Hi Readers,
This story contains explicit sexual content and descriptions of drug use. You have been warned. Please review.
With a strong tug of the neck line of his shirt, the tear-away fabric did its job and came apart in his hand. As the cheering of the crowd began to roar, Peeta smiled and swung the shirt around his head. The black stage was illuminated green and glittery from the spotlight that shone brightly on him.
His sweaty palms took a firm grip of the golden pole, erected firmly in the center of the stage on a platform surrounded by dozens of shrieking woman. As Peeta bent his knees he ripped away the flimsy, tight black pants to reveal even flimsier black boxers. Gripping the pole even tighter, he braced himself for the high intensity of the women's screams ringing in his ear as he began gyrating seductively with a flirtatious smile in place revealing his pink lips and white teeth.
The music blasted louder in his ears, drowning out the women almost entirely. He slowly sank to the floor, one hand on the pole, the other pressed back on the stage, allowing him to arch his back and thrust his hips up in the air in rhythm to the music.
They loved him. They desired him, his sexuality, his body, his youth, his beauty. He knew that, but he didn't care. It didn't make Peeta feel any more desired. At the end of the song he would exit the stage and those feelings of desire would then be reflected on the next man, transferred then to the man they would spend their lives with. He was nothing more than a passing fancy, a beautiful person walking down the street or another faceless image of a naked person on a website. They used him for his aesthetically pleasing body, he used them for the money they would shamelessly throw onto the stage and bury him in. If he was whoring himself out for them, they were whoring themselves right back. As Peeta rose back up to his feet, wrapped his right leg around the pole and began twirling on it – much to their delight, he wondered who was really in control here? It wasn't even midnight yet and he had already made himself $400, more than half a week's wage at any 9 to 5 job.
Another grin, a cock of his head and a brush of his hand through his messy, glittery blonde hair and they were done. Hands reached out for him, screams became squeals, squeals became shrieks and Peeta had done his job, he had turned them all on.
The lights began to dim, the bright green lights that flickered and danced across the stage and curtain turned a crimson, blood red. The music changed from hip hop dance, to hard rock. Peeta only glanced at the blackened silhouette of the Adonis that stormed his way on stage before he caught glimpse of the ladies in the audience who up until 5 seconds earlier, were salivating over him, now all had their attention diverted to the taller man who rapidly stormed over to him.
Before Peeta could catch his breath, the man stood tall over him, his auburn hair brushed back nicely with a couple of locks hanging on his forehead. Tall, tanned wearing nothing but black briefs, he smiled at Peeta seductively, the same smile he then shot to the audience of screaming women as he firmly grasped the back of the smaller man's neck and pressed his front into the smaller back.
Peeta understood what was happening, which was why he swiftly turned to face the taller stranger, bending his knees a little as a smooth hand reached forward and rested on his hip. He knew the drill, he had done this dance before. He faked a smile and placed his hand on top of the hand that clutched his underwear, pulling them down ever so slightly while the man's other hand possessively grabbed his ass and pulled him closer.
He hadn't expected that.
Peeta released the man's hand and freed himself from his hold, before casually turning and walking off stage.
He kept his head down as he pushed past the curtain and the other dancers sniggered at him.
"Good job, kid," Cinna, the club owner and his boss said with enthusiasm and a clap on the back of his shoulder.
Still surprised, Peeta picked up one of the folded towels kept on a table by the stage entrance and a bottle of water. He quickly ran the towel through his messy blonde hair and shot a hateful look in the direction of the three other dancers who were about to take the stage.
"Who the hell is that?" Peeta asked in between breaths as he took a gulp of water.
"The new guy," Cinna muttered, his attention focused firmly on the wet notes that stuck to the stage, "Paul walked out and Chris sprained his ankle, I needed someone quickly."
Peeta grimaced at the man on stage. He felt annoyed and a little angry. "Yeah well, maybe you can go over our sexual harassment policy with him."
Cinna chuckled and turned to him, "Peeta, this is a strip club. We don't have a sexual harassment policy. We have a sign that says No Touching and we frown on rape or any sort of date-rape drugs. That's our policy."
"But, Cinna-" he started.
"C'mon, kid," Cinna said with raised eyebrows, "I've seen you dance dirtier than that with people that could look a lot better. Don't let the fact that he showed you up get in the way of a good show. That's what matters, that's what brings in cash."
He hated to admit it, but Cinna was right. It was part of the job, and even Peeta knew that he felt embarrassed, not because of what had transpired, but what had resulted because of it. He saw the way they turned their attention to the older man, the one with the bigger muscles and the better body. Even though Peeta had convinced himself that what they thought didn't matter, it still hurt to be outstaged like that.
Cinna laughed, looking very pleased with himself. This caught Peeta's attention, who turned and braced himself as he watched his mysterious new co-worker exit the stage and approach, swiping a bottle of water for himself and a towel. Both men locked eyes.
"You're the new guy?" Peeta asked, a little dumbfounded, unaware that his jaw had a dropped a little while his voice grew a little squeakier, "Paul's replacement?"
The man stepped closer, smiling a 1000 watt smile. He padded his lean and muscular chest down with the towel in his hand, removing a lot of the sweat and glitter.
"Finnick," he answered with an extension of his arm.
Peeta stared at him for a moment, almost unsure what to do and how to process what had just happened. He reluctantly accepted the handshake, "Peeta."
"Peeta," the man repeated, not as a question, but more of a statement. He had a strong handshake, one which the younger man quickly tried to top, finding it difficult. In a second their hands fell back to their sides. "Cinna yelled me out there and told me to work my moves on you the moment you worked the pole and they all lost it. Sorry for getting so close, he just told me they'd love it."
