A/N: *snicker* This one's...naughty... ;) You must be familiar with Christina Aguilera's "Dirty" to fully appreciate this fic. If you're a decently fast reader, then start the song exactly at the point where I start it in the fic - certain parts of the story will end up lining up perfectly to their corresponding parts in the music. I admit, that was totally accidental but totally awesome just the same that it happened to work out that way! This one's for the Jensen babies like myself. :)
"Again?" Pooch asked incredulously.
Aisha happened to choose that time to walk into the kitchen. She grabbed a beer out of the fridge and leaned back on the counter as she drank it, curious to know what this particular conversation between the transport specialist and the tech was all about.
Jensen scoffed. "What do you mean 'again?' Who wouldn't want that every year for their birthday?"
"It's the same girls," Pooch argued. "Don't you ever want to try someplace new? Like Vegas or something?"
"Is this about strippers?" Aisha interrupted, smirking slightly.
Jake looked at her like she was retarded. "No, geez, how cliché is that? Going to a strip club for your birthday, pssshhhhh. I like to think I've got a little more class."
Pooch rolled his eyes. "It's a Burlesque club called Dirty Girls near his home town. Every year he gets the chance, that's where he wants to go for his birthday."
"Yep, real classy," Aisha grinned wider.
"It is!" Jensen defended. "The girls dance more than strip, and they don't get completely naked. It's family friendly."
Pooch couldn't resist the urge to smack the hacker on the back of the head for that one.
"And you go to this same Burlesque show every year?" Aisha asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jensen glared at Pooch as he rubbed his head. "Not every year. Just the ones when we're not in the middle of blowing up a pirate ship or escaping Hitler's evil minions or building rockets to send to Mars."
"So, that makes it about every three years or so?" she continued, ignoring the ridiculous substitutions that in Jensen's mind made their missions sound more exciting.
Pooch narrowed his eyes distrustfully at her. "You going somewhere with all these questions…"
She shrugged. "Every three years, a few new girls, new routines; if he likes the club I don't see what's so bad about him wanting to go. Besides, it is his birthday."
"Ha!" Jensen beamed. "She's on my side!"
"Fucking miracle," Pooch mumbled to himself. "There's gotta be a catch to this."
"There is," she said flatly, and Jensen's face fell. She gave him look that said you damn well better agree with what I'm about to say next or I'm going to break your fucking laptop. "I get to go."
Jake burst out into surprised, but pleased, laughter. "Did I not say it was family friendly?"
She smiled again and sauntered out of the room, leaving the blond still laughing his ass off and Pooch shaking his head in disbelief.
~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~
The Losers sat around a table that was right in front of the stage; "Jensen's Special Birthday Table" the club owners had dubbed it. Aisha learned that he had been frequenting the place since his sixteenth birthday, which at the time he had tried to pass himself off as twenty-one. The quality of the fake ID he had made had apparently been spectacular, but unfortunately for him the hostess turned out to be a friend of his sister's. Somehow, in regular Jensen fashion, he had still talked his way in under the promise that he wouldn't squeal on the club and wouldn't drink any alcohol. He kept that promise and became a frequent flyer, even helping out a few times like when the sound system blew or when he designed a program that would make the timing on their lights work more smoothly. The day he waltzed in a legal attendee the club threw him a party like none other, and officially engraved his namesake on that table forever. He didn't remember the actual "ceremony" due to the fact that he was so drunk off his ass that he kept mistakenly calling Cougar "Lola," who was one of the dancers that happened to also be of Mexican decent and had some vaguely similar features. The Corporal hadn't even been on Clay's team for six months, but no one complained about him introducing them to Dirty Girls.
Aisha understood why. Jensen had been right, the club actually was kind of classy. It was set up more like going to a dinner show than what she had pictured, and about as far from the strip club motif as it could possibly get. There wasn't a single pole on the stage, just various props and furniture that got changed out between acts just like a regular theater play. The girls were gorgeous and lively, their eyes sparkling with the joy of performing just for the fun of it. They moved in perfect rhythm to the music, their steps all choreographed as they sashayed around the stage and down amongst the members of the audience. People did not throw money at them and the girls didn't use parts of their body to ask for any. They were professional dancers, nothing more, nothing less. She had to admit, she was giving secret kudos to Jensen for choosing a place like this over the strip clubs that the rest of the guys probably would prefer to go to.
