Just a word before I get into this: This is basically just porn in disguise. One of those silly little disguises used in horribly cliché children's shows. You know, the thick-rimmed glasses with the huge nose and moustache? Yes, those. So instead of looking like porn, it just looks like porn dressed as an incredibly perverse man staring at you. Sounds like me! I mean sounds good to me... yeah...
Now, some may remember I did a Sephesis Vampire-fic for Sphinxofthenile. I went kinda off-course on that, so she politely asked for me to make an AU to make up for my failure and naturally, I did.
As I am a busy busy busy college student, chapters might seem a little laconic and far between. This I cannot help. I have other stories, like REVOLUTION to take care of. Enjoy it nonetheless.
Thanks to mah lurveleh beta Gee-string aka xlightfromabovex and Britney Spears for making sexy music that I can write to. ilu Britney.
Warnings: STRIPPERS. Yaoi, sex, smut, buttsecks, Genesis, heavily inspired by Tim Gunn Lazard... um... cliches and strippers?
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, if they were... well... I'm sure you can all imagine.
Cirque de la Lune
They were all the same. Façades identical. Hiding debauchery from the pious public eye with a mask of a bland simplicity. Like a picture book kept on the top shelf, safe from the grasps of curious children, they told the same story; insipid entertainment and foreplay devoid of thought and meaning.
Sighing and saving his favourite cookie-cutter analogy for another time, Sephiroth pulled the silver lever to his right and pushed the car door open. The sun shone brightly overhead; yellow light gleaming on his vehicle's sleek black bonnet when clouds did not intercept. Though the weather was fair, it was by no means warm. The telltale crispness of autumn hung in the air, snapping at his throat and nostrils every time he inhaled.
Sephiroth adjusted his sunglasses with a flick of his wrist, scrutinising the building one more time with narrow green eyes. Just a matte black cover; a sign that would illuminate at dusk ran over the top of black double doors with tinted windows in the centre, segregated into squares by wires on the inside. Perhaps a safety precaution against self-righteous activists.
During the day it was just another building, perhaps thought to be a warehouse or a private storage business for clients, only to become a breeding ground for lecherous men and exhibitionists when the sun settled for the night.
Force of habit made him indulge in such every once in a while. A vice; like a smoker bored with nicotine alternatives, he just gave in subconsciously every now and then, not noticing the lapse until his money was in the wrong hands. A moment of pleasure preceded a week of disdain.
Cheap, tasteless, abetting addiction, going to one club seemed to be going to them all. And Sephiroth had graced a lot of the clubs along this street in his time. It might make a small variation to see one from a different angle, as a different kind of man.
He only had to knock once on the black door to immediately hear locks clicking and hinges creaking open. Green eyes glared at him through an inch-wide gap between one door and the other. They narrowed, scrutinizing him with contempt.
"Yes?" the gruff voice of the owner of those eyes inquired. More demanding than what would be expected of the service industry. An instant strike on the tally that was already fixed by Sephiroth's bias.
"Sephiroth Crescent. I have an appointment with Mr. Deusericus."
What sounded like a dozen chain locks were flicked in rapid succession before the whole door swung open. In its place stood a tall man, entirely clad in black with short silver hair slicked back. He stepped back, wordlessly ordering Sephiroth to follow.
Inside it was dark, lit only by the same lights that would be on for most of the night. Red-tinted bulbs cast a preternatural light down on polished tables and leather chairs and the gleaming chrome of the table legs and various poles dotting the back portion of the large main room.
"Wait here," the man instructed and pointed his hand down to a large black leather sofa a few yards away from the main stage.
Wordlessly, Sephiroth sat and settled his briefcase on the floor. The doorman turned on his heel and stalked off down a dark and narrow corridor beside the stage. Already, Sephiroth was thinking up initial plans (though he didn't have much experience of renovating strip clubs) and mentally exploring ways to make the place seem bigger than it was. Matt black walls certainly had an oppressive, coffin-like feel to them.
"Well, if the interior designers look this good I'd love to see the emergency services of this town."
Sephiroth turned to the voice that he recalled as the one which had spoken down the phone to him three days previously. The owner of such suave and deep intonation was tall, slim and blonde; impeccably dressed with thin-rimmed semicircular glasses covering steel blue eyes. Hanging off each arm were two of the most effeminate males Sephiroth had ever seen, dressed as clichés with feather boas, short satin gowns and high-heeled sandal boots and long, straight silver hair. Both looked hardly old enough to drive, let alone work in a club like this.
"Lazard Deusericus." The blonde freed his right hand to offer it forth. "I'm glad you could come at such short notice."