It seemed that the man's completely unsolicited actions had suddenly been given a justification, one which Peeta could understand. He knew how it must have looked to Cinna, standing backstage, a hand pulling the curtain back while he peered through and measured the audience reaction, calling Finnick onto stage to kick the heat up a whole hell of a notch. The result, red hot fire between them causing the lustful women to go up in flames.
"I really hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable, man," Finnick continued, "I felt the way you tensed up when-"
"-It's fine," Peeta interrupted as he strangely found himself sympathizing for the man, feeling badly that he felt bad, "I get it, it's cool."
The older man smiled once again before turning and watching the stage. Three other dancers shared the spotlight leaving the two men standing in the dim light backstage.
Peeta smirked, "Let me show you around."
"So tonight was your first show?" Peeta asked as they walked down the darkened corridor and the music subsided to nothing more than a quiet thumping behind the walls.
Finnick pushed the dressing room door open, "First show here? Yeah. First show ever? No. Cinna only hired me yesterday."
Peeta chuckled, "He made me audition for three weeks before I even got to put on my first pair of cowboy boots."
As they made their way inside the medium sized room, Finnick sat down on the red couch by the fire exit, massaging his right calf and gazing around the room. Mirror's lined three of the four hot pink and blood red walls in the room. Five racks of clothing lined against the one wall with no reflection, each rack containing a variety of costumes in an assortment of sizes, from full length firefighter outfits and trench coats, to those that exploited a sexual fetish, thongs, g-strings and a wide assortment of underwear.
Couches and benches lined the middle of the room and were mainly covered with the personal belongings of the other male dancers, bartenders and bouncers. Finnick wondered where he had left the black tee and jeans he had worn in that night and hastily removed before his impromptu stage appearance. Peeta moved for the first rack of clothes.
"Your size will probably be the fourth or fifth," Peeta said as he pulled down his briefs.
Finnick nodded and rose from the couch, walking past Peeta as he familiarized himself with the different garments and costumes.
"So what's the deal? Does every number require me in a sailor suit?" Finnick chuckled, turning to Peeta and presenting the sexy sailor suit that consisted of a painfully tight white shirt, white briefs and a sailor hat.
Peeta laughed and tugged on a pair of low cut swim shorts. "Not really, only when Cinna asks for a particular number, which means you'll spend all weekend on stage rehearsing, but for the most part we mainly just stick to what we want, as long as we know when to take it off."
Finnick nodded, turning his attention away from Peeta's naked body and to the silk black boxers that hung on the rack. He removed them and held them up to the younger man, "What do you think?"
"Red," Peeta replied, nodding to the red pair on the next rack, "Put the robe on with them, they freaking love that," he suggested as he fastened his shorts and oddly felt his pulse skip a beat.
"Ah." He eyed the red for a moment, feeling the delicate fabric between his fingers. "Good eye. Thanks."
Peeta smiled, "No problem."
"What's with the swim trunks?" the older man asked with a smirk and raised eyebrow, "You going to the beach after this? If so, I know a sexy sailor suit you can wear."
Laughing, he discarded his worn underwear in the hamper. "I'm 19, which according to Cinna means I'm only to be on stage in either boxers, jocks or tighty whities, nothing that makes the ladies think my balls have dropped, lest they mistake me for an adult, not a kid."
"Well, if it's any conciliation, you gave me a run for my money tonight, Peet, and I'm five years older than you and been doing this a lot longer." Finnick stared at Peeta for a moment questioningly before turning for a mirror as he removed the two garments from their hangers and made his way over to a mirror as he discarded his own briefs. "You working your way through college?"
"Nope," he replied, closing the gap between them in a couple of steps and sharing the mirror, scanning for imperfections on his own body, careful not to be caught stealing glances. "Just rent and spending money. I'm only here on weekends."
"Cinna's got me on Wednesday through Saturday." He pulled on the red silk, eyeing his reflection for a moment before bending down and reaching for the matching red silk robe. "What do you think?" he asked, turning to Peeta for approval.
"Perfect," he replied, turning his attention back to his own appearance.
The door pushed open with Cinna's arm attached to the handle. "Peeta? What's the hold up?" he asked impatiently, "I told you I wanted you behind the bar till-" he checked his watch, "What time are you off?"
"1:30," Peeta replied, as he made his way over to the door.
"Good." Cinna turned his attention the man in red who stood tall in front of the mirror. "Finnick, you good to go back out in ten?"
"You got it," he replied with a nod.
"Good."
With that his the door closed leaving the two men alone again. Peeta reached for the handle before turning to see Finnick watching him questioningly.
"Sorry, I-I was just going to ask if you wanted to get a beer after your shift tonight? Give me a bit more of a low down on how things run around here?" Finnick asked a little awkwardly, almost nervous.
Peeta attempted a smile, but instead squinted awkwardly, unable to form a response. He felt oddly uncomfortable suddenly, "Another night? My girlfriend is waiting up for me tonight, well, that and I think it's going to rain."
Finnick chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, "Yep cool. Rain check. Definitely-" He reached for a bottle of cologne that sat on one of the tables, applying a squirt to the nape of his neck, "-Yeah."
"Well, I'll see you out there, man," Peeta shrugged with a new found indifference, "Good to meet you. Welcome aboard."
"Yeah, thanks."
Finnick frowned as the door shut and once again, the loud music became a dull thud. He opened his robe and adjusted himself in his underwear. He took one last look at himself in the mirror.
"Showtime."
He turned to head back out to the stage.
