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Moulin Rouge

*

It's dark again, later than Sasuke was willing to make it. He tagged along with Suigetsu and the boys again as they chose to roam from opium den to absinthe bar and now he regrets having chickened out of going alone. They're all drunk around him, but not as hammered as that first eventful night, which is to say that they practiced a lot at holding their liquor.

Even though he told himself at the start of the evening that he wasn't going to drink because he doesn't want to end up in someone's bed with his money missing in the morning (blushed with fury and sudden remembrance), he couldn't stand being around his friends completely sober.

He looks around at them and aches to asks that question: when are we going? But he's asked it about seven times already this evening, and he really doesn't want to seem that eager. He's got enough trouble as it is keeping Suigetsu at bay with his lecherous comments and inappropriate questions.

Finally, the latter jumps up though, a little woozy, almost falling down again for lack of balance, and shouts:

'That's it. Moulin Rouge!'

The gents roar in delight and starts gathering their coats and hats. Suigetsu looks for his cane, which apparently he bought the day before. Sasuke rolls his eyes, but he's anxious. He needs to get that wallet back. There's something… personal about it.

This night the lights of the Moulin Rouge seem to shine all the brighter, rivalling those pale, sickly excuses for stars in the sky. Down in the streets it's hot and noisier than it was in the day. There's nothing sleepy and tranquil about the avenues now. There's that familiar buzzing, the sense of living and laughing in the air.

Outside the heavy, double golden doors, there is, to Sasuke's surprise, a line that goes all the way to the next block. He fears for a moment they won't be able to get in. He doubts whether all those people would be able to fit.

Confident and arrogantly, pretentiously swimming his cane, Suigetsu moves up to the fronts door, consciously ignorant of the line and the pairs of menacing eyes threatening to set his coat on fire.

'Tenten, my darling. Mon amour!' He yells, loud enough for the entire street to hear how well connected he is.

The Chinese girl he recognises from that afternoon steps out of her little white and red booth. She glides his way and presses two kisses on either of his cheeks. Dressed in a shiny green, snakelike, Chinese dress she turns around and inspects their party. He eyes linger on Sasuke for a second, but then indifferently dismiss him.

She's placed at the door because of her big mouth that tends to get her into trouble with the customers inside. She is however, completely in charge of whoever enters, so appeasing the door bitch is what Suigetsu does.

'You are looking a dream tonight Tenten. It must be so tiresome, the way they show you off like this.'

Tenten, who's heard it all before, but remains slightly sensitive to such superfluous praise, waves them on and earns a groan for it from the fools in line, so her slanted brown eyes flash over and nobody dares utter another word.

The line doesn't continue on inside, so they're free to walk the corridor, through the foyer, to the ball room. Sasuke feels already familiar, and there is a childish giddiness in his heart which he refuses to admit. He chastises himself for it. He's here on a mission, let's not forget that. First and foremost, he has to find that little thief and get his wallet back.

As much as he repeats it in his head, like a mantra, the words are blown out of his mind as he enters the ball room, which has not lost any of its magic, its power. All of the dream is kept here, it seems, and it'll be here a hundred years from now, unchanged, equally powerful. It still knocks the breath out of his lungs and blinds his eyes with all the movement and colour. The room is even more packed than usual. There are more men, it seems. More nervous yelling and drinking.

Sasuke looks around and realises how incredibly futile it actually is to try and find a single person here. He'd have just as much luck trying to bump into him in the streets (on second thought, he might be just as lucky). The boys head over to the bar, order drinks, Sasuke declines.

He's got his eyes on the stage, because there's a stage now, right in the middle of where the dance floor is. He guesses that's why there was such a huge line outside. Suddenly the lights dims to a point where he can't see the others anymore. A collective gasp runs through the audience like some tremor though the back of a giant sleeping beast. All eyes are on the stage.

Then there's a light, bright as heaven in the smoky dark, and it shines on a balcony, illuminating all the smoke and sweaty faces. A booming voice fills all their ears.

