Hello all; welcome to the world of when Louisa watches Chicago ten times in a row (I love that movie!) I got the idea for this story out of many different sources…including Oliver Twist (don't ask). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it!

The sun crept over the sleeping city of Los Angeles, slinking its way around the towering buildings and into dark allies. The rays slipped over the expensive houses all along the beach, passed by gargantuan shops and stores until it found the shadier part of town. Gliding past the whore houses, it landed upon a run down bar. The neon sign above the door named the place the "Flaming Flagon Bar". The sunrays climbed up the battered old building, with its paint peeling, until it found the seventh window on the third floor.

The rising sunshine flooded across Ewan, warming his tired face. He blinked sleepily and absentmindedly ran an exhausted hand through the golden hair of the boy sleeping against him. He realized what he was doing and smiled down at his boyfriend, around whom his arms were still wrapped protectively. The poor guy had been through a really tough time the last night; seven guys in a row! All he had time for was a quick peck on the lips before falling dead asleep. Ewan bent his own raven-black head and breathed in his glorious scent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what looked to be all the boys in the house entering the room, all of them with huge smiles across their faces. Ah, but of course.

Ryan groggily opened his eyes. He knew something had woken him up, but what had it been…oh. The twenty-something boys at the end of his bed were singing a very off-key "Happy Birthday".

"I can't believe you guys remembered!" he laughed, rubbing a sleepy eye.

"I can't believe you thought we would not remember!" Ewan teased, dark, almost black eyes sparkling, kissing him lovingly on the lips and brushing a stray strand out of his face. "Happy Birthday, you dirty queer!"

"You put things so sweetly sometimes," Ryan deadpanned, winking at him. Cameron shoved his way through the boys.

"Alright guys; break it up and go get ready. Breakfast's in FIFTEEN MINUTES!" There was a mad dash—no boy at the Flaming Flagon Bar had ever missed Cameron's famous Saturday morning lunches. "And I believe you have a pile of presents waiting to be opened," Cameron added at Ryan, ruffling his already-messy hair. "So hurry up and get dressed"

The birthday boy rolled out of his covers, and suddenly his face contorted with pain.

"What's the matter?" Ewan asked hurriedly.

"Nothing…just last night's was so rough! You think he would've learned, this being his twelfth time!" The bar owner rolled his eyes despairingly.

"Some people never learn after years of coming here. You want to take the day off, today being your birthday?" Ryan considered the offer.

"Maybe make the schedule a bit less crowded; I don't know what I'd do with a whole day off"

"Suit yourself," Cameron shrugged. "See you downstairs; I've got attend to the flapjacks." Ryan nodded and dug through his closet for something to wear other than just boxers. Ewan also rolled his built, but skinny body of the bed and kissing Ryan on the forehead one last time, went to his own room to find his own clothes.

Ryan had lived at the Flaming Flagon Bar for four years now, and didn't regret a single minute of it. The boys he worked alongside had gone through the exact same thing he had. They compared scars, taunts, and stories as if talking about the weather, laughing now at all the pain they had endured, and how little they valued their bodies.

Ryan avoided the thought of what his old schoolmates would think of him now; selling his body in downtown L.A. All they knew about him was that he had run away from home after freshman year of high school; unable to take the stress of having no friends…and of being made fun of for his sexuality.

Ewan had a very similar story. Made fun back at home, dealing with depression, being ignored by his family, and resorting at last to cutting. Ryan had been sleeping in a Wendy's when Ewan had found him. The former-athlete had told him about his life at the Bar. Intrigued, Ryan had gone back with Ewan and met Cameron, who gave him the lowdown of working for him. After much inward debating, Ryan had agreed, and hadn't ever regretted his decision since.

At the Bar, all of the teenage boys there were automatically best buddies, and were treated with the respect they deserved—but hadn't had in years—from Cameron. They worked all morning, and then broke to have a hurried lunch before getting right back to business. The bar never closed, but the boys were sent away upstairs at three in the morning. That was when the fun commenced. Cameron only ordered them to be semi-quiet in the early hours, but at night nobody gave a damn. They were free to run about from room to room, hollering and yelling at each other. On most nights, they would all go into the upstairs entertainment center, which included a microwave, mini refrigerator, large plasma screen TV, several fuse ball and table hockey tables, large bean bags, and a large assortment of things to amuse deprived high school boys with. It was only at five in the morning that Cameron came around for curfew; which he usually didn't need to do anyways, because they were all wiped from a long day's work.

