"I really don't think this is a good idea," Ben hears himself say for what feels like the tenth time now. Yet here he is, all the same, sitting amongst a shadowed crowd of onlookers as a woman on stages systematically rids herself of her clothing. It should be sexy, maybe it is and he's just so fundamentally broken inside that he just can't see it. Still, there he sits in utter disbelief that he let his friends convince him that this was a good idea.
She at least seems to be enjoying herself, her hips gyrating to the music as the fabric of her dress moves with her. It's like black glittering saran wrap clinging to her form. The plunging neckline leaves little to the imagination as she skips and hops and swirls her hips. Armitage is to his left whistling loudly as she turns again and her gossamer gown of shimmering midnight falls to the floor. Cassian at his back whoops loudly and the woman, Ben feels he should at least have the decency to remember her name, turns her back to the crowd. Her rounded arse like firm peaches accented by a sparkling belt and fine-lined undergarments that disappear in a line between two firm cheeks. She wiggles her hips back and forth, peering over her shoulder like a sweet young schoolgirl wonton yet innocent and the crowd goes crazy. It's all a gimmick really, each act has a schtick. This woman, Ben thinks her stage name might be Mary-something has an oversized rocking horse on stage with her. She hasn't touched it yet but Ben's sure it's only a matter of time before she mounts it and shows off her true talents.
But no, this isn't a strip club. Armitage assured Ben he would never do something so untoward or underhanded like trick Ben into going to a strip club, not after what happened last time. This was nothing so scandalous as that. "Think of it like karaoke but for dance," Hux says boisterously as the woman on stage, Mary, hops up on the horse and begins to gyrate her hips. She's on her knees as she bounces, her wonderfully pale skin like porcelain under the intense lighting. She's shimmying her shoulders as she rocks the large toy. When her body shifts Ben can see the way the muscles in her thighs move and strain. She's got the horse straddled between her legs as she leans back across its rump. Draped there like some southern beauty Mary raises a long lean leg up to stroke the pole that skewers the horse like a carousel ride.
Mary Carole Selle, that's it!
Ben is so transfixed on the gold gilding decorating the oversized toy he doesn't realize he's missed something until the crowd around him whoops and cheers. Somehow in the last few seconds she's found a way to rid herself of the foolish belt that rounded her middle leaving her belly bare. The glittering fabric lies on the floor at her horse's hooves as she slides off the wooden creature hiding from the audience.
She's bent in a crouch, made evident by the rounded arse just barely visible through the horse's legs. The tiny string of fabric really leaves nothing to the imagination but she's on her feet in no time, back bare and smooth, devoid of the thin scraps of black that had once been her bra. Sneaky. Ben thinks as she leans upside down over the horses back, her breasts raised to the sky, purple and silver glitter covering her nipples. Not glitter, tassels?
When she shakes her shoulders, wiggling against the horses back her round breasts move with her, the tassels swinging around ludicrously in small tight circles. Someone behind them whistles as Cassian mutters something that sounds like 'una obra de dios' whatever that means. Her work has not gone unappreciated it seems but it does nothing more than cement Ben's previous conviction.
"I really don't think I should be here," he mutters to himself yet somehow he can't take his eyes away. Hail Mary, full of grace, he thinks absently as she pushes herself up over the back of the horse. It looks like she's going to drown in her own breast tissue as her back arches and she slides over. The next thing he knows she's flipped over the wooden creature and has landed in a bouncing split and does nothing more than accentuate the roundness of her arse.
Did he mention she had a lovely round arse?
It looks like it should hurt as she leans back and shimmies her shoulders again. The motion must be trademark burlesque because all it does is make her chest vibrate and the odd nipple coverings twirl like spokes on a bicycle. Is that standard-issue attire? He wonders. This is the third act in a row and in each, the women have had the same moves, the same approach and their own unique gimmick. One was dressed like a rabbit, one had red hair and went by the name Blaze, or something equally firey. The first he can't really recall but there were Hoola hoops involved. That had been mildly entertaining but they all end up in the exact same place. Thongs, high heels and nipple pasties. At this point you see one, you've seen them all.
Armie laughs as Mary climbs up atop her horse once more. He's slapping Ben on the shoulder as the dancer sits on her knees. The heels of her shoes seem to poke into her backside as she bounces and pumps her hips. It's a little awkward to watch, a grown woman flouncing around on an oversized toy like some over-sexualized child. The other guests seem to eat it up but it just makes Ben feel a little dirty.
When Mary winks at the crowd Ben can practically feel her eyes boring into his. What must it look like up there, from under the spotlight? Are they nothing more than a see of black or can she make out their faces? Of course Armitage and Cassian had encouraged they find seats in the front row but for what? A chance to see up close the number of rhinestones Mitzy Von KitKat has on her bustier?
"You worry too much Solo, relax!" his ginger-haired friend cries. His voice carries over the distorted jazz ensemble Mary Carole Selle has chosen to dance too.
Ben bristles, of course, he worries, he has to worry. Sometimes he thinks he's the only one who does worry. "What if a parent sees me here?" he bemoans, his nose scrunching up at the idea.
"Then you'd be that cool teacher what kids can relate to or some shit. Hormones and desires and all that." Armitage really is an idiot.
"I teach elementary school." Ben deadpans and it may in fact be the tenth time he's had to explain this since getting the job. He's a new teacher on a temporary contract. There's no room for screw-ups or scandals here. He was lucky enough to get the position, picking up a maternity leave for a teacher who he had heard was not planning on coming back. It's a fairly easy gig as far as teaching positions go. Grade ones are a pretty straightforward age group. His knowledge of superheroes and his ability to speak Minecraft has been a boon. They're a pretty great group too, Ben isn't quite sure if its these kids in particular or the age itself but he finds himself enjoying their unapologetic curiosity. They view life so differently and ask the most bizarre and interesting questions. "At this point they're afraid of cooties and think everything is gross." They also see far more than adults give them credit for and always, always call you out when things were unfair.
Armitage's response is of course a light scoff, "Well cooties are abysmally contagious but teachers need to have a life too. Noone's going to begrudge you an evening of fun."
Gwen, their tall amazonian friend sitting to Ben's right looses a snicker commenting under her breath, "It's a wonder you found someone to marry you then," as Armitage flounders and Cassian sputters into his rum and coke.
