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Mydei huffs, stepping out of the car without a glance to the chauffeur. He's well aware of the judging glances he's receiving as the man drives away, but he doesn't particularly care.
After all, What's he going to do, tell Mydei's father?
That's rather the point of this, isn't it.
Still, no amount of spite or anger at the world will make it easier to lift his feet as he slowly makes his way towards the neon sign.
Even worse when he's stopped by the bouncer.
“Hey kid, you ain't old enough for this. Try the cafe round the corner and come back in 5 years.”
For fucks sake.
Flashing his ID, he smiles through gritted teeth,
“I'm of age, let me through.”
There's a line of people he'd walked past, all waiting to enter, all quietly laughing at him. ‘Who's this guy out of his depth trying to sneak in.’
But he didn't come this far to call his father in shame.
The bouncer still isn't with the program, that will have to change,
“Sorry kiddo, but 21 or over. You ain't sneaking drinks on my watch.”
“Perhaps you need to take another look at my ID, sir.”
The unfamiliar word grates against his tongue as he hands over the card, 500 dollars stacked neatly under it.
It's almost laughable, and he wonders how much the man makes each night if he folds that quickly. Breaking the rules for only $500? Surprising.
Either way, he's in. The low bass of the music thrumming through his body, making his head pound.
Do people actually enjoy this?
He can't suppress the quiet gasp as a hand blatantly brushes against his ass. The audacity makes him growl, but by the time his head snaps around there's no way to tell which of the leering faces even cared for him.
Regardless, he pushes onwards. Lucky enough to find an empty table near the corner. The view of the stage is partially blocked by the bodies, but at least nobody is touching him anymore.
Leaning back into the leather, he sighs in relief, before immediately screwing his face in disgust as he registers the wetness right beside him. It better have been a drink spilled over the couch. He doesn't want to consider the other possibility.
Now, what do people even do at these places? Well, aside from the obvious answer of staring at the main stage. Should he order a drink? The QR code engraved on the table probably leads to a menu, but he doesn't want that on his phone's browser history.
He can see the bar at the far side of the room. It would take minutes of going through the crowd of horny, sweaty men, and he'd have lost the table by the time he made it back.
With that in mind, he's staying put. Straightening his back, he finally looks directly at the stage. The dancer is appealing, with rolls of cash sticking out of their tight red panties as they kneel in front of the leering crowd.
The man is attractive, but Mydei still doesn't truly get the appeal.
He's meant to, he knows women aren't to his tastes. Despite his father and his friends' insistence that he go find a woman, become a ‘real man’, he simply doesn't see the point.
And when their ‘jokes’ became too persistent, in his ears every second of the work day? Well, fine, he'll go see what the fuss is about. But he will do it his way, and let his father deal with the harrowing fallout at the company that his precious heir to the throne hadn't spent the night fucking faceless women to lose his virginity, but instead was seen at the gay club.
Maybe he doesn't even need to sleep with anyone, just pay the bill so it shows up on father's card, and leave. Nobody will know after all, and it's not their business anyways if Mydei has or has not stuck his dick in something.
It certainly makes things easier, all he has to do is stay here for an hour or two, eventually muscle his way through the crowd for a drink, then call the driver back. A simple plan, and one that keeps most of his dignity.
The dancer's time seems to be over, and Mydei watches as he blows kisses to the crowd, grey hair shimmering with glitter under the lights.
Then the stage is empty, the crowd dispersing slightly as they run to grab more alcohol in the break.
It's kind of pathetic, and Mydei drops his head onto one hand to try and relieve the headache from the chaos and noise.
Which is how he misses the man approaching, but he doesn't miss the clink of glass on the table, and the low voice now in his ear.
“Rare to see a fine man like yourself here. Those are wonderful muscles you have there, do you fight often? Perhaps, I can show you some moves sometime..”
Mydei simply stares. Has this guy seriously invited himself over to try and talk to him? How rude.
