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Gus is very awkward, standing in Lars' doorway, trying to invite him to a bachelor party. He stumbles and backtracks and caveats and Lars is mostly annoyed he's letting out the warm air.
Lars agrees to go, must to Gus’ surprise, but mostly because he can see that Gus doesn't think he should go.
~*~
Maybe Gus was right.
Lars stuffed some silicon hunting ear plugs into his pocket before they left, figuring the bar was going to be loud, no matter where they ended up.
Sometimes, Lars hated being right.
Lars found himself in a parking lot, working plugs down enough to tuck them in his ears and sealing them over the canal. They helped muffle the worst of the noise as they were let into the club, not the bar Lars had expected.
His plan to endure some loud music in a corner booth, maybe drown his discomfort in a beer or two was rapidly falling apart because it was incredibly loud. As they enter the dark club, he realizes how badly he misjudged how this would go. There’s two stages, both elevated with a catwalk between them and a tall metal pole in the center of each. It’s a strip club. The other men in the group all separate, choosing tables and heading to the bar and picking a dancer to crowd around. Gus gives Lars A Look and squeezes his sleeve before he’s dragged off to a group at the bar.
Just like that, Lars is on his own.
Ouch.
At least the plugs are helping. The lights are mostly focused on the dancers, leaving the majority of the club dark, which is nice enough. And they won’t be here all night.
He can do this.
He needs a drink.
The woman at the bar is friendly, with several piercings in her mouth and nose, and gets him a beer in an aluminum bottle, served with a friendly smile. He can’t meet her eyes, but he appreciates a little kindness and manages to give her a smile in return.
The music changes and the bartender shouts something, throwing her arm up in the air as she cheers, clapping enthusiastically as the lights shift. Lars turns around, curious what could have her so excited and freezes as he realizes the lights are all trained on the leftmost stage.
The dancer on stage is in towering heels as they walk out in sync to the beat. He registers that's normal, he supposes, the other ladies on the stage earlier had them as well, but it's all different from there.
Up and up and up, the longest legs Lars thinks he's ever seen and oh, he realizes this is not one of the ladies from earlier.
This is a man.
He’s slim and lithe. And he’s wearing a pair of tiny, tiny jean shorts, ripped and cuffed and doing absolutely nothing to keep the dancer's modesty concealed.
The rest of his torso is covered in a white tank top, smudged with what looks like eyeshadow, black and grey and glittery. His blonde hair is combed to the side in a way Lars’ might have found charming if it hadn’t been tousled into strands tossed over his forehead in an artful mess. His arms are painted with something shiny, sparkling, and he sways to the music like it lives in his bones as he walks.
When he reaches the pole at center stage, the dancer grabs it and with a little runup, he jumps up onto the pole, using his thighs to hold himself up as he twists into a lazy spin that has the crowd cheering.
Lars loses his breath for a moment. He must be incredibly strong.
The dancer's eyes are lidded, hooded, like he's dancing alone, without an audience of cheering women whistling for his attention and Lars, gripping his beer like it's the only thing keeping him on his feet.
He raises his arms over his head as he dances around and rolls his body to the beat, hands climbing down the pole behind him to bend himself back. When he kicks up one leg to hook the pole with a heeled foot, the muscle in his arms and shoulders flex under the spotlight, throwing shadows as he uses his strength to twist himself, one leg hooking the pole behind his knee as he swings, displaying the flex of his thigh and calf
Is Lars' mouth a little dry?
He licks his bottom lip, trying desperately to get that sticky feeling out of his mouth. And with the motion, as if he could have seen it past the spotlight blinding him to the crowd, the dancer looks up, raising his face in Lars' direction. He looks away, instinctively, but the dancer doesn't linger.
He leans back against the pole and takes the bottom of his tank top, drawing it over his head slowly, to the cries of the crowd. Lars can't look away anymore. There's a hot pink line from the waistband of the jeans, so low rise that Lars can see the way the dancer's blonde hair makes a shadowed trail from navel to waistband, up and arching over jutting hip bones to disappear behind his back.
Is Lars interested in men?
The question isn't exactly new, but it has new urgency, now that he's locked on a man's hips, rocking and glittering on stage.
The dance continues, and Lars can barely breathe for the four minutes it takes the dancer to perform a few more tricks, make a couple hundred bucks, and slowly, with all the sensuality of a silk scarf in a breeze, sliding down the pole to end on his knees, spread wider than his shoulders, hips jutted forward obscenely, jean shorts straining, chest rising and falling with his hard breathing, Lars can only imagine it was quite a workout. He's struggling to keep oxygen to his brain just watching.
The crowd is absolutely captivated, offering tips and praise as the dancer shifts up to stand again, bending down to offer touches and blow kisses in exchange for bills and cash. He collects his money and his clothes as the crowd disperses, but Lars hasn't moved.