'Ladies and Gentlemen! Lovers of the dramatic arts, friends whose lives I hold as dearly as my own…'

Sasuke, sober enough to be cynical, rolls his eyes.

'I am proud, to present to you, two ladies I'm sure you're all dying to meet. The talented flowers of the Moulin Rouge, who no doubt star in all your most intimate fantasies, performing on stage, for your eyes only: THE SPARKLING, THE MAGNIFICANT, DIAMOND DUO!!!!'

The crowd goes wild. One hundred voices shouting and screaming and two times a hundred hands clapping in the air and then the sigh when sweet delivery comes, in the form of a bare woman's leg and a figure hidden in feathers and drapes.

The music starts, swells, a hand joins the leg, an arm, graceful and mercilessly taunting. Then the music erupts in a way that rings in your ears when trumpets join, and drums and horns and flutes and any other instrument you can imagine.

A girl appears on stage, tall and beautiful, blond and grinning sweet seduction at all the men who stand first row and stare up at her as if she where some kind of goddess. The second one joins, no less adored, lovely and rosy, dressed in nothing but what looks like red lace and glitter.

And behind them, smiling from ear to ear, the person Sasuke was convinced he was going to have to look for in the darkest shadows of the smallest corners in the brothel; the person he was desperate to find and horribly afraid of finding. The one who had smiled at him through opium smoke, who had lured him away from everything he thought he wanted to be.

The show is on.

***

'Oh please Naruto, you have got to help out. You're the only one we've got!' Sakura, called Cherry by most of the crew, is almost on her knees in front of him, looking up through big, teary eyes the exact colour of the jade pearl earrings that lie in front of her vanity mirror. The pink and red peignoir she wears pools around her sweet, pale waist in a disorderly manner. Her hair is a crow's nest and her make up is runny.

Naruto takes a step back and bites his lips. It's criminal really, how much Sakura abuses those eyes on him. She knows she could get away with practically anything, would she stare at him like that for long enough.

'But, please, you're the only one who knows the moves, and you're the same size! I'm counting on you!' she pleads, desperately.

Naruto looks at the door longingly and regrets ever coming here. He also doubts the sincerity of her face. He loves her terribly, but she's a great actress, and not afraid of using that on even her dearest friends. She's not to blame though. The Moulin Rouge breeds actresses and liars, and it just happens to be that Sakura is a natural.

'Forget it Cherry. He hasn't got the guts. He'll suck men off in the dark, but a little dance in public and he's shaking in his boots.

Naruto glares at Ino's snide remark. She and Sakura are the stars. They are two of the singular most beautiful girls in the world, and nowhere in Paris will you find anyone with more ambition. It's a shame that Sakura's mom was an impoverished addict, and Ino's a common street hooker, otherwise they would have dazzled the modern world.

Now they just dazzle in the Moulin Rouge, which is enough, for now. At least people come to see them. They have their own shows, their own act. People know them, know of them. Ino, wearing a blue, Japanese dress robe with a motif of flowers, crane birds and fishes, comes to stand right in front of him. She's taller that he is, wearing heels, and the intoxicating cloud of her perfume washes over him.

'He's not fit for the stage.'

Her icy, blue eyes travel him up and down.

'He's ordinary.'

'Shut up Ino pig, he's better looking than Kiba, look at his eyes.' Sakura interjects from behind her, gesturing wildly to Naruto's face as she continues to inspect him like a horse on sale.

'Yeah, but Kiba has presence.' Ino replies and the two launch into a heated discussion.

Naruto feels a small tinge of relief as they switch their focus from him to each other. He stands back and tries not to lean against anything. The dressing room is a mess, a complete and utter catastrophe. It looks like a hurricane molested a pink ostrich and left it there to gather dust and glitter. It smells like perfume and dried flowers, which is not too bad, but the air is saturated with it. There are no windows in the room. It's lit by electric lights alone, rather modern for a dressing room, but Ino and Sakura insisted on it. (How on earth can I look fuck-able, if I can't even manage to see my face straight? We need some light!)

