Scott was tuning his guitar when he got the call. ~Please come to my office, Scott. We have a situation.~
When he got downstairs, he saw Logan slouching into the room ahead of him, glaring at Xavier. Logan was bitching about his nap being interrupted.
"If you didn't come in at four in the morning, you wouldn't need to sleep until noon," Scott said dryly.
Logan growled and subsided, but only because Xavier gave them both The Look.
"Gentlemen, I've found a young mutant in Manhattan who appears to have some unusual talents. I'd like you to talk with him and see if he'd be interested in joining us here at the school."
Logan frowned. "You think there's gonna be trouble?" he asked. Xavier shook his head. Logan said, "Then, why not Storm, or Jean?" He rarely went on simple rescue missions -- he had a tendency to scare the younger kids and the reaction he aroused in the older ones was often... embarrassing for both parties.
"Ronald -- the young man's name is Ronald Mink -- works in an environment that would be less hospitable to the women," Xavier replied, giving them an address in Alphabet City.
Logan grunted and Scott nodded, saying, "We'll take the Cherokee."
"I'm drivin'," Logan snapped.
"Not if I get the keys first," Scott said, and the two rushed from the room, leaving Xavier behind, rolling his eyes. He had more information for them, but decided that they would eventually have to overcome their distressing tendency toward aggressive competitiveness with each other, which made them forget to get all the information they might need. He smiled slightly, almost evilly. He didn't think they'd forget after this.
"This is a shithole," Logan grumbled, pulling the jeep into a spot on Avenue B.
"I thought they gentrified this neighborhood back in the Nineties," Scott replied. "I guess not."
They walked down the block and Logan said, "Fantasia. It's a strip club."
"I figured that, Logan," Scott said, shooting the other man a glare Logan could feel even through the glasses.
Logan smirked. "You might wanna let me do the talkin', Slim. I know how these places work."
Though Logan couldn't see it, Scott rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
Logan snickered. "You're spending too much time with Jubilee," he said. "You're startin' to sound just like her."
Scott bit back a sharp comment at the amount of time Logan spent with Rogue and shrugged as he opened the door to the club. The interior was cool and dim; the stage was dark, and there were two men at the bar, arguing. One wore a white button-down shirt with short sleeves and a wide tie of the type that had been in style -- maybe -- for about fifteen minutes in the Fifties. The other wore chef's whites and stood behind the bar.
"One'a you Rick Horner?" Logan asked.
"Who wants to know?" the man in the white button-down shirt asked.
"We're here to pick up Ronald Mink," Scott said, moving toward the man, hand extended. "Professor Xavier sent us."
The man looked at Scott's hand like it was a snake. Scott let it drop. "I'm Rick," the man said. "Ronny's not here yet." He looked over the two men and Scott shifted uncomfortably. "So, which'a you boys is gonna be fillin' in for Ronny while I try to find his replacement?"
Scott and Logan looked at each other, surprised. Xavier hadn't mentioned that. Neither let it show for more than a moment, though.
Scott knew Logan was waiting for him to volunteer, but he'd be waiting forever, the younger man decided. He wasn't going to play right into Logan's hands anymore.
"Flip you for it?" he asked, surprising the Canadian, who arched an eyebrow.
"What? No lectures on duty and responsibility?" Logan taunted. Scott just pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "You sure you can handle workin' in a place like this, Scooter? Might see some things you never seen before."
"I doubt it," Scott replied, neglecting to mention his stint as lead guitarist in a band in college, during which he'd pretty much seen it all. "Heads or tails, Logan? Call it in the air." And he flipped the coin.
"Tails," Logan grunted.
The quarter clattered to the bar and spun for a few seconds. The two X-Men watched it closely, and then Logan grinned. "Tails it is, bub. You're gonna be washin' dishes for weeks," he crowed.
The door opened then and three men walked in. Two were older, probably about Scott's age, but the third was young and, if his scent was anything to go by, very scared, Logan thought.
"Ronny," Horner called with false heartiness, "these gentlemen are from the school I was telling you about."
The two men continued on their way to the back of the club. The boy, who looked to be about eighteen, walked over warily. He let his backpack fall onto a barstool, though he kept a hand on the strap.
"I can go? No strings attached?" he asked in a husky tenor. He really was beautiful, Logan thought, like an angel in one of those paintings Hank was always going on about. A shock of wheat-gold hair -- natural, since there was no dye-smell -- grew from a graceful widow's peak on the boy's high forehead. His skin was tanned golden and his eyes -- his eyes were gold, too. Logan wondered what his mutation was.