As a tradition, Ewan and Ryan always slept together. They had never gone anything beyond innocent kissing—they were too exhausted of doing worse things to complete strangers that by then all they wanted was simple love. And simple love was exactly what they got from one another. By the end of the night—or early morning, rather—they were in boxers anyways, so they didn't bother putting on their dust-collecting pajamas. The couple was content to merely lie in each other's arms; relishing in real affection for the first time all day. Everyone knew and no one cared; everything and everyone was accepted at the bar.

Clipping the suspenders onto his gray jeans (this was the required uniform), Ryan let his striped green shirt hang loose as he jogged down the stairs to the downstairs kitchen. He couldn't help but smile again when he saw the large pile of presents awaiting him.

"You guys really didn't have to buy me anything," he insisted, sitting down at his place.

"Oh yah, like we don't have to buy each other presents at Christmas," grumbled Luck, one of the few black boys, and rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and open them!"

Grinning like a little child, Ryan tore open his presents, one by one; the rest of the boys delighting in his endless surprise. Cameron waited until the last gift was opened and exclaimed over before serving up the sizzling sausages, buttermilk pancakes, and cheesy scrambled eggs. Through mouthfuls of the delicious breakfast, the boys were still able to chat just as fast about plans for the day and upcoming events.

"You will never believe what happened the other day," Cameron announced; he was just as talkative as the boys.

"Since we can't, tell us," freckly Robin insisted.

"A girl came up to me on the street and was wondering if she could come for a session here"

Everyone gaped at their boss. "A girl?" Ewan chortled. "Didn't she know that we only serve men here?"

"Yes, which was what surprised me so much!" he laughed good-naturedly. "She said that she wanted to come to the Flaming Flagon because—get this—she figured it would be a lot less awkward then going to a 'regular man whore house'!" The table exploded in laughter.

"We should give her to Ryan as a birthday present," Ewan quipped, nudging Ryan in the ribs. "It's not often you get a chance to screw a girl and get paid. How much was she willing to pay?"

"About ten times what men pay," Cameron said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "How about it then, Ryan? Do you want to get a little birthday bonus?"

"Oh stop joking around, guys, you know I'm just as gay as the rest of you. Besides, dealing with a girl is way different than a guy; different targeting areas." He said all this with such a straight face that Luck almost choked on his pancake he laughed so hard.

"I can call over to Henry's place; they deal with girls. I'll be able to get a basic plan for you, if you want me to"

"But…I dunno…"

"You know, since it's Ryan, I bet we could do it in a glass room and make a lot more money off of it," Ewan considering, a wicked grin across his face.

"Or better yet, just make them look in through peepholes. Guys have a weird thing for getting happy when they look through peepholes," Jasper snickered. "And they'll pay extra to know that it's Ryan…with a girl"

Ryan blushed attractively and looked bashfully down into his pancake syrup. It was a known fact that he was the most expensive as well as the most popular boy in the whole house. His show name alone, as Cameron so tactfully put it, "made every man west of Los Vegas horny"

"Fine, just a private session then," Cameron agreed, seeing Ryan's disgusted look. "But we're still going to sell tapes!"

"Cummon, man; you might enjoy it, you never know," Robin joked.

"Do you doubt my sexuality, Rob?" It was Ryan's turn to start teasing.

"Maybe I do!" Robin protested, another one of his evil grins taking hold.

"Fine then!" Ryan threw himself onto Ewan and they both fell off their chairs, already far into an intense make-out session.

"Alright, alright; we already see enough of that during the day. Everybody eat your breakfast and agree that Ryan is a flaming homosexual," Cameron said very seriously, though he winked playfully at Ryan.

All the boys—including Ryan—laughed. "Well put," Rob agreed, and dug into his eggs once again.

When the meal was over everyone carried and washed and dried their plates before trouping upstairs to wash-up for the day's work and check their schedules.

"Great, I have to be in the glass case from ten to noon," Ewan moaned. "What'd you got?"

"The first thing I have is waiter, and then a striptease"

"What'd you gonna be singing today?"

"All I Care About is Love, from 'Chicago'"

Ewan whistled. "Damn, it's been so long since I've seen that movie. All the cleavage makes me sick." Ryan nodded sympathetically and continued lathering his face with soap. Ewan's room was right next to his, so they shared a bathroom.

