Sebastian's POV:

The club was called Desire. It was a simple name if not completely cliché. The bouncer let me in without so much as a glance, even though the photo on my ID was clearly not me. I've found over the years that it is all about looking confident. Besides, who is going to turn away a customer for a gay strip club? The more people paying, the better tips he gets.

Besides, it's not like I was planning on getting hammered tonight anyway. Getting smashed is for dance clubs. I was here to admire the pretty boys in minimal clothes. It was a shame that this wasn't a full nudity club. But this place had been recommended to me with high praise and, hell, sometimes it is better not knowing. It leaves some mystery. But maybe I'm a romantic. I snorted at that thought. Yeah, right.

I grabbed a drink from the bar, Vodka straight, and sipped it while I observed the crowd. It was as expected: some men in suits who were clearly here when they were supposed to be on a business trip (what a cliché), and others who were more casually dressed, like myself. There were a few dancers out among the crowd. Either giving a lap dance or dancing on a table. Nothing noteworthy. They weren't why I was here.

Tom had recommended this place for one dancer specifically. His dancer name was The Raven. It was a fairly simple name compared to some of these titles that the dancers gave themselves, things like Dark Master Dragon and Lady Mysteria (Lady Mysteria, FYI, very much not a lady). It apparently was a fitting name for this dancer though. According to Tom he only wore black and bondage gear. He was tall, though, Tom had noted, not as tall as me, slim and had skin that Tom, ever poetic, had described as porcelain fair. This intrigued me because I always like the idea of corrupting something pure and leaving my mark all over it. This Raven guys sounded like a perfect blank template. Not only this, but he was a challenge. Tom said that he only ever did the main shows. He'd mingle with the crowd in between sets but never take a job. He never gave private dances. No one ever even saw him without his signature black mask. I had to come see this enigma. If he was all that Tom made him sound like maybe I'd pursue him.

I checked my watch. It was eleven ten. A quick scan of this place's website had informed me that the infamous Raven only did the nine o'clock opening show and the eleven thirty main show. Clearly he was this club's hottest asset. There was already a sizable crowd gathering around the main stage so I wormed my way through the mass. It helped that the majority were more drunk than I. After a few shoves and a glare I made it to the front of the stage. The stage jutted out in the shape of a capital T. On the part the extended there was a shining metal pole. This was clearly for the star. I finished my drink slowly while I waited for this shindig to start. At least this place had quality booze.

The crowd cheered and hollered as the lights dimmed and annoying spinning spotlights lit up the stage. Classy. The music started thumping out the speakers and I immediately recognized S&M by Rhianna. I rolled my eyes. This song hadn't been popular in years and yet they always played it at clubs when they immediately wanted to portray "naughty". Soon men in various states of undress walked out. They were all hot and they were all in leather. Bondage theme, I mused unsurprised. The men spaced themselves out along the top of the T that made up the stage and I realized that they were not only back-up dancers but a conciliation prize. They were to entertain the poor suckers who were too far away to see the real show. I felt a little bit smug that I'd managed to be front and center.

Then the floor opened up between the pole and my position and I did a double take. This place had a stage elevator? Maybe it wasn't as completely low class as I had thought. His hair came up first. It was wild and thick, and completely tug-able. I wanted to run my fingers through it and yank hard. Next his neck and shoulder blades. They were strong and wrapped in a leather vest. He rolled them in warm up, relaxing the muscles before the dance. His back was broad, but not beefy, and his arms were long. He had leather bands on both his forearms. His waist was slim and his hips were already swaying to the beat almost unconsciously it seemed. He was wearing tight leather pants and I wondered how long it took him to squeeze himself into those and how quickly I could peel them off. He was barefoot. I wondered if he always danced barefoot.

The music picked up and, without turning around, he dropped into a deep plié and bounced to the rhythm. Then, with the beat change he braced himself on the floor with his hands and slid gracefully into a full split. I swallowed. Flexibility in a guy was a huge turn on for me. I watched as he rolled his weight back onto his arms and back and lifted his legs up straight above him. Then he shifted his weight back farther until his legs flipped over top of him and he stood up on them, straightening back up into his starting position but a few feet closer to me. I wanted him to turn around. I hadn't been able to see his face during the flip.

