A/N: Yeah, I think it's been established that I'm pretty much fucked up. Here's more proof!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairly Oddparents. If I did, there would have NEVER been Mpreg in that show…Gross.

Chapter One: Your Duty


He was a singer. Not a dancer. He sang. He did NOT dance.

Therefore, one would assume that when Chip Skylark, lead singer and all time favorite heart-throb of the boy band Rock and Rhyme, was told that he'd be taking dance lessons, he was NOT pleased. Much to the singer's chagrin, it wasn't just dancing, but it was serious, intimate dancing instead of something 'cool', like break-dancing.

"What's wrong with break-dancing?" the pop sensation whined from the back seat of his limo. His feet were braced by the black window separating him and the chauffer, and his arms were crossed over his chest in a similar way to that of a child about to throw a fit.

Rock and Rhyme's manager, Chet Ubetcha(1), glared at the star. "Because it's a song about dirty dancing. Break-dancing wouldn't make sense…"

Chip stuck his tongue out childishly, unconvinced by his manager's argument. "Why can't one of the other guys dance?"

Chet ran a hand through his flawless hair in aggravation, taking a deep breath to control his steadily rising temper. "Because, Chip, you're the lead singer. You're the heart-throb. You're the star. It has to be you."

A cocky grin plastering itself on his face, Chip stole a glance at himself from one of the many mirrors in his limo. "Well, I am the star, aren't I?" He eyed his perfect teeth(2) for a few more moments before his mind slugged its way back onto his former displeasure.

"But, why do we even have to do this song? Why can't we pick another one?"

Chet's left eye twitched irritably, but he brushed his anger aside once more and looked at the pouting pop star, replying with venomous warning lacing his words.

"Because, Chip, this song is guaranteed to be a number one hit and I paid a lot of money to get it for you rather than have it in the hands of Skip Sparkypants…(3)"

"Oh," came the short reply from Chip, sounding like a scolded child. He was silent for the rest of the car ride, amusing himself by staring at his own reflection.

Thirty minutes later Chet had to practically drag the pop-sensation into the rather formal looking dance studio. The walls were tall and grand, with high ceilings and carefully polished floors. Every footstep taken echoed down the impressive hallways and Chip found himself staring in awe at the masterful architecture that surrounded him. However, the moment was fleeting, for his attention was immediately drawn away by a group of dancers making their way down the hallway in their leotards.

"Hellooooo, ladies," crooned the star, eyeing them suggestively as they walked passed him. With haughty "Hmphs" and swishes of ponytails, they promptly ignored him. Pouting childishly, Chip reluctantly followed Chet, muttering something about dancers being total lesbians.

A few minutes later they entered a large, echoing room with walls of mirrors, edged by steel poles. A single rolling whiteboard sat in the center and a few benches were moved to the side, but besides those, the room was entirely empty.

Chip migrated to the nearest "wall" and began to study his reflection again, gently petting his own hair as he grinned at himself.

Quietly, with a small clicking of heels on hardwood, a perky looking woman with bright pink hair entered the room, sending Chip a strange and distrusting look before making her way over to the pop-star's short manager.

Chet immediately put on his million-watt smile, reaching out to shake the young woman's hand. "Hello there ma'am. I'm Chet Ubetcha, manager of the popular bad Rock and Rhyme. Are you the instructor that will be teaching my…" Chet glanced fretfully at Chip, who was still vainly and obliviously checking himself out. "…client?"

The woman, also sparing a fretful glance at the young man monopolizing one of the mirrors, gave a small smile and shook her head. "No sir. While I am one of the instructors at this school, I've decided, after reviewing his file many, many times, that Mr. Skylark would be better off with my top student teaching him. I think it'll be easier for him to relate to the whole dancing idea."

Mr. Ubetcha raised an eyebrow in disbelief, unsure of how Chip would fair if with the distraction of a pretty young girl in a leotard trying to teach him something that was already sexual in its own right.

"Um…Miss-"

" Just call me Wanda."

"-Wanda…I don't think Chip is has the capacity….well…I mean….maybe it would be best if his instructor was a bit more….mature?"

The pink-haired woman looked at Chip in consideration for a small moment before turning back to the manager, her pink eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh. Trust me, Mr. Ubetcha…that isn't a hard task to accomplish. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Frowning, knowing he really couldn't win the argument, Chet nodded and motioned in the mirror for Chip to join them.

After giving himself one last dazzling smile, he strutted over and began to study Wanda, his upper lip curling in distaste.

"She isn't my instructor, is she?"

Chet blanched, smacking the young man in the arm.

The woman merely smiled, a smile filled with an oasis of patience, and shook her head. "No, , I've decided that one of my students will be teaching you. They'll be here any minute."

A lewd grin flashed across the musician's face. "So, I get to dirty dance with a hot babe in a leotard? Score!"

Her smile turning into a smirk, Wanda turned her head as she heard footsteps approaching. "I think you're about to be very displeased, Mr. Skylark."

The doors swung open and Chip's jaw dropped.