…Though they all seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, too, despite Pooch's complaints the week before. The bartender and dancers who were already familiar with "Jake's friends" paid them special attention, comping them drinks here and there and tossing them little winks from on stage. The owners of the club had actually come out to greet the party as soon as they walked in, going through some sort of "normal routine" of ribbing Jake about how hard he must make his team work to keep him out of trouble. Aisha had smirked at that along with the rest of the guys as Jensen's face turned red; they really had no fucking idea.
Then again, maybe they did. She scanned the building again wondering where their birthday boy had wandered off to. He had slipped away almost twenty minutes ago claiming he saw an old friend he wanted to catch up with. The excuse was lame, everyone in this place was an old friend, and they certainly had no problems just pulling up a chair to "Jensen's Table" and making themselves comfortable for a while.
"If he doesn't hurry his ass up, he's gonna miss it," Pooch stated, also looking around as if he had read her mind.
"Miss what?" she asked.
Clay smiled. "The grand finale."
There was something entirely too wicked in that smile and she turned again to Pooch for further explanation.
He laughed at the look she gave him before he spoke. "They bring all the dancers up for one final number. It's different every time, but every time they find some way to show why the club is called Dirty Girls."
The smile Cougar was suddenly wearing was even more wolfish than Clay's had been, and she briefly wondered about taking back her earlier thoughts of this joint being classy.
She didn't have a chance to comment any further as all the lights in the entire building suddenly went out. They sat in silent darkness for several seconds before a small electronic beat rolled out and a male voice whispered "Ahhh, dirty" followed quickly by a female whispering the same thing. A spotlight lit up on one of the girls standing with one leg up on a chair, dressed as a skimpy science teacher complete with an impossibly tight lab coat. The voices whispered "Filthy" in an echoing pattern, and another spotlight hit the stage, this time revealing a sexy, tiny-skirted cheerleader. "Nasty" was next with a librarian tugging down provocatively on her glasses. "Too dirty to clean my act up" was appropriately followed by a girl in a tight black tee sporting a cap that read "Drama Club Director." "If you ain't dirty" had the light flashing on a couple girls all in different sports uniforms, all with their midriffs showing, of course. Then the music picked up and the male voice announced "you ain't here to parrrrtyyyy!" which lit up the rest of the stage and the rest of the dancers dressed as schoolgirls. The song really started going with a repeated phrase of "ring the alarm," and the ladies on stage danced around the props and sets, working their bodies in relevance to the characters they were playing. They wound up dancing themselves right into a tight circle, facing inward.
Then Christina Aguilera's voice rang out over the sound system. And everyone at the table dropped their jaws at what they saw on stage.
"Ooh, I'm overdue, gimme some room, I'm coming through."
Jensen appeared from the middle of the circle, pushing his way through the crowd of women as if he were trying to get somewhere in a hurry. He was dressed in complete nerd fashion, not the way he normally did with his gaudy shirts and Lennon glasses, but in the stereotypically way with hiked up pants, suspenders, button-up striped shirt, a bowtie, and the military issue glasses he hated so damn much. He was also wearing a kid's Transformer backpack.
Pooch was the first to crack. It started with a snort, then a giggle, then full-blown laughter as the girls danced their way around Jake, "blocking" him from getting to his "next class." He fumbled around the stage in mock horror, his face a mix of fear and annoyance every time one of the other "students" or "teachers" stepped into his path. They turned him around, snapped his suspenders, toyed with him coyly.
Pooch stopped laughing when Christina sang the line "sweat until my clothes come off" and three girls grabbed at Jensen simultaneously. Exactly on the word "off", all three ripped something off of the tech's body, one going for the backpack, one the bowtie, and one the suspenders. Jensen stood there as if he had just been violated for only the next two phrases before they were at him again, once again shuffling him back and forth across the stage. Now he looked like he was about to cry.