He braced his hands on his hips and swayed them seductively while he waited for the chorus to hit and when it did he ran suddenly and swiftly to the pole and spun himself with practiced agility up and on to it. Once wrapped around it, his right leg out in a perfect arabesque, he spiraled down it until he landed gracefully in front of it, his back pressed against it.

Then he looked up and out at the crowd and the spotlight caught his face. His pale skin glittered and his high cheekbones were striking. But what caused my heart to leap into my throat was his eyes. It wasn't the beauty of them that caused me to pause (though they were) but the familiarity. The mask hid his identity well, for those who hadn't already seen him without it. As soon as I saw his face the rest of him fell into place. The last time I had seen those hips swivel it had been to a harmonized Michael Jackson song. The Raven was Kurt Hummel and, for some reason, that made me want him even more. Especially when he immediately dropped down into another low plié, his arms up above his head holding on to the pole, his back pressed against the metal, and his leather clad thighs spread apart. Especially when he slid his hands down his neck, chest, and thighs and bit his lips while giving the crowd bedroom eyes.

I was startled away from Kurt by the crack of multiple riding crops when the song said "whips". Apparently the back-up dancers had props. I watched them for the chorus repeat as they moved in time which each other and cracked their whips. They weren't a bad consolation prize but I forgot all about them when I turned my focus back to Kurt to find that he was slowly and tantalizingly stripping off his vest. Fuck. Who knew Hummel had abs like that? He threw the now useless piece of clothing behind him, where a back-up dancer would pick it up before leaving the stage at the end of the number, and slid down the pole till he was on his knees.

Then he started crawling. Fuck that was hot. He was a predator in his posture: back low and eyes dark. The crowd ate it up. He crawled to the left side of the stage and batted his eyelashes at them and they tossed money up at him without a care as to how much it was. Then he crawled to the other side and there he flipped on to his back and splayed out for them, rubbing his hand over his chest and biting his lip coyly like he wasn't thrusting his hips up and letting them tuck twenty dollar bills into his waistband. I wanted to run my palm down that chest. After lingering there for a few seconds he flipped over and headed towards the end of the stage and me. I scrambled in my pocket for one of the hundreds I had brought. I wanted to let him know that I knew who he was. I wouldn't give a fresh hundred dollar bill to just any dancer at a strip bar.

He crawled up and stopped literally right in front of me. I smirked at him and I saw his eyes widen in shock. His nostrils flared and his mouth opened a little as his face filled with recognition. We stared at each other and it was like everyone else was gone. The music faded to a heady beat and the crowd vanished from our peripheral. He looked scared. Afraid of what? I wondered. That I would tease him or that I would tell someone? Kurt had been found out and he was feeling his world crash down and for some reason I wanted to assure him that it wasn't. That I wasn't going to tell anyone and that I wasn't going to tease him anymore than I ever did before. So I raised an eyebrow and held my hundred up for him to see. He blinked at it. I folded it in half and then again the other way and placed it slowly between my teeth the long way. I saw Kurt swallow and he stared at me. I saw the understanding dawn in his eyes and he grinned. Kurt Hummel never backed down from a challenge. He slowly leaned forward and fastened his teeth around the free end of the bill. Our nosed brushed and I could feel the warmth of his breath. Then I let go and he smiled around the bill.

I felt someone pat my back and shout "Woooo!" and it distracted me enough to break eye contact. When I looked back Kurt was back in professional mode. He'd backed off and was again spinning around the pole. I noticed my hundred tucked into his mask. The song ended soon and he walked back to the stage elevator and dropped through the floor. As the crowd cheered and threw dollars on the stage, to be picked up by the back-up dancers, I scooted my way out of the crowd and headed towards the bar with a purpose.

Author note: For anyone who read my last story and voted. The result actually had this one coming in second and the D/S story first but I am struggling with making that what I want it to be so it is being postponed. Sorry.