Chapter One
In which Dirk takes in an apprentice.
Rating: M
Stripperstuck AU.
Dirk Strider stood in the mirror and straightened his tie.
No, he doesn't work at some piece-of-shit McDonald's or Wal-Mart.
No, sir. He, sir, is an entertainer. A real professional.
He worked at that club the Ampora brothers own downtown. It's a nice place. Dirk's the headliner. The best. The one all the bitches want. Because he is are Dirk Strider, but he couldn't give a fuck about the bitches. He wanted the money. And that's what he got.
Dirk walked outside, his black leather jacket contrasting greatly with his unusually pale chest, a thin orange tie the only thing on it. His orange pants were rather tight—perhaps too tight. But that's what they liked. The constricting pants. He looked at his phone with a sigh. It's 8:00 PM. Dave should be at his friends' house still. Ampora was still getting on Dirk every day about hiring him. Like he'd be a stripper. Sure. Ironic? Yes. Cool? Yes. Well, on second thought, maybe he would be a stripper.
Running a hand through his hair, Dirk walks into the dimly lit street to get into his car when suddenly— "Dude."
He turns to see his younger brother, Dave, standing behind him. Dirk waved casually. "Sup, bro?"
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Haven't you ever seen a man going to work, Dave?" Dirk asked, getting in the car.
Dave shook his head. "Not like that. What do you even—"
"I'm an entertainer, Dave. The world's best."
"Wait. YOU'RE A HOOKER?!"
"No, shitface. An entertainer, you know, like Magic Mike." Dirk put on his best Strider-smirk as hie peered over his sunglasses—which he wore at night.
"How did I not expect this…?" Dave laughed a bit.
"Dunno. Wanna come?" Dirk asked seriously.
"What?! What would I do..?" Red eyes widened behind a pair of aviators.
"Well, Ampora's been getting on me about hiring you. You know, I'm the headliner, it may run in the family.."
"Wait. AMPORA. Like ERIDAN?! HE WANTS ME TO BE A HOOKER?"
"Entertainer," Dirk corrected. "And no. The Ampora brothers own one of the most famous stripclubs, dumbshit. What do you know about clubs..? Anyway, Cronus and Eridan are surprisingly good business men. They want the money. Eridan wants Feferi."
Dave relaxed slightly. "Fine. I'll go. I need the mon—"
"You're curious. Admit it. You wanna know what this famous dancer does, and you want in. I'm like, Coyote Ugly famous." Dirk's smile was certainly coyote-like, but NOT ugly.
"Shut up. I'm not gonna be a hooker."
"Entertainer," Dirk hummed as Dave got into the car.
He pulled out of the parking lot, blasting the music which was probably the gayest song Dave had ever heard.
"You're the devil, you're a filthy piece of trash, gonna brush you off my shoulder, gonna let you kiss my ass, you're a diablo…"
"Simon Curtis," Dirk said, blasting the volume even more. "What a lyricist."
"I know. Fucking ar—" Dave was cut off by his own gasp of awe at the city's lights at night. It was beautiful. If this was what you see every night…
"Nice, right?" Dirk kept driving.
The song changed maybe three or four times before they reached the club. Dirk glanced at Dave. He wondered what he'd think of it all. He quickly parked the car and got out.
"WWHAT THE FUCK, STRIDER?" A painstakingly familiar, accented, whiny voice howled. "YOU'RE ON IN TWWO!" Eridan burst out of the front doors of the classy looking club. If a strip club could be fancy, damn. This was it. It was white and glossy—the city's skyline reflected off of it. There was a huge line of people waiting to get in.
"Sorry, Ampora, but I brought Turntech," Dirk said with a smirk, showing off Dave.
"That's wwonderful," Eridan said, radiating sass. Radiating sass. Not just showing it, but radiating. "Noww, Strider. Get your sorry fuckin' ass onstage before I kick it there."
Dirk narrowed his eyes and stuck out his tongue semi-suggestively. "Bite me," he said, his voice dropping to a rather…sexual tone. "I'm going on," he said.
"Oh god—is that my stri—ahem—ENTERTAINER NAME?" Dave was screaming on the inside. Come on. Seriously.
Dirk nodded. "I planned. And your outfit's backstage. Come on. You're watching this." He grabbed Dave's hand and brought him in, and then backstage. "You go to the front rows—they know who you are. I'll be on in a few."
Dave did as he was told, and waited. The lights dimmed. People were murmuring.
"There's only two types of people in the world."
Oh no.
The lights flashed on, an orange hue taking over. Lights of all sorts were on Dirk—So was a ringmaster outfit. Oh dear god. His thighs. His fucking thighs.
Next to Dave stood a familiar man. He was tall. Perhaps Dirk's height, maybe shorter. He had black glasses. "Oh yes," he whispered, his voice heavily accented. He straightened the tie of his suit.
His name was Jake English, and god, did he love watching. Dirk could move so well.
His eyes were glued to the blonde—he dropped to the floor, his perfect shape moving with such perfection—oh jesus fuck this was too good.
Dirk was grabbing onto the pole now, bringing himself up, wrapping a leg around it. Jake whistled.
He smirked to himself—knowing that he would have some of him that night. Yes. But save your excitement for later, English, because you are at the Circus.