author's notes: just more of the same... getting to the good parts, as i would hope for them to be found. (the music for his strip number is his theme, more or less.)

The next morning he felt he'd ruined his chance, barely making it off the bed before vomiting foul, acidic liquid onto the fine carpet in Daddy D's master bedroom. He wiped hair out of his eye, trying to wake the older man as gently as possible, nudging his shoulder with a groan as his lower body ached.

Before he could wake him, he stumbled into the restroom, cradling the toilet as he vomited twice more. He couldn't stand the mornings after, but felt at least a little pride in the fact that there wasn't a tell-tale white liquid burning in the porcelain bowl this time. The ache at his lower back and the stickiness at his thighs told him, however, that his pride was undeserving. When he got back to his apartment, he'd certainly be nursing his lidocaine as well as his crackers and ginger ale, he knew, feeling warm hands pull and pin the hair out of his face as he vomited again.

"Don't worry, this certainly isn't the worst I've seen." The warmth was present in his voice, as well, and he couldn't bring himself to look into those burning eyes, retching over the no-doubt expensive toilet bowl. "Do you need to stay here for the day? I'm free."

"I'd hate to be a bother." He wiped the back of his hand across his lip, washing his hands and face as he avoided looking to the mirror at all costs. He knew he looked like hell; he always did, without his cosmetics and with the knowledge of another shameless fuck the night before.

"Nonsense. We could get to know each other, maybe Allus could come over and get those measurements done." He rested a warm hand on the feverish face, running fingers through tangled platinum hair.

"Five and a half inches." He winked, dragging a tongue across the finger by his lips, leaving a trail of saliva.

"That doesn't sound like much to brag about, to me."

"There's another thirty inches in the legs." As if to illustrate his point, he ground his knee against the space between Demise's legs, feeling the rising bulge to his rough ministrations. He smiled, kissing the rounded ear before whispering, "And I know that's something to brag about."

"It's hardly eleven in the morning, you know. Isn't it a little bit early to be getting so riled up?" He felt lithe, strong arms curling around his neck and shoulders, not really caring for the answer. "I need to wash the sheets."

"Heh, I'll just have to make sure to clean up, won't I?" Ghirahim slid his arms down, trailing along a well-muscled back and settling at his slacks, kneeling as he bowed his head. "There won't be a mess, I promise."

"No, I simply can't," Demise lifted Ghirahim's head to make eye contact with him, "I'd hate to tire you out. Besides… I was hoping that you could show me what you could really do, without that pretty little mouth of yours."

"Oh?" He smiled, hardly considering his mouth to be pretty, especially given the lack of cosmetic backup. "Was last night not enough for you?"

"I meant on the poles." He dialed a number on his phone, paging for a maid to come in and clean up the mess the two of them had made, turning it back to stand-by.

"I'm hardly at dancing potential like this." He motioned to his tangled hair and smudged and absent makeup.

"Would my prince like a chariot ride home?" Daddy D smiled, "I'll pay cab fare. Just call me when you're ready to go to the club, I'll come pick you up." He pulled a card out of the drawer of his nightstand, slipping it- and a fifty rupee bill- into the back pocket of his jeans as he leaned down to kiss him.

The cab fare certainly hadn't been fifty rupees, and he pocketed the nearly thirty rupee change before limping his way up the stairs to his second floor apartment As skilled as he was at hiding the results of sex, he couldn't help but smirk at how lasting Daddy D's had been. It was something he wouldn't mind growing used to.

Ghirahim opened the door, pulling his shirt off as he closed it behind him with his foot. He walked through his room, quickly pulling out a fresh pair of underwear- wondering if he'd ever find his other pair, or if he should consider it a loss- and a towel, sauntering to the bathroom. He finished stripping, throwing his clothes in the hamper, bedore turning the shower faucet as hot as it could go. He had to make sure he was clean and at his best if he was going to give the older man a show, of course- running shampoo through his hair and scrubbing himself with a special-ordered rose otto oil body wash.

After drying himself and reapplying his makeup, he made his way to the walk-in closet, carefully choosing something to please Daddy D- tight black jeans, ripped at the knees and nearly every three inches above and below, tanned skin showing through in gaps, a black wifebeater with silvery diamond and triangular patterns, and a white button down with the first several buttons undone. He looked in the full-body mirror on the back of the door, admiring himself before putting on his black pair of shoes and dialing the number on the business card.

"Are you sure you can move in denim?" Demise laughed, taking in the smaller form in his office.

"It's gonna be coming off anyway, isn't it?" Ghirahim smiled, covering his mouth with the tips of his fingers.

"Fair enough. Let's go to the practice room, why don't we?" He unlocked the door behind his desk, motioning for Ghirahim to follow. It was empty enough, with a few chairs and lights set up around a single stage with a pole, and an older, worn tapedeck to the back.

"I hope this isn't what all the VIP rooms look like." He scoffed, looking at the scarce furnishings.

"No, this is quite exclusive- for, should I call it, private lessons." Demise sat beside the tapedeck, motioning for Ghirahim to take to the stage. "Shall we go on?"

"Whenever you're ready, Daddy." He stepped up to the pole, grasping it with his one hand as he winked to Daddy D, moving to straddle it as the music started playing- something nearly ominous, with piano and a bit of a twinkle playing up as it started to go just a bit faster. It reminded him of diamonds and magic, and he closed his eyes as he began to move, rocking his hips and lifting a leg up and down the pole, switching and repeating, moving his arms up to grab at the pole above him.

The music grew faster and added castanets; he took this as his cue to unbutton his shirt further, slowly pulling one sleeve off, and then the other, looking back to his "audience" as he deposited the shirt at his feet, pulling the second shirt off a little faster, still grinding himself against the pole, holding it to him with experienced legs. He couldn't help but tease Demise a little, pushing a hand into his pants as he licked the pole, fingers obviously working at himself under the tight fabric, unbuttoning it from inside and sliding the zipper down with a slim finger.

"My, my." He brought his hands into something of a clap as he managed to unclothe the pants, slipping out of his shoes as he brought his legs up and slid the denim off slowly. Clad in only a thong (red with golden accents- a personal favourite of his), then, he climbed the pole, holding his upper body up as he kicked upward with his legs, bringing his knee to his nose as the other was held straight. As the music died down, he took it as his time to end the "performance," wrapping his knees around the pole and dragging himself down.

"I hope I didn't disappoint."