He was lithe; probably the same size as any girl that attended the dance studio. His jeans, though they would've comfortably fit any normal boy, hung low on his hips. His skin looked smooth and his hair looked soft. His pink shirt was form fitting, revealing that, while he was small, he was still well built. A pink cap sat snuggly over his shaggy, brown hair. He had a slight overbite, but it only seemed to add to the youthful cuteness of his face. Curious yet cautious blue eyes surveyed the room and the people within. A duffle bag hung loosely off of his shoulder.

Wanda beamed, energetically motioning for the boy to come in, which he did, his blue eyes now distrustfully fixed on Chip.

Chip look disgusted.

"This is your instructor, Mr. Skylark," Wanda announced with a flourish of her hand, "This is Timmy Turner."

"No. Way." Chip looked livid and he crossed his arms defiantly over his chest in the same manner as any normal two-year-old. His dark blue eyes glowered viciously at the younger man, who looked to be only a teenager (4), and he hunched his shoulders angrily. "I am not dancing with a faggot."

Chet blanched again, hitting the pop-star hard across the head in an attempt to discipline him. "Chip! Mind your manners! Don't make a fool out of us and don't cause problems –"

"Don't worry about it, sir," came a sudden, soft spoken reply from the boy in pink. All eyes turned to him. "It's not a problem at all."

Curious blue eyes now began to glisten with icy distaste.

"I don't have any time for multi-million dollar brats, anyway," Timmy hissed, his eyes narrowing at Chip, "Have fun with the mirrors, jerk. I'm going home." He spun on his heel, his duffle bag whapping the pop-sensation squarely in the chest.

Chip's eyes widened, as he was unsure whether to be shocked or angry. How could somebody say something so cruel about the wonderful Chip Skylark?

Wanda gasped, grabbing the boy by his thin wrist. "Timmy! Don't be so rude." She leaned in close, so that only the young dancer could hear. "Timmy, they're paying us a lot of money to teach that multi-million dollar brat how to shake his hips a little. Please do it. For the school…"

Timmy turned cold yet wavering eyes on her, his resolve dissolving. "I hate it when you guilt trip me."

Wanda grinned and spun the boy back around. "What Timmy means is that he would love to help Mr. Skylark right away. Right, Timmy?"

Crossing his arms delicately over his chest, he shrugged, meeting the dark blue eyes across from him with extreme displeasure. "Sure."

"No, no, no," Chip screeched, turning to look at Chet angrily. "When you said dancer, I thought it was a girl!"

Chet shrugged, unsure of how to calm the young man's tantrum. He had thought it was going to be a girl as well.

"Well, Chip, if Timmy here is one of the best students, then-"

"AUGH! NO!" the raven-haired menace howled, "I didn't come here to just to have some prepubescent homo rub his junk all over me!"

Timmy blinked, startled. "I never said I was gay. Don't jump to conclusions."

Chip spun to look at him, a selfish fire burning in his dark blue eyes. "Oh, come on! Look at you! You're trying to tell me you're not gay?"

The brunette frowned, a headache slowly forming in his temple. "I didn't deny it either."

"See?" Chip growled, pointing accusingly at Timmy, "Gay!"

" I'm just saying," the teen continued, "that a man who spends eighty percent of his time looking in the mirror and another ten percent making himself look good so that he'll be pleased with what's in the mirror doesn't have any right to accuse anyone else of being gay. Oh, and of course, I didn't forget to allot you the ten percent needed to remind yourself to breathe."

Chip fumed.

"I will NOT work with him."

Timmy sneered.

"Ditto."

Wanda and Chet gave each other apologetic and distressed looks.

"Timmy," Wanda hissed, "the school…"

Chet grabbed Chip roughly by the collar, bringing the musician down to his height to coarsely whisper in his ear. "Need I remind you: Skip Sparkypants."

Two pairs of blue eyes softened a little, one becoming concerned, the other fearful, and both boys gave each other one last regretful glance before turning with surrendered looks at their respective adults.

"Fine…" they mumbled in unison, then, catching themselves, whipped around to glare at each other.

This wasn't going to be easy.


A/N: Oh, Chip. You're actually so nice, and I've turned you into a total asshole. Oh well, you'll grow. I love this pairing. I don't know why. It's NOT popular, it's VERY crack, and it's very…pedophilic. Still, it makes me smile. Although, I love making it NOT come easy to either of them.

I had to put Chet Ubetcha in here. I love him so much. He's the best running gag ever.

I was listening to "Shiny Teeth and Me" on repeat as I wrote this. It helped with Chip's selfish image.

Please tell me you remember Skip Sparkpants. Gaaaaaaaaaaaay! Loved that episode.

As to not come off as a TOTAL pedo, Chip is 22 and Timmy is 16. Same age difference, different ages. Have mercy.

Next Chapter: Now that they've agreed to work together, Chip and Timmy actually have to learn to…well…work together. Though it's rocky at first, Chip learns that Timmy is a better teacher than he thought and that dancing is really fun. But, will Timmy's harsh opinion of Chip change anytime soon?