"No strings attached. Slim here is gonna be takin' your place," Logan said, jerking a thumb in Scott's direction.
The boy's golden eyes moved to Scott. "They're crazy. Just so you know. They, they like to touch you. They told me I'd get used to it but it still freaks me out," he whispered.
Logan and Scott shared a glance. Was the boy being abused?
"It's okay, kid," Logan said gruffly. "I'll take you to the school and no one will bother you anymore." He decided at the last minute not to put a hand on Ronny's shoulder. "I'll come back for you, Scooter. What time does he get off?" This last was directed at Horner.
"Three a.m." Horner replied.
"Think you can stay up that late?" Logan taunted. Scott flipped him the bird, and Logan was barely able to restrain his grin. The kid wasn't half-bad once you got to know him, not that Logan would ever admit it. He turned to Ronny. "Let's go."
They left and Scott turned back to Horner. "So what is it exactly that I'm going to be doing for you?" he asked, all business, slightly worried at what he'd gotten himself into.
He noticed two other men had just come in and were making their way to the backstage area. "Nolan! José!" Horner called to them. "We've got a newbie here, taking Ronny's place. Show him around, get him ready for tonight." He looked at Scott. "We open at eight."
Scott followed the two men -- Nolan and José -- into the backstage area. And stopped dead.
It was a strip club all right, just as Logan had surmised.
A male strip club.
"So, kid, what do -- did -- you do at that dive?" Logan asked companionably as they sat in traffic waiting to get on the FDR.
"Strip," Ronny whispered.
Logan choked and started laughing. "You're tellin' me that you're a stripper?"
"I was," the boy replied.
"Please tell me it's a gay bar," Logan said. That would be perfect -- Ol' One-Eye getting hit on by every queer in the city.
Ronny looked at him funny. "No. Well," he amended, "I guess we did get some gay men, but usually it's these crazy women who are getting married. You wouldn't believe the things they ask you to do."
But Logan was barely listening. He was laughing so hard he thought he'd bust a gut. Scooter, a stripper!
He had to see this.
Scott prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of that Logan wouldn't come back for him before his act was over. He didn't think he could take the humiliation of having the Wolverine watch as he stripped. He put his head in his hands. Oh, God, what did I ever do to deserve this? he wondered. I've been a good person. I've never cheated on my wife. I pay my taxes and eat my vegetables, even though I hate them. I've even saved the world once or twice. And this is the thanks I get?
"Hey, Shades," one of the other men -- Nolan, he thought -- called out, "you wanna wear the cop outfit? It should fit you." He sighed and nodded. "You ever done this before?"
"No."
Nolan laughed. "It's not that hard. You dance?"
"Badly."
"Okay, look at it like this: pretend you're having sex. You've done that before, right?"
This time, Scott laughed. "Yeah, but never in front of an audience. I used to be in a band though."
"So you should be used to performing," Nolan said.
"Well, it was a grunge band. Lots of standing around, looking depressed. We didn't dance much," Scott replied, with a rueful grin.
"You can keep a beat, though?" Nolan persisted.
Scott shrugged. "Yeah."
"Don't worry about it, then," the other man replied. "The women don't really care. They just want to see almost-naked men. Though if you dance well, you make better tips."
"I'm not really worried about the money," Scott confided. "This is just until Horner can fill Ronny's position."
Nolan shrugged. "You'd be surprised at how much you like it."
"That's not going to happen."
The hours passed quickly, and Scott suddenly found himself standing backstage, dressed in a policeman's uniform, complete with nightstick, handcuffs, and tearaway pants.
He heard the crowd whooping as the act before him ended. Nolan winked, whispered, "Good luck, Slim," and pushed him out on stage.
The strains of "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Baby," sounded over the speakers and the lights came up.
Scott froze, one hand on the nightstick, the other on his hip. He knew the club probably only held a few hundred people, if that, but the sea of faces before him seemed endless.
Someone yelled, "Yeah, baby! Arrest me!" which snapped him out of his daze. He found his hips moving in time with the music, and he tossed his hat into the crowd.
Please, God, don't let Logan see this, he thought. I'll never live it down.
He felt awkward and stupid in a way he hadn't since his mutation first manifested, and he'd had to learn to do everything blind.