"They might if they knew it was in a strip club," Ben grumbles before offering Gwen a crisp high five. Armitage plays the part of affronted innocence as Gwen scrunches her face and shakes her head in his direction
Unfortunately, it seems she too is on Armie's side, "Ben you need to cut yourself some slack, so there's a little topless fun, so you spend your day with a large group of six-year-olds. Does not that a pervert make." Her tone is one of icy resolve, not mocking just factual and slightly haughty as she takes another long drink of her red wine. "Besides," she offers quickly, crossing and uncrossing her legs to better adjust her position, the long wide legs of her pantsuit accentuating the pointy nature of her utterly unnecessary heels, "If you hadn't come Armie would have whined and moped all night and then I would have had to deal with it and we both know how well that would have gone."
Truthfully maybe Ben was probably being a bit of a grinch, it was Armitage's Batchelor party after all and it wasn't as though his friends invited him out much anymore. What were the chances he'd actually run into a parent here of all places? Besides, couldn't he ask what they were doing in an establishment like this? He really needed to have a drink, relax a little and let off some steam.
When was the last time he ever allowed himself to do that?
Oh right… best not dwell on things one cannot change.
One drink wouldn't hurt though.
Maybe.
Restless and resolute Ben finds his feet, "I'm going to get a drink, anyone want anything while I'm up?" Their company is made of up Armitage, Gwen, Cassian and himself along with two others. A man Armitage works with by the name of Wendell Pryde and Armitage's younger cousin Domhnall who was Armie's spitting image with half the charm. With a casual wave from his friends Ben sets off in search of refreshment as the lady on stage bends herself in a sort of half-bridge and shakes her tassels casting them in another wide circle. Armitage and Wendell are utterly enthralled but Ben could take it or leave it.
It's not that the woman in question isn't attractive, there's plenty about her that Ben would thoroughly enjoy. Long leans legs and a strong arse that begs to be held. It jiggles a little as she bounces and she's clearly very flexible, that often comes in handy. It just seems like it's all a gratuitous waste. There's nothing left to wonder about when things are set on a gilded platter. There's no mystery to it and the movements are awkward and stinted as these women divest themselves of their clothing. There's no real art to it, it's just wiggling and walking when it all comes down to it. In his youth, sure this sort of thing would have been right up Ben's alley but he's over easily undressed women who spread their legs and scream like pornstars. Not that what these women are doing is easy or that they're easy. It's just at this point in Ben's life he wants a little bit more than something manufactured and rehearsed. Give him real, give him raw and give him a challenge and that'll get his blood boiling. For now, it's just like too much icing on a cake. It takes away from the true flavor.
As he makes his way through the throng of viewers Ben finds himself settled next to a pair of onlookers watching with grotesque hunger lingering on their ruddy faces. "Is she on tonight?" One make asks the other. Ben tries to ignore the conversation in favor of getting the bartender's attention. The bartender in question is at the other end of a long black countertop pouring a series of shots for a young group of twentysomethings. He's diligent as he nods to Ben before finishing off his tray with a swirl and a wink sending the group of women away giggling and twittering amongst themselves.
"Fuck, I hope so," the other replies, their backs are to Ben but they're pressed against the bar watching the stage with calculated interest. The nearly naked buxom woman with her rocking horse is gone with a wave as the announcer takes the stage. He's an odd-looking fellow with curly brown hair who's dressed like the ring leader of a very fancy circus sans pants. Instead of wearing pants he's standing in a pair of white boxer shorts with very large red hearts on them. His witty commentary is dry at best and has not gotten any better between acts but the crowd seems to enjoy him.
Leaning on the counter while he waits Ben catches an oversized martini glass being rolled onto the stage by a pair of shadowed workers. Even in the background Ben can tell the helping hands are women clad in nothing more than tight red corsets and delicate black underthings. They're in heels too if the quiet clack against the wood is any indication. Their movements however are quick and easy as they scuttle about under the dark glare cast from the spotlight.
"She usually performs a little later doesn't she?" One man asks his counterpart. Ben is trying desperately to ignore them at this point but it's becoming more and more difficult. Their voices are loud and addled with drink.
"Klaud!" One of the pair calls as the bartender makes his way over to take Ben's order, "Lady Skywalker on tonight?" the belligerent drunk asks, social nuances clearly out the window the more alcohol this loudmouth shoves down his throat. These men as so obnoxiously contentious Ben almost misses the name.
Skywalker, interesting. It's not exactly a common sir name. His Uncle is the only one he knows. Then again surly 'Lady Skywalker' wouldn't be using her real name on stage, It would be a stage handle like Mitzy Von KitKat or Mary Carole Selle.
The bartender, Klaud, is a tall portly man with a kind round face, bright eyes and a mischievous smile, "Yeah, another act or two Mal," He tells the drunkard and his friend as he moves beyond the pair to land in front of Ben. Up close Claude doesn't fit the bartender of a strip club vibe. If there is, in fact, such a thing. He's wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his surprising well-defined forearms. It's open at the neck showing a black t-shirt beneath, his shoulders capped by black suspenders. His eyes are thickly lined with eyeliner and his cheeks appear to be lightly rouged as well. His hair, a soft choppy cut sits beneath a black bowler hat and looks almost red beneath the harsh lighting. As he leans in, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder Ben can see it's actually a soft sandy brown, just discolored by the stage lighting that frames the bar's liquor stores. "What can I get you," he calls over the din as the crowd erupts into applause. The two at Ben's side whoop loudly, hollering their approval as a beautiful young woman in a silver slip of a dress sashays out onto the stage.
"Scotch, neat," Ben says as the brass band starts up again. He can see the woman on the stage out of the corner of his eye, her dress glittering against the black backdrop. She's tall and reedy with an obvious love for diamonds.
Klaud offers him a strange look of approval, brow raised, bottom lip protruding slightly as he nods, "Walker?" he offers but Ben makes a face, his nose scrunched as he shakes his head. Klaud only smiles, "We have Oban and Chivas," he offers with a knowing glint in his eye leaving Ben to wonder if this Klaud might not be a lover of fine whiskey himself.
"Oh, Chivas?" If this is a strip club, Ben's impressed. "I'll take the Regal, please."
One of the drunks makes a scoffing noise as his friend stares at Ben, "Fancy boy," he mutters as Klaud turns, whipping him in the back of the hand with his hand towel.
"Oh, so sorry Mal," Klaud cries, his voice lilting with an accent Ben can't quite place. Turning to Ben with a pleasant smile, he asks, "Two fingers?"