He huffs, and promptly looks at the opposite wall.
“Hard to get? That's fine, I'm adept at hunting my prey. Your distinct scent, I couldn't lose it even if I tried. Pomegranate, yes? I had a partner once who was fond of fruits, you could be far superior to THEM.”
What the fuck.
He would move further away on the couch, but that would mean touching the suspicious stains, and he will not be doing that.
Then he blinks, in the midst of his harassment, he'd missed the announcer calling the next dancer to the stage.
He won't be making that mistake again.
Fine lines of lean muscle, hardened from use. Broad shoulder leading to a slim waist, and then the most gorgeous pair of thighs he's ever seen. What a shame they're hidden behind tight fitting suit slacks.
Perhaps… Perhaps Mydei understands the appeal now. He would indeed pay to see what lies under those clothes.
Tearing his eyes upwards, his breath catches at the honest to god collar the man wears, silver with elegant spikes draping over his chest, almost hiding the golden sun tattoos.
Higher still, the most piercing eyes he's ever seen, somehow shining like the sun under the club lights, seeming to stare right at Mydei across the room, even half hidden by golden hair.
The guy at his table is still talking, something about how many ships he owns, and how great his company is. Can't be that great, or Mydei would recognise him from board meetings. The business card slipped onto the tacky table is blurry in his peripheral vision, fixated as he is on the angel on stage.
The music has slowed enough to think, hauntingly slow piano and humming as the angel rests his forehead against the pole before raising up into a perfect lift. It must have taken years of training, to make it look so effortless even as abdominal muscles strain and flex. His mouth is dry, and he wishes he could trust the drink the odd man has left him.
The angel spins once more, and Mydei can only watch, the golden streamers over his shoulder almost forming wings as the stage lights create a halo.
Clearly, the managers know how to accentuate this man's ethereal beauty. He knows he's being played like a fiddle but still he can't look away. Beneath the table his legs ache, his core tight and hot, and he wants nothing more than to walk closer, pulled in by the siren's call.
Yet he sits frozen, hands clenched on his suit, almost shaking as wide eyes simply track the man's movements.
And when those tight slacks finally are worked loose by glove clad hands (and oh how Mydei wants to suck those gloves until they drip wet), he leans forward in his seat, the dark purple and black briefs taunting with how they hide the shape of the bulge beneath. When the man spins, Mydei can catch glimpses, see the outline and his mouth waters.
He shifts, feeling the uncomfortable wetness between his thighs. Fuck, he wants so badly he can almost taste it, picture the feel of those glistening sweaty abs under his tongue.
At some point the drink beside him disappears, whether stolen or cleared by the few staff roaming around, he doesn't know. All he knows for the following 20 minutes is the pull and flex of his angel, the captivating performance that draws him in fully.
He swears he doesn't hallucinate the man looking at him, the glances shot across the room at the pathetic virgin who can't even stand without his knees wobbling a little.
His breath catches further, a tiny whimper escaping his throat as some piece of shit by the stage gets too handsy, filthy fingers closing around his angel's ankles when he passes by. Security doesn't get to intervene, the golden man twisting, stomping down on the rule breaker's weak hand. Mydei can picture the crunch, and he hopes there's broken bones. Nobody should touch the sun without getting burned, and with satisfaction he watches the man retreat, pulled away by unseen workers in the crowd.
Hopefully the ground is cold and hard when he's thrown out.
Mydei would never treat the angel like that. Mydei would shower him with gifts, listen carefully to what he wanted, touch him only if asked. Mydei would treat him so well if he was simply allowed. And the fact he isn't allowed stings, makes his eyes narrow and hands clench further. He's no doubt left red crescents on his thighs by now, and it's a miracle his slacks haven't torn.
The heat is too much, the intensity of the stripper’s gaze burning him. Frantically, he slips his jacket off his shoulders and loosens his tie, grimacing at the sweat stains on the white shirt.
