The Kowboi Klub

Chapter One—Hot Dogs in Houston

Author's Note:

SATURDAY: I don't think I've ever updated so quickly in my entire life.

DAKKI: Further evidence that we are totally meant for each other.

SATURDAY: ...

DAKKI: ...

SATURDAY: ...

DAKKI: ...Okay, where is Dalton and why hasn't he made a sarcastic comment about our lesbian attraction to each other yet!

SATURDAY: I think Dalton is MIA.

DAKKI: Missing In Action?

SATURDAY: No. Man In A... DRESS!

DALTON: ((appears, rolling eyes)) That was very clever.

DAKKI: But true, apparently.

DALTON: I AM NOT GAY.

SATURDAY: And now, on with the fic!

Disclaimer: We own nothing except Jack's leather pants, which belong to Dakki, and Spot's blouse, which belongs to Saturday.

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Raised on hunches and junk-food lunches and punch-drunk ballroom steps
You get to believin' you're even-steven with the kids at fast track prep
So you dump your bucks on a velvet tux and you run to join the dance
But your holy shows and the Romans know you're just a child of circumstance, 'cause

This is an ordinary town and the prophet has no face
This is an ordinary town and the seasons run in place
And every highway leads you prodigal and true
To the ordinary angels watchin' over you

-Tracey Grammer

-

Looking back, Jack came to Houston like a lamb to the slaughter. The biggest city in Texas had been hit that spring with a heat wave; temperatures were rising every day to the low hundreds, and Jack was clad entirely in leather. He had hitched a ride out of Toad Suck with a trucker who was delivering a load of Virgin Mary ice sculptures to a JesusCon in Bakersfield, and he spent long hours in the refrigerated hold, his lips turning blue as the taffeta-and-rhinestone dress Darlene had worn when she went to the junior prom with him last year. Spread out in front of him was a map of the country, including some parts of Canada, and for a long time he just stared at it, wondering what he wanted to do with his life, and where he would find a new home. He thought of all the things he had wanted to be when he was growing up: football player, fireman, star of the Broadway stage--and finally, just outside of Hot Coffee, Mississippi, it came to him. Cowboy.

He would be a cowboy!

All his life he had dreamed of riding the range, playing the banjo, and eating beans. And now, unfettered by the expectations of his so-called friends and family, he could! He could be anything he wanted to be. He was Jack Kelly. He had good hair.

Texas was the best place to be a cowboy, and Houston was the biggest city in Texas, so it only made sense that he should start there. The trucker dropped him off in the center of town, wished him well, and continued on his way. And Jack, ever conscious of the fact that clothes make the man, stopped by a store called Leather Man, run by two really friendly guys named Dan and Stan who did such a good job measuring his inseam, and with his savings from his summer job as a hog caller, he bought himself a brand-new leather wardrobe: vest, hat, chaps, boots, and a pair of black pants that fully displayed his gift. Stan and Dan said they fit him so well that they would give them to him for free as long as he came back whenever he needed another pair. People were so nice in the city.

And so Jack set out into the streets in his costume-- no, his uniform, he mentally corrected himself. If he was going to be a successful cowboy, he was going to have to get used to the idea that this was his work uniform, just as necessary as a suit to a businessman in New York City.

Jack had never been to New York City. Jack had never been out of Toad Suck. He decided that he was doing a very good job blending in with the other Houstonians.

He made his way cheerily down the street, walking with his pelvis slightly out so as to show off his flattering new pants. He couldn't deny that he was slightly surprised at the lack of corrals and wide open fields where freshly broken ponies with hides dappled white and gray roamed and men with skin burned a smooth, dark brown from the sun played harmonicas beneath great oak and elm trees that stretched long, slender limbs into the clear blue sky spotted with feathery clouds. As a matter of fact, there didn't seem to be a tree in sight, let alone a pony or another cowboy. He paused in the shade of a thirty-story skyscraper and scratched the back of his neck, slightly perplexed. This wasn't exactly what he had expected.