Ben holds three fingers up in response. Giving him a dutiful nod, Klaud turns to reach for a bottle of amber liquid from one of the top shelves. They're heavy wood by the looks of them and mounted on a wall of glass. Grabbing a tumbler from beneath the bar Klaud pours the smooth liquid into the glass. It spills out of the bottle in a waterfall of aromatic gold. Just the look of it warms Ben's insides.
Scotch had been a drink his father had introduced him to when Ben was just fifteen. His father was a great many things when he was alive but he had exquisite taste when it came to what some might call the finer things in life. Han had always called it a gentleman's drink and for some reason that had always stuck with Ben. Digging into his pocket Ben draws out a handful of bills, sliding them across the counter as Klaud pushes the drink in Ben's direction. He doesn't say anything merely gives the bartender a curt nod of thanks, the 'keep the change' implied.
Before moving back to his friends Ben takes the glass to his nose and lets the earthy scent waft over him. The scotch is smooth and sharp at the same time as Ben takes a quick sip allowing the liquid to swirl around in his mouth. It warms his senses, rich hints of honeyed apple and something just a little sweeter but tart. Things he would have never picked up on had his father not taught him how to appreciate something so deliciously simple.
One drink, what would it hurt? He'd stick with something he needed to sip and enjoy and avoid the harsher liqueurs and spirits in favor of staying sober. If it wasn't for his long-standing friendships with Armitage, Ben really wouldn't have even bothered with tonight. He would have stayed at home and worked on lesson plans for the week. A proactive and practical approach to starting a new job.
Ben, Armie, and Gwen all went to school together. Armitage and Ben went on to go to the same university for their undergrad. While Ben had decided to get his bachelor's in Education after some… interesting adolescent years. Armitage alternatively decided to pursue a career in law. Turns out he's more like his old man than he ever would have thought. Gwen on the other hand had gone off to do some modeling before finding herself in a more managerial role within the agency. She was a ball buster and a head hunter who made sure that the girls were being treated fairly. While Wendell too was a lawyer he was more of a late addition to the group, more Armie's work chum then anything else. Cassian on the other hand was a bit of an odd story. He had started out as Ben and Armie's dealer back when they were all teens. Getting busted with the threat of jail time over his head had set Cassian straight pretty fast. His street smarts and quick wit served him well though. Cassian had managed to start his own business from the ground up. He started working with pharmaceutical companies working with THC and CBD oils in order to create products for people with chronic illnesses. Now that marijuana is legal his business has exploded and as Cass tells it, he's getting ready to blow the market wide open.
Oh right, and Domhnall, he's really more of a pity invite. He's known the trio since they were kids but was almost more of a wounded puppy than a friend. They took pity on him and Gwen often leads him along a bit, all in good fun of course but Armitage couldn't not invite him, it would have been rude.
Settling in between Armitage and Gwen Ben finds himself reminded of all the stupid things the three used to get up to. Gwen Phasma never got along with the other girls in their school and as she grew older she found she cared less and less. Armitage had been a pasty scrap of a lad who was always scheming. He managed to start a high school fight club and was in charge of their school's black market trades. He could get anyone, anything if given the right amount of time and encouragement. Ben had been an angry kid, hostile and full of pent up rage. While Armie was charismatic and easy to talk to Ben had been sullen and withdrawn. He was the brawn to Armitage's brain and with Gwen settled firmly between them the three formed their own unique version of an unholy trio. With them now, Ben feels more like himself then he has in years and yet so incredibly at odds with himself. He tries his best to relax but it's growing difficult not to imagine the faceless patrons as parents whom he might come across on Monday while dropping their kid off at school. Or stumbling into his classroom on parent-teacher with that look of, 'didn't I see you ogling young women as they took their clothes off'
The lady on stage has rid herself of her jewels and finery leaving only a pair of shiny underwear, a glittery corset, bra and a pair of ludicrously high silver heels. She kicks her feet as she walks undulating her hips. There's a bounce in her step as she drops into a squat slowly bucking her hips before she stands with a pop. She does it twice, popping her backside once to the left and then once more to the right before leaning towards the audience with a slight shake of her chest. The motion is lewd and supposed to be appetizing, drawing the eye to her chest to distract from her hands furiously pulling at the laces of her corset. It all just seems awkward and jarring.
"Imagine Phasma up there," Domhnall says rather loudly causing everyone at the table except the one in question to turn and look at him. Ben and Armie gape between Dom and Gwen waiting for a reaction while Cassian makes a groaning noise muttering something in Spanish. Gwen on the other hand? All she does is smile.
Her features are catlike as she grins, mouth quirked to the side in a dangerously suggestive manner, "I don't flounce around like a tart," Gwen says smoothly, her accent still so thick despite having moved to New York when she was seven. "You wouldn't be able to handle me anyway Domhnall," She grinds out before catching him in her gaze like a fly caught in a spider web. Dom sputters into his drink as the rest of them watch, chucking. All except Gwe who simply folds her arms across her chest and turns her attention back to the woman on stage. Her eyes following along the bejeweled number as it sparkles beneath the stage lighting.
Gwen has always been a don't ask, don't tell kind of person. They've all seen her with both men and women. She doesn't discriminate sexually, never has. The one thing all Gwen's partners have in common though is Gwen has always been the alpha. It started out as simply not fitting in but then evolved into something more like lioness-like dominance. She simply doesn't play well with others. For one reason or another though that never really bothered her dynamic with Ben and Armitage. Likely because they let her dominate, content to sit back and lazily reap the benefits of Gwen's determined personality. Still, they loved her and they've had her back through anything.
"Scotch?" Cassian calls over Ben's shoulder, nodding to the drink in his hand.
Armitage laughs, "Ben you pretentious prick, of course, you'd order scotch," he isn't looking at Ben as he comments, taking a swig of his own bottled beer. He has his finger looped around its neck casually as he takes the rest into his mouth and exhales after a pointed swallow. Beer is a cheaper and easier drunk if that's your game. Ben has no intention of getting drunk so scotch was an obvious and more pleasant choice. Honestly Ben hasn't had a beer since he was in his early twenties when getting drunk was his only concern. It isn't that he hasn't found himself on the wrong side of inebriated from time to time, but he's older now and his tastes have matured. Or so he tells himself.
Curiously Armitage casts his gaze in Ben's direction. He knows Ben's drinking habits now as well as he does his own so it's with a knowing grin he asks, "Top shelf?" his brow quirked in inquiry.