He was going to kill Logan. Slowly. Numerous times, since the other man's healing factor could be counted on to revive him. Then he was going to kill Xavier for not telling him about this before they'd left.
As his hands undid the buttons of his "uniform," he thought of all the ways he could inflict pain on the two men.
He would water Logan's beer, smoke his cigars, and then he was going to switch out his stash of girlie magazines for gay porn and give Rogue the directions to where it was hidden.
He was going to glue a pink fright wig to Charles's head while he was sleeping, replace all his custom-tailored, Italian silk suits with hideous Hawaiian shirts and shorts from K-Mart, and steal the wheels from his wheelchair and leave it up on blocks while Charles was in the jacuzzi.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts of revenge that he didn't notice how easily he'd slipped into dancing. His body knew what to do; it had been his mind getting in the way. He did a little spin and tossed his shirt away, earning whoops from the audience.
He was getting into it now. He moved to the front of the stage and made quite a show of removing his belt and snapping it like a whip over the heads of the women in the front row.
Turning, he thrust his hips from side to side, rolling his shoulders as he did so. He faced forward again, slowly peeling the pants away, teasing the audience, before ripping them off and throwing them to the side, leaving him in nothing but a g-string.
The lights glinted off his well-muscled body, oiled and gleaming with sweat. He danced to the edge of the stage. Women called to him, waving money, and he went, bumping and grinding to the music. They stuffed money in his g-string and ran their hands up and down his legs.
One tried to grab his ass and he quirked a half-grin. "Behave, ma'am, or I'll have to arrest you," he teased.
"Please, officer," she responded, grabbing at his package as she slid money into his thong. Her eyes glittered with lust and alcohol.
He laughed and danced away, feeling heady with power. This really wasn't so bad, after all.
The music finally came to an end. He bowed, walked along the edge of the stage one more time, to collect any money they wanted to give him, and headed back to the dressing room.
He shook out the cash and stared. It wasn't all singles -- he noticed fives and tens and even a twenty here or there.
"Good Lord," he said. "I don't believe it."
José smiled. "The house gets fifty percent. The rest is yours."
Scott frowned. "Is that a good deal?"
"Yeah." That was Nolan. "Usually, it's a seventy-thirty split, but we banded together and forced Horner to go fifty-fifty."
Scott nodded and began counting his cash.
Logan arrived too late to see Scott, having been stuck in traffic on the Deegan.
"Ready to go, Slim?" he grumbled, annoyed at having to pay eight dollars for two fingers of scotch. It was bad enough at a regular strip club, but at least there you got to talk to naked women. Here, there were just a whole lot of drunk, horny women, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He thought about them, but for some reason, just couldn't work up the interest. He didn't examine that too closely, as he was still in denial about his feelings for a certain southern belle who would be turning twenty-one in two weeks.
"Whenever you are," Scott answered, quickly flashing the wad of cash he'd made. Logan ignored it, but Scott knew he'd seen it.
So it went for the next two weeks.
Scott found he didn't really mind stripping -- in fact, if pressed, he'd admit he kind of enjoyed it. It was something purely physical, and the response was gratifying.
During the day, at the school, he was Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt Summers, the Fearless Leader, the one everyone expected to be stern and proper and uncool.
At night, he was Shades, the hottest new dancer in the club, with the cash to show for it. It was almost as good as playing guitar in front of a club full of screaming college kids. Almost.
He'd managed to hide his temp job from everyone but Logan and the Professor. And Jean, of course. He'd asked her to keep it a secret, and he was pretty sure she had, though she did sneak out and see him once or twice, to make sure none of those rabid women tried to take advantage of her man.
Jean was no dummy. She knew what she had and how many other women wanted him. Other people might have thought she'd dump her husband when Logan made a play for her, but she had a great man and had no desire to lose him for a roll in the hay with a guy who didn't even know his own name.
And she wasn't averse to showing him off, either. She liked the fact that he'd chosen her, when he could have had anyone, first when they'd started dating, and still to this very day, when women came onto him after the show.
Logan was furious, because Scott's plan had worked flawlessly. Scott hadn't been able to strike at the Professor (he learned that it's damn hard to sneak up on a telepath), but he'd managed to exchange all of Logan's Molson Golden for Piels, and he'd distributed the man's prized (and illegal) Cuban cigars to the last batch of prospective donors to visit the school.
But the piéce de resistance, the capstone of his campaign of revenge against Logan, had been his switching out of all Logan's Playboys and Penthouses for gay porn he'd picked up on the way home from the club, and then "accidentally" leading Rogue to find it in Logan's room.
