Alternative

This takes place five years after HSM 3. Forgive any mistakes, this is my first time writing a fan fiction. Also, it's compliant with all the movies. I play with the characters some, but its been five years since we've last seen them, who is to say they aren't different. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!! And I'll get more chapters to you soon.
ENJOY!!

This was a bad idea. Not just a bad idea, but a spectacularly bad idea. It was bad enough Troy had agreed to a Bachelor Party just three days before his wedding, but now he was ditching it for an “Alternative” club. Chad had played a big part. In forcing him to agree to a Bachelor Party, of course. He doubted his “brother” would be too pleased with his choice of escape.

“Come on, Bolton. Everyone has to have a good Bachelor Party. It’s tradition. We have to remind you what you’ll be missing out on and, honestly, secrets of the Bachelor Party never leave the strip club.” Troy had rolled his eyes at the comment, but that didn’t stop Chad from barreling forward, “One last lap dance, Troy. Can’t hurt.”

“You’re under the assumption that I’ve had a lap dance before. No, I think it’s a bad idea. What if Gabriella finds out?”

Chad stared at his best friend for a moment before a smirk painted his lips, “You can’t be serious. Troy, I know you’ve been with Gabriella for.... well, forever. You’re getting married in a few days. But honestly, don’t you at least want a sample of what’s out there? She had you hook line and sinker since high school, you don’t even know what another woman feels like.”

Troy sighed. He wasn’t going to get out of this argument easily. And he hated to admit it, but something Chad had said rang true deep inside his chest. No, he hadn’t been with anyone else other than Gabriella. But that wasn’t to say he certainly hadn’t been tempted. But Gabriella was safe. She was his anchor and he’d be damned if he was going to give that up over a passing fancy. What scared him the most was that temptation had never come in the form of another woman. And Troy couldn’t admit to himself anything more than that, which was the EXACT reason why Gabriella was so safe.

It probably hadn’t helped that “The Naked Gun” was the most ridiculous strip joint Troy could have ever imagined. They really tended to romanticize strip clubs in movies, he guessed. He had never been to a strip club, but this western-themed monstrosity was about as hokey as the day was long. Troy had to struggle to keep down his dinner as a pudgy young woman with a fake tan and tassels dancing from her nipples accosted him. Chad seemed to be having a good time, but perhaps his friends were a little more sexually dense. He sat back and gripped the arms of his chair, which “Destiny” must have misread as thinly-veiled arousal, as she lowered her ass down to mere inches from grinding in his lap. Troy’s dick shuddered at the thought of her touching him, his whole body tightening with disgust. He had to get out of there. He had finally convinced Chad to call the stripper off and Troy was able to pull up to the table and drink his weight in tequila while he tried to block out the images of the scantily-dressed women. How anyone could come here on a regular basis, Troy hadn’t a clue.

Now, it was about midnight when Troy, far over the legal limit of alcohol intake, decided he needed to sneak away from his friends and find a higher form of entertainment. It hadn’t taken much. With Chad, Jason, and even eager little Rocket Man distracted by the shaking of hips, Troy simply got up and stumbled from the club. One more leather fringe and Troy would probably rip his hair out.

The street seemed to somehow sober the wildcat. He stepped carefully down the sidewalk, groaning. It was about as dark out here as it was in the club, but the cool, fresh air pervaded his senses. The surreal club had passed and now, he was on the cold, hard streets. New York. Why had he decided to have his wedding here again? Oh wait, that was Gabriella. Every expense possible was utterly necessary. Troy was just glad they didn’t leave the country, but he knew most of his friends wouldn’t be able to attend a foreign wedding. New York was a whole different beast, apart from Albuquerque and even Berkeley. This was different. Troy put a hand to his head, trying to stop the aching from the hang-over that seemed to already be creeping up on him. He needed to escape. And that’s when he saw it.

"Le Contraire" had a neon purple, squiggly cursive sign out front, but it was the only indicator that the club existed. The windows were dark, the door was only cracked, and the black painted brick facade gave nothing away. But Troy needed something. So he slipped inside. Overwhelmed by the smoky atmosphere and pulsing lights, the wild cat blindly crept in deeper. It certainly was a club, that was for sure. The music tingled into his skin, thumping through his chest and the soles of his feet, but Troy found it oddly comforting. It swallowed him up, and suddenly he was just another guy at a club. A gay club, actually. Troy could remember snickering to himself when he suddenly realized that all the dancers on the floor were men. And that all the men were writhing, sweaty, mixtures of skin, leather, fishnet, and polyester. Perfect. Just perfect. He found a gay club. Troy would never admit what simply watching the men dance was doing to him, but he decided quickly to stick around a bit.

And why the hell are there cages on the ceiling- Oh. Troy’s eyes were fixated. His body was quite fixated as well, enough to not even notice when a random boy smacked his ass and offered to buy him some generic, colorful, fruity drink. No, Troy was staring at the blond in the cage. The blond who was wearing nothing but a black thong, tie, and fedora. The blond who was currently defying the normal range of movement in the human body to dance like that. The blond that was currently making Troy’s cock pulse and his palms sweat.

Suddenly there was a drink in Troy’s hand and he was being ushered to the dance floor. Not like Troy had the mental capabilities at the moment to care or even look around. No, his eyes were locked and he let the stranger lead him where he willed. Troy was in the sea of bodies. Troy was guzzling down the fruity concoction with the strong after-taste of vodka. Troy felt a body against his back and a cock against his ass. Troy didn’t care, because he only had eyes for one person in the club. And fuck getting married in three days. Fuck everything he’d calmly told himself for years. Troy suddenly ground back against the boy behind him and let his life fade away.

As the music pulsed on and Troy worked up a good sweat, he glanced behind him. The cock against his ass was attached to a bleached blonde, muscle-bound hulk, who grinned at him over the tops of his sunglasses. Wrong blond. But who cared, anyways, as long as Troy could keep watching the cage above them.

The blond’s entire body worked in unison, every muscle rippling leanly beneath creamy skin. He was covered in glitter which made him shine in the ultraviolet light. And the thong certainly wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. That firm ass shook to the pulsing rhythm of the techno, blooming up into a leanly built back, and broad lanky shoulders. Turning, Troy could see the distinct V pointing to the one thing Troy couldn’t see on the dancer. Oh, and Troy wanted to see it. Not like Troy was gay or anything, just curious. He also couldn’t make out the dancer’s face, but imagined it just as gorgeous. He could imagine running a hand through that soft blond hair. After all, it had to be soft, right?

“Like him, don’t you?” Troy shuddered at the hot breath at his ear, nodding absently. Hands trailed over his chest to the front hem of his pants, “First time coming here?” The tone was lascivious, a hand straying to cup Troy’s straining cock.

Troy didn’t answer. Unless you count a soft groan to be an answer.

“Thought so... Mmmm, that’s right, babe...” Distracted as he shoved his cock hard against Troy’s ass, over and over, the Scandinavian behind him clutched Troy’s hard-on, stroking it through his tight, faded denims, “His name is ‘Cabaret’... Best dancer they have here... Doesn’t sleep around, though. Cryin’ shame.... What are your plans for the night?”

Troy couldn’t concentrate though. What with the hand on his cock and the half-naked Cabaret above him, Troy was a mess. A hand slipped below the front of Troy’s jeans, sliding past the boxer briefs to meet fevered skin. Troy nearly screamed at the touch. Then it was stroking and everything was building, and GOD was Cabaret flexible. Troy could imagine his hands gripping that ass, he could imagine a hard cock pressed against his own, he could nearly taste the sweat on Cabaret’s neck. Oh God, so close. So Fucking CLOSE!

And then it stopped. Er-, Cabaret, that is. The hand on his cock kept moving, speeding up. But Cabaret had stilled. He took his fedora off, ran the back of his hand over his brow, and opened the bottom trap of the cage. Cabaret was leaving. He was LEAVING. Troy couldn’t get off like this! And in Troy’s drunken, sex-driven mind, how dare he? How dare the cute little blond leave before Troy could at least cream his pants?

Troy stilled the hand in his pants, shivering, “S-stop....” He pulled away from the blond behind him, muttering something about needing to piss before pushing through the crowd towards the cage. He could see Cabaret now, descending a thin steel ladder from the cage. He had to catch him. Had to give him a piece of his mind. And maybe his cock.
A hand was suddenly thrust to his chest, quite the opposite of the hands on his chest earlier. Troy’s body stopped before his mind could, and the wildcat nearly fell, but the bouncer who stopped him grabbed his shoulder. He was mere feet from the ladder and this beef-cake was hustling him around. Didn’t he know the urgency of the situation? Didn’t he know how badly Troy needed Cabaret?

“Whoa, there. Where do you think you’re going? Our boys aren’t for the taking, so cool your jets...”

Troy groaned, unable to truly make out the bouncer’s face, but able to quickly surmise that a fight between them would leave Troy barely holding on for dear life. In a last ditch effort, it came to him through the haze of tequila.

“Wait, I know Cabaret! I’m a friend of his!!”

And that was when he noticed that the object of his lust was toweling off behind the bouncer, perfect ass in plain view. He was so close, yet so far. So close to running his tongue over the muscles in that sculpted back, to letting his tongue dip to the crack of that ass, to squeezing that body tight below his as he pumped and pumped and Troy had never had thoughts so graphic before, but GOD, he didn’t care right now, and Cabaret was going to get away. He had to do something.

“HEY!!! Cabaret!! It’s me!! Remember me?!”

The blond angel swung around and suddenly Troy was faced with a very familiar set of baby-blues. And a frown he remembered well. But the frown quickly faded into a slightly mischievous grin that Troy could only cower at.

“Troy? Is that you?... What the hell are YOU doing here?”

“Shit.... Ryan?!”