm not planning on grabbing you or ripping your clothes off or anything; I just wanted to talk." He extended his hand, smiling hopefully. "My name's Jared. Uh, Jared Padalecki. I'm an architect, I live in the city, and could I sound any more like a personal ad right now?"
The other man's lips curved up in a genuine smile and some of the tension ebbed away as he stretched out his hand in return, offering quietly, "Jensen."
Feeling wildly (and probably irrationally) successful now that'd held managed to initiate some semblance of conversation, he edged back into the booth, subtly inviting the waiter (Jensen) to come nearer as he asked, "How long have you worked here?"
The ploy worked, and Jensen moved to lean against the booth as he answered, "About four years now. It's a good job; the club's a nice place to work."
Jared raised his eyebrows, looking around the less than classy club. "Okay..."
Jensen smirked, his own gaze following Jared's as he spoke earnestly, "I know it doesn't look like much, but it's better than the places I've worked at before. The guys here like what they're doing, and they're good at it, there's usually a nice atmosphere, and Jeff's a great manager."
"Jeff?" he prompted, keen to keep the conversation going even if it meant talking about guys he couldn't care less about.
Something indefinable passed across the other man's face at the mention of the name, but his smooth facade settled back in place as he explained, "Jeff Morgan. He, uh, he owns the club. Has done for years. He was the one who hired me."
Making an intuitive leap, Jared asked uncertainly, "Are you two..."
The waiter nodded. "About three and a half years now."
"Wow." Jared gave a low whistle. "Sounds serious. Congrats." He didn't know whether he was imagining Jensen's smile getting tighter but changed the subject nonetheless. "So are most of the staff here gay, or is this just a job for them?"
Jensen's shoulders relaxed a little. "Are those two mutually exclusive?" Seeing the confusion on Jared's face, he explained, "As it happens, most of my colleagues are gay, but that doesn't mean this is anything more than a job." He grinned. "Not all gay men want to hang out in strip clubs."
Jared tried his best not to look so intrigued by this revelation, as weeks with Chad had indeed convinced him that the priorities of any self-respecting gay man were sex, buttplugs, and strippers, but he managed a non-committal "Oh."
Jensen was not fooled, and chuckled briefly. "Let me guess; fresh out of the closet?"
"No!" he protested vehemently. It was true; he'd been certain he was gay by age fourteen. It was just the other aspects of it that caused him problems. "Well, not exactly. I just haven't had that much experience with... y'know."
"With men?" Jensen visibly tensed up. "Look, Jared, this isn't a brothel. These guys might be strippers but they're not whores-"
"I know that," he interrupted quickly, feeling guilty for causing the offended tone in Jensen's voice. "I'm not here for that. I've had, uh, sexual experience with men."
"Then what's up?" Jensen asked curiously, becoming interested instead of annoyed.
Taking a large gulp of beer, Jared sighed. Apparently somehow in the last five minutes, he'd gone from Friendly Conversation to Extreme Overshare, with a pitstop at Uncomfortable Awkwardness."I can't believe I'm talking to you about this. I'm sorry."
The other man shrugged it off. "Like I said, I've had people telling me worse things. As long as you don't start giving me a play-by-play of what you want to do to the dancers, we're good."
Reassured (and also wondering if Jensen had met Chad at some point as that was an oddly accurate description of his friend's behavior), he ventured an explanation, "I haven't really had much social experience with guys. I mean, all my friends are straight, and I usually hang out with them, so it's not like I get a chance to meet anybody or go to clubs or be part of the whole 'scene'."
Suppressing his wince at his own use of audible air quotes around 'scene', he barreled on, not unlike a runaway train speeding helplessly to TMI-ville. "Don't get me wrong, I still get dates, but it's been a long time and I felt like I should be more 'out', y'know?" He rethought his choice of wording. "Not 'out' as in the closet sense, but 'out' as in the door sense. Like out in the real gay world, watching strippers, buying buttplugs, the whole nine yards. Only it really isn't working out so well 'cause I'm all clumsy and awkward and freaked out and telling people they should be strippers and throwing vibrators at people and-"
He was cut off by a surprised snort of laughter, and looked up to see Jensen with a confused smile on his face. "You threw vibrators at people?"
Jared stared at his beer, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he corrected miserably, "Vibrator, singular. One vibrator at one person and it was only because it scared me." Jensen raised his eyebrows and Jared looked at him with a pout. "What?"
"Nothing," the waiter reassured quickly, barely hiding his smirk. "Just trying to work out if that counts as fight or flight."
Shoulders slumping, Jared took a long swig of beer. "Shut up."
Another genuine smile crossed Jensen's lips and Jared was mildly annoyed by the fact that his desire to sulk fizzled out in the face of said smile, figuring it was unfair that the man's grin apparently had magical properties.
