Gilbert's face glowed red.
He was in a strip club for the first time in his life.
For the first time in his 26 years of existence, he had stepped into a strip club.
He had always claimed to be a demon in the sheets, going on about his "five-meters" for hours.
If Grand Theft Auto counted, he'd been to plenty of of strip clubs.
But this was the first time he had ever been to a real-life "Adults Only" Strip Joint.
Of course, he didn't make the decision to walk into the den of sin himself.
He was there with his army of groomsmen. It was his bachelor party. Gilbert was getting married the next day to a woman named Elizabeth.
Elizabeta, the love of my life….?
The problem was, Gilbert wasn't sure if he was up to marrying her. He wasn't even sure if he was straight. But Elizabeth had proposed to him after they dated for 3 months, and it came as a huge shock to him. The combination of the pressure from the crowd in the restaurant, who were encouraging him to say yes, and the thought of dying alone if he did not accept, led him to kiss Elizabeth in a state of panic and confusion, and led to everyone assuming that he meant yes.
And so now, he was sitting in a garishly-decorated, GAY, strip club. He realised it was gay after noticing that the scantily-clad servers were all male.
He quirked an eyebrow at Antonio, who shrugged. Gilbert sighed, and decided to try to enjoy his last night of freedom, even if it was at a gay strip club.
Soon enough, the performances started, with dancers taking hold of the stage. They had gorgeous, toned, bodies, with amazing features and moves to match. But none of them could hold Gilbert's attention for more than five seconds.
That is, until the main attraction came out to play.
His name was England. It probably wasn't his real name, but Gilbert couldn't give two shits at that point in time.
The moment England strutted onto the stage, his lidded, vibrant, absinthe-coloured eyes, won the glare of a pair of furious, hungry, scarlet ones.
Sure, England had some pretty great moves that filled dozens of men with lust, but Gilbert was focused on England's face. The slope of his nose, the pink of his lips, the cat-like eyes, all worked together to form the most unusual expression that one would find on a stripper's face. England looked emotionally detached. He looked like he was almost glowering, yet, somehow, not quite there. Either way, there was a distinct lack of emotion on the man's face, and it made Gilbert angry.
He hated that the human being in front of him was merely a shell, for sexual objectification. For other men to look at, and possibly to get off to.
He was probably a whore too.
Which only pissed Gilbert off more.
Gilbert snuck into the back room, and left his drunk friends in the audience.
He looked for the pimp that was most definitely running this shitty excuse for a strip club.
He paid the disgusting, bearded, Frenchman a large sum of money, intent on keeping England to himself, at least for the night.
"Be aware, Mon Ami, Arthur belongs to no one. Do not get too attached." The perverted boss chuckled after he was paid.
His name is Arthur?
Gilbert never spoke a word to Arthur during their encounter.
Somehow they both knew, speech was irrelevant during their interaction.
All they needed was to feel each other's warmth, listen to each other's pants.
Arthur looked for comfort in Gilbert's arms.
At least, that's what Gilbert thought.
Arthur left soon after he heard Gilbert's breathing slow down, and made quick work of it. He let himself out of Gilbert's apartment as if it was his normal routine, and walked back to the strip club. He dove into Francis's waiting arms, and let his eyes flutter shut.
Gilbert called off the wedding as soon as he recalled the night's events, and set off to find his liebe, his dear, Arthur. He drove into the club, only to find it mostly empty, and so he sat at the bar with a beer in his hand, waiting for nightfall. When his darling came out to play.
Eventually, Arthur walked into the guest area, and sat next to Gilbert, staring into his eyes, stone-faced. He hated it when they got too attached. They said nothing for fifteen minutes, choosing to analyse each other's features instead. Arthur's eyes were exceptionally bright that day, but Gilbert found no trace of emotion in them. Except for one.
Disgust.
Arthur's eyes seemed like they were made of acid. Whenever he looked at any part of Gilbert's body, Gilbert felt pain. An excruciating pain, as from that look, he knew that Arthur would never want him, the way Gilbert needed him.
Gilbert should have known. The only reason why the shit-hole of a club was still open was because of Arthur. Arthur was unattainable, and the men he unknowingly charmed could only reach him by watching him, on that filthy stage.
Watch him dance his heart out for a man who never loved him.
The disgusting pimp who waited backstage.
Gilbert felt sick.
He fell for the trap. And now he was going to be stuck pining after Arthur.
Sweet, broken, Arthur.
Gilbert sobbed, while Arthur sat, staring at him with that blank look.
He hated that blank look.
He ran into the back room, and put all the cash he held that day into Francis's open palm.
Today he only had enough for a blowjob.
Gilbert wept silently while Arthur's lips were on his cock, and after Arthur swallowed Gilbert's load, he pulled Arthur up to eye-level, determined to find anything that even remotely resembled love.
When he failed to find anything other than pity in the poisonous orbs that he was addicted to, Arthur pulled him in for a hot, rough, kiss.
Arthur was sorry for what he was putting Gilbert through.
He knew the feeling all too well.