The music fades, the gentle beat slowing until the stage starts to darken. Unlike the previous dancer, this man has no care for the applause and hungry looks of his audience, not even gathering the scattered money on the stage before leaving with barely a haughty look over the crowd.
It only makes Mydei burn hotter, knowing that he could wipe that indifferent look away, replace it with a pleased smirk, or maybe even lost in orgasm.
His eyes close, and he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly as he tries to rediscover his composure.
He should leave now. He's gotten what he came for, more than what he came for. He rests both hands on the table, taking a deep breath of the humid air as he mentally readies to fight his way through the crowd once more.
He doesn't make it, a smooth voice gentle in his ears. So unlike the other suitors that have clamoured at his table all night.
“I'm surprised, pretty eyes like yours surely must have no shortage of people wanting your attention, yet you haven't looked away from me all set. Did you like what you see?”
His angel, no longer on the stage but resting both forearms on the table as he leans over with a cocky grin. He now wears a shirt with a deep V cut showing off his chest, and the tight slacks from before have returned.
It takes him a moment to respond,
“Don't get ahead of yourself. The people here are pathetic, needy and desperate. Don't think you're special just because you can dance.”
Something lights up in the man's eyes, sparking at Mydei's feigned indifference.
“Oh really? Well I'm glad at least my dancing is up to your standards. Now, does a pretty thing like you have a pretty name to match? You can call me Khaslana, and I'd love to spend a little more time together.”
It takes him a moment to catch on to the game, scowling as he remembers the place they're in, and that this is just blatant hunger for money. Khaslana must have seen his expensive suit, and taken a gamble.
Unfortunately, it's working.
“....call me Mydei.”
He refuses to give anything more, the last thing he needs is Khaslana connecting the dots to the fairly well known Kremnos name. Fortunately, he seems to care about little but the cash, leaning in further with a predatory smile,
“Well, Mydei, you look a little stressed by the crowd, maybe we continue somewhere a little more private, hmm?”
Utterly shameless, and he can't believe he's actually considering it. Still, it’s not his credit card, so why bother asking the price?
He taps the black plastic on the tab Khaslana has extended towards him, and allows a firm hand to drag him up and out of the booth.
Nobody pays them much mind as they enter a discrete hallway, and Mydei’s face flushes as they pass closed doors, music barely audible behind them and Mydei can't even begin to imagine what else could be going on.
The room Khaslana brings him to is surprisingly nice, the couch a plush red and more importantly clean. He's pushed onto it while Khaslana goes to a small tablet in the corner.
“Well pretty thing, how about a drink?”
Mydei stretches his legs, opening them a little and resting one arm on the back of the couch. There's nothing he can do about the blush, but otherwise he can present himself as he wishes.
“Only if you're buying, angel.”
The response seems to please him, and he catches the flash of a quick grin as the order is completed.
And then there's nothing to hide behind, Khaslana is turning and stalking towards him, flicking a button as slow quiet music fills the silence. Mydei swallows, his throat bobbing as his vision slowly fills with that broad chest. What do people do in these situations? Do they talk about the weather? Start fucking like bunnies? What are the expectations of him right now?
Distantly, he realises he probably should have read the club's rules. Is he allowed to do more than stare?
Perhaps it's easier to follow Khaslana's lead.
Tearing his eyes from the glimpse of chest, he meets the burning gold.
“So, how long have you been doing this?”
A pause, hands frozen where they'd been about to trail over Mydei's arm.
“A curious one huh? Hmm, about 20 years now.”
He looks Mydei up and down,
“Since I was about as old as you are.”
Oh. Oh.
That shouldn't make his heart quicken the way it does, shouldn't make his core flutter. He licks his lips,
“Really? Looking good for your age then, old man.”
That gets him a full on laugh, and his eyes close a little with pride at pulling the sound from such pretty lips.
“Funny and curious, a miracle nobody else snapped you up first.”
“They didn't interest me.”
Khaslana leans in close, breath dusting over Mydei’s own lips.