She'd been torn between horror and hilarity when Logan found her there, the bed covered with magazines full of men being men together, in various positions and costumes. Scott had even taken care to dampen the pages slightly, so some of them stuck together, indicating the possibility that Logan had done more than just "read the articles."
Logan, trying to both gain ground with Rogue, who couldn't seem to look at him with giggling hysterically, and get back at Scott, went to Jean and told her just how her husband had been spending his nights the past two weeks.
Jean nodded. "I know, Logan. You don't think he could keep that from me, do you?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "So, I'm thinkin', it's Marie's twenty-first birthday, and she wants to go to a strip club. You think you and 'Ro could take her to see Scooter? It'd be safer --"
Jean cut him off. "You want to humiliate Scott in front of Rogue and the others, admit it."
"Yeah."
"I don't think it's going to work."
"Trust me, Jeannie. That boy couldn't dance if his life depended on it."
"Don't you think I'm a better judge of that than you are, Logan?"
Logan shrugged. He had to do something nice for Rogue, and he knew she wanted him to take her out. He figured, if he showed her what a pansy-ass Scott was, while allowing her to go out and get hammered at the same time, she might stop laughing at him every time she saw him and start laughing at Scooter.
"Help me out, here, Red. Marie keeps laughing at me like this, she's never gonna take me seriously when I--"
"When you what, Logan?" Jean asked.
"Aw, hell, I don't know. Forget I even mentioned it." He stomped out, annoyed, leaving a laughing Jean behind him.
But the idea had been planted, and that evening after everyone had sung happy birthday to Rogue, and they'd all had cake, Jean proposed her plan to the younger women.
"There's this male strip club I know about," she said. "You think you might enjoy that, Rogue? We could take the Cherokee -- Logan could drive us."
"I don't know, Logan might enjoy it a little too much," Rogue replied, shooting him a mischievous look.
He growled, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't know why Jean had changed her mind and gone along with his plan, but he wasn't going to question it. Soon, they were all going to be laughing as Scott made an ass of himself on stage.
Jean thought Logan was in for a shock when he saw how popular Scott was with the ladies who frequented the Fantasia.
Scott, meanwhile, had left right after cake in order to make it to the club in time for his shift. He had been chosen to headline since Nolan was on vacation. As far as Scott knew, Horner hadn't even begun to interview for Ronny's replacement.
Scott was starting to get worn down by working all day at the school and then stripping at night, but he had been so pleased with the way his bank account was increasing -- all the better to pay for the vacation to Florence he and Jean were planning -- that he hadn't complained. Yet.
Logan loaded the women into the SUV at nine.
Rogue, excited about being able to drink legally (and thus not be reprimanded when she got caught), carried a six-pack of Molson and a bottle of Southern Comfort as she climbed into the front seat. Even turning twenty-one hadn't stopped her from yelling, "Shotgun" as soon as they'd all reached the garage.
No one else minded. Logan was in a pissy mood, and it was best to let Rogue deal with him.
Spying the beer -- his beer -- Logan snapped, "Where'd you get that?"
"It was part of my present from Scott," she answered, giggling.
"That's my beer, Marie."
"I don't see your name on it, sugar."
"Marie," he warned.
She ignored him. He was powerless and she knew it. So far, she'd kept the porno incident to herself, but he knew that one false move on his part would find the story circulating the school faster than Bobby going through a box of Twinkies. The beer wasn't worth the humiliation. He could buy more at the 7-Eleven in the morning.
He grumbled to himself as he drove, cursing Scooter. The women got tipsy in the backseat. "Front-loading," Jubilee said, "so we don't have to buy too many overpriced drinks at the club."
They arrived, and Logan went off to find parking while the women entered the club.
Jean had called ahead, and there was a table right in front of the stage waiting for the birthday girl and her party. Logan sat at the bar, keeping an eye on them, and bitching to the bartender about women who didn't know their place anymore.
He was on the second bottle of Jack Daniels when the emcee announced, "Ladies, it's our great pleasure to introduce to you tonight, the real Slim Shady, our very own Officer Shades."
"Love to Love You, Baby" blared over the speakers, and Scott glided effortlessly in time with the beat, hips rocking suggestively.
He spotted his wife and the other X-Women at the front table, just where Jean had told him they'd be, and tossed his hat in their direction. Kitty caught it and squealed excitedly.