So did Pooch.
Clay and Cougar apparently thought that was even funnier, especially since Pooch was supposed to be super husband. Now he looked almost jealous as he watched his geeky friend get woman-handled all over the stage. They boys chuckled like little kids. Aisha was getting a kick out of it.
At the main chorus the ladies had managed to push Jensen up onto a tabletop and he shrugged as if to say "what the hell, if you can't beat 'em…" Then he began to dance, and the rest of the Losers just about died. He was nerd dancing! His rhythm was completely off as he pumped his fists back and forth, looking more like he was banging on some invisible door than jamming to the music. He stopped that and went into some weird hip twirl.
"Is he hula hooping or something?" Pooch giggled.
The comment made everyone laugh that much louder. Clay actually had tears in his eyes.
When the next verse began he was literally yanked down off the table and this time he willingly followed the girls around. They passed him back and forth, trying their hardest to teach him some proper dance moves. His movements matched the lyrics and he was actually improving by the next time the line "sweat until my clothes come off" came back around. This time he lost his shirt to one girl and the other pulled his pants down to a proper position on his waist.
He stopped dancing and covered himself with his arms in embarrassment. The Losers about lost it, as did the rest of the club. Jensen didn't even smile, just stayed right in character as he fled off stage. The girls, of course, couldn't allow that. Aisha found herself duly impressed that they could so flawlessly chase down their "prey" all through the club while still managing to pull off dancing in fully fluid, sexual movements to the song. She would've just tackled him and been done with it.
By the time the chorus came back around they had "caught" him and danced him back onto the stage. As the ladies danced in formation, he went through a comic series of trying to crawl around them to retrieve his lost clothing. He would get so close before they'd just kick his things away, sometimes pressing exposed legs a little too close to his face as he fumbled around. At one point he found himself nearly buried in a woman's backside and he turned away, holding his hands up as if he was fighting with himself over whether pushing the offending body part away would be against his moral code of not touching a girl's ass without permission.
Cougar almost fell out of his chair.
Then came the refrain. The tigresses were apparently finished playing with the poor little nerd and went in for the kill. His fear-filled eyes disappeared into the clawing hands of the dancers and they kept their circle tight around him, once again. One of the attackers tossed the slacks over her head, another the geeky glasses, and the Converse went one at a time. All eyes went wide when a pair of tighty-whiteys went flying.
As Christina went into her token rising vocal interlude, the girls all stood up and backed away, maintaining their circular format. Everyone in the audience looked like they were shifting around, trying to get a peak around the wall of beautiful flesh that was blocking the loveable nerd from sight.
The circle broke when the rapping started, only it wasn't Redman singing. It was Jensen, busting it out into a mic like he had been doing it all his life. He now wore baggy black jeans pulled down to reveal his silky black boxers, the white-scrawled "Fuck me" lettering across the waistband just barely visible from the honored front table. Black Adidas sneakers took the place of the Converse, and no shirt had been returned to him. A black baseball cap was turned backwards on his head and on his face sat slightly tinted, sleek prescription RayBans. The only thing he had on that still made him their Jensen was the heavy chain around his neck sporting a blinged-out laptop charm. It thumped against his chest in time with the beat he was keeping perfectly with his voice. He walked the stage back and forth, playing to the audience like he owned them.
He did.
"Fucking Marky Mark," Pooch mumbled, and Cougar nodded in slow awe. Clay looked like he was staring at an alien lifeform, and Aisha just prayed to god that nothing was written on her face that showed what she was thinking; because what she was thinking was that this side of Jensen was actually pretty fucking hawt.
As the chorus came back up, Jensen's rap ended but he didn't yet relinquish the mic. He toyed with the girls this time, dancing with them for a second or two before spinning away and taunting the next girl. Every once in a while he'd shoot a little word or grunt into the mic in time with the music until one of the dancers snagged it from his hand. She danced away with it naughtily just before the chorus repeated itself.
