Striptease
Rated M:
Stripping, sex, drugs, abuse, prostitution, minor character death, angst, inappropriate sexual humour, stereotyping...I think that's everything?
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Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me
The bass pounded through his skin, his body pulsating with the beat as he moved. The cool metal of the pole against his back felt so good against fevered skin that he moaned as he slid down against it. His moves were unusually sloppy, he hadn't meant to get so drunk before a show, but the alcohol's influence made him better – more confident. He threw himself around the pole like a lover, grinding animalistically. Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair and down his chest, glistening against the glitter body-spray. The techno beat got faster and Arthur found himself thrusting his hips to the beat. He gripped high on the pole and pulled himself up, using the grip of his thighs to keep him steady as he leaned back to run his hands through his hair. With another groan he slipped slowly down. His body was alight with sensation. The ecstasy was making him buzz and groan with every touch against the pole or down his body. As the music reached a climax he ran his hands down his bare front to the small apron covering what people would later pay more to look at.
The thumping took over and he threw himself to the stage floor, face-down, grinding against its scratched-but-shiny surface. The crowd went crazy as he crawled towards them, running one hand over the bulge beneath his apron before rising to play with his lip. He rose to his knees and couple of fingers crept inside his mouth and he began to suck on them while lightly thrusting his hips. He thrust harder, gagging slightly and moaning around them as loudly as he could. He could sense the money practically raining around him. He felt charged, his blood pumping in his ears along with the music enveloping him. His song was almost over but he never wanted to stop. With a shuddering breath he slowly pulled his fingers out and traced the piercing around his left nipple, playing with the bar. He then moved down to the one at his naval and gave it a flick that made it dance in the light. People were reaching towards him, desperate to touch him.
There was another dancer after him though, so he casually scooped the money up from around him and drunkenly strutted to the back curtain once more.
He'd made more money than usual which would please his boss. A good show meant more drinks sold and a higher percentage of tips.
It was time to get out on the floor so Arthur left the dressing room and was walking down the corridor behind the back-wall of the club before his boss's younger sister grabbed his arm. "There's a queue for you in the back-room going out the door." She said almost pleadingly. "My brother wants you in there." Her long nails were biting into his skin so he pulled free.
"I've already made it quite clear that I have no intention of doing that kind of work, Natalia." He said crisply, his British accent clashed horridly with her rasped Russian.
Natalia's eyes rolled as she adjusted the strap of her spiked bra, "well we need to stay competitive with that new place in town somehow. They're taking our customers. We're trying to offer something they don't but that's useless if our most popular dancer is too sensitive to do it." She looked like she wanted to hit Arthur, but knew she couldn't because the ramifications would be so severe, and upsetting her older brother was something she would never do.
Knowing that Arthur would never change his mind, or at least not tonight, the blonde sighed and walked into the changing room to get ready for her own show.
Arthur left at last, heading out into the main communal area. The club was rather small and quite dirty, unwashed seats and wallpaper which stank of things that were technically illegal. There was a main stage that came through the middle of the room like a catwalk, where each act could perform once or twice a night, and two small circle platforms – one on each side – where dancers could takeover whenever they were free. The sides were lined with private-dance booths, and along the back wall were small rooms where the clubs newest commodity was being sold – sex.
There were two men standing outside those rooms in all black suits, ready to take names and payments, and dancers were usually waiting inside.
True to her word, a long line of hungry looking men, and even a couple of women, stared at Arthur as he left one of the doors between the booths. They were waiting for something they could never have, he told himself.
He went to one of the private dance booths and approached a nervous looking man standing outside. The man had brown hair that was perfectly neat except for a strand that stuck up proudly. As Arthur approached he turned expectantly, and Arthur noticed he had rather noble features. Glasses rested against high cheekbones, and a rather large mole sat dignified on his chin.
"Fancy a dance, poppet?" He asked in a soft voice, reaching forward to stroke the other man's hair. 'British charm' was his main selling point when abroad from his native land.
He felt the drugs pushing him as he led the nervous man into the booth and onto the soft armless couch. Music from the club was still overwhelmingly loud as he knelt with his knees either side of the other man's, feeling the fabric of his crotch rub against the other's. His hands tangled in soft brunette hair, pulling gently as he rubbed against the man beneath him.
"I'm l-looking for someone." The brunette started, but Arthur wasn't listening. Instead he moved closer and breathed softly into his ear, moaning every so often.
He could feel the man beneath him enjoying it so he rubbed harder once more. Touching was supposed to be illegal but it made so much more money so everyone did it.