The arguing goes on for the better part of a minute, and Naruto tunes out. He sits back and watches. This is what the clients come to see. Sakura and Ino have a double act. Sometimes they're dancers, sometimes they're animals, sometimes they're royalty, but always they're fighting. The customers eat it up. There has to be something profoundly arousing about seeing these two babes dish it out on the dance floor…

In front of him both girls are already up in each other's space and Ino, taller than Sakura by an inch or two, is letting that count for as much as she can.

'Girls!'

Both of them turn round, annoyed and seemingly surprised at the sudden reminder that he was there in the room with them. Naruto looks at both of them, wonders why he does it, but takes a deep breath and says:

'I'll do it. But only for the same amount of money Kiba got.'

The girls burst out smiling and Sakura fastens herself around his neck rather forcibly with a squeal of delight, which makes Naruto smile as well as he holds her.

'Oh, thank you Naruto!'

She kisses him on the cheek, leaves a print probably, and goes to fluttering about the room again.

'The boots will be fine, but I don't know whether Kiba's jacket will fit you as well.'

Naruto blows up his chest in indignation.

'It's not like me and muscleman are that different you know. Half of what he's got is only padding anyway.'

Ino eyes him in scorn and lifts up a brow while she goes through the make-up box in search of powder that'll fit Naruto's colouring.

'You sound like a girl Naruto.'

***

A few minutes before their cue, Naruto doesn't feel so big. He's dressed in Kiba costume. How on earth that moron managed to slip and strain his ankle the day of the performance remains a mystery. It's true that Kiba is more heavily built than he is, but in terms of height they're not so far apart. The jacket, red, studded with sparkling buttons, sits loose around his shoulders. He's dressed like a cavalry officer, glamorized a bit. Ino and Sakura re two very scantily clad ladies, fighting for his attention. Along with the red vest, come tight blue pants and high, glossy black boots, which incidentally, Naruto does like.

They're not helping with the confidence issue though. He feels sweaty and faint. Sakura keeps squeezing his hand, but she's used to it already, the bugs in the pit of your stomach. Sakura blooms on stage. Naruto's about seventy-percent sure he's not going to fall on his face and wilt.

He's Kiba's understudy for the sole reason that he knows how to pull off the acrobatic stunt the boy does. He manages them fine when practicing alone, but in front of the hungry eyes of more than a hundred people, he's not so sure.

'Don't worry, they're gonna love you.' Ino grins, all hostility forgotten.

The moment of truth arrives, Jiraiya's voice, loud as doom on Naruto's shoulders, announces them. Naruto feels like puking, swallows and plasters a big, wide smile on his face that isn't bound to come off until next Christmas. The show must go on. Smile, wave, do a little dance, earn a fuckload of money and get it done.

The curtains draw, he hears the audience, feels their heartbeat as if it was one living thing. Then he's pulled in by Sakura and the music and, struck momentarily blind by the hot lights, starts the dance. He can't see a single face in the crowd, but it's there, undeniably. The warmth of their perspiring foreheads rises, their voices are deafening and the music he dances too is not so much there in his ears, as in his feet. He dances to vibrations and nerves, not a drum beat.

The dance is a sultry, vibrant tango, with Naruto dancing close and fast with Sakura, and then, when she pulls him off, with Ino. He twirls and spins and is twirled to dizzy duty by the girls and the dance is almost halfway done when he realises that he sort of likes it.

His acrobatic twists and somersaults earn him a couple of 'oooh's from the crowd, but mostly their attention is on the girls, who go from growling at each other, to dancing really close, to flirting with the audience. They are the attraction after all, he's their prop. He wonders how they do it.

It ends with some final throbbing beats and stops abruptly, and that's when Naruto notices how hard his heart is beating and how dry his mouth is. Naruto ends the act by dragging Sakura along by her hand and running his hands all over her curves as he nears the curtain. Ino pouts at the audience before huffing indignantly and pacing the stage. The men at her feet literally throw themselves in front of her. The petulant little princess is one of the best roles she plays.

