His eyelids were heavy as he opened them. The sound of dulled music reached his ears and as he turned to lay on his back a ray of golden light came to rest right over his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He snapped his eyes shut with a groan and rolled back onto his side, away from the light that shone through the little space between the curtains that were meant to block out all the light. When he heard knocking at his door, he remembered what had awoken him in the first place.

"What?!" he shouted at the door. His throat was still croaky and quiet with sleep, but the person behind the door had still been able to hear him. The door opened wide, allowing more of that devious light to pour into the room. He balled up and pulled the covers over his eyes, trying to shield himself from the painful amount of light.

"George, come on, man! We need to get working soon. We're almost late because of you!" The voice came from the doorway and George groaned again, curling up even more as if to pretend he wasn't there. Of course Paul would be nagging at his door. They probably weren't even late. His alarm clock hadn't gone off yet and he always made certain to set it before taking a nap. It wasn't the first time Paul had been standing at his bed, trying to usher him out by telling him they were going to be late, even when they still had an hour to get there. It was a mere ten minute drive to the club. There had been no way were they going to be late. Neither would they be this time, George would dare to bet. They were never late.

Still Paul didn't give up. George heard him come closer by the sound of his heeled shoes on the floorboards. He tensed up, knowing what was coming and clawed at the mattress and blanket, pulling the latter tighter around himself as if it were a cocoon. A hand grabbed him by his shoulder, and tried to roll him over, but George held on tightly, not giving in.

"Come on, George. We have to go. It's almost eight o'clock. I'm not going to be late because you're too lazy to do anything. Honestly!" Paul told him sternly, pulling harder and trying to get the blanket away from his friend. George groaned in annoyance, hoping his friend would get the hint. He was still so warm and comfortable. He just needed to lie here a little longer. Just a minute or two. But instead, Paul just grabbed him even tighter, dragging him halfway across the bed.

"Paul! Piss off, you tit. Just let me." George groaned, wiggling around, desperately trying to free himself from Paul's iron grip.

"No! If you won't get out now, we'll be late. It's not my fault we have to work, believe it or not. This whole job was your idea in the first place. Now get up, or I'll drag you with me in whatever you're wearing right now."

"Oh come on. You always do this. We've never been late and we've been doing this for almost a year."

"Yes, because I make sure you get your lazy arse out of your stinking bed. Now get up, already!"

"No." George told him stubbornly. Paul sighed in frustration and grabbed the blanket tightly with both hands. With one hard tuck, he managed to free it from George's hands. He didn't show any mercy on George, though, and threw it off of his entire body onto the floor, leaving George in nothing but his underwear in the bed with nothing to shield him from the chilly air.

"Paul! You fucker!" George shouted, sitting up in bed and clawing at the bedsheets, wanting it back, but Paul just moved it further across the room.

"Now, get your skinny arse out of bed and get dressed. You've got five minutes and not a second longer, or I'll leave without you." He told George sternly.

"And how will I get there, then?" George asked. Paul shrugged.

"You'll walk." He said. Within two seconds George was standing next to his bed, going through the pile of clothes on a large chair, hurriedly searching for his working outfit, knowing he would not survive walking that distance in heels. He could see Paul smirking to himself from the corner of his eye, before he turned around to allow George some privacy as he changed. The second his door fell close again, a loud ring filled the air. Quickly George turned off his alarm clock.

                When George finished getting ready, Paul was still waiting for him. He stood by the front door, his puppy eyes elegantly shaped with the help of some black eyeliner and mascara and his full, pouty lips shimmered in the dull light of the one lamp in the corner of that room that was still on. His mop-top framed his handsome face perfectly, accentuating his more feminine features and making his chubby cheeks appear even more chubby. He wore a pair of dark blue slacks, which George knew would soon be traded in for something a lot more cheeky, and a long black coat that looked expensive, but probably wasn't. His friend looked positively gorgeous. George could easily understand why he was the favourite of most customers. The other man's lips curled up in a little smile as he saw him get out of the room all ready to go and even George felt the palms of his hands get damp.

"Ready to go?" Paul asked, glancing at his watch. George hummed in agreement, finding it difficult to speak. He snatched his keys from the mantelpiece, before following Paul out of the apartment.

               It was cold outside, the winter chill slowly creeping into the dark streets of the most dark side of the city. A dog barked somewhere far away and George could hear the sirens of the police cars and ambulances that drove fast through the city. It was never completely quiet in this side of town, but George didn't mind much. The rent was cheap and the apartment itself wasn't even half bad. It was clean and rather spacious, considering where they lived. And once you got to know the people who lived around these parts, it wasn't even half bad. People looked out for each other here. The stories were always worse than reality, George had found. Since he had moved here he had been mucked only once. Still, he couldn't help but hold onto his keys in the pocket of his coat as he and Paul walked over to the cheap, second hand, black Citroën, that Paul had gotten cheaply with some of his father's aid. Even after almost one and a half years, George did not feel safe, especially in the evenings. He was happy when they finally got into the car. Relieved, he let go of his keys and removed his hands from the pockets of his coat to fumble with the stereo to find some good music to listen to on the way to work.