"Say, Ry…can I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot"

"If you hadn't run away from home and worked here…do you think that you really would have gone to Broadway?" Ryan splashed his face and didn't answer right away.

"I really don't know...it's been so long since I've thought about that old dream." He chuckled to himself. "I might have—but I'm sort of glad I didn't. If I had, I never would have met you." Ewan pecked him affectionately on the lips.

"But you also wouldn't have to sell your body for sex everyday either; or get bruised by some old man who doesn't know what the hell his doing." Ryan smiled. "Would you trade all this—" Ewan gestured vaguely at the house, "—for a chance to go on Broadway? To become that dorky drama king you used to be back at your old town?"

Ryan stared at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping down his face. It took Ewan a minute to realize salty tears were mixing with the faucet water. He cupped Ryan's face in his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumb.

"Hey, beautiful; look at me." Diamond blue met black coffee. "I believe in you. You can do whatever you want to, and don't let some fucking sex addict tell you differently. Never let the world get you down, angel; I'm here." Ryan closed his eyes and buried his face against Ewan's strong chest, sighing deeply as the familiar arms wrapped protectively around him. Ewan kissed the top of his head, and whispered, "Don't fret, my sweet angel"

They stayed like this for a good two minutes before Ewan gently pushed Ryan back up. "You good now?" Ryan breathed deeply and nodded, smiling; his eyes sparkling once again. "Good." A brush of a kiss and Ewan was gone again, off to rub on the standard hand lotion.

With a renewed spirit, Ryan took off his shirt and gelled his hair (the waiters only wore grey jeans, buckled-on suspenders, and a Flaming Flagon tie as a rule). He stared once again at his skinny, pale body.

Angel. He loved it when Ewan called him that word. But more than that, he loved Ewan. Mind, body, and soul, he was completely his. It was Ewan that got him through every day with his crazy optimism—which was surprising for someone who had depression. When the depression would kick in, Ryan was only to glad to take his turn and help Ewan; his turn to wipe away the tears and assure him that everything was going to be alright.

They need each other; Ewan and him. They needed each other almost as much as a human needs food or a flower needs water. They survived every hellhole of a day by living off of each other's presence.

Angel. How could such a word be used in this living hell of a life? Ewan called him an angel, and he called Ewan an angel. So they were both angels, exiled from heaven and condemned to live in this blissful hell; but they had each other, and that was all that mattered. "Angel" indeed.

Realizing what time it was by his fossil watch (no one said it was a nonpaying hellhole), Ryan double-checked his image on last time—image was the most important thing in the business—before bolting down the stairs, ready to work.

Ryan paused by the door, and glanced back to the window. In front of the window in every room was a table, and on every table was a vase stuffed with bright sunflowers. Even in hell, every room had flowers. Grinning with that thought, Ryan continued on his way.

On his way to the kitchen, he passed by the room where the glass box was located. The box was currently covered by a large purple curtain, and the room were be locked extremely soon; only those with enough money were allowed to come in and watch. Ryan remembered Ewan informing him that he was the first one to go for that morning. He lifted up a corner and saw his naked boyfriend sprawled underneath the covers, the white sheets hanging seductively over his striking body.

Ewan say his boyfriend and winked at him, tugging down the sheets as if he was actually doing the show.

"Sexy," Ryan mouthed to him. Ewan stuck of his tongue, but sent a kiss in his direction. Ryan returned it and let the curtain fall back into place. As he left Devon came around with his ring of keys and locked the room.

It was a very long morning. Ryan was usually the waiter the men called upon, and half the time it was just so they might jovially pinch him. He would force a smile, lightly scold them, and continue about his real duties.

"Ryan, your striptease starts in twenty minutes," Cameron whispered in passing. Ryan nodded to show that he had heard and finished carrying the plate to its owner before making his way back to the stage in the back. In greeting, a now-suspendered Ewan slapped his behind; the standard greeting between Bar Boys, as they were called.

Ryan changed backstage into black silk boxers, a full tuxedo, black tie, gloves, and black top hat. He got into position behind the curtain, and took a long, cleansing breath, shaking out his limbs.

An unwanted memory struck across his brain.

"'Cause I've never had someone as good for me as you; no one like you!" he sang with his twin, doing his jazz square proudly.

"So lonely before, I've finally found what I've been looking for." Sharpay tap danced around him, who was beaming cheerfully at the audience

"So good to be seen, so good to be heard," she sang as he did a one-handed cartwheel across the stage, startling the poor piano girl on the side.