“Well, count me lucky that I piqued your interest before they did. Call it a hunch, but am I your first?”
That obvious? Mydei growls a little, but doesn't push him away.
“Maybe you are, does that make you feel good, you damned pervert?”
“Sure does babyboy, now how about I show you how good it makes me feel? I can ruin you for other men.”
The last part of those words catch oddly, something darker lingering behind the smoothtalk.
What the hell, he's already come this far. So why not let this guy do what Mydei came here for.
But one final thing, a little snag that pulls at his gut in a less pleasant way.
“Bring me pleasure then. However, you should know… my equipment down there isn't what you may be familiar with.”
In the worst case scenario, disgust. The best case scenario, indifference.
What he hadn't expected was Khaslana to chuckle, and grab his hand before bringing it to the man's own groin. Mydei feels across the strangely rigid shape with a slight frown before the realisation sets in.
“I'm plenty familiar with this ‘equipment’ sweetheart, so don't worry, let me show you a trick or two.”
Relief makes him sink back, hand relaxing in Khaslana's hold as it falls away from the packer. Finding someone like him certainly makes it all easier, makes him far more willing to lie back and trust the older man.
Even if he's a stripper bent on draining Mydei dry.
So when Khaslana runs his fingertips across Mydei's chest, he doesn't run. The touch is teasing, far too light and he wants to snarl at the man that he won't break. But as he opens his mouth, a gloved finger presses against his lips, a shushing motion that makes him flush for all sorts of reasons. Especially as he remembers his earlier fantasies about these exact gloves.
But then, why not be bold? Why not get what he paid for?
He makes eye contact, staring boldly as he bites the tip of one finger, the leather soft between his teeth. The gloves only cover half the palm, and slide off smoothly.
He's rewarded by Khaslana inhaling audibly, before hissing out the breath through clenched teeth.
“Keep that up, and you may start giving me ideas. How about I train you to use your mouth, hmm? Clearly you want it. Tell me, did you think about choking down my dick?”
Mydei shudders, unable to admit it. Fucking stripper, he's had way too much practice at guessing the dirty thoughts in people's minds.
He glares instead,
“Tell me, do you usually spend so much time talking instead of doing what you promised?”
Mydei spreads his legs wider, trying to ignore the slight shake to his knees.
He wants to shut this man up so badly, and having his face buried between Mydei's thighs seems like the perfect solution.
Except when Khaslana's deft hands are on his belt, one gloved and one not, it's suddenly too real.
He reaches forward, fingers landing in golden hair as Khaslana pauses, looking up at him. His indecision must show clearly in his eyes, as Khaslana's head slowly tilts.
Then he smirks, his hands pushing forward once more, and Mydei doesn't have time to be insecure because strong hands are cupping his ass, lifting him from the couch to allow his slacks to fall to his knees.
He wants to close his eyes, but he can't as Khaslana leans forward, taking the hem of Mydei's boxers between his teeth and dragging them down to join the rest of his clothes.
He's placed back down, and the feel of the air against his bare skin makes him shiver.
His head doesn't have time to stop spinning as Khaslana slips the fabric off his lower legs, socks and shoes neatly removed and placed aside along with his jacket.
So now he's in nothing but his shirt, shivering on this unfamiliar couch with the hottest guy he's ever seen about to suck him off.
His head drops back against the couch, staring at the blandly patterned ceiling. Every brush against his skin is enough to leave goosebumps, and Khaslana takes full advantage of his sensitivity. Small kisses leading up his thighs, and the occasional light nip that makes the muscles tense under his skin.
It's too much, and by the time puffs of air are being blown across his aching hole Mydei is a mess.
“So pretty down here, your dick is so hard for me, dripping wet…”
A thumb pressing against his sensitive nerves, rubbing the raised nub relentlessly as Mydei writhes beneath him.
“Beg for it, tell me how much you want my mouth.”
“Fuck you.”