"I've got an Elvis CD in the glove compartment, if you want to listen to some good old Rock 'n Roll." Paul offered as he started the car, shifted into gear and took off the parking brakes. George nodded and reached into the messy compartment. After a little bit of moving things around, he finally found the cd. They drove off listening to the warm, soothing voice of The King singing to them.

               As the two man entered the badly lit, smoky club, a man was waiting for them by the door that led to the dressing rooms. He didn't look like a guy who you'd often see in a seedy place like this. He had a Jewish look about him and he wore a rather neat American suit, that was probably more expensive than it looked, complete with tie and perfectly styled hair. The man shot him and Paul an angry look as they reluctantly approached. George took a quick peek at his watch and cursed to himself as he found that Paul had been right and that they were exactly four minutes late. He looked at his friend from the corner of his eye, but Paul didn't seem at all bothered. Instead he smiled in a manner that George knew far too well. He often used the smile on the customers to help them empty their wallets a lot faster.

"Good evening, Mr Epstein." He said politely, nodding as he walked past. George tried to follow him, but before Paul had even laid his hand on the door knob, the man called them back.

"Is there something amiss, sir?" Paul asked innocently, batting his eyelashes.

"Amiss? Yes, you could say so. As it happens, I'm supposed to open this club in a minute and you two are five minutes too late." Mr Epstein answered, crossing his arms before his chest. George swallowed thickly, always feeling a little intimidated by the older man, which he supposed was somewhat natural, seeing as he was his boss. He looked from the one guy to the other as they continued their talk.

"Yes, sir. We realised that. But-" Paul said. However, he was interrupted before he could defence them both.

"You know I don't like it when people can't come in on time, McCartney. As do you, Mr Harrison. I've been more than clear about this fact, don't you boys agree?"

"Why, yes! Of course. Only, George had some trouble with his alarm clock. That's fixed now, however. It won't happen again. We can promise that."

"Won't it? Well, seeing as it's Mr Harrison's fault for both your delay, he can make it up to me by dancing tonight." Mr Epstein said, turning his head to meet George's eyes with his own. George's went wide as he realised what was asked of him.

"D-dance?" he asked, stammering over his own words, "I can't dance. I've not rehearsed. I don't even have my outfit with me."

"That won't matter. You're good enough to take over Sutcliffe's shift tonight. The lad called in sick. You're the perfect replacement. You can borrow some of Paul's clothing. That ought to fit you."

"But, can't Paul do it?" George asked. Mr Epstein raised an eyebrow at the question, and George immediately regretted asking it. "I mean, he is more popular. I'm sure the customers would much rather see him perform than me." he continued nevertheless. Mr Epstein laughed at that and petted George on the shoulder.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Paul will be dancing tomorrow, so I need him fit for that. Besides, I'm certain more people would appreciate it if he waited on them. Some private time always makes more money. Also, Mr Harrison, if I've understood correctly, it was your fault you two were late. It would only be appropriate for you to make up for it, wouldn't it?" he said. George sighed, but nodded reluctantly. It was better not to argue with Mr Epstein. That normally didn't end well. Except for John, another employee, who mostly tended the bar and waited. Of course, that was only because Mr Epstein had a soft spot for John. Or actually, that was not the best phrase to use. One might even say he was in love with him. It was generally known by the employees and even John knew, but he wasn't interested.

               Mr Epstein smiled at George and squeezed his shoulder with the hand that still lay there. George gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything until Mr Epstein was satisfied and had left.

"Fuck..." He said under his breath at the floor. He really didn't like dancing. Well, not like this. He liked the more personal sessions, the lap dances and such things. Not the striptease on the stage all alone with all the eyes on him as he removed more and more clothing and showed them more and more of his body. It embarrassed him, which he could mostly use to his advantage, but he needed to mentally prepare himself for it. He didn't like being the centre of attention. He preferred to be in the back- he had done so since he was a schoolboy- or to perform face to face to one person in particular. Those were his strengths, not the solo acts. He already felt his cheeks heathen and his palm get moist at the thought of it. He looked up at Paul with hopeful eyes, but he already knew he couldn't do anything for him. Paul knew about his handicap, as his boss referred to it. George couldn't get mad over that, though. It was rather odd, being an professional stripper but not daring to do the actually stripping on a stage to music.

