Disclaimer: Welcome to Night Vale belongs to Commonplace Books. The Stripper Vale AU and all its sexiness (including Caesar Santiago and the King's Ransom is the work of goddess-in-green on tumblr. They were lovely enough to let me dabble around with it!


A strip club is not what Carlos had in mind for celebrating his 30th birthday. If it had been left up to him, he'd be indulgently nursing a brandy by himself, watching a marathon of Neil deGrasse Tyson specials methodically saved to his laptop. Instead, he's warily sipping at something hot pink and sicky sweet in a crowded, hazy club decorated to be also pink and equally sicky sweet. His older cousin Caesar owns the place; as his only family in Night Vale, and a good part of the reason why Carlos ever heard of the little desert town to begin with, Caesar took it upon himself to throw his cousin a birthday party. And it isn't that Carlos isn't enjoying himself, but a strip club is definitely not his usual idea of a good time.

The music thumps away a booming rhythm, drowning out all conversation and most conscious thought as a redheaded dancer spirals and twists gracefully suspended in a sheet of violet satin. The fabric is almost liquid as it ripples tastefully across the dancer's toned body. He winks at the scientist's table - a predetermined touch, Carlos assumes, since Caesar nods minutely in response - and with a graceful cartwheel, the ginger frees his wrists from the complex knots keeping him aloft and saunters the few steps from the stage to the crowd. It was a technically impressive routine, and while Carlos admires the strength and grace required for such a performance, his admiration ends there.

"That one not your type either?" Caesar queries with a good-natured nudge. "You're sure you're gay, right?" Carlos rolls his eyes with exaggeration and takes another experimental sip of his drink. A new song starts to pound through the speakers; Carlos can only tell because the rhythm is a little faster than its predecessor. He doesn't bother looking to the stage again until he begins to hear cheers rise above the general din. The new act takes the scientist by surprise.

Caramel skin shimmers slightly in the stage lights as single dancer twirls and spins between two poles, expertly twining his body around them in poses that convey innocence, in contrast to the sensuality each movement exudes.

"I guess that answers my question," Caesar hums in the scientist's ear. Carlos is immediately acutely aware that his mouth is hanging open, his throat thick and dry. Caesar glances from the dancer to his transfixed guest. "I'll be back," he nearly shouts to be heard above the club's rise in volume. Carlos nods and waits until his cousin has disappeared into the crowd to look back to the man on the stage.

He's shed a few layers in the moments that passed, revealing intricate tattoos spread across his torso and down his arms. In a single fluid motion, a hand adorned with long, indigo nails reaches back and releases a waterfall of dark hair streaked with lavender to match the dancer's captivating eyes. The action is met with even more cheers from the front-row of guests and a glistening shatter that Carlos doesn't immediately place as being the demise of his hardly-touched beverage. Several heads shoot back towards the crashing sound including - to the scientist's absolute horror - the performer onstage. For a moment that seems to stretch on endlessly, their eyes meet and Carlos entirely forgets to breathe. For his part, the dancer misses a beat, but only a single beat, before he's back into his natural mesmerizing rhythm. A hand on the scientist's shoulder pulls him from his trance. Caesar gestures towards a spiraling staircase in the corner, pulling aside the velvet rope and guiding Carlos to a glassed-in private room that affords an overhead view of the proceedings below. The room is much quieter, the melody of the piped-in music finally discernible.

"So I was going to get you a private dance," Caesar says as he settles Carlos next to him on a plush burgundy sofa. Carlos can feel his cheeks flush at the thought of a lap dance at all; two shades deeper as he imagines the scent of sienna skin, dark hair cascading in smooth swaying motions.. "But it seems you've taken a liking to our most popular performer. Deep Throat's booked solid for the night, and we here at the Ransom honor our appointments." There's a pang of disappointment, which he feels ridiculous about. Deep Throat - Carlos flushes again at the name - was the only dancer the whole night who had even caught his eye. He swallows, part of him still stuck in that moment where he had caught those glittering violet eyes as well.. "We have another dancer though, almost identical. I think you'll like him just as much. Ah," Caesar winks as the door opens and shuts with a velvet click behind another man who does, admittedly, look much like the one still twirling gracefully to a raucous crowd below. The new arrival's tattoos are different, and two piercings mark his upper lip. His hair, too, is different - a much shorter undercut, and bleached blond on the top. The most notable change is the eyes; this new dancer's are so dark as to be nearly black in the dim mood lighting.