A dark chuckle, and Mydei bites back the moan as Khaslana's fingers curl around the enlarged nub poking out from his trimmed curls.
“Wrong answer darling, I've gotten rather attached to the idea of fucking your tight ass.”
A finger slips between his folds and Mydei tenses for a brief moment, but it retreats after a moment. Khaslana studies the dripping slick coating it, before popping it in his mouth with a pleased hum.
Mydei is about to curse him, swat him away for daring to look so smug, but before he can they're interrupted by a knock at the door.
It almost pisses him off more when Khaslana just leaves. Stands up and walks to answer while Mydei is still there wet and needy.
He doesn't see who it is, Khaslana doesn't let them see what's inside the room at all, but he assumes it's another staff member because when he comes back he's holding a tray with two tall glasses on it, filled with who knows what.
And Khaslana has the nerve to wink at him,
“Thanks for your generosity, it's on your tab.”
This asshole. Mydei’s glare intensifies as he takes a sip of the bright blue drink, only to splutter and spit it out all over his shirt.
It's sour, disgustingly sour, lemon and mint? He can barely tell through the overpowering alcohol. He hears laughter at his expense, and the glass is taken from him.
“I thought so, but couldn't resist. Here, try this instead sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Mydei grumbles, but takes the offering. This cocktail is a gradient of cream to deep red, nearly matching Mydei's hair.
His first sip is tentative, but to his pleasant surprise only a sweet creamy taste meets his tongue.
“Is this even alcoholic?”
“You can't tell? Is it your first time for this as well?”
Golden eyes study him, before again that dark tint to his voice,
“No, it's not alcohol. Consider it basically fruit juice.”
Mydei knows he can't trust that voice, knows he shouldn't, but it feels too good as he tilts the glass back, taking long sips.
Khaslana sits beside him, sipping his own drink far slower, and Mydei hates how the stripper is the one with almost all his clothes on.
“Aren't you supposed to strip?”
“Hmm?”
“That's what you're here for, right? So why are your clothes still on? You should be bare beneath me.”
Another hum, but his request is obeyed as Khaslana slips the dark top off. Mydei tracking every movement hungrily.
Now that he knows what he's looking for, he can see the faint scar lines under each pec, and heavily appreciates how the golden tattoos mirror them in a way that turns the entire plane of muscle into artwork.
His head is starting to spin a little, his arousal growing again and making him impatient as he tips back the last of the drink.
Khaslana is barely half done, and that isn't acceptable.
It seems Mydei will have to force him.
Putting down his empty glass, he turns and promptly clambers into the older man's lap, resting on one firm thigh with his knees clamped down to stay steady. Khaslana only gives him a curious look as he grabs the glass from his hands, before raising it to those infuriating lips, one hand hooked into the damned collar to keep him close.
“Drink for me, you're lagging behind and it's pathetic.”
To his credit, Khaslana mostly manages, even as Mydei tips far too much into his mouth, he's able to swallow. It makes him curious about what else he could swallow down given the motivation.
All too soon the glass empties, with the golden haired man left gasping quietly, trickles of blue running down the side of his mouth to run down his throat.
He can't resist, leaning down to chase each droplet with his tongue, easily ignoring the sourness when it's mixed with the tang of Khaslana's sweat. Such a delightful buzz over his tastebuds, he wants more, hunting across the skin.
The man runs almost unbearably hot, and it's not helping his dizziness as he wobbles slightly on his perch. Luckily before he completely falls off, hands wrap around his waist, steadying him, burning his skin as he squirms in the hold.
“Easy there, I got you. C’mon just…”
The hands shift, dragging him up a little and Mydei moans as his dick is dragged along the fabric of Khaslana's slacks. Fuck it feels good, and he tries his best to move with the motion as he's rocked back and forth.
It's humiliating, but he finds it hard to care as each movement sends sparks up his spine, whimpers falling from his throat.
“That's right, just like that. See, doesn't it feel good when you trust me?”