A boy with bright blue eyes and dark, curly hair was eyeing him with what appeared to be a mixture of amusement and apprehension from behind a nearby hot dog stand. He seemed to think for a moment, and then he put down his tongs and made his way over to the leather-clad teenager. "Um... Do you need any help?" he asked, tugging absently at his apron.

Jack turned to the newcomer and his face lit up in a smile. "Yes," he said in tones of gratitude. "Could you tell me where the closest corral is?"

The boy blinked. "Um..."

"It's all right if you don't know," said Jack, smiling warmly. "How's this: do you know where someone is who could tell me? Clint Eastwood, perhaps?"

"Are you..." The boy's eyes traveled down Jack's body, lingering for a moment on his gratuitously tight black leather pants, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. He seemed to be trying to find the right word. "Are you, um..."

"A cowboy?" Jack prompted, swishing his hair. "Yes!"

The boy stared at him for a moment, clearly stunned, and then his face broke into a smile and he held out his hand. "I'm David," he said.

"Jack Kelly," said Jack, and he spit into his palm and reached out to shake David's hand.

"What the--" David pulled back quickly. "What are you doing? That's disgusting!"

Jack looked down at his hand. "Oh," he said. "Everybody does it back in Toad Suck."

"Back in-- where?"

"Never mind," said Jack quickly, wiping his hand on his pants.

But David was looking more and more amused every minute, and he smiled again and said, "Do you want a hot dog, Jack Kelly?"

Jack was dismayed. "I'm a vegetarian," he said gloomily. "I guess that's not very cowboy-like, is it?"

"Guess not," said David idly. He took up his tongs again and placed two hot dogs into buns for a young couple wearing cutoffs and flip-flops, and accepted their money. He didn't seem to notice the constipated look on Jack's face and the way he was fiddling with the fringes on his leather vest, until Jack stomped over to his hot dog stand and held out his hand.

David looked at his hand blankly for a moment, and then shook it.

"No, give me a hot dog!" said Jack with the air of addressing someone very small.

"But I thought you were a vegetarian!" David reminded him in confusion.

Jack puffed his chest up proudly and flipped his hair. "I'll have a hot dog," he said, "for Houston. I am a true Texan cowboy!"

And so David, who had absolutely no idea what was in store for him, hesitantly picked up his tongs and set a hot dog into a bun, adding some ketchup, mustard, and a little onion for good measure. And he handed it to Jack.

Five minutes later, Jack had thrown up the entire hot dog, as well as what looked like some Fig Newtons and what appeared to be grass. David started to apologize hurriedly in horror, but Jack held up a hand; "I'm fine, I've just never eaten meat before. But true cowboys can stomach anything," he said dramatically.

David didn't quite see how this added up, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling anyway. He put down his tongs and began to take off his apron, and he said to Jack, who was looking rather green, "C'mon-- I think there's someone you need to meet."

-

Jack thought his new friend might take him to an Indian witch doctor, or maybe Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, to get his upset tummy looked at (no: not his tummy, his gut, he reminded himself sternly—cowboys never said "tummy"), so he was surprised when David led him into a new-looking free clinic on the outskirts of town, and introduced him to the youngest doctor he had ever seen.

"This," David said proudly, "is my friend, Dr. Sean Conlon. Sean, this is Jack. He's a cowboy."

"Spot, actually," said Dr. Conlon, reaching out to shake Jack's hand. "I just use my given name for my day job."

Jack stared at him, a puzzled expression on his handsome face, for almost a full minute. "But…you can't be a doctor!"

Spot pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and looked at Jack with a pair of steely gray eyes. "Oh?" he said. "Why not?"

"You're... fourteen!"

"Nineteen, actually," he said, looking more amused than offended. "I skipped a few years in high school."

"And middle school," David added.

"And college. So," said Dr. Spot, "what can I do for you, Cowboy Jack?"

"My tummy hurts," Jack said plaintively.

"I gave him a hot dog," said David.

"And not even romance him a little first?" Spot asked, at which point David blushed crimson. "Take him out to dinner, maybe? Cheeseburgers and beer? The amusing house wine?"

"But it's only two o' clock," Jack said, confused.

Spot sighed slightly and clicked his tongue. "David, David, David..." he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You sure do have excellent taste."