With his things folded neatly into one arm, the dancer glances back across the room and Lars is pinned like an insect by soft blue eyes. He keeps his own gaze low, he couldn't dream of meeting the dancer's face, but he's drawn up by a movement. The dancer raises a hand and blows him a kiss, giving a wink and waving before disappearing behind the curtain.
~*~
After the dance, Lars needs to sit down and cool off. The music changes and another dancer takes the stage and he sits at a table off to the side, his trembling knees dropping him a little harder than he intends.
His ears are still hot to the touch.
Has he ever had a reaction like this to another person?
Lars certainly hasn’t been present for such an- overt display of sexuality, that he can think of. Maybe that’s all it is. He’s just flustered by the blatant eroticism! That must be it.
He swallows another mouthful of beer, lost in thought.
~*~
One of Gus’ friends startles him out of it. He grabs Lars by the arm, a hold he slips out of immediately. They’re shouting to be heard over the music, gesturing to a short hall off the right hand stage. “Gus said he had something to tell you, but he wanted to meet you in the private room,” they tell him, and Lars is mostly reading their lips, but he gets it.
It’s odd Gus wouldn’t come find him on his own but… Gus is different around his friends. Not the same Gus that Lars knows from home. Maybe Gus is just trying to find Lars a quiet space? That must be it. Gus has been learning what Lars needs, the way Lars is learning to do social things with Gus.
So Lars goes where he’s told, sitting down in the private room, bright overhead spotlights trained on a low table slash stage with another dancing pole in the middle at the center. The music is quieter here, which is nice, so Lars gets comfy on one of the three leather couches to wait.
He doesn't wait long.
The door opens and- oh no.
It's Him! The Dancer!
He's breathtaking, skin still glittering, though he's changed clothes. Instead of a tank top and shorts, he's in a white satin jacket, cropped to show off his midriff, and tiny black hot pants with that hot pink strap still bright along his hips. He's in different heels, strappy black ones. He's- so close- was the room always this small?
Lars lurches to his feet, his drink abandoned on a side table. “Sorry!” He fumbles, squeezing his elbows tight to his body, “I'll go!”
And Driver pauses at the door. He'd changed for a private dance that had been ordered before his next set and while he'd known it was a single guest, he never figured it would be this one.
The man in front of him had watched his sexy mechanic performance with quite an interesting expression on his face. He'd seemed plenty interested, but between the frumpy, oversized sweater, and the shy, turned aside gaze…
Ah.
The man at the counter had seemed a little more snarky than usual when shouting Driver down for his private request. This was a prank. He was sent here to torment this boy.
Well. Two could play that game.
“Be a gentleman?” Driver asks quietly, peeking up at the taller man through his false lashes, “Help me with my coat?”
“We aren't supposed to touch,” Lars says weakly, wringing his hands nervously, “They told us so when we got here.”
“You won't touch me,” Driver counters, confident, “You’re just helping me with my jacket.” He unzips it carefully, not aiming for anything remotely sexy about it. He's bare chested under the jacket, save for a leather chest harness he favored. Lars watches him, but there's nothing predatory in his gaze. No hunger, even as more skin is revealed. Just awe.
He reaches out and takes the jacket by the shoulders, holding it in place so Driver can slip out of it. When he's free, he folds it over his arm, tidy and careful, and Driver has to resist touching his face to hide a smile.
“What's your name?” Driver asks, perching himself on the edge of the stage as Lars hesitates, Driver's jacket stills in his hands.
“Um- Lars,” the man says, eyes anywhere but Driver.
“Come sit down, Lars,” Driver says gently, gesturing to the couch, “Thank you for folding my jacket.”
“I should go,” Lars doesn't seem sure about it though, then seems to realize he's still holding Driver's jacket. “This is yours.”
Driver takes it, setting it beside him on the stage. “They paid for a dance. The room is yours until it's over.” He points out, kicking his feet a little.
“It's- too loud out there,” Lars admits, looking to the door and then back at Driver, “Even with my ear plugs.”
“Oh I wear them too,” Driver reaches up and tugs at the plastic ring tucked into his ear enough to let it show, turning his head to show Lars.
“You do?” Lars' shoulders are relaxing, he doesn't quite look like he's going to bolt for the door anymore.
“It's way too loud out there,” Driver agrees, “but the owner says clients expect music like that so he intends to deliver.”
Lars sits back down on the couch in front of Driver, but still off center, knees tucked together firmly as he folds his hands in his lap.
They sit in the relative quiet for a little bit, Driver kicking his feet and watching Lars, who is watching the carpet intensely.