Luckily, before Jared could comment on the awesomeness of Jensen's grin and make himself sound even crazier in the process, the waiter spoke up, his voice calm but tinged with amusement, "You do know that not all gay guys visit strip clubs, right?" At the look on Jared's face, he continued with admirable patience, "Just because they all like men doesn't mean they're all wired the same way; some people like this kind of place, and some would be happier socializing at a gay book club. It's exactly the same with straight guys; you have to figure out where you're most comfortable."
Jared blinked. "They have gay book clubs?"
The grin was back, and Jared started to wish that people would always respond to his dumbass comments with a smile like that.
Jensen shrugged. "Guess you'll never know till you look."
Having fulfilled his role as Jared's gay Yoda (if Yoda were really hot and worked in a strip joint), he turned to walk away, prompting a rushed, unsubtle question from the bottomless Padalecki store of rushed, unsubtle questions, "Where do you hang out?" Jensen turned back and he clarified, "When you're not working. Where do you go for fun?"
The other man smirked, asking pointedly, "With my boyfriend?"
"Yeah," he confirmed, hoping his tone didn't convey the 'boyfriend, schmoyfriend' thoughts currently circling like vultures. "Where's a good place to go in this city?"
"You're already in one."
Both Jensen and Jared started a little at the unexpected interruption, and Jared tried to hide his annoyed frown as a well-built man in a suit appeared next to Jensen. Clapping the waiter on the shoulder and flashing a grin and a wink in Jared's direction, he continued with his sales pitch (which seemed a little redundant as Jared was already in the club), "This here's the best place in this whole town for some good, clean, adult entertainment."
Jared let his eyes travel to the stage, where Brunette Cowboy was currently riding Blonde Cowboy like a horse, and answered with purposeful skepticism, "Right..."
The newcomer just chuckled, landing another hearty slap to Jensen's shoulder and nearly knocking the younger man over with the force of the blow. "Can't blame things for getting a little wild on Cowboy Night." He extended his hand to Jared, smiling wider at the same time. "Name's Jeff Morgan. I run this place."
He shook briefly. "Jared Padalecki. I, uh, visit this place."
Another chuckle, and as jolly as the man sounded, Jared was fervently wishing he would take his Santa impression elsewhere so he could continue his fumbling attempts to hit on the guy's boyfriend. The boyfriend who had retreated back into his shell at full speed with the appearance of Jeff.
"Pleasure to meet you, son. Can Jenny get you another drink?"
Eyebrows raised at the nickname, Jared's gaze darted to Jensen, only to find him staring resolutely at the floor as a red flush crept up his neck and over his cheeks. Cheeks which Jared only just noticed were covered in oddly adorable freckles.
Pulling himself out of his "Oooh. Freckles." trance, he gave Jeff a tight smile, fingers closing around the beer glass as he answered, "I'm good, thanks."
Jeff's grin never faltered. "Alright. Guess we'll let you get back to the entertainment; I'm sure you've got better things to be looking at than Jenny here." Jared opened his mouth to disagree, but the older man slipped his arm around Jensen's waist in an unmistakeable 'We're outta here' gesture and concluded quickly, "Have a good evening, Mr Padalecki. Just holler if you need anything."
With a final wink, he and Jensen moved smoothly out of the way, leaving Jared with an unobstructed view of the stage and the unhappy realization that Jeff had just stolen his Jensen. (And yes, he knew that Jensen wasn't technically his, what with slavery being illegal and all, but he couldn't help but feel a little possessive of the shy, hot, gay Yoda who'd still talked to him even after he'd spat his drink all over the table like a socially challenged camel.)
Taking a large gulp of his beer, he briefly debated giving Jeff the suggested holler and requesting some more Jensen time (which in Jared's mind was the same level of awesomeness as Hammer time, only without the comedy pants), but then decided that Jeff was probably the kind of asshole who would actually pimp out his boyfriend on request and so decided to settle for something more subtle.
Admittedly, Jared wasn't especially adept at subtlety, with surprise tackle-hugs being about as sneaky as he got, so he resolved to take Jensen's advice and try out the other types of establishments Vancouver had to offer in his quest to broaden his gay horizons.
If he happened to end up back at Cut-n-Thrust and meet Jensen again, that was just a lucky happenstance.
If this entirely unplanned visit happened to include Chad and thus make Jared appear even more incredible in comparison to his reasonably douche-like buddy, well, that was just a fortunate coincidence.
Pleased with his awesome master plan, he settled back into the booth, all but "Mwahaha"ing into his drink.
If the architect thing didn't work out in the long run, he definitely had Evil Genius as a fallback option.