"It's no problem." Sephiroth could feel the gaze of the two boys on him, eyeing up looks and wealth. Unfortunately, Sephiroth had found, to the simple eyes of a whore he had both in copious amounts. So he tried to keep his eyes on Lazard himself.
The blonde smiled warmly before shrugging away his two young companions. "Go play now, kittens, Daddy has work to do."
The pair of them broke away with little protests that were whines, but traipsed over to the stage to entertain themselves. And perhaps Lazard as well, judging from where his eyes had left Sephiroth in favour of.
Clearing his throat, Sephiroth fought to regain the blonde's attention as the two boys began dancing with each other. From the distance it was hard to miss but he tried regardless. "So, what's the overall ambience you're trying to create?"
Lazard smiled, straightening his pinstripe suit lapels and settling into the other side of the sofa, legs crossed. Though Sephiroth admittedly didn't know much about clothes, it was easy to tell from the alignment of the stripes that the suit was well-made, and expensive. "As a strip club, obviously something exotic - but not in a cliché fashion. Something surreal, dark and sophisticated."
Nodding, Sephiroth noted everything down. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see those boys grinding and teasing each other, all fluid moments of thin, white limbs that glowed in the subdued lighting.
"As the Cirque de la Lune, I suppose the connotations of that have to be taken into account. Something personal, welcoming and inclusive as well. You'll quickly find that we're all like a family here." Lazard smiled. He suddenly had a glass in hand, and sipped from it delicately. Whatever it was looked nearly black in the overhead lights.
Sephiroth bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to sneer his reply. "It certainly must be a pleasant experience for your patrons."
The blonde's eyes narrowed as a blade-sharp smirk spread across his handsome, aristocratic features. He took another sip from his drink before resting that arm on the sofa's side. "It is. Perhaps you should join us tonight. It would be a great way of exploring exactly what I mean about the aura we want to create." He leant closer, firmly placing his hand on the silver haired man's knee. "And you look like you need the fun."
--
Entirely unsure what had fooled him and dragged him back to the appropriately named 'Cirque', Sephiroth sat silently in the sofa he had been in that very morning, directed to it by the same gruff doorman as before. Other visiting men stared at him in intermissions, questioning why he would be constantly scribbling things down in a notepad instead of focusing on the androgynous beauties that sauntered out in small groups from that corridor beside the stage.
The music was loud, though not entirely distasteful as most others were. He could work to its slow, cultured rhythm; low vocals merged together into a hum that followed freely and unnoticed through his mind but provided a welcome cover over goading, perverse cries from fickle men.
"Well, well, well. I almost didn't expect you to come." Sephiroth instantly recognised Lazard's voice. Cool breath danced with the strands of his hair, affirming that the eccentric man was standing behind him. He heard the hum that also told that the man was reading his notes.
Lazard stepped around the sofa to seat himself casually into the space besides Sephiroth. "Such cynicism."
The silver haired man sighed, lowering his notepad and glancing at the blonde. "Strip clubs are—"
"All the same to you? Then why not strive to make this one different?"
Sephiroth hummed, not really contemplating the gesture. He'd do what he could to keep the client happy, ensure that business went well and that he was paid his worth.
"Maybe I hired you knowing you'd bring a new facet to the Cirque."
The nameless song that had been playing faded to an end, and the current trio of dancers – a collection of pretty brunettes – left the stage at the protests of many of the all-too-eager audience. Lazard glanced at the gold watch on his left wrist and smirked.
A new song streamed from the speakers that were hidden somewhere in the shadows of the ceiling, much darker and instrumentally based than the others. The stage was shrouded in a low red light. Just one light, instead of the two, three or four. The audience fell silent. They were entranced, and to a certain extent, so was Sephiroth. Though it was the sudden change in mood, going from the gaudy crudeness attempting to appear as something more that he was used to, to what Lazard had explained that morning as what his club was meant to symbolise.
As the beat began to pick up, pianos weaving a beautiful narrative in harmony with teased string of violins, Sephiroth noticed a slim figure moving through the shadows, approaching the centre stage. And as soon as that entered the light, the audience yelled their approval; green eyes grew wide.
He moved with such delicate precision, in perfect time with the music as if he was one of the played instruments himself, so fluid it was feline and surreal. The light hid the colour of his hair, leaving only scarlet-tinted flesh where black material did not cover it. Long legs were encased in jet boots, high-heeled though he showed no signs of struggling in them.