Behind the curtain Naruto and Sakura disentangle. She checks the mirror and simultaneously shrugs out of her clothes, indifferent to Naruto's presence. She's breathing hard as well, but the show's not over for her. Not yet. Right before she goes up again, wearing a white dress this time, cut up in such a way that when she twirls it shows glimpses of her legs and thighs, Sakura turns to him, blows him a kiss and mouths thank you.

Then she slips through the heavy drapes and, muffled from where Naruto's standing, receives an ecstatic applause.

***

Backstage the corridors are small and badly lit but Naruto knows where to go by touch and memory. He makes his way easily enough through the dusty, wooden hallways, covered in posters and artwork of long-forgotten shows when the Moulin Rouge truly was a theatre, and not a brothel like it is today. The wood groans under his feet, but it has never failed anyone before. The polished surface is proof of decades of life. He imagines other feet might have walked here, high on the adrenaline, still breathing hard after countless of shows.

The corridors leads to a large common room, dark, musty but cool, where the props are kept, and most of the costumes. There are dressing room on either side of him, but he keeps walking and disappears through a door, leading to a small, narrow stairway. He descends into the golden glow of the lit room of the lower floor.

It's the kitchen, warm because of the roaring fire and filled with all the voices of what Naruto's learnt to call his family. They've made their own party here, where they aren't obliged to entertain, amuse, worry about the next catch…

He finds Kakashi, on a wooden bench against the wall, glass of liquor on the table in front of him. He's got the ever-present cigarette between his lips and his arm around a girl, Anko, whom, in another life, he might have married. In this life though, he stares in her eyes, deep, intimate, dreamily. He can't marry her.

Lee pushes him a bottle of wine in his hands and he takes a great big swig to quench the left-over nerves. Lee, who was a poor country boy once, and who, on the his first night in the Moulin Rouge, fell for Sakura so bad he stuck around. Lee, who's to ugly to be a whore, but who makes himself useful and takes on any job anyone feels like giving him. All so he can be around her at least, even though he can't afford her. That's love, Naruto thinks and pities him, may god keep me from ever experiencing it.

He gets drunk that night, high on the afterglow of what he did though it's not such a good idea. Early in the night, it can't have been after 1, Naruto gets called away. It's Tenten, who's been relieved of her shift as door bitch, one of those long cigarettes she smokes between her teeth, who tells him that Tsunade's looking for him.

Dim as he is Naruto can't imagine what about. Tsunade is the owner of the Moulin Rouge. She is mockingly called princess of the Moulin Rouge, and queen of the underworld, of all those who fell between the cracks. The theatre belonged to her grandparents and was bequeathed to her after they died. But even though she fought to keep it open, the competition was harsh, and nobody respectable came to her part of the city anymore. Nobody who could enjoy quality theatre would even show their face in these streets. So Tsunade adapted and dazzled. It turned out she was better at being a pimp and host than anything else.

Naruto meets her outside the door to one of the luxury balconies which are never really hired except by people who don't want to be seen, or wealthy folk who like their privet parties. Tsunade, dressed in a crème-coloured sparkling dress and engulfed by a coat with white feathers, waves him over and starts to fuss over his hair.

'Are you drunk Naruto? God your such a pest.'

He looks up at her through bleary eyes. She's supposed to be old, but her face is smooth and youthful. The peculiar light-brown eyes in her face are clear and focused.

'You did pretty great up there though. I'm proud of you. I doubt Kiba could have given such a show.'

Naruto rolls his eyes and grins. Kiba's never going to forgive him if he hears all this.

'You managed to catch someone's eye tonight. Wealthy man, Naruto… I'm counting on you.'

'Wait, what?' His intoxicated brain responds as it makes the click to late.

He's always been completely free about business like that. There are nights when doesn't mind, but most of the time he leaves the whoring to the whores. He is not prostitute, not full-time anyway. It's a way of making money, but only if there's no other way. It should never become something habitual.