He strutted to the center of the stage and unbuttoned his shirt slowly, coyly flashing his chest. The shirt was soon shrugged off as he sinuously stalked across the stage.
Jean sat, enthralled, her lips parted slightly, as she watched her husband strip. He was so beautiful. And he was hers. She looked around at the other women. Storm and Jubilee were waving dollar bills like madwomen, Rogue was whooping every time he removed an article of clothing, and Kitty had a glazed look on her face as she stared, slack-jawed at the stern Mr. Summers pumping his hips in time to Donna Summer's orgasmic voice.
Scott slowly removed the belt and flicked it out in the direction of the X-Women. Before he realized what was happening, Rogue grabbed it and he pulled her up on stage.
Some of the other men did that in their acts -- danced with a woman (usually a bride-to-be) from the audience, but he hadn't.
He shot a quick look at Jean, who blew him a kiss and said, ~Go ahead, honey. It's her birthday, after all.~
He grinned, then, leading numerous women in the front row to gnash their teeth enviously as he pulled Rogue close and slid his hands over her hips.
Logan stood, knuckles itching, and growled. This was not going as planned. Scooter wasn't supposed to be wowing the crowd, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be grinding on Marie. But Marie didn't look too upset. She arched her back and shimmied, gloved hands working at the buttons on Scott's waistband.
Scott raised an eyebrow and she smirked. Then she yanked at the pants, which tore away from his body, and practically shoved him to the front of the stage.
He bent his knees and thrust his hips in time with the music, collecting money as he moved along the proscenium. Rogue was heading back to her seat, but he grabbed her again, and slowly went down on his knees before her. She ran her hands through his hair and over his shoulders, her head thrown back as she moved, her body in sync with his.
Scott rose slowly, rubbing himself against her sensuously, and whispered in her ear, "Logan's going to kill me."
"I'll protect you," she answered, then walked away, stopping once to throw a wink and blow a kiss at him over her shoulder.
He finished the dance, collecting his money as the women stood, hooting and hollering for more.
After he left the stage, the workers moved quickly, pushing tables out of the way so that the dance floor was open.
Logan stalked up to the table where the women were congratulating Rogue on her "performance." He grabbed her arm.
"What the hell was that, Marie?"
She grinned. "Just putting your memories to good use, sugar," she said, tapping the side of her head.
"We're going now." They all looked at him, not comprehending. Without letting go of Rogue, he began making his way out of the club. "Now!" he barked, and the women followed.
"But I wanted to dance," Rogue whined.
"You've done enough dancin' for one night, kid."
Jean stayed behind. "I'm going to wait for Scott," she said, as Logan looked at her questioningly.
"Whatever," he replied. "Tell him to stay away from my girl."
Jean smiled. "I will."
Rogue looked up at Logan, starry-eyed. "Am I your girl, Logan?"
He looked at her like she had two heads. "Of course, Marie. We'll talk about it later." And he grinned rakishly.
"This is turning out to be the best birthday ever," she said as they walked out into the night.
Jean still had that satisfied smile on her face when Scott joined her.
"You look like the cat that ate the canary," he said, after kissing her.
"Logan wants you to stay away from his girl," she said softly.
Scott scowled. "If he's going to start that up again--"
"He meant Rogue, Scott!"
Scott relaxed. "Oh. Oh! Excellent!" He slung an arm around her shoulders and they exited the club. "Who won the pool?"
"I'm not sure. Charles, I think."
"Damn psychics."
"I suppose he does have an unfair advantage."
He opened the car door for her, then walked around to the other side. "I'll say. I could have used that cash, especially since I won't be working here much longer."
Jean pouted. "No more Officer Shades?"
He quirked a half-grin. "Not after Sunday. Horner hired a guy this afternoon."
"But I like Officer Shades."
Stopping the car, he put an arm around his wife, and reached into his back pocket with his other hand. "It's okay, Jean. I still have the handcuffs." The metal glinted in the glow of the streetlight.
"Excellent."
And they drove off into the night.
End
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. Also, this has absolutely *nothing* to do with Eminem. I just thought the title was *perfect*. Thanks to Min, for the image of guitar-playing Scott, wearing the Red Leather Pants of Moral Ambiguity.
Dedication: To Minisinoo and Shannon, and all the others who waited patiently for this. I hope it saves me from wedgies and noogies.
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
Dedication: To Minisinoo and Shannon, and all the others who waited patiently for this. I hope it saves me from wedgies and noogies.
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation