Chapter Text
He could not remember the exact moment when he fell in love, all he knew was that it was with a man, in a boxing ring, with blood splattered around his mouth and red gloves pounding into the troll jumping from side to side.
One of his friends had taken him to a boxing match after work, and he had not known that such a thing even existed. Not boxing in general, but boxing with two utterly different races. The Interspecies Sports Association described it as 'intense' and 'not for the faint of heart' which had the troll uneasy long before he had step foot into the building. He was supposed to celebrate blood and gore, but he often thought twice of his species' former 'advances.'
And now here he was, standing awkwardly among humans and trolls around him, cheering or booing, though his friend was cheering on the blond with surprising enthusiasm.
The boxer wiped the crimson from his mouth with the back of his glove, watched the referee count down before thrusting the tanned man's arm into the air. The crowd roared, and his thin lips quirked into a victorious smile.
The troll's bloodpusher stopped for at least ten seconds as he swore their eyes caught and that smile was for him.
It was then that he was absolutely positive of his feelings. Pity at first sight was not exactly smiled upon, especially for a troll of his age, and definitely not for a human.
Later, when the match was over and the bizarre beer aftertaste was long-gone from his mouth, Tavros could not get him out of his mind. Those brilliant carmine eyes that matched his own blood, the skin stretched over perfect muscle, the sweat that smelled of pheromones.
Reflecting on it, he was not entirely sure how he knew it was pheromones, but in his inner narration, it had to be the scent of pure desire.
For a few weeks, Tavros did not see him whatsoever, but they felt like agonizing sweeps that droned on and on and on.
He was laid off.
His money ran short.
The apartment was soon to be taken away from him.
Tavros spent a week learning how to strut in heels, then another perfecting a couple routines on a smooth metal pole. Two days to mentally prepare himself to wear revealing outfits, and just one to land himself a new job. The blond boxer was a fading memory in the back of his think pan by now, wasting away and collecting dust like a prisoner in a stone dungeon.
The hours were late, the customers were needy and eager, but the feeling of paper sliding into his thong, the Washingtons, Lincolns, Jacksons and occasional Grants filling up and stacking against his gray skin was temptation enough. The highbloods sneered and said he was sculpted for this job, and at times, Tavros believed them.
Weeks passed. Money was steadily raking in, and he was taught to lap dance by his colleauges. More bills, and greediness was already settling in him.
When he saw three Benjamins being waved at him from the bar, and that familiar, triumphant smile, he knew he was lured in like a fish to bait. The love for currency was too strong by now, and the scent of green bills on his glittered hips was more than enough to have him sliding from the stage and stepping towards him.
The boxer's words were fleeting purrs in his ear, and Tavros knew the blond had experience in this realm. But he was paid to fight, not seduce, and the troll had the upperhand as he trailed fingers against his strong jawline. Onlookers were surprised at how long they flirted before disappearing backstage and up the metal stairs. The hallway was long, mostly dark besides the few lights above them that illuminated the scarlet walls and barely the floor.
"You ever done this before?" His voice was deep and rumbling, like a growl during a match.
Tavros shrugged. "Confidential information." A pair of strippers walked past them in the opposite direction, giggling and winking to the male in heels.
"Huh." They stopped in front of a door that was marked 'Cinnamon' with a shimmering sign, and the boxer snorted, amused.
"Cinnamon, eh?"
"Is that not a good enough name for you, or something?"
"It's cute, a little juvenile, but hey, I'm game. It fits you."
"Right."
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dave, and you're my number one hooker."
Whether or not that was a compliment did not matter when Tavros was sucking the cherry flavored lube from him, or when he was clutching the sheets as he pounded inside. It never mattered.
All that concerned him was that he was special in those escaping moments, that Dave thought not of boxing, but of him. Sure, it was selfish, and Tavros was severely breaking the number one stripper and prostitute rule that you never fall in love with regulars.
He could not help it.
If he had done it once, he could easily do it again.