He can barely hold his head up, dropping it onto one warm shoulder to muffle his groans. Fuck he's close, limbs tense as he takes his pleasure.
His words are barely audible when he tries to speak, rasping for breath between each word,
“Weren't you, weren't you meant to, suck me off? Bastard…”
And as Khaslana laughs at him once more, Mydei falls apart, shaking with a silent scream as he cums all over the other man's clothes, soaking the fabric as he ruts against it.
He's barely aware of the aftermath, only of warm arms wrapping around him and holding him close, soft possessive words whispered into his hair.
He gains slightly more awareness when something cool presses against his mouth, a water bottle. When did Khaslana get that? How did he get it without standing up?
He doesn't care, he doesn't want water.
But Khaslana tuts at his refusal,
“Now now Mydei, I thought you'd decided to trust me. You need to hydrate, don't make me force you.”
Force him? It's water, unless the man wants to force feed him, Mydei is good, thanks.
He starts to pull his head back, but is stopped by a hand gripping the back of his head.
“Mydei, behave.”
“Fuck off, you're not my father.”
“I'm old enough to be.”
That really shouldn't make his thighs tingle, but he's not going to unpack that right now.
Then his eyes widen, as Khaslana doesn't bother with giving him the bottle anymore, but instead takes a swig himself before pressing his lips to Mydei's own.
It's not his first kiss, but it is the first where he's been held there and forced to take it, water dripping into his mouth until he chokes, forced to swallow.
Everything burns, his world narrowed down to the lips on his, the tongue forcing its way into his mouth as he's held. While he probably could fight his way out if he really wanted to.. he doesn't want to. In fact he can't picture any place he'd rather be than pinned by this angel and just made to take it.
This repeats three more times, and while Mydei doesn't exactly feel hydrated from the small mouthfuls he'd actually swallowed before Khaslana chased them from his throat, he does feel great satisfaction in the way spit stretches between them, the way both of their lips shine glossy over the swollen redness.
When he's finally let go, he just collapses into the hold, nuzzling his cheek against the palm that now cradles his face.
Only to freeze as hot breath puffs against his ear,
“Did you enjoy that, dear Mydei? Now, I believe I promised I'd show you what being on your knees feels like.”
Mydei can't breathe as he's pulled to his feet, Khaslana kindly taking a pillow from the couch to place in front of him, before resting a heavy hand on Mydei's shoulder. Far heavier than it should be, and Mydei finds himself slowly sinking until his face is eye level with Khaslana's waist.
“Good boy, now take off my clothes. Don't be shy, do whatever you like, get creative.”
Well, if he insists.
Mydei doesn't care for the posturing, or strange social customs about shyness. He's wanted to taste this man's dick ever since the show, and now he has the invitation he won't delay any longer. Khaslana seems surprised as he simply drags the entire thing down, eager as the wet fabric peels off skin.
This close he can see those dark briefs much better, pulling them down and placing the packer beneath on the table.
Honestly, he doesn't know why the man needs it. Khaslana's dick is much bigger than his own, decades of difference on testosterone showing through the engorged flesh. It makes him as envious as it does his mouth water.
But hey, do whatever he likes, right?
When he leans forward to take the entire thing in his mouth, Khaslana lets out a low groan, hand coming to rest in his hair as he slowly sucks.
“Well aren't you a natural. Born with all that money only to end up on your knees for me.”
He moans, the vibration seeming to please the man further as his dick twitches eagerly on his tongue. It's a challenge now, and Mydei's never been one to back down from a challenge. Khaslana's hand on his head slowly coaxing him into a smooth rhythm, guiding him in steady motions before occasionally letting him up for gasps of air.
It's so good, and his own hand creeps down between his thighs to palm at himself as he works.
Even the drool running down his face does nothing to deter him, slobbering away on a cock as he frantically tries to get off again.