Done teasing the man's hair, Arthur slid down from the man's lap and turned so his back was facing him. He leaned back to wrap his arms around the brunette's neck so that he could grind his ass softly into the man's quickly hardening crotch. He could feel thin, strong fingers run slowly up his chest and slowly circle his piercing before everything seemed to fade into a colourful, noisy blur.
Morning. Sun. Pain. Headache. Not alone. Pain.
Arthur moaned something incoherently as he sat up in what was slowly dawning on him was not his bed. "Shit." He mumbled, running his hands though his choppy blonde hair, feeling glitter come off in his palm. He was trying to suppress his hangover when he felt someone hugging him from behind.
"Good morning." The soft accented voice was actually rather pleasant to hear and didn't aggravate his headache too badly. He felt soft but dry lips brush along his bare shoulder. "Last night was..." He placed a kiss at Arthur's neck and the Brit smiled. He couldn't remember it but he could bet it was pretty good by the way he was feeling.
"I don't suppose I picked up my clothes on the way out?" Arthur asked hopefully, deep-down knowing that he did not.
"You can borrow some of mine." The man said tiredly, "if you make me tea." He offered. Arthur laughed but agreed and the man gave the Brit directions to the kitchen, calling out 'green tea with lemon!'.
Arthur was delighted to see the man had a kettle for one, (he'd had to order one to his college room) and that he was well-stocked in milk, tea-bags and sugar. That way he wouldn't have to feel guilty about using the last of the milk for his own traditional breakfast tea.
Upon his return there were clothes folded neatly on the end of the bed. Black skinny jeans and a T-shirt with a crude slogan on the front. He eyed the brunette with amusement, "I wouldn't have thought that this would be your style." He commented jokingly, trying not to be rude but unable to picture such a man in those clothes.
"They belonged to my rather recent ex, he wont miss them." Arthur was about to inquire as to why when the man continued - "I'll be burning the rest later."
Not wanting to get involved in other people's business, Arthur just drank his tea and politely left.
His head was pounding by the time he was on a bus. His body hated him, and the drugs he had taken had turned his hangover into some form life crisis. His whole body was tired and he felt like his life was falling apart. He knew that it was just the comedown but he was just so depressed. He was so strict about not selling his body, but then as soon as a customer smiles at him he jumps into bed with them. He hated himself for the drugs most of all. He had promised himself that he would never touch that stuff again, not ever, in any way. But the slightest hint of bad news and he collapsed. He hit his head against the glass window, wanting to cry but somehow managing to not.
Arthur stood outside his dormitory room, frozen. He had been about to enter when he'd heard movement coming from inside. He was listening intently and could hear someone moving around, as if pacing. He took off his heeled shoes and quietly placed them aside before slowly slipping his key into the lock. His breath shook as he tried to push it open as quietly as possible.
Stood before him was a largely built young man with broad shoulders and dirty-blonde hair. His back was turned to Arthur and he seemed to be going through the Brit's drawers.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Arthur said sharply, frightening the other man.
The invader turned, grinning sheepishly. He moved forward and held out his hand, walking forward with false bravado. "Hello, I'm Alfred F. Jones and I'm going to be your new roommate." Arthur's heart twitched painfully in his chest. Clenched in the fist of the other man was the letter that had previously sent Arthur into emotional breakdown.
Alfred lowered his hand as Arthur took no move to shake it, and instead was squinting at the English man like he had small-print tattooed across his cheeks. "Do I know you?" He asked moving closer forward.
Arthur could feel his pulse thrum in his fingertips, heart palpatating, fear and anger drowning him from the inside. Alfred was so close now, he reached forward and touched the tips of Arthur's fringe. "Glitter?" That seemed to have sparked something, as he stepped back. "Arthur?...Arthur Kirkland?" A look of pain overtook the younger man's handsome features and for some reason Arthur did not want to look at it. Instead the older man coughed back his emotions and shoved past the other man with a curt "excuse me" and a quiet mumbling of the word "shower" before closing and locking the door to their en-suite bathroom.
Alfred stood, staring at the door for a long time. He wanted to go inside but heard the water running and knew he wouldn't be welcome. He hadn't been told any information about who he would be staying with. He'd been excited about making new friends, but of all the people in the world, Arthur Kirkland was possibly the worst person he could have been put with. Went to the unused bed on the opposite side of the room and sat down, wondering how he could be so unlucky. He was about to start ranting and raging about how unfair life was, but then his mind stopped. Imagine how he feels? It asked, calming the turbulence that had built inside. Alfred then thought of a particular piece of paper in his wallet, it was a list and at the top was the name of his new room-mate, circled and under-lined with all the times the American had picked up the phone or gone online, only to get too scared and hang up or log off again. He wanted to make amends, and now he had been given a chance.