And again their boy surprised them all. Every dancer on the stage, including him, suddenly began dancing the same steps. They were all in perfect time, stomping their feet at the same precise moments, flipping out a hand to the side at the same distance from the ground as everyone else, bowing their heads in unison, spinning around on crossed ankles just to jump out as they came back to face the audience. The moves were all exactly the same, and yet when the girls did them they looked soft, feminine. When Jensen did them, he looked masculine, sturdy. All of them were sexy.
Aisha shook her head. "Fucking Justin Timberlake."
Again Cougar nodded, and Clay kept his dumbfounded look, and Pooch actually seemed kind of proud, and Aisha scrunched up her face in a losing battle with her womanhood to shut away her clearly disturbed thoughts. She made a mental note to kill Jensen if he ever popped up in her dreams as anything other than his normal geeky self.
The third round of the chorus put Jensen back up on top of the table where he tried another hand at freestyling. He was nothing short of amazing. His movements were limited on the small confines of the round tabletop, but his muscle control more than made up for it. Watching the way the music would ripple up just one arm and flow seamlessly across his shoulder and down his torso, then slip down into his legs for some tight, impressive steps and turns, and right back up all the way out to the opposite arm – it was almost hypnotic. By the last beat of the song, ending with Jensen standing gangsta-style with his arms crossed over his chest on the "uh, what," the audience members seemed to have forgotten that the girls had still been circling the table below him during his entire last performance; and the fact that the only one who had actually lost any clothing during the entire number was Jensen.
All was quiet in the club for several long seconds, Jensen maintaining his pose while his chest heaved with exerted breaths. As soon as that boyish smile started lighting up his features, the crowd regained its footing and everyone in the club went nuts. By the time he stepped off the table and took a bow with the girls, he was absolutely beaming. His smile was mirrored perfectly on the faces of his friends.
~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~L~~
Aisha stumbled down the stairs a few days later with a hangover the size of fucking Mt. Everest. The fact that the voices coming from the kitchen sounded just as devoid of life as she felt made her feel only slightly better.
"Fuckers," she mumbled as she reached for the pot of coffee. She got groans and grunts in reply to her warm morning greeting.
Pooch, resting his elbows on his table with his hands covering his face, muttered, "Did that actually happen?"
Jensen sighed heavily, his face planted into the table so heavily it looked like it must've taken root there. "Aisha, please tell Pooch if he asks me that one more time, you're going to stab him with a spork or something."
"We're out of sporks," she grumbled, then turned to Pooch, "but it happened, unless we all somehow had the same fucked-up dream." The thought reminded her of her previous threat of death should a certain geeky hacker appear to her in her nightly subconscious state. Lucky for him, she didn't have the energy for murder right now.
"¿Qué día es?" Cougar asked, his voice muffled by the fact that he was sitting backwards in his chair with his arms folded over his head.
"Monday," Clay grunted, and Aisha could tell by the annoyance in his tone that this also wasn't the first time that question had been brought up.
"I can't believe we drank ourselves through my entire birthday weekend," Jensen whined.
"I can't believe that actually happened," Pooch muttered again.
Jensen finally lifted his face off the table. He looked like shit. Aisha shut her eyes, capturing this shitty-looking Jensen, and smiled slightly in relief. He had just inadvertently killed sexy-looking Jensen for her.
"Fine, Pooch, it didn't happen," he sighed. "We went to Vegas, saw some strippers, got shit-faced, lost all our money on penny slots, and sang bad karaoke. You happy?"
Pooch actually thought about it for a second before slowly shaking his head in his hands. "God, that actually fucking happened."
The chorus of moans was the closest anyone was willing to get to screaming "shut the fuck up."
Aisha, being the closest to him, reached out and smacked Pooch on the back of the head. He peeked one eye from behind his hands to glare at her, then at Jensen who had managed to make his laugh function operational amidst his hangover-induced haze.
"We are not going back to that club next year," Pooch snarled.
"Nope," Clay agreed, and when Jensen turned mortified eyes on the Colonel, he managed to dig up a quirky smile. "We're going back in two months."
"What's in two months?" Aisha couldn't help but ask. Damn her curiosity.
Clay smiled wider. "Cougar's birthday."
And fuck if the sniper didn't smile back in a way that said Jensen wasn't the only one who still hid a few surprises…