It doesn't take long, Mydei whimpering as salty tears escape his eyes. He's no longer sucking, but simply letting Khaslana grind against his tongue. It works, and it's all worth it for the desperate noise that escapes the stripper as he cums all over Mydei's face. He has to dive deeper, frantically trying to lick up as much of it as he can as it drips down.
Then without warning he's yanked back, head tilted up so Khaslana can study him, see the drool and tears and cum covering his face in smeared stains. He's a mess, and he feels better than he ever has.
“Fuck, you really are something aren't you. So tell me, what do you say now?”
What does he say?
“Thank you, sir.”
Khaslana nearly drops him, before groaning softly.
“I'm too old to get it up again that fast kid, but you really make me tempted to try.”
He shivers, still kneeling on that thin cushion,
“Then are you gonna make me cum one last time?”
A smug grin,
“Sure, I can do that. With how much you're dripping onto the carpet, I doubt you'll last longer than a minute.”
Another challenge, and Mydei scowls.
Khaslana is well muscled, and Mydei has the chance to appreciate every inch of them as he's promptly picked up off the floor and slung over the man's shoulder. Like this he has the brief view over that perfect back before he's quite literally thrown onto the couch.
Lying there with the breath knocked out of him, he can simply stare up as Khaslana approaches again, grabbing each thigh to spread them apart before diving in.
Perhaps Mydei overestimated himself, even lasting a minute seems impossible under Khaslana's talented tongue, as it curls around his dick, stimulating from every angle. At the same time, two fingers slowly push inside him, the stretch making him wriggle and clench down.
It all feels too good, Khaslana's hands wandering higher, pushing his shirt up until he can grope at Mydei's pecs, twisting and pinching at nipples Mydei hadn't realised could be so sensitive post surgery.
In the span of his next few breaths, he's already drawing up and cumming violently on Khaslana's tongue, nearly blacking out from the intense spasms shaking through his body. It's only Khaslana's hands on him that stop him from arching off the couch entirely.
But it doesn't end there, nerves burn hotter and hotter from the stimulation but he won't stop, the continuous sucking sending wave after wave through his body until he's crying out once more, pushing desperately at those broad shoulders.
By the time Khaslana finally concedes he barely looks aware of Mydei's state, eyes near completely black as he licks his lips of the last traces of Mydei's cum.
Abruptly he realises the music has long since stopped, the room quiet except for their shared panting as they recover.
It's Mydei who's the first to speak,
“So, you do that with every pretty guy from the crowd? Or am I special?”
Khaslana flops back, the back of one hand covering his eyes,
“More special than you know, dear Mydeimos. Someone didn't read the rules, we're a strip club not a brothel. Rule 1, don't touch the dancers. And…. no, I don’t do this with just anyone.”
Mydei stares at the smirk, slowly processing the words.
“So, you can't even follow your own club's rules. Does that mean more for you, or for me?”
“Well, it's a lifetime blacklist for you, probably a slap on the wrist for me. That is, if anyone finds out. Which they won't, will they? After all, you'd make such a nice repeat customer..”
His breath catches, eyes closing at the once again blatant advertisement. He is not going to be a ‘repeat customer’, he's not that stupid. He's going to leave, and never pay any thought to the beautiful angel who took his virginity unless it's to hold it over his father.
Something is pressed into his hand, and he opens his eyes to the tiny slip of paper, a number scratched onto it.
“Or, if you want to meet somewhere a little closer, well, something could be arranged.”
Khaslana winks, then stands, shrugging his clothes back on with a victorious shimmy of his hips.
“Washbasin in the corner, make sure you clean your face before going back out there. And don't worry, the bouncers won't give you any trouble again, I took care of it. See you around, Mydei.”
And then he's gone, leaving with Mydei's name on his lips like it's something precious, and all he can do is groan into the empty room.
He's such an idiot, and he's fallen for every single one of his angel's tricks.
He stares at the phone number one last time, before slipping it into his pocket as he slowly cleans up.
Perhaps, he has room in his life to fall for a trick one more time.