"I hear it's your birthday," he purrs, an affected airy pitch to his voice. His hips sway in time to the music, his motions almost feline. He saunters towards the scientist, props a knee against the cushions and leans over him, eyelashes fluttering seductively. Carlos goes rigid at the close proximity. Long nails reach out, dragging gently along his jaw. "Don't look so scared, I hardly ever bite, mm?" Carlos is terrified. Seduction is not a science, and is therefore far beyond his comfort zone. The man presses up against him, the same rhythmic swaying motion, but the expression of pure temptation fades to confusion as Carlos shrinks back further into the plush of the sofa. The dancer glances nervously at Caesar.

Carlos heaves a sigh of relief as the man switches his attention fully towards the club's owner instead. He's fairly sure he heard him mumble something sarcastic under his breath as he climbed off the scientist, but he's so relieved that he lets it go. The song finishes with the dancer fully perched in the other man's lap. Caesar whispers something in his ear, eliciting a small giggle and an enthusiastic nod. They pull apart far enough to share a long, languid kiss. Carlos shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, looking very intently anywhere but at the couple making out two feet away. He cautions a glance in their direction in time to see Caesar slip a roll of bills into the waistband of the dancer's shorts, just above a plush tail that Carlos hadn't noticed before. They murmur something, share one last kiss, and then the dancer's prancing towards the door.

"Happy Birthday, Carlos~" he winks over his shoulder before leaving the two cousins alone in the room. Carlos stares straight ahead for a while and lets the awkwardness flood the air to a backdrop of a dull, thudding baseline.

"He seems nice," he finally says slowly.

"You wouldn't believe the sex," Caesar casually replies, sipping at the last of his drink. "Sex with strippers, it's everything they leave up to the imagination and more." The faint patterns of spirals in the carpet are suddenly extremely intriguing to Carlos.

"You sleep with the dancers then?" he finally sputters, eyes still locked on the plush velvet beneath his feet.

"Dancer. Singular. Just my little Strex Kitten," Caesar corrects coolly. Strex Kitten. It explains the feline movements and the tail, anyway.

"Is that even legal?" Carlos asks before he can stop himself. After Caesar brought him for free to the most expensive, luxurious club in town just so he didn't have to spend his birthday miserable and alone, he has the nerve to insult the legality of his personal life. Typical, he berates himself.

"Ah, Carlito, everything always has to be by the book with you," Caesar laughs, waving the insinuation away. "Of course it's legal, all above-board and consensual. No business, just pleasure. And besides, who's to know? We keep it under wraps." They're quiet for another minute as they each finish their drinks, this time without any broken tumblers. "I understand this isn't really your scene, but did you have a nice time?" he asks as they walk back down the spiraled stairs and towards a back door.

"I did," Carlos admits. It's mostly true. Even if he had discovered a complete inability to enjoy a lap dance and made an absolute fool out of himself in front of a beautiful stranger, it had at least been a memorable evening. Caesar leads him past a thick curtain and into a narrow hallway beyond. Eventually the hallway gives way to a wide room filled with a long brightly-lit bar on either side, the surface of which is entirely covered by makeup containers and aerosol bottles and garish sequined scraps of fabric that pass for costumes. Lively chatter fills the space, adding to the dizzying din. Carlos peeks around, hopeful for a moment to catch one last glimpse of that same stranger, but in the flurry of activity he can't seem to see him.

The desert night beyond the back exit door is cool and calm and quiet. It's an almost perfect contrast to the cloying, clattering rooms inside. Carlos wanders the alley slowly, taking in a few deep breaths of clean, fresh air. A couple to his left, undoubtedly more than a little tipsy from the sound of it, are taking turns pressing each other to the graffitied brick and whispering very loud nothings in each other's ears. A young woman scurries towards a dark corner, mumbling entreaties to what seems to be a runaway empty tin can making an escape. At the mouth of the alleyway a figure stands, face half-lit by the burning end of a cigarette as Carlos shuffles past and into the night. He glances back at the shape, catches the reflection of starlight in lavender eyes. Another breath on the cigarette, another silver exhale. Carlos notes in the brief flicker of red that the man's expression seems empty, almost sad. Cold. Not the confident smile he had worn on stage.

Part of him wants to say something before the logical half of his brain reminds him how the situation would look from the opposite side. They're strangers in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. Any conversation could easily be perceived as a threat. And even if it weren't, what would he have to say? He doesn't even know the man's real name, and he certainly isn't about to address him as Deep Throat.

Instead, the scientist stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walks very decidedly toward the parking lot. With any luck, he can write the night off as a failure and push it from his mind entirely - lavender eyes and all.


End Notes: I'm going to state up from that I'm very much asexual, and probably the most awkward person to be writing in this AU, but we'll see just how steamy it gets from here. comments and critique are absolutely welcome!