"Chivas Royal," Ben tells him with a grin, Armie has never been a man to pass up on the good stuff.
That gets Armitage moving, "Shit, ok," he says as he gets to his feet straightening out his blazer, "Wen, come on, refills," he says with a nod towards his fellow lawyer. The dark-haired man gentleman takes to his feet as though Armie's cracked a whip, "We're doing shots," he announces to the group, "Tequila?" Armitage points a finger in a sweeping motion at the group as though he's giving them options. They all know he's not.
A small thread of worry works itself along Ben's spine as he takes another mouthful of his drink. It's smooth and slides down his throat like a woman over silk sheets, "Oi, asshole," he calls, causing Armie as well as a few others within the vicinity to turn in his direction, "Get me another?" Ben asks as he holds his tumbler aloft. If he's going to do this he might as well do it properly. Armitage holds up three fingers in response and Ben nods his approval before turning his attention back to the woman on stage.
Things have progressed it seems since last he looked, she's in nothing more than a swatch of cloth coving her nether regions, her arse bouncing and bare with those damned nipple tassels spinning as she shakes and shimmies her shoulders in their direction. It's hard to tell who she's looking at if she's looking at them at all but Gwen is smiling her face dark and predatory as though waiting for a rather expensive and rare piece of meat to be placed in front of her.
On stage one of the hands comes from the shadows offering a bottle of champagne to the performer. Accepting it with a coy smile, she holds the bottle in the air waiting for a response from the audience. A few people cheer, while Gwen just grins her Cheshire cat grin. They all seem to know what's coming next. Sparkling and shimmering beneath the stage lighting the dancer begins to shake up the bottle, making a real show if it as she does. She dips her hips and wiggles her torso until she's thoroughly content with the progress she's made. Then and only then does she place the bottle between her knees and begin to thrust a few times with a dramatic and provocative flare. She's clearly making a show of popping the cork which eventually does spring forth spilling bubbly liquid all over the stage when it does.
The sparkling angle mocks shock, placing a hand over her mouth her lips parted in an 'o'. She shimmies her shoulders, her tassels dancing and the next thing Ben knows she's pouring the contents of the bottle down over her chest. The liquid gurgles in a messy stream spilling down over her breasts and across her navel. With deft fingers she swipes at the champagne as it rolls off the rather ample swell of her chest before bringing it to her mouth to lick clean.
Does this really do it for people? Ben wonders as he watches those around him. Cassian looks entertained but only in the same way one might be watching a live sporting event. Gwen on the other hand looks utterly enraptured. Her eyes are wide, bright blue saucers filled with deliciously explicit thoughts. Ben can almost hear her running commentary as the woman on stage turns. She has her bareback and rounded arse to the audience bent just slightly at the middle before pouring the champagne down her back and over her more than adequate backside. At that moment Ben's not sure if the noise he hears is coming from someone in the crowd or Gwen. It's a low sort of growl that often marks a predatory hunger in animals. Humans? Well, it usually means they're horny as fuck.
As the performer continues to spill the contents of what looks like a damn fine bottle of champagne all over herself, her little sex minions make quick work filling up the large martini glass behind her. Oh, so that's where this is going.
Wendell and Armitage return as the glass fills, a platter in hand filled with shot glasses, a knife, a lime, and a salt shaker as well as two glasses of delicious amber scotch. In Armie's hand however, is a black bottle of Casa Noble. Of course, Armie got bottle service. Ben knows at this point he's about to kiss his sobriety goodbye. Absolutely no good can come from that simple black bottle. No good at all.
"This is happening, "Armitage tells the group as he settles in pouring the contents of the bottle into each of the shot glasses methodically. "You aren't getting out of this either Solo," he says as he pushes both the scotch and a shot glass filled with off potent off-colorer liquid in Ben's direction, "All in on this."
"Rose is going to kill you," Gwen says delightedly, "And I'm going to love every moment of it." She takes a quick mouth full of red wine before snatching up the offered shot glass, holding the small glass vile up as though to inspect its contents, "We haven't done shots like this since…" she muses.
"Since Armitage decided streaking in the quad was a solid idea," Ben says with a laugh. Immediately he regrets saying it.
Armie glares at Ben as he starts cutting up the lime into wedges, "And Solo lost his lunch all over the Dean's car." Ben groans, he's purposely pushed that memory out of his mind and for good reason. He'd almost been caught and would have been kicked out of his program had that been the case. No, this was definitely a very bad idea.
Once shot glasses have been delivered Armitage begins handing out the lime wedges and salt shaker, "Lick and salt my friends, quickly now."
Cassian, eyeing the bottle gives a half-hearted pout, "You know that this tequila is much better savored then shot, right?" he says as he licks his hand between his thumb and index fingers the proceeds to sprinkle salt over his dampened flesh.
Armitage scoffs in derision of Cassian's knowledge of tequila. He's too busy making sure everyone is complying with his wishes. When Gwen hands the salt shaker to Ben he can feel the eyes of his friends as they watch in wait. Armitage has his brow cocked in challenge as though he knows Ben's about back out. This unhealthy dynamic is another reason Ben doesn't go out anymore. He may be a man in his thirties but goddamnit he still succumbs to peer pressure like some foolish youth.
Damnit this is not going to go well.
Licking his hand he sprinkles the salt as everyone else does and then hands the shaker back to Armie as he grabs for his lime. The woman on stage has elevated herself into the martini glass now and is splashing the liquid all over the stage. Her legs extend straight and pointed in smooth arcs as she slides and spins, sloshing the alcohol everywhere. Ben mindlessly hopes it's actually water, sitting in alcohol can't be good for one's gentler regions.
She spreads her legs wide for the world to see, a giant plus strawberry obscuring the audience's view of her more intimate areas. Gwen is most definitely the one growling. It sounds like she's ready to pounce on the woman and start tearing chunks of flesh of the poor woman's body. "Alright friends," Armitage cries, hoisting his shot glass into the air. He sloshes the liquid a little, the contents dripping down over his hand carelessly.
"To new beginnings or some shit," Wendell says, as eloquent as ever and in unison, the group licks the hands, takes their shots and then slams their lime wedges into their mouths. The tequila burns as it goes down and Ben can't help but love the way the warmth explodes in his belly. A gentle reminder of younger years when he was far more careless and much less put together.