"Stuart was supposed to dance around one o'clock, I believe," Paul interrupted his thoughts, "We can practice together for a little before that, if you want to." Paul offered and George smiled at him thankfully. At least Paul wasn't one to say 'I told you so', but instead was always supportive of him. He had been ever since they had met on the bus to school one day. He was the best friend he'd ever had.

"Thanks mate." He said, making Paul smile.

"Don't mention it. Now, let's find you something to wear." He said as he took George's sweaty hand and dragged him to the dressing room, where he had his clothing, if one could call it that.

               The remaining couple of hours before it was his time to go on stage, George couldn't bring himself to relax as he tended the different men and allowed them to squeeze his arse. Normally there was a rule that said customers weren't allowed to touch the waiters without their explicit say-so, but George was too far away with his mind to care. He couldn't stop thinking about his co-workers who were performing on stage together or alone and the outfit Paul had picked out for him to wear. It would leave little to the imagination, consisting of nothing more than a pair of mid-thigh fishnets, some ridiculously tight black shorts that had that "wet look" about them with suspenders, and a tight, crisp white button-down shirt with tie and waistcoat, which he would need to take off during the act. He'd wear heeled black shoes to go with it. Paul told him it would work, so he had gone with that outfit. Besides it would look great with his usual fangs. Ever since he had gone as a vampire last halloween, the fangs were part of his standard uniform. Bloody annoying, they were, but the people liked them, so Brian wouldn't have him work without them since then. Briefly George thought whether it would be easier to just go on stage naked, save perhaps the shorts. For obvious reasons, he decided against that when he felt another curious hand roam over his left arse cheek. George quickly pushed all thoughts to the back of his mind, and turned to the man and playfully scolded him, which seemed to amuse the man. George winked at him and asked him if he'd wanted another drink, which the guy happily accepted. When George turned around again to get the man his drink, his bum was slapped again and he jumped comically, before hurrying on, making the man behind him laugh. When he looked, he noticed a five pound note tucked into his shorts.

George didn't want to think about the performance. He didn't want to think about the fact that all the men who were currently checking out his arse as he brought them alcoholic drinks would be watching him undress with hungry eyes and watering mouths. It didn't matter how many times he had done it, he could not get used to the idea. He didn't mind walking around half-naked for a bunch of random guys whose names he didn't even know or even sit in their laps, but it felt odd to do it on a stage with an entire crowd watching. Still he found his mind being pulled to the thought of it, even when he leaned across the bar to snatch a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge, as there was no normal way of getting behind that bar, expect from backstage. Briefly he wondered where John - the bartender who was supposed to give him this bottle, rather than having him almost break his neck - was hiding now. Sometimes George and Paul would wonder why Brian still kept him around. Anyone else would have been fired long ago.

"Trying to break you neck, Fangy?" George's body went completely rigid in shock, causing him to almost lose his balance and slide face-first down the bar and onto the floor. Luckily, John caught him just in time before he hit the ground, lifting him back up onto his feet, before getting the bottle for him with a knowing grin. George shot him an angry look, but could feel his cheeks burn red from embarrassment.

"Fuck you, Lennon. And don't call me that."

"Sorry, mate. Didn't know you were in a mood." John apologised, picking up some just cleaned glasses and drying them with the towel he had been wearing thrown over his shoulder.

"It's a stupid name." George told him. John frowned at him and if this wasn't John, George would have been worried they were going to have a serious talk about his well-being.

"Could be worse. At least you're not called Brutus Hardcock or something. That'd be much worse." John laughed, and George snickered along, knowing his friend was right.

"And Long John Silver, isn't that great either." John continued. George shrugged.

"But at least your name won't be shouted into the audience tonight before you get to take your clothes off."

"No, but I won't be taking my clothes off tonight, anyway."

"I'm talking about myself." George cut in, sighing deeply and playing nervously with the bottle of beer in his hand. He knew he should be going and bring the guy his beer. Brian won't be happy with him if he won't do his job and that would only make things worse.

"I thought it wasn't your evening?" John asked him, sounding honestly confused. George shook his head and put down the bottle of beer, before slipping on a barstool, deciding it was probably better to do this sitting down in order to save his poor feet.

"It isn't. We turned up late, Paul and I. Brian considered this appropriate since Stuart called in sick."

"Shit, mate. I feel ya. Don't worry, though. I'll make sure these boys behave appropriately and whistle at the right times. And when you're done, I'll get you a beer. My pay." John told him with a sympathetic wink. George smiled thankfully at him, before getting up and walking back into the crowd to give the guy his drink. He's been waiting long enough.

"You'll be fine, Geo! You're one sexy arse on that stage, believe me!" He could heard John shout after him. George couldn't help but feel better because of him. John might be a dick at times, but he's one hell of a good friend. George knew how lucky he was.