"Spo-ot," David whined, still bright red, "stop saying--"

But Spot said, "Hush" sternly and made to take off his lab coat. Jack wasn't surprised; he had been wondering how Spot had been able to stand the blistering heat in such impractical attire. Never once had it occurred to Jack that perhaps outfitting oneself completely in leather was not entirely appropriate for 110-degree weather.

He turned to look at David, whose blush seemed to have faded a little. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "It's just... Well, I'd never eaten meat before. My mom's a real animal lover, and--" but he stopped, because talking about his mother hurt. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay," said David, and he put a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder. "We're going to get you some help."

Jack gave a watery smile, reassured, and turned back to Spot-- and froze.

"All right, Cowboy Jack, if you could please seat yourself on the bed here," said Spot professionally, rolling up the sleeves of his black silken blouse. It was really quite beautiful, with an open neckline edged with delicate black lace that so complimented his ivory skin, and silver-black sequins that tinkled slightly and caught the light in a way that mesmerized Jack. He stared at Spot's chest, at a loss for words, unable to tear his eyes from the shining sequins.

David, who looked as though he had dealt with this before, sighed and rubbed his head impatiently.

Spot smiled devilishly. "The bed, please, Cowboy Jack," he said.

Jack came to his senses. "The bed?"

"Yes."

"But--" It had just occurred to Jack that Spot was probably about to seduce him. Even if Spot's gleaming leather pants did fit disturbingly well, the idea of someone other than Darlene sticking their hands down Jack's pants alarmed him so much that he turned to look imploringly at David, unable to act.

"He's just checking you out," said David in an attempt to sound encouraging, but then he realized what he had just said and added hastily, "In a strictly professional kind of way."

"I'm sorry if my attire distresses you," said Spot, gently stroking his own side. "I was growing hot in my lab coat."

And with that he pushed Jack down violently onto the cot and seated himself on top of him, so that he was straddling Jack's stomach. "Hmm," he said, squinting through his glasses, and then he took them off entirely and looked even closer at Jack's torso.

Jack, who had never been sat upon by a boy in black lace before, closed his eyes tight and started murmuring "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" under his breath so as to calm his nerves.

"Well," said Spot finally, standing up. "I think there's only one cure, David. It may be very painful-- traumatic, even-- but it's the only thing I can think of to prescribe at the moment."

Jack opened his eyes. "What?" he asked shakily.

Spot and David looked at each other for a moment, and then turned back to Jack and said, "The Kowboi Klub."

-

Author's Note:

DALTON: You. Have. Lost. Your. Minds.

SATURDAY: Said the prep school student in drag.

DALTON: I AM GOING UPSTAIRS TO CHANGE.

DAKKI: While Dalton is occupied with finding at least vaguely heterosexual attire, please leave a review!

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Shout Outs!

Braids

DALTON: Darling, if you want to sing "Corner in the Sky" with me, you can do it anytime. It's the story of my life, sweetheart.

DAKKI: ((stares))

DALTON: …what?

DAKKI: Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out how you became, like 700 more gay in the last thirty seconds.

SATURDAY: Braids can do that to a person.

DAKKI: Ah, yes.

Erin Go Bragh

DALTON: Help!

KNOX & SATURDAY & DAKKI: I need somebody!

DALTON: HELP!

KNOX & SATURDAY & DAKKI: Not just anybody!

DALTON: HELP!

KNOX & SATURDAY & DAKKI: I REALLY NEED SOMEONE!

DALTON: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL SOMEONE HELP ME GET THIS JAR OPEN?

Sprints

SATURDAY: But of course Toad Suck is a real place! If we're going to torture Jack, after all, we make sure to do it accurately.

DAKKI: Although Toad Suck is really in Arkansas, not Alabama.

DALTON: But that is purely because Dakki is an idiot who can't be bothered to look things up until AFTER the prologue has been posted.

DAKKI: But then again, Dalton still sleeps with a Harvey Birdman action figure.

DALTON: …YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD NEVER TELL!

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We've said it once and we'll say it again…REVIEW! Or we'll blow up Alderaan.

Te adoro,

Saturday, Dakki, Dalton and Knox