That may in fact be putting it mildly. Ben was a reckless youth filed by anger and bad ideas. When paired with Armitage and Gwen, it was lucky none of them had ended up in jail. That's not to say there weren't many a close call. Ben in particular had gone down for a few things that thankfully got stricken from public record. At the end of the day, no one wanted to go up against Armitage's father and Ben's parents had the money to make things disappear. They also had the power to make his life a living hell which incidentally also happened.
"Shit," Ben mutters but he's ready for another and Armitage knows it too. Already he's reaching for the bottle ready to pour another round.
"It's a theatre," the ginger says offhandedly as he pours six more shots. He's cleaning spilled tequila off his hand when he grabs for the lime and starts cutting again muttering about needing more lime in the end.
"What's a theatre?" Ben asks, tossing his used lime down onto the platter where the others have discarded theirs. The woman on stage is climbing out of the martini glass now waving and blowing kisses into the crowd who cheer and clap loudly. Gwen even goes so far as to place two fingers in her mouth and whistle. It's odd to think she's likely more of a predator then nearly anyone else in this room tonight.
Rubbing his thumb against his teeth Armitage hands out the lime wedges with his free hand, "The venue," he says easily, "They call it a theatre, not a strip club as you so eloquently deemed it."
Ben chuckles, "Klaud tell you that?"
Armitage merely smirks, as though he's the only one in on his little secret, "No, Amilyn actually, she's the owner." He nods to the bar where Claude has been joined by a tall regal-looking woman with soft purple toned hair. She's wearing it curled and pinned like a pinup model from an era long passed. Her lips are the brightest red Ben has ever seen and her make up is done to perfection. Her long limbs are elegant and graceful looking. The bodice of her dress is done in a lace overlay on top of sheer nude fabric. It makes it look like she's wearing nothing more than a panel of black lace leaving most of her chest bare. Her black skirt climbs up and over her waist blending into the lace that peeks between her breasts and then sprawls out covering her decollate in a sheer martial that only darkens over the caps of her shoulders
"Oh Amilyn's working is she?" Gwen practically purrs causing Ben to realize that his friends are far more familiar with this place than he realized.
"You've been here before," he says cautiously, watching the way Gwen's eyes rove over the crowd until she finds Amilyn standing at the back talking to Klaud the bartender.
"Plenty of times," she coos, her wave is more a wiggle of the fingers that is far more feminine and demure then Ben expected to see from Gwen Phasma. As though strangely aware of the question coming next Gwen narrows her gaze upon Ben. Licking her hand between her thumb and index finger she waits for the salt to be handed to her. "We knew you wouldn't come," she says easily, accepting the salt shaker from Cassian to sprinkle the small white granules onto her skin, "You have this whole morality thing now, we didn't figure this would be your scene.
She's right of course but it makes Ben wonder when he started to become so much of a stick in the mud. Was there really something so wrong about having an evening out? Armitage was right, teachers were allowed to have lives outside of the classroom and society has been getting much more understanding on the issue. His principal didn't even bat a lash when Ben had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down without thinking during his interview. He'd forgotten about the rolling colorful swirls of ink that decorated his flesh. Surely no one would care if he were out enjoying an adult beverage with some friends while enjoying some harmless entertainment. It's only when those evenings turn into nights of blow in bathroom stalls or mollies with questionable companions that there should be any trouble and those days are long behind Ben.
Were those stripper poles in the middle of the stage? How had he missed those?
Gwen is still holding the salt shaker out for him as he licks his flesh and quickly sprinkles again. The stage is now dark but for the luminescent glimmer of blue lighting at the back which causes the poles to glow silver as though cast in moonlight. The band has stopped playing and there's an odd ambient house mix piping through the speakers. While stagehands work at cleaning up what Ben is sure is a rather slippery mess left behind by the giant martini glass and its alcoholic mermaid.
"You're going to love his next act," Armitage tells Ben as he holds his shot glass high, "To new experiences," he chimes in an oddly cryptic toast as one after another they follow Armie's lead. Lick, shot, lime.
Slamming his glass down on the table Ben marvels at the way his head is already starting to feel a little woozy with the warm rush of hard liquor. He almost misses the way Armitage says, "We miss you man," like he's some soldier home from the war, "I get that you aren't the same guy you were when we were younger," that's an understatement if Ben has ever heard one, "It may have escaped your notice but we aren't exactly the same people either. I'm getting married for Christ's sake and Gwen's talking monogamy in a serious way."
He's happy for his friend, he really is but going from school underground school kind pin, to fancy lawyer, to happily engaged was not the same as Ben's drug thug to teacher transformation. It's hard not to be a little bitter, Armitage was always a hands-off kind of person using Ben to forge the way. So when the hammer fell it was usually Ben who took the brunt. He didn't blame his friends, not in the slightest, he made his own decisions but their struggles had been a little different and he still carried a lot of his baggage around with him.
"Fuck sakes Hux," Gwen cries, pulling Ben from his mental pity party, "I say it one time, one god damn time when I'm drunk no less and suddenly I'm ready to buy a house and settle down."
Armitage laughs and for some reason the sound of it grates on Ben's nerves a little, "Bet you wouldn't mind playing house with what was her name up there? Bubbly Von Schmutzy? Why do they always have to have strange names?" he adds almost as an afterthought.
"Imogen Martini," Gwen bites, "Don't be a prick."
Truth be told Ben isn't entirely sure how Gwen has put up with it for all these years. When Ben drew back a bit surely Armie must have leaned on her a little harder, "I see the way you eye fuck her, am I right Benjamin?" God he hates being called Benjamin, the only one who still does that is his mother. Of course Hux is trying to pull him into this stupid argument. Stuck between these two bickering is decidedly not where Ben has any desire to be situated.
Instead Ben throws his hands in the air and leans back in his seat, "Not getting involved!" he mutters as he grabs for his almost empty glass of scotch intending to polish it off. The whiskey burns like sweet wildfire and roasted apples as it lingers on his tongue. Providing Ben with a calming effect as he watches the stage transform from Burlesque dance show to something a little more unrecognizable.
There's a backdrop now, there hadn't been one before. It's nothing elaborate, no spectacle, just a black sheer curtain filled with ethereal blue light like the moon swallowed up by clouds on a dark night. The poles are lit by a spotlight as the man with the odd boxer shorts and ring leader attire takes the stage once more.