'What do you mean?'

Tsunade sighs, licks her finger and smudges the black under his eyes. He pulls his head away and stares at her accusingly.

'This is a chance in a million, Naruto. It's Count Orochimaru, he's town for the weekend. Imagine what he could do for you.'

Orochimaru, that one person that he doesn't want to see tonight, and yet the only one he'll be forever indebted to. The only one he can't refuse. Naruto juts out his chin but in his mind he's already beginning to waver. He scowls and despises himself for his weakness. The injustice eats at him and burns his throat. His eyes are hot with sudden tears.

Then Tsunade does something she normally never does. She tilts up his chin and smiles at him with sad, bitter understanding. Her slender fingers pass over his lower lip and she sighs again, whispers in a husky voice:

'We don't have much choice Naruto. We do what is asked of us, that's all we ever do. It's not fair, and it's never pleasant, but it's our life.'

Naruto feels one stubborn tear escape his eyelid and he rubs at it furiously. She's right. She always is. He turns around, back against that dreaded door, behind which his false guardian angel waits. His eyes are on Tsunade for one last time and there is a desperate longing in his look that tugs at her. She hates it. She hates it but she's right. These are their lives.

***

The door opens soundlessly and the room behind it is only lit by the glow that comes from the ballroom. The balcony is huddled in shadows but for the light that reflects on the faded copper of the chairs. The red velvet is dull as well. Nobody comes here anymore, and yet he sits there, like a king. He turns on his throne and smiles a horrible smile at him, broad and pallid, bloodless lips. His eyes are a very light kind of brown, and they too look gray and colourless in his face.

'Naruto'. He whispers and the latter scowls at the intimacy in that voice.

Who ever gave you permission to say my name like that? A little voice in his head objects, but little voices are silenced and Naruto steps forwards like a good pet. The noise from down in the ballroom is strangely muffled. It seems the theatre was never quality and serves better as a brothel.

Orochimaru, who holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge because he funded Tsunade once when she was in great debt, pads the chair next to him inviting him to sit down. Naruto curses Tsunade's unfortunate gambling habits that drove her to such desperation as to make a deal with this man. He hates to think of it as all her fault, but it is.

'It's been a long time. How are you?'

Naruto mutters fine, and it's ok because Orochimaru doesn't keep him for conversation. It means nothing to him. When he sits down on the edge of the red, velvet chair next to him, a possessive hand claims his knee immediately. It lies there confident and provoking. Naruto has learned a long time ago that it's best to let it lie there. Orochimaru turns to him and looks him in the eye with a sly, musing expression on his face.

'I care about you. I always have. Since the moment I saw you I knew that I could make you into something. You have potential. I saw it on your face.' at this point he drags a long, thin finger across his cheek and ends it on his lower lip.

'It's always nice to see that potential bloom in front of you.'

Naruto's parched throat starts hurting. He doesn't know why it's so different with Orochimaru. He's been with others, it's never personal. He endures it, and it's not a nuisance really. It's just business. Orochimaru however always manages to bring it to that personal level. He looks at him and makes him imagine that those peculiar brown eyes can see right through him. It uncanny, uncomfortable. Naruto fears the man. Fears what he'd be able to do, with all his money and all his might.

'Hey.' the man murmurs and his head is close, too close, it's invading.

Naruto feels like pulling his head back but a hand, white and pale like death grips him behind his ear and anchors itself in his hair. It hurts where he pulls and so Naruto bows his head to relieve the pressure. He scowls. He never usually stoops. He keeps himself high, always, and only rarely descends to perform for others, and if he does he always keep his chin up, eyes on his sky of principles. Now though, he's looking down and there's a humid voice in his ear that blows hot breath over the tender skin of his throat. He shivers.

He slides of the chair, and his knees hit the floor with a submissive, humiliating thumbs. He holds two bony knees under both his sweaty pals and hangs his head. Gets to work.

***