He looked around their little shared space. Two beds with a desk between (on which Alfred was amused to see a tea set), and on the other side a table with some chairs.
Alfred remembered the kitchen area outside, and headed out with the first stage of his 'plans to make Arthur Kirkland not hate me'.
Arthur always found that it didn't matter how much he scrubbed, glitter would still be stuck in some mysterious crevice at the end of every shower. It was a nightmare. He'd even gotten a nickname for it in high-school, 'glitter boy'.
Eventually he gave up, mainly because the spaces behind his ears were sore, and headed back out into his room again. He hadn't brought clothes into the bathroom, and so had wrapped a towel around his waist. He would have just gone out naked – to hell with his new room-mate – but that would be rude, and he was English.
He headed out and was too distracted by the look on Alfred's face to have even noticed the food at the table. He had never been stared at quite like that before. It was like the younger man was trying to think about more than his mind could handle. His eyes darted from his tattoo (a tribal piece up the side of his chest) to his nipple piercing, to his naval piercing, up to his face and then down to the towel wrapped almost intentionally loosely around his slender but muscular abdomen.
If 'holy shit' could have a physical manifestation, it would have looked like Alfred Jones at that moment in time.
"I see your appetite hasn't decreased." Arthur tried to look as unfriendly and intimidating as possible, he coldly glanced over the pancake and bacon stacks taking up the space on his table with a sense of disdain. Alfred continued to drink in his room-mates appearance, nodding before clearing his throat and tearing his face away.
"I made some for you, I thought we could talk." Arthur was almost touched by the gesture. Almost. The food looked like it had taken a lot of time to make, and it was arranged perfectly and carefully. It was early so it was rather thoughtful of his new room-mate to have gone to such lengths.
"No thank you, I find dining with pigs rather ruins my appetite." And with that Arthur went to the drawers under his bed and pulled out the clothes he wanted to wear that day, and without a seconds hesitation he pulled off the towel and began to get dressed.
Alfred's face lit up rather painfully. He was hurt by the Englishman's remark but too shocked and confused to process it.
This person before him was nothing like the shy nerdy British kid who had showed up at his high-school with ill-fitted clothes and a unicorn backpack. That boy wouldn't even get undressed in the same changing rooms as everyone else and would change in a toilet cubicle. Now he was naked and Alfred was trying so hard not to stare. Until he turned around to face away from the American, then it was free-game.
Arthur was muscular but thin, his muscles moving as he dressed. He was also heavily scarred, but they were faded and looked silver against his already pale skin. The tattoo went partly down his thigh, and there were others on his back. An electric guitar on his upper shoulder, a winged green rabbit on the center of his lower-back.
"Maybe I should ask for some tips on how to tone up, lose some weight, you seem to have managed it pretty well." It was a desperate attempt to cut through the awkwardness he was feeling. Anything to stop himself from staring.
Arthur turned, buttoning up his jeans as he did so. He looked over Alfred, judging him. "Maybe I should." He simply said, turning back around to pull on a shirt. He grabbed some shoes and left the room without even putting them on, leaving Alfred alone and confused.
It took a moment before it sunk in. "Hey!" Alfred called out to the empty room. "I'm not fat!" He added for good measure, squeezing the pudge of skin poking over his jeans.
It was no use, he had tried to break the ice with the older boy and it had ended as it always used to, with Alfred feeling confused, horny and annoyed.
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AN:
I have no idea how long this story will be and only a brief plan of what will happen...I am amazing.
I almost destroyed my netbook during the writing of this chapter, it has taken weeks simply because my netbook will not behave. However I will be moving next week and hopefully I should be getting a computer x3 this is good news for me and good news for whoever likes this story (surely someone? anyone?)
I'll try to update ASAP but packing is evil and distracting. Also it's my birthday in a couple of days...
Hey, seeing as it's almost my birthday...and reviews make awesome presents...
basically reviewing will make me very very happy
like I might cry
more importantly I will make England strip.
I am actually going to try to keep this as a consistent thing! I've done one for this week - basically I'm going to write up a show to send to reviewers.
However the reviews have to be from actual accounts (Cant reply unless you're signed in) and to be an actual review (as much as I like ':)' it has to be a little more )
So get to it if you want a dance from Officer Kirkland ;)
-Awesomeness Personified