"Boy ohhhhh boy," he cries, "Imogen certainly tends to leave things wet," his emphasis on the word wet is crass followed but an obscene waggle of his eyebrows but its on the nose all the same. Still the crowd seems to enjoy a good pun. Domhnall and Cassian are snickering at least. "Now, those of you who have been here before will know our next act quite well I imagine." the man's voice booms out over the microphone, the music having stopped to make way for his bawdy jokes and shameless commentary, "To those new in our crowd, welcome. You are in for a treat!" Ben is starting to find this oddly shaped man incredibly obnoxious. There's an urge bubbling up from within him to boo the stupid funny fellow off the stage.
Ok Ben, maybe slow down on the shorts a little.
"This is her," he hears Cassian mutter to Armitage as he ginger leans in to give Ben a knowing smirk.
"This, will change your world," Armie says in a low voice like he's sharing a secret that's just out of Ben's reach. Surely to god whatever this is supposed to be can't be that great. It's dancing after all and from what he's seen thus far it's been nothing to write home about. Han would have found this whole thing underwhelming but he'd use it to tease Leia mercilessly about later on.
The man on stage continues on with his monologue much to Ben's chagrin. He must have made a joke of some kind because the crowd around him is laughing. Ben has to blink a few times to get his eyes to focus a little but the backdrop is starting to closely resemble the night sky. There are no props or gimmicks, no strange twists or curious oddities.
"Lady Skywalker and Oscar Wilde!" the man cries and Ben is looking for it, searching for what makes this act so special. There's nothing, just two people standing in the middle of the stage. They're several feet apart and dressed rather inconspicuously all things considered. There are no bizarre costumes or shinny pieces to draw his eye in and keep him focused on while something else happens.
The man is in a fitted black t-shirt and what looks like simple ripped jeans. His dark hair appears slightly curly beneath his slouched beanie cap. His skin a tawny light tan beneath the harsh lighting. He's handsome, Ben's secure enough in himself to admit that, at one point in his youth Ben may have even welcomed that but he is not the attraction. She is. His dance partner is breathtaking. The Lady Skywalker is a petite looking woman of average height, no more than an inch or two shorter than her companion. Her chestnut hair is worn back away from her face in a long ponytail. Even at this distance it looks soft, as though it would tumble through Ben's fingers like ropes of silk. Her face appears to be done up but not painted like the girls previously. Her skin looks sun kiss tanned as though she's spent her whole life under its rays. Her eyes however seem dark, lined with heavily applied eyeliner and a shadow that makes them appear almost smokey. From this distance it's hard to make out the color of her eyes themselves but Ben imagines them to be a smooth warm chocolate. Her mouth may be one of his favorite features, wide and full, her lips are done in a muted pink that looks glossy even from where he sits. Making him want to taste them.
No, this isn't at all what Ben had expected, it's just two people, standing, facing the audience. No glittery ball gowns or feathers in her hair, just a simple tight-fitting bodysuit of sort ivory just a few tones lighter than her own flesh and a high waisted black skirt that looks airy and light. As though it were meant to flare and swirl as she moved around giving off the impression of wings. To top it all off, their footwear seems strangely out of place. Oscar is wearing hightop black sneakers and Lady Skywalker appears to be wearing… are those… ballet slippers?
Now Ben is truly intrigued.
The room is silent as the two begin to wind around one another like lovers. Their arms spread out, palms almost touching before she spins away on pointed toes leaving Oscar to tug on his hat confusedly.
Their movements are smooth and sweeping, not the jarring hip-thrusting from previous acts but something altogether different. There's no music, just them which Ben finds strange. He can hear the light footfalls as she spins and her black skirt lifts effortlessly around her. Armitage is saying something to Ben but Ben can't hear him. He simply can't focus on anything but them. As though if he were to look away at any given time he might miss the most crucial part of the act.
Her movements are flawless, simple rounding pirouettes as she dances around Oscar who watches her wide-eyed. She moves close and then away like an ebbing tide before swooping in and pulling his beanie off his head. She tosses it carelessly as she arcs away but he's there, right there and when their bodies collide, the music starts to play. It's not the band again, but a soft piano that filters through the sound system meeting their precise steps and movement with easy time. There doesn't look to be any space between them as Oscar winds his arm around her. His hands feasting on her body as they slide to her waist. It's intimate they way he holds her, supporting her as she bends at the middle extending a long leg gracefully behind her.
With one hand on her hip his other finds and supports her thigh as she bends her leg as if to wrap it around his body. Her movement is delicate as she extends a hand over her head, shifting her weight so she's now back on two feet. Oscar merely follows like a man possessed, a man who needs her and only her. Once more she's extending her leg into the air, this time in front of her as she falls back into his arms. He catches her as the music picks up just a little and she's gone only to spin back into him and then away again. She's on pointed toes, as he collides with the ground only to twist himself into an odd assortment of break dancing positions. Finally spinning in a bit of a windmill Oscar pops to his feet just in time to catch her as she twirls passed him.
Their hands slide along one another's, fingers locking before their arms slip back and hook at the elbow. They move as one, sweeping in a circle before flying apart again only this time Oscar merely stumbles. It's all a show for the audience and what a show it is as Lady Skywalker spins on pointed toes her gossamer skirt fluttering around her like rain. Her partner is dancing, Ben can see the moments in the periphery of his vision but for the life of him Ben can't take his eyes off her. Her arms flail in sweeping motions circling as she spins a mesh of contemporary ballet. A hybrid of something that Ben doesn't quite understand but knows he wants to. She jumps and arcs through the air in a half-circle like a deer before she lands side by side with Oscar. Their moments are precise and practiced utterly in sync with one another as their arms pop and shift swinging in front of them as the violin adds its voice to the sound and their movements only become more intense.
"See," Ben hears Armitage whisper as he leans in, "Not a strip club."
No, this was not that sort of dancing. This was something far more real. Something like passion, unbridled and untamable. They're holding hands across their bodies, looking at one another palms as though all their answers lie there. Without warning it's over and they're spinning in an arc of waving arms. They're back to back, arms and hips moving together in a mirrored effect and as Ben moves forward slipping to the edge of his seat he notices her eyes are closed. She moves in fluid motion as though she's done this a million times and will do this a million more. They spin, face to face, chest to chest, holding closely in a way that almost makes Ben a little jealous, no it absolutely makes Ben jealous. There's an odd sensation blooming within his chest, a heat that threatens to burn him to the ground. He's never spoken to this woman before and already he wants to know her, to let her know he sees her. At first he wonders if its a byproduct of watching the intimate way they interact. It's the idea of such a connection surely, not how Oscar cradles her, how his hands slide along her body as though he knows it. It's all palms and petting as their arms envelop one another and leaning back Oscar spins the Lady Skywalker across the floor.