"Don't have to say a word!" He mimicked zipping his lips shut.

Ryan shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now; he needed to focus on what he was about to do.

Devon walked quickly over to him. "You all set?" Ryan nodded, not trusting his mouth to speak coherently. "All warmed up?" He nodded. He had had vocal warm-ups in the bathroom. "Knock 'em dead," Devon whispered encouragingly, slapping his butt before hurrying back to side stage. He gave Zachary, the announcer, the thumbs up, and clicked on the spotlight.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…" A very loud cheering from the crowd. There were a lot of a people out there for the noon show. "A performance for you by our very own, very sexy, very expensive, and very talented—SKY GOLDEN!!"

A roaring sound washed over the small room as the curtains lifted, and the lights centered in on Ryan, who had his back to the audience. Whistles and catcalls resounded off the walls as the music began to play, and Ryan spread open his coat jacket, pulling it back and forth very slowly. And then he turned around, a gorgeous smile glued to his face, ready to sing. Showtime.

I don't care about expensive things

Cashmere coats, diamond rings

He casually threw his coat to the side, and tugged off his gloves with his teeth.

Don't mean a thing

All I care about is love

Ryan winked at the men in the dimmed crowd, putting a hand on his heart, and flicked his tongue along the bottom of his own lip. He bent down and stroked a skinny finger along the cheekbone of a member of the audience, pressing gently down on his chin before continuing on his walk.

That's what I'm here for

Many whistles and catcalls, as well as a few dollar bills chunked in his direction.

I don't care for wearin' silk cravats

Ruby studs, satin spats

Off the came the shoes and socks, as well as the hat (which had been tactfully at an angle the entire time).

Don't mean a thing

All I care about is love

He tugged gently on the buttons of his white, pressed shirt, his eyes half closed.

Give me two

Eyes of blue

Softly saying, "I need you"

When Ryan spoke about "eyes of blue", he slowly opened his own, staring seductively at the audience he couldn't see as he finished unbuttoning his shirt.

Let me see him standin' there and

And honest, mister, I'm a millionaire

While making sure to emphasize he was talking about males, Ryan pretended not to notice as his shirt slid very slowly off of his torso. Catcalls nearly drowned out his tenor voice, but he just sang louder because of it.

I don't care for any fine attire

Vanderbilt might admire

No, no, not me

All I care about love…

Not letting the crowd get to see too much at once, Ryan ran his fingers through his own hair, and eventually down his body, swaying his body at every angle while he whistled.

Show me long Raven hair

Flowin' down, 'bout to there

Ryan did a backbend before doing a cartwheel to a bit farther back onto the stage. Easy as it had ever been.

Let me see

Him runnin' free

He had been unbuttoning his pants, with load shouts and protests of "Hurry up!" from the crowd, and with the word "free" let them drop to his ankles.

Keep your money, that's enough for me

The shouts and catcalls were overwhelming as Ryan slowly walked his way over to a pole on the side of the stage only left with his boxers.

I don't care for drivin' Packard cars

Or smoking Long Buck Cigars

He grinded his hips against the pole and twisted himself around it. Pole dancing; the one way to always get the audience excited.

No, no, not me

All I care about is

Doin' the guy in

Who's pickin' on you

Ryan stopped pole dancing and walked towards the center of the stage, where the spot light was beginning to center, making everything else on the stage dark. He slowly, ever so slowly, began to pull down his boxers, revealing only his hips for now. The crowd was almost screaming now; begging him to take it off.

Twistin' the wrist

That's turnin' the screw

He made sure to emphasize "screw", and the men almost moaned as one. "What pathetic losers," Ryan couldn't help but think; but none of hit showed on his face. The boxers were still sliding, but not fast enough for any of them.

All I care about…

Ryan's eyes turned heavenward, his eyes closing as he hit the note.

is…

Love!

As he held the last note, the boxers were pushed down to his knees, and the crowd roared as they jumped to their feet to applaud—and get a better look. All that was left on Ryan's body was his silk tie around his neck.

"Alright, everybody give it up for SKY GOLDEN!!" Ryan bent down to pick up his clothes, and the gorgeous fake smile was back as he bowed, to the ballistic crowd. He blew them all one last kiss and the moment he got off stage wrapped the towel waiting for him around his waist.

