Chapter Text
You aren’t sure why you ever thought this was a good idea, but it was too late to turn back now. You had already managed to sneak past the bouncers on the door and after a few minutes spent panicking that you would be caught and thrown out at any minute, you realized that nobody particularly cared that you were there. Either that or you actually did look drinking age, though you doubted that any 16 year old as skinny as you could pull off looking 21.
Regardless, you had risked too much to get this far and there was no turning back now. The air was hot and heavy around you, but living in Texas meant you weren’t a stranger to a little heat and that wasn’t what was making you feel uncomfortable. It was the crowds that were making you squirm on the inside, although you were careful not to let your poker face drop or falter. You push your way through the groups of people, feeling their eyes follow you briefly before their attention was averted by someone else just as entertaining on the dancefloor.
You make it to the far side of the club, leaning against the wall and letting your eyes wander over the scene in front of you. Your shades prevent you from seeing much in a room that is already dark, but the flashes of strobe lights provide you with snapshots of your surroundings. It was just a typical club, if not a very busy one. The dancefloor was full of people spilling drinks on each other and doing something that mildly resembled dancing, and the floor was shaking beneath your sneakers with the sound of the bass.
But this wasn’t what you had come here to see and your attention was only half on the dancing crowds and sticky air surrounding you. The rest of your attention was focused on the stage, where the DJ was announcing the end of his set, ready for the next candidate to take on the turntables. Your senses become more alert, attention fully fixing on the now empty stage as the song comes to an end, ready for another to begin.
And the crowd is cheering now, because they know what is coming, they who is coming, and it’s a surprise even to you that he could be this popular. Because he’s just your brother. Your older bro who does this every week in order to bring money into the house. It was only a job, and he was only a DJ. Hell, the only reason you were here is because you wanted to see just how talented he claimed to be with throwing out some beats.
But you weren’t expecting this. The chants of the crowd filling your ears, making your face burn because they are chanting “STRIDER! STRIDER!” And then they are clapping and cheering as he walks on stage.
He’s just Bro Strider.
The same leather fingerless gloves and pointed shades, the same dark cap pulled over blonde hair. And he barely even acknowledges the crowd, his face the same expressionless mask you see every single day as he takes his place behind the turntables, placing his headphones around his neck. The lights of the club dim so that all you can see from behind your own shades is the stage. And that is all you want to see.
The crowd has turned quiet in anticipation as his fingers move out to start the first track, nothing more than a low hum, building up with each second, the faintest of beats hidden behind the sound. You can almost see the noise in the air, vibrating it and growing more intense as it grows louder. The drop is coming soon and you can just tell the whole room is holding their breath for it. You haven’t let your gaze move yet, you’ve barely even blinked. You can’t deny that you are holding your breath too, heart pounding in your chest with excitement.
And all the while, Bro just stands there, nothing moving but his hands on the turntable, and though you know that it’s impossible, it feels as though he’s staring right at you. As though he knows exactly what effect this is having on you, on the whole room in fact, as the fast background beat gets louder still.
And then it cuts out altogether and you know that the waiting is over. Because in that fraction of a second, you see the smallest of smirks pull at your brother’s lips, causing your breath to hitch in your throat as the beat drops. And the club is suddenly wild, the crowd alive in jumping to the music as the lights flash with enough intensity to fuel their enthusiasm. But your eyes are still on the stage. Because the person on the stage is no longer just your brother, Bro Strider the DJ. He was a fucking puppeteer and he had the entire crowd, you included, tied up in his strings. You can feel your heart pounding hard in your chest and you swallow, realising how dry your mouth had become. This wasn’t what you had been expecting. This was so much more.
His head bobbed to the beat, one hand holding a headphone to his ear as his other hand moved quickly over the buttons and sliders on the turntable. His face is still calm, almost infuriatingly so, but every now and then you catch that small smirk again and you know you aren’t the only one paying attention. Because the crowd are no longer just on the dancefloor, as a few brave, and more than a little drunk, people have made their way on stage.You see security make a move but your brother is shaking his head at them, flashing the stage invaders with a smile before biting back on his lower lip in the kind of way that caused quite the reaction among the females.
He had that strange kind of presence that seemed to pull everything and everyone towards him, despite him not even doing all that much. Just the little ways he moved as he switched tracks effortlessly, pulling off his cap to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead before running gloved fingers through his hair slowly, knowing just what kind of effect it had on those watching. Because it felt like everyone was watching. Not just you. In fact, you were merely a small speck at the side of a huge crowd all dying to get a piece of him.
There is a small pang of something in your chest as your eyes flicker around the room at everyone dancing, a feeling of helplessness washing over you as you realise that the person on stage wasn’t just yours at that point. Yes, he was your brother. But at the same time he was their DJ and you couldn’t be any further out of the picture as what you are now.
Your eyes flash back to the stage, lips pushed into a firm line and your fists clenched slightly by your sides for a reason you can’t quite pinpoint. He’s joined by one of girls that work at the club now, hired simply to look attractive and to try to sell shots. She’s flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder, pushing close to him and whispering in his ear with a smug smile. He’s smiling too, a hand wrapped around her hip as he uses his other hand to change the track. She pushes her tray of shot glasses in his direction and with a few encouraging cheers from the crowd he downs several in a row.
You’ve never seen him drink before. Hell, you have never seen him like this before at all and it’s having a weird reaction on you that you aren’t quite comfortable with. It’s as though you don’t know him at all, as though you are nothing more than one of his fans just like everyone else in the club.
He’s unwrapped himself from the blonde, giving her a small push in the opposite direction and returning his attention back to his turntables. She doesn’t look best pleased, hesitating by him before stalking off with a reluctant glance his way. You can’t help but smirk at his indifference, but something tells you that it won’t last long.
The song had reached a new build up, the atmosphere of the club returning to the subdued anticipation for when they could feel the beat hit them again. Bro was revelling in their impatience, letting the track slowly reach its drop by stepping back from the turntables. His hands reached up to press his headphones to his ears and you can’t help but notice that he’s rolling his hips slowly. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you had been holding, telling yourself that you shouldn’t be looking at that area of your brother at all.
But it’s so easy not to stop when your line of sight is hidden by dark plates of glass. And the way he slowly licks at his lips makes you think that he doesn’t want people to stop looking. He’s teasing; he’s setting them all up, setting you up, so that when he quickly steps forward and hits his turntables to drop the beat, the effect is so satisfying.
You realise you have been biting your lower lip and you quickly stop, forcing yourself to look away from the stage and from Bro, as you push your back up against the wall. Your heart is beating almost as loud as the music is and you suddenly feel dizzy, as though the heat had become too much for you to bear. Your eyes slip closed and you run a hand through your hair, trying to banish the image of Bro standing up on stage, licking his lips right at you. You know that you shouldn’t be feeling the way you do about that. You know you shouldn’t find it hot.
The set reaches its final song and your eyes snap open, wondering how long you have been stood there simply lost in your own thoughts. The crowd is cheering again, shouting for more but it’s clear that Bro isn’t going to listen to what they want. He pulls his headphones from around his neck and takes a step back from the turntables, his work done for the night.
It’s not long before he’s approached by a group of the stage crashers, pointing him in the direction of the bar as one brunette chick in particular wraps herself around one of his arms. A frown graces your lips at the sight and you watch them until they are off the stage and out of sight. It’s at this point that you know you should go home before you get caught. Just imagining having to fight with your brother so soon after seeing him like that would do something embarrassing to you. All that close physical contact would just seem painfully intimate.
Wait. Why were you even thinking of your brother in that way in the first place? Shaking your head slightly, as though to shake away the thought, you push yourself away from the wall, intending to make your way to the door. Except you can’t. Because someone had stood in front of you and seems determined to get your attention. Sighing, you pull your shades down your nose slightly to look up at the person stood in your way.