It wasn't until that man took to the pole that Sephiroth's trace broke. The rest of the routine would just be routine. There were only so many things and moves to be pulled with that one prop. And unlike many others that he had seen that evening, this man only had himself, and the little clothes he had on. But even though his habitual hostility was creeping back into his consciousness, Sephiroth couldn't avert his eyes from the nameless dancer on the stage.
"And that is our centrepiece. Funny how you're so interested in everything the Cirque represents," Lazard commented flatly. "His name is Genesis."
Sephiroth let the man's voice wash over him, not catching anything but that single name. Genesis. The book in which mankind effectively sealed itself in a deadly fate all for the desire to taste a forbidden fruit. The ultimate sin. How utterly fitting. How utterly manufactured.
Dazzling blue eyes flashed in Sephiroth's direction, as if he had called out the dancer's name – though he was absolutely certain that he had remained wholly silent. They scoured him over, judging as all the others did with a pleased smirk. But that expression on the face was so fitting… so right it was wrong.
And he maintained eye contact throughout the rest of his performance, heavy lidded as his jaw hung slack and he grinded himself back against the metal of the pole. The flimsy material of Genesis' chosen garments fluttered in each moment, offering a glimpse of his skin, and the shadows that revealed defined muscles that were truly aesthetic, but at the same time screamed vanity.
Sephiroth found himself consumed with the wonder of why the dancer was fixated on him. He was not dressed as anything special – in fact he had gone to great lengths to appear as mediocre as he could – and there were many others who looked as if they had much larger businesses beneath their belts. So consumed, his ears failed to inform him that the beautiful song was drawing to a close, as Genesis' movements built to a faux emotional crescendo.
The spotlight on the stage switched off suddenly, leaving a frustratingly open ending, an ending that stayed that way. There was no 'encore' like some dancers offered, eager to milk men for all they had.
Lazard pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand upon Sephiroth's shoulder. "Come with me."
The room that he was lead to down that single corridor was small and had two doors. The other was directly opposite where Sephiroth stood, a black leather chair stood in the middle. It was the only thing in the room. Lazard stepped back and closed the door.
Sighing, Sephiroth walked over to the chair and sat down. Fingers drummed the soft arms, eyes focused in the direction of that second door. His blonde client was obviously trying to change his opinion on the subject of strip clubs, providing him with a little surprise. Whatever came through that door could make him condone places like these. But, he also knew the necessity of them, so although that bitter longing was not tainting his mouth and mind, he waited and would accept the blonde's gift.
Slowly, the lights dimmed to a familiar dark red; mentally Sephiroth noted that it may be favourable for each room to have a different theme or style, for variety, as well as Lazard's favourite multi-faceted concept. Thoughts of design abandoned him when the door slid open to the side and that last dancer sauntered in. There was no over exaggeration, if any exaggeration at all; he walked as if the gait was entirely natural. His clothes had changed, showing a little less skin now due to a long satin gown that went down to his knees. The black boots remained.
"Mr. Deusericus tells me that you're not too fond of clubs…" Genesis paced the room, each step an iambic click of heels on laminate. "And yet, I saw myself that you couldn't take your eyes off of me."
Sephiroth closed his eyes and shut out that amused tone, surprised a little at the depth of the voice of a man so androgynous. He could feel those crystal eyes upon him, smirking and scheming.
"He thinks, with some experience of myself, you could become quite the fan of our little establishment."
Sephiroth felt two hands lay on his knees and he opened his eyes once more to meet with Genesis' on his level. He couldn't help but know that his expression was tangibly cynical.
"My name is Genesis Rhapsodos, and before you comment that is my birth name - and I find you quite attractive, Mr. Interior Designer Man."
"Sephiroth," he said. Genesis smiled widely, white teeth gleaming. In the close proximity, his hair was clearly red, though a complex mix of many shades and colours that must have looked beautiful in sunlight.
A slender hand pulled at the tie of the robe that covered him, and it slid to the floor with a whisper. "First name terms already? I knew you'd warm up to me."
Music fired up in the main room again and the heavy bassline continued through the wall to them. Genesis' hips moved seamlessly to the rhythm; his whole body a wave of rippling muscles that Sephiroth denied that he yearned to feel. Flesh was smooth, pale and hairless, as flawless as the leather that covered his legs; legs that were slowly rising to straddle him.
A flare shot up in Sephiroth's mind, and his body went stiff in a way Genesis certainly didn't want. Gut instinct was telling him to run, like a sparrow flees the moment it hears the slightest hint of a call of a hawk. There was almost no thought process in it at all, and before either of them could protest, cry or demand an explanation – or apology – Sephiroth was out of the door and gone.