Disclaimer: I do not own anything dealing with WWE or any song lyrics that is used as a muse. I also do not own the rights to any products or persons mentioned in the story as well.
A/N: This is a birthday gift for jadeMK11. I know her gift is a bit early, but I wanted to go ahead and post it. I hope you like it, jadeMK11.
Private Dancer
All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
He danced on the stage, eyes showing some spark of interest. He ran his hands down his body, enticing the voyeurs to do more than watch. He smiled at them and bowed when he was done. He walked to the back, taking the money out of his thong. He quickly counted and put it away. The young man was about to take a quick shower before getting dressed to leave.
"Hey, Orton!" a man called.
The twenty-one-year-old did not have to look up to know who it was that was calling him. "Bischoff."
"You look good out there."
The younger man smirked.
"Hey, you wanna make extra cash?"
Randy slowly turned to him. "Excuse me?"
"Cash. Extra cash. Do you wanna make extra cash?"
"I'm not a whore, Bischoff."
The older man chuckled. "Nothing like that." He stared at the younger man. He took in his sweat glistened toned body, the dark tattoos that marred his tan skin, the short hair, the clean cut beard, and piercing blue eyes.
"What IS it like then...Bischoff?" Randy asked.
"I have a high paying client that wants a dance...just a private dance."
"A private dance? Why me?"
"He asked for you. I get 20% after your dance."
Randy mulled it over a bit.
"It's good money. You have bills to pay...your rent's due, ain't it? They raised the tuition this year, didn't they?"
Randy glared at the older man as if he was piercing his very soul. "Fine."
"Good. Take a quick shower, get dressed, and get to room thirteen."
The younger man nodded and did so. He dressed in a police officer's uniform and made sure to have the right amount of glitter on his body to accent his abs. Randy slowly walked to room thirteen. He kept his eyes down while he walked up to the door. He inhaled and entered.
The room was dim and smelt of vanilla and spice. A man sat in corner, his cowboy hat on the table to his right. The man lit a cigarette and Randy caught a glimpse of his face before the fire went out.
"Did Eric explain the rules to you?" Randy asked.
"He did," the man explained. "Just dance."
Randy pressed the button on the wall next to the door. Music filled the room and Randy found the rhythm. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He took the belt off and whipped it around before dropping it. Randy moved closer to the man. He ripped off his pants dropped to his knees gyrating his hips.
The man tilted his head, taking in the young man. He finished his cigarette and got up. He took one last look at the young man and nodded.
Randy stared after him and shrugged his shoulders. He gathered his clothes and went backstage once more. He took a shower and dressed to leave.
Eric came up to him. "Here's your money."
Randy nodded and took the yellow envelope. He looked inside and his jaw dropped.
"High roller." Eric smirked and walked off.
…
Randy stacked up the money on his desk. He just stared at it. A rapping came and his door opened.
"How was work, dawg?" his roommate asked.
"It was...interesting, Cena," Randy said.
The older man entered and walked over. His mouth fell open. "What?"
"I gave a private dance and got four grand for it."
"Say what?"
Randy nodded.
"Maybe I should become a stripper."
The younger man stared at his friend. "You can't dance."
"Yeah I can."
"You have no rhythm."
"I do too."
"Whatever." Randy counted out some money. "This is for the rent and back rent as well as utilities."
"Thanks." John pocketed the money. "You have enough for books and tuition?"
Randy nodded. "I'll deposit the money on Monday."
"You working tomorrow night?"
"It's Sunday...so no."
"Good. We're going out."
…
Randy danced among the crowd, hand in the air. He jumped onto a table and shook his ass. When the music ended, he climbed down and headed toward the bar. He ordered a Grand Slam and shot it back.
"Give me another," Randy ordered and slammed it back.
A bartender came up to him and handed him a pink drink.
"What's this?" Randy asked.
"It's called Absolut Sex," she said. "A tall man ordered it for you."
Randy smiled and jokingly asked, "Did he have long hair and a cowboy hat?"
"I can't tell. I just know that he was a tall man."
Randy nodded and took the drink to John's and his table. He slowly sipped as he watched the bodies danced to the music.
"Man, I'm having so much fun. I needed this," John replied. "What the hell are you drinking?"
"Um, Absolut Sex," Randy replied. "Some guy gave it to me."
"Is that safe?"
"The bartender handed it to me."
"Okay." John scanned the dance-floor. "Sexy."
Randy followed Cena's gaze to an African-American male with dreads. He was with a smaller Caucasian man with dark eyes and hair. Both men looked their way and smiled.
"Which one?" Randy asked.
"Both," Cena replied. "Catch ya on the flip side."
Randy shook his head. He watched his roommate go over and introduce himself to the young men. Randy finished his drink, went to pay his tab, and left. He made sure to text Cena that he was leaving. The young man walked the darkened streets with his hands in his pocket. He scanned the area as he moved. The night was still young, but he wanted to get home to get ready for tomorrow's class.
He heard footsteps behind him and he quickened his own.
"Wait!" the voice said.
Randy stopped and slowly turned to the man. He stared into emerald eyes.
"I want you to dance for me," he replied.
"What?"
"I want you to dance for me."
The younger man slowly nodded and followed him.
...
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
Do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
Any old music will do
And that's how it went. The man would only ask for Randy or come by to his apartment or just pick him up where ever he was to take Randy to his place. Randy never complained. He did what he was asked. Dressed how the man wanted him to dress. He never asked his name. He never held a conversation with him. He just danced.
Randy's dreams were filled with him, the eyes, the built of the man, the feel of the man's skin against his own, the softness of the man's hair when he ran his fingers through the dark auburn locks.
One night, at the man's home, Randy asked, "What's your name?"
"Does it matter?" the man questioned.
"I've danced for you going on four months. It does matter when...I'm falling for you."
The man leaned forward. "You're falling for me?"
Randy lowered his eyes.
"Answer me."
He nodded.
"Look at me."
The younger man moved his eyes up.
"You have beautiful eyes." He beckoned Randy forward and patted his lap.
The younger man curled up into his lap.
"I fell in love with you from the first time I met you."
Randy tilted his head. "When?"
"You came in for an interview and Eric liked what he saw in you."
Randy stared at him. "You waited a year?"
The man nodded.
"But you were never introduced to me."
"My name is Mark Calaway...the oil tycoon."
"And...you love me?"
"Yeah."
The young man nuzzled into his neck.
"Randy?"
"Yeah."
Mark pulled out a small box and opened it. "Will you be my private dancer till death do us part?"
"But you don't know me."
"I know enough. So?"
"Could we wait until I graduate to get married?"
"What ever you want."
Randy smiled and held out his hand for Mark to slip the ring on. Mark stood up, carrying the younger man to his master bedroom. He put Randy down onto the large bed and laid beside him. The younger man curled up beside him and linked their hands. They lowly talked and cuddled until their eyes drooped and fell into a sound sleep.
~The End~