Ryan at last relaxed as he listened to the audience filing out until the next show which—thank heaven—wouldn't be him. He caught Devon's arm.

"What am I doing next?" he asked, wiping the sweat off his brow. Those stage lights made it awful hot.

"Actually, you have that session with the girl Cameron talked about earlier"

Ryan groaned. "God, do I have to?"

"She paid a lot of good money just to sit in a dark room and talk to you"

"Is sex apart of it?"

"She paid for it. Room 8," he instructed, slipping Ryan the key. "And here are the notes Cameron got from that one guy about how to work with girls. You might want to look it over before you go in"

"Shit," Ryan groaned, glancing through the paper.

"Hey man; it's our job," Devon sympathized, and swatted him on the butt again before busying himself with cleaning up the seats in the audience.

Ryan went the indirect way around to the room; he was only wearing a towel, and people had to pay money to see even that.

Feeling slightly queasy at the thought of what lay before him, he lay the towel in a corner and lay down on the padded bench connected to the wall. The room was fairly small, but big enough to lie down still.

The door creaked open, and the naked girl slipped onto the seat opposite him. He couldn't distinguish any features, only that her hair was rather curly…and that she was definitely a girl. Ryan fought down the urge to throw up. Disgusting.

"Hey—you're Sky Golden, right?" she asked timidly.

"That'd be me," he said smoothly, not bothering to sit up.

"I just want to say thanks in advice for seeing a girl for a change"

"No problem, doll," he said silkily, his voice sounding for all like he was glad to see her on his birthday. "My boss said you needed someone to talk to?"

"Yes," the girl gushed. "I'm having problems with my boyfriend, see, and I figured you might be able to help since you are…"

"Gay? Yes, I might. I have my own boyfriend currently, and we've been going steady for almost four years now. What about your boyfriend?"

"He's being just being so silly about everything! I try as best I can to please him, but I'm never able to satisfy him…and I figured you might have some tips"

Ryan rattled off a few ideas off how to woo the men from the back of his memory and was able to do a decent job translating it into a straight relationship. The girl sighed in relief.

"Oh my god, thank you so much!" she squealed, clasping her hands together in excitement. Ryan rolled his eyes. How did guys stand these creatures?

"No problem, babe," he replied.

"You're a really nice guy," she said in a low voice—Ryan supposed if he was straight that would have turned him on; but as he wasn't, it had zero affect on him. He heard the girl climb out of her chair and felt her breath against his face. Let the torture begin.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been; the teenage girl was just desperate and fairly inexperienced, so she didn't complain. At last she climbed off of him, breathing heavily, and just straddled his hips, giving him a hand job while he felt her breast. Ryan was most certainly missing Ewan now; though the hand job didn't feel half bad.

"We haven't been properly introduced!" She spoke as if this was the end of the world. "I know who you are, but you have no idea who I am!"

"You don't have to—"

"I know, but I want to!" Her vice-like grip tightening around his member, and a groan escaped him. Girls certainly were better at that then men were—except Ewan. That kid was an expert. She bit his lip and licked his tongue.

"Bleah," Ryan thought inside his brain. Give him Ewan's tongue anytime.

She continued stroking him. "The name's Gabriella!"

"Gabriella…pretty name," he lied prettily.

"I guess so, but I'm kind of sick of it myself. But it was my grandmother's middle name, so I got stuck with it"

"You don't say." Ryan was already thinking about his next session with Ewan in the glass box, longing for his hands to feel something other than boring girl nipples.

"Yah. Old Grandmother Montez loved my mother—" She must have kept talking, but Ryan had stopped listening. Montez? Grandmother Montez? That must mean…

The naked girl sitting across from him, whom he had just been paid to have sex with inside a gay prostitute house, was none other than his old classmate Gabriella Montez.

Well what did you think? Terrible, really lame? I am actually quite proud of myself, considering I started writing with absolutely no idea what I was doing. Actually, I still have very little idea where this story is going…so I need help! (Besides the obvious, I mean, shush). Reviews, advice, all that good stuff

This story is rated M for a reason, so anything goes. More sexual scenes (what a big surprise in gay whore house) will be added in later, to say the least—but don't get your hopes up, you gay porn readers; I know you're out there!—because they won't be terribly graphic. I'll give it a go, but my aim is not to make a good porn fic for y'all, sorry, haha.

Sorry this chapter was so long, but there was no good place to end it without having a really boring ending!

Anyhoot, review!