“If it's too loud for you, what are you doing here?” Driver asks finally. This man doesn't belong here, in Driver's world.
“My brother's friend is having a bachelor party,” Lars says quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding base outside their private room. “I think they felt bad for me and made him invite me.”
“You came, even knowing it would be hard,” Driver fills in the rest, “To prove them wrong.”
“Im glad I came!” Lars glances up at Driver, eyes dropping to stare at his knee instead quickly, “It was hard. But your dance was amazing.”
Driver doesn't bother resisting the little smile that brings out of him. “Thank you.”
Lars smiles back, ears going pink as his shoulders shift upwards shyly.
“They did pay for a dance, you know,” Driver ventures, cocking his head to see Lars better, “We don’t have to play anything loud. You can just watch.”
”You’re really beautiful,” Lars flushes, even as the words leave his mouth, he flushes, cheeks going red.
“Thank you,” Driver says again, gentle and he swings his heels up onto the stage, climbing to his feet, “You’re very nice. Usually guys just want to try touching my ass.”
”That’s rude,” Lars tells him, indignant, “They tell you when you come in you’re not supposed to touch anyone!”
Driver laughs and something flutters in Lars’ belly. “Not everyone is as polite as you are, Lars.” He says gently. He swings one leg up around the pole and swings himself gently around it, shoulders rocking gently to the bass from outside.
“You’re so strong,” Lars marvels as Driver switches positions, using his arms to haul himself up and twist himself down the pole in a slow motion.
Driver pauses as his knees touch the stage, the end of that particular move. “They paid for lap dance, you know,” He says, slow and measured as he gets back up, tipping his head back against the pole and rocking his body gently, idly, “If you- wanted to see. Up close, I mean.”
Lar’s mouth clicks when he opens it. It must be the beer making his mouth so dry. It must be. “I- Only if you- if you were comfortable-“ He stammers, that fluttering in his belly kicking into overdrive.
“I trust you,” Driver says quietly, pausing with one hand on the pole. He goes to step down, startled by the hand offered in his periphery. Lars is on his feet, holding out a hand to help Driver down.
“I know we aren’t supposed to touch,” He says, shy, but his hand doesn’t waiver, “Your shoes just seem- I don’t know how you do it! But just to be safe-“
”You’re not touching. You’re just helping,” Driver tells him, that gentle smile back on his face. Lars exhales a sigh, helpless to the way that smile makes his tummy squirm. He takes Lars’ hand and steps down, into Lars’ personal space. They’re practically chest to chest and Driver has to look up to meet his eyes. Lars doesn’t quite look away.
“If you want,” Driver says, reaching up to hover a hand over Lars’ chest, hesitating, “We could wait on the lap dance. I get off work at two, but I’m not busy tomorrow. Maybe we could- meet up? Try it out somewhere a little- quieter.”
”I would like that,” Lars admits, still holding Driver’s hand in his own, “But only if you- If you wanted.” He rubs his thumb across the back of Driver’s fingers, accidentally swiping away glitter. “I- I don’t think they paid for a house call,” He teases, bold, and Driver’s eyes crinkle with his grin.
“It would be a one time thing,” Driver teases back, “A special favor for a special customer. It’s not often a guest will fold my clothes and tell me I’m pretty.”
Lars’ ears go scarlet and Driver laughs, sweet and gentle. “You’re so cute,” He murmurs, tucking a strand of hair back behind Lars’ ear, “Give me your phone. I have to get back out there soon, but-“
He doesn’t finish before Lars is fumbling his phone out of his pocket, offering it up. Driver taps his phone number into the keypad, setting his contact name and sending himself a text to make sure he has Lars’ number in return.
When he hands the phone back, Lars takes it with both hands, like it’s a precious gift and not his own cell phone. “Thank you,” Driver tells him softly, reaching up to stroke Lars’ hair again, gentle, “This was nice.”
“Thank you,” Lars breathes, both hands curled around his phone, holding it to his chest with a reverence Driver hasn’t seen outside of Sunday mass, “I- Thank you.”
”I’ll see you soon, Lars,” Driver says, picking up his jacket and slipping it back on and zipping it back up to his throat at the door. He turns back to Lars as he opens it, blowing one final kiss before he disappears into the hallway.
Lars is lightheaded. He sits down on the couch again, hard, and looks down at his phone, cradled in his hands. He’s still staring at the black screen, still processing, when it lights up, a new message received. Swiping the it open, he giggles, a little giddy, to see a photo.
New Message From: Casey (the stripper)
Below that… incredible contact name, there’s a photo of the man himself, glittering under the club lights, posed mid blowing a kiss, his jacket half unzipped and chest harness peeking out. At the bottom of the photo, barely in frame, is the hot pink line of his thong peeking out from his shorts.