It's like an itch he just can't quite reach, torn between a desperate need to continue watching and the desire to rush the stage just so he can touch her. The dance partners are spinning away from one another on the balls of their feet before ending in a tight twirl and Ben finds himself wishing it was him up there to catch her. When they stand feet apart reaching for one another Ben imagines he's the one she's reaching for. They hop, scissoring their feet in the air and it's almost strange how well this contemporary style of dance seems to work.
The room is silent, not the throng of energy it had been before when men and women whooped and cried over the removal of clothing. This silence is palpable like a live wire snapping ready to explode. Ben isn't even sure he's breathing anymore as he watches them back to back, leaning out towards the audience their arms stretched, hands sliding over one another. They never lock fingers, it's never that sort of touch but a need that allow their touch to roam. There's a swirl of Skywalkers skirt as they spin away from one another only to land face to face. Still they move, twirling and whirling only this time Oscar seems content to merely hold her hand daintily as she hops and spins through the air. The grace and her elegance is merely emphasized by the billowing of her spirt as she lands in a crouch and they just stare at one another.
Oh to know those eyes, those deeply shadowed eyes. To have her look at him like that, as though there were no one else in the room. It's like obsidian set against sand, deep fathomless pools of something secret, something sweet. When she reaches out for Oscar she grabs the back of his shirt before she pulls and spins away leaving his chest bare as he watches her movie. She moves as though spirited by the wind until she stops like coming to the end of a long rope that tethers her to him. Sweeping smooth steps carry her back and they're back to back again only this time Oscar faces the audience. He bends forward as she bends back, arching over his hunched body. Their arms spread wide out and up, reaching for more, more, more. Their limbs move, undulating like a squid in deep water before she rolls off him. Their elbows hook and he's spinning her, one foot on the floor while the other swings out in a beautiful arc. She goes one way but he's pulling her and she's spinning in the other direction. He moves her as though she weighs nothing at all. As though her mere existence was inconsequential.
When she hops into Oscar's arms folding herself against him Ben realizes he's been holding his breath. Her hair is suddenly loose and free and Ben isn't quite sure how it happened because it's flawless.
"Who's eye fucking the talent now?" Gwen mutters across Ben's chest towards Armitage who can't help but snicker. Ben simply can't find it in him to care. He's utterly engrossed with watching this woman on stage as some other man holds her, caresses her, knows her. He can see Oscar's hand is busy moving against her body and it's torture because Ben needs to know what he's doing. There's a torrent of furious outrage winding through him as this other man holds her close, one hand on her thigh while the other holds her hip as she clings to him like a lifeline. When she hops down and spins again Ben can see exactly what Oscar's deviant hands had been doing. There must have been a clasp or a tie at her hip cause she's unraveling like a yo-yo until her skirt is gone and she's standing there bare legs exposed to the world. And what legs they are. She's toned like a runner or well, a dancer really. Without the high waisted skirt Ben can see her curves. Good god, her curves. She has a small waist, trim and petite but now covered by a pair of black shorts that look more like underwear and her ivory bodysuit. When she spins again Ben takes in the full effect. Her thighs look strong but it's her rounded arse that makes him groan. What he wouldn't give to know what that felt like as she pressed herself along the length of his body. She must do squats, like five hundred a day because that's just not fair.
Ben fancies himself a rather avid gym-goer and never in a million years would be able to attain that degree of muscle tone in his backside. It's Oscar though who gets to feel her body pressed against his. Oscar who gets to run his palms along her every dip and curve. As she spins against him, her back colliding with his chest Ben can see where that lovely backside of hers falls. They're close in height and its torture to watch. When she throws her arms wide, Oscar loops his around them and he spins her away faster and faster until they break apart and The Lady Skywalker is poised on only one leg, her body bent forward as she extends one graceful leg into the air. She looks like a swan or a gazelle? Some incredibly graceful animal. Ben's brain is having a hard time coming up with something to match the grace this woman displays. Oscar is at the other end of her leg, nuzzling his face against her ankle as he pulls off her slipper and tosses it to the side. There's a dramatic twirl the action is mirrored on the other side. Now when she spins it's on bare feet and she's falling backward, falling, falling, falling with her arms stretched out above her head.
For a mere moment Ben worries she's going to crash against the floor but Oscar has her by the ankle and he's slowing her fall, spinning her in the process. As her back slides across the floor it arches and for a split second Ben sees her beneath him. Pleasure crashing through her as he takes his time pushing into her warm and needy cunt. He's lost in how good she would feel, tight and hot and wet seeking out her pleasure on the end of his cock.
Then Oscan hops, he's standing over her facing the audience and Ben can hear the growl that rolls from his throat. He's too close to her, far too close and it's driving Ben wild. As Oscar bends forward the Lady raises her legs to meet him and in one smooth motion Oscar has her elevated. His back is bent slightly as her pelvis meets his stomach and he's holding her as though it's he who is taking his pleasure from her lithe form. Ben's lost on how her hair flies, spreading out around her through the sheer force of the action. Her legs are bent to assist in stabilizing her against him and then she's draped over Oscar's shoulder like a trophy. She lies there one knee bent with her arms spread wide against his back. As she extends one leg Ben watches the cord of muscle around her groan tighten and Oscar's arms there supporting the limb. God how he wants to taste it, to run his tongue over that deliciously taut muscle following it to its hallowed source hidden beneath her tiny black shorts.
When Oscar starts to spin her Ben's breath catches in his throat, he watches as they turn and pivot over and over until Lady Skywalker is in Oscar's arms and he's holding her like a blushing bride on their wedding night. Again, that pang of jealousy flares up like a creeping demon prickling at Ben's skin. It creeps across, dragging itself along by jagged sharp claws tearing at his resolve. It comes in a wave and is gone with the tide, a fleeting feeling that disappears as Oscar guides Ms. Skywalker onto the floor. Her arms are outstretched so that she tumbles over herself and he's spinning away from her now leaving her in no more than a black band across her chest and those shorts that are far too short to be considered shorts.
"What is this?" Ben mutters, watching as the fabric that had been wound around her body flutters to the floor. There's ink creeping up along her side, something he can't quite make out. It's a pattern that spirals out into black into flowers. Small circles of a similar style but with a different arrangement of linework and detail are hidden amongst the floral arrangement. They have a name but Ben can't quite think of what it is. His eyes travel over her along the length of her torso and the scrawling ink as it disappears beneath the thick band of her shorts to emerge along her outer thigh. There sits a particularly large and ornate circle decorated in different patterns of peaks and points, dots and lines.
A mandala!
That's what they are. So painstakingly intricate and detailed. The design itself stops midway down her outer thigh and reachers up beneath the bad wrapped around her breasts. Small breasts that would fit perfectly within his hands. Breasts that taste like sunshine and honey so sweet he can almost feel it lingering on his tongue.
"It's dance… and the reason Gwen and I come so frequently," Armitage offers as an answer and Gwen is nodding offside.
Behind them Cassian says, "The Lady Skywalker is a talent among talents, just wait, it gets so much better," Ben can't imagine how it could get any better. He's peering at his friend over his shoulder only to find that he's behind several shots of tequila. For the sake of his sanity, or maybe because he has no idea what else he can do, Ben grabs himself a shot for good measure. The actions, salt, shot, lime are practiced and second nature now as the tang of alcohol soothes the savage beast that claws beneath his calm exterior. There's a warmth that flutters through him and like the soft swift wings of a hummingbird. It tickles his insides as it builds in pressure and Ben knows its not the liquor. This is something else entirely, like the birthing of an infatuation that threatens to suffocate him wholly.
When his attention finally turns back to the stage Oscar is no longer in pants but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs. His feet too now bare. How did that manage that so quickly? So effortlessly? Usually in dance-acts the removal of clothing is more obvious and blatant. The dance meant to draw in the eye as the clothing slowly comes off. Here, Now, with this pair it's seamless. Oscar is pulling Lady Skywalker to her feet, his hand grasping her foot as he does so. She had been lying on her side and then all of a sudden she isn't. As she spirals again, her body draped over his, her hips jutting out towards the crowd Ben doesn't know how much more of this he can watch. Yet he's utterly taken by the way her body spins and arcs through the air. Her footsteps are light and swift as Oscar spins but drops to a knee, and it's only her left to move. she hops and twirls and she's upside-down spinning in a wide arc only to be released from his arms and fall to the floor. His heart lurches but it's all choreographed and his concern is left hanging as Oscar pulls her to her feet. He cradles her head in his hands as she looks away, shy, or ashamed or simply coy, Ben can't tell but dammit it should be him up there. Sure he can't dance but he can make her flesh sing. He hates the way their hands are clasped together as if sharing something too few will ever experience. Suddenly, without warning they're spinning again, alternating arcs around and around until they release and Oscar falls, sliding off the stage and out of view.
Ben's chest feels heavy with disappointment. It confusing, he doesn't want it to end but he simply can't stand the idea of Oscar running his hands all over her body. Ben soon finds Gwen's hand at his knee as she gives a gentle squeeze and points to the stage. The Lady is still there, swirling around until she grabs hold of one of the poles. She uses it as a center of gravity as she spines around it, holding herself upright and off the floor as he body winds around the solid metal structure. It's not lewd or suggestive like some of the pole dancing Ben has seen and he has seen his fair share. Instead it's captivating.
The music shifts into something soft but with a synthesized beat. It's odd and confusing at first but it works with her movements. She's like a demon, or an angel or something holy unnatural as her body undulates to the music, and her arms pop and lock against the beat.
The heavily synthesized thumping dies away the music that's left is soft and sweet with just the slightest underlying beat. When she takes to the pole again her body swings around it as though it were another extension of her. She's climbing up with only her hands leaving Ben to admire the upper body strength alone required to accomplish that feat. His eyes go wide as she lowers herself over backward, walking her feet through the air until she is parallel with the floor. Her placement shifts and her body drops. Ben can't look but he can't take his eyes away as her body pivots and she catches herself by the thighs and topples over in a bridge-like tumble until she's flat on the floor. It's part gymnast but part dance as she does a smooth cartwheel before popping up and landing in a split at the bottom of the other pole.
His mouth is dry and he's reaching for his tumbler of scotch needing something to do with his hands before he starts wringing the material of his shirt. "See," Armitage whispers and it's all Ben can do to nod dumbly. She's spinning around the pole again using her hands and dear god the muscle definition in her forearms is astounding. His eyes rake over her inch by painstaking inch, the taut way her abdominals flex as she steadies herself and climbs the pole backward. The way her quads contract as she spins around using only her knee to hold her securely.
As she dances across the stage again she reaches one foot into the air while keeping the other firmly planted on the floor. Ben can do nothing but appreciate the level of dedication and work it would take to allow her body to become that flexible. It simply defies reason. Still, she's moving, her body arching as her toes meet the metal bar and soon she's spinning again. The music picks up the tempo and she's wrapped herself around the pole with just her thighs to hold herself in place. Ben wonders if it burns, or if it's cold but her body seems to glitter beneath the lights overhead as though she's made of starlight. In reality it's likely more sweat or body paint but her skin honest to god looks like it's glowing.
She's holding herself to the pole by only her feet as she lounges in a wide split when Ben thinks he might be in love. She's spinning around the pole held on by her foot and an elbow with one leg stretched back and over her head when he knows he is. She's graceful in a way that people can only dream about. Her movements should look awkward but by all accounts they're utterly breathtaking as she spins and moves to the music.
Idly Ben wonders what those thighs might feel like pressed around his ears as he seeks out her pleasure between them. He wets his lips at the thought of running his tongue over supple flesh that looks dewy and sweet. In his younger years Ben would think nothing of seeking her out after her performance and asking her back to his place for a nightcap. All with the intent to learn just how flexible she truly is or how strong those thighs actually are. Now, he's a respectable man, a respectable man with an awakening erection sitting in a public establishment. It's hard not to be aroused when all he can think about is touching her, feeling the way her muscles contract beneath her skin, beneath his touch. He wants to hear her body sing in euphoric delight as he pays homage to her talents.
He shifts like some teenager caught in the act but part of him wonders if he should even care. Armitage laughs however and it's soon made abundantly clear that he should care. They'd never let him live this down, sitting there with a semi. It's hard though because as he watches her spin and twirl and writhe against the pole he can't help imagining her beneath him, spread wