Bad Things
Jace Everett

Xander felt fucking sexy. Actually, if truth be told he felt Fan-fucking-sexy!

He'd gotten a job as a bartender in a club in LA and had started to work out with some of the dancers when he had a chance and when he wasn't tending bar he was doing woodworking and he had lost a lot of the weight he had put on over the last few years.

He felt better too.

Along with the working out he had started training with those same dancers and tonight was his debut.

Granted it was by invite only for two men but he was still on stage and he would be dancing.

Other dancers wore leather and spandex.

But not Xander.

No. He stuck with cotton and denim. It was his uniform when he tended bar and men and woman usually drooled over him every night.

He grinned and wiped his hands on his jeans as the lights went out and he headed onto the stage barefoot.

He heard the gasp appreciative gasp from his audience when the spotlight found him leaning casually against one of three metal poles on the main stage.

His shirt was the first to go, then the jeans that he slithered out of, leaving him in a burgundy thong.

He slinked from the stage and found the lap of one of his audience members, one of his very appreciative audience members. He ground himself against the erection his victim was sporting and just before he knew the blonde would come he left him and found the slightly older man. He could feel the heat from the hands that hovered but didn't touch him.

He grinned before he was back on stage again in a flash, and, as he pulled off the thong, the spotlight went out, casting them all in totally darkness.

A low growl echoed through the room.

When you came in the air went out
And every shadow filled up with doubt
I don't know who you think you are
But before this night is through
I wanna do bad things with you