Double Trouble (discontinued)

Showtime

The room is shielded by the musky shadow only brought about by years of darkness and deep bass music, and it holds a scent earned in smoke rings blown against its ceiling. And the ceiling is low, nearly brushing the top of the tall, blonde boy's head as he searches for a seat.

Benji Carter settles into an empty booth near the back of the room, just barely escaping direct contact from the safety light above him. Candlelight hums over his cheeks, his jaw; it treats his face well. Slowly, the tables around Benji fill with chattering bodies, many of them faceless and secondary.

Benji isn't looking for a pretty face tonight.

He's just looking for someone willing to warm his bed for the next few hours, and no longer than that.

Just as he's begun surveying the room in the prowling, wolfish way he has, the house lights flick off harshly, leaving only the spotlight on the low stage and the safety light near the entrance. "Damn."

A clopping noise echoes in the room, and it makes it feel much emptier than it really is. A thin girl with dyed red hair- and surprisingly noisy sneakers- grabs the microphone authoritatively. She, too, is secondary to Benji, who leans heavily on his hand.

"Hi, guys, welcome to our open mic night." The girl pauses for scattered applause. "We have a good few people, and they're gonna, like, try and entertain you guys, I guess." The last words are mumbled under her breath before she straightens and continues. "Our drinks are half off for the next hour or so, and the fries are all you can eat, so. Have at it." Momentarily, she seems to forget what she was saying. Then, "Oh, and, um. First off we have Jaime Lee with an interpretive dance based on the color blue? The color blue."

The audience claps with the polite disinterest that usually comes with seeing something one doesn't quite understand. Benji waves over a waiter to order a drink.

This is his favorite part about live music clubs- the way people cradle their voices, husky and soft and just below the rumble of whatever music is playing at the time.

"What can I get you, sir?" Beni pouts to himself; the waiter sounds cute.

"Just a drink, something a little stronger. Beyond that, surprise me." He trails his finger along the edge of the table, leaning a bit closer to what should be the waiter's face. "And some fries." He thinks he's gotten his voice into that stage of masculine purring that makes everyone flustered. He hopes so.

Judging by the waiter's tone, Benji has succeeded. "Any, uh, sauces or sides with that?"

"A tall order of you would be nice."

The waiter sputters, drops his notepad, crouches to get it, and probably to gather himself. Benji nearly cracks a joke about the man being on his knees, decides at the last minute not to.

"I- Um. I'll be back with your drink s-soon." The waiter, poor thing, shuffles away with the end of the dance performance.

"Next up we have... Jude Manning, singing Mr. Postman."

Hm. Jude. Good name. Benji settles back into his seat and wishes he had a drink.

A man- apparently Jude Manning- with long legs and too much curly red hair pulled into a puff of a ponytail settles onto a stool dragged there when Benji wasn't paying attention. "Um, hey, guys." His voice carries a gravelly undertone, one that makes Benji look closer.

Freckles dance on Jude's cheekbones, and his forehead, and all of the exposed skin they can reach. Benji finds himself wanting to touch them.

"I'm gonna go ahead and, uh, get started." He tugs the microphone stand towards him and cues someone off stage, and suddenly the lights change.

Jude also suddenly changes, from a lanky boy into a svelte, crooning siren. A piano accompaniment shuffles behind him. His voice, molten honey, drips over the edges of the stage, oozes over the floor. Benji has locked eyes with Jude and can't seem to look away, and the air around his head is positively vibrating.

Jude, it seems, is only warming up. He bites his lip in between verses, caresses the microphone stand with his free hand, winks at Benji once before focusing his attention on some other lucky stranger, and Benji wonders if this song had always had this sexual undercurrent.

When he's finished, and the crowd has picked themselves up off of the floor, Jude receives a standing ovation. Benji tries to follow the boy off stage with his eyes, loses him, sighs bitterly. A lady in the front tries to start an encore chant that doesn't quite pick up. The waiter brings Benji his drink.

"Thanks." Tersely, distracted, Benji swallows half of the glass in two gulps. "Bring another, would you?" He glances around the tiny room, looking for Jude.

"A bit early for hard drinks, yeah?" Someone folds themselves into the seat next to Benji. "And, this booth is cramped as hell."

Benji turns to say something witty, like, It's five o'clock somewhere, or, All the better to sit with you, sweetheart. Then, his brain forgets how to speak.

A freckled finger boops Benji's nose. "Hi." Jude sits, smiling, bathed in the glow from the emergency light. His cupid's bow alone makes Benji want to pass out, let alone the rest of his face.

"H-hi." Benji curses himself for stuttering. He shouldn't have wasted so much energy on that busboy from earlier. "Jude, right?"

"Mmhmm." Jude stretches his arm over the back of the booth, and thus Benji's shoulders. "What's your name?"

"Benji. Benji Carter."

"Hm." Jude mouths the name to the ceiling, which makes Benii stare at his lips, which Jude ignores. Then, he turns to Benji, smiling, a twinkling smirk in his eyes. "You're small, Benji Carter."

Benji sputters, face heating, and is thankful for the darkness. "I- I am not! I'm five foot eleven! You're just fr-freakishly large!" In truth, he's only five foot nine and a half, a full two inches shorter than his twin brother, but Jude needn't know that. He punches Jude in the ribs, lightly enough that it shouldn't bruise, hard enough to hurt a bit.

Jude just looks at him, expression a blend of awe and adoration, and sets his giant hand on Benji's head. "So much rage in one so small," he murmurs. He then flicks Benji's nose gently, and Benji pouts. Jude's laugh is deeper than expected, throaty, a bit like polished mahogany wood. Benji stares wide eyes at the table. "I'll see you around, Benji Carter."

Jude slips out of the booth, his whistle ghosting after him. Benji sits in a stunned silence, blocking out the remainder of the performances. He's never been so flustered, so unexpectedly teased.

He wants to meet Jude Manning again.

Benji, upon this realization, sinks into a cycle of heated blushing and mild drinking that lasts the rest of the evening. The bartender loads him into a cab, and he dreams of deep voiced men and wild red hair.

A/N:
First bit up! Also, I'm naming chapters! Are you proud?

How do you like it so far? Honest feelings.

If you catch a grammar mistake, I'll love you forever.

Vote and comment if you feel the urge! See you guys next update!
AJ