Of course, it had started because Dean had ran out of his place when Sam left for Stanford, and he was desperate for money, but he liked it now. Putting on a heavy make up, tucking and putting on high heels was fun, and easy. He’d learnt to love the feeling of being upstage, being in control of all the dicks upstage while their inebriated owners threw bills at him. Sometimes he even let them touch him. Or touch her. On stage, they were touching Deanna Tangled, which was another reason why he loved it. He was a completely different person. It was easy to disconnect when a long haired, curvy woman in sparkly dresses took control.
It was four a.m. and he had already taken all the make up off when the door cracked open. “Shit.” He cursed under his breath, rushing to put a grey T-shirt on.
He loved what he did, but it didn’t mean he loved his clients. Though he’d hooked up with some after the show, and he’d enjoyed the hell out of it, others were nuts, thinking they had some kind of right over him. He was a drag queen, not a prostitute, for God’s sake.
“This fell off your neck. Thought you might want it.” A man with light eyes and dark hair stated, showing one of Deanna’s necklaces on the palm of his hand.
Shit. He’d been eager to change into his normal clothes, and the other queens were going crazy with last minute touches, so he hadn’t even realised the black choker was missing. He took it with a faint nod, examining the blue eyed man.
“Thanks, buddy.” He smiled politely, turning to keep it in his drawer. He never took Deanna’s things home, although there was not a real reason for that. He just trusted Meg enough to know they were not going to just disappear. They hadn’t yet, and he’d been doing this for years.
“You seemed scared.” He pointed out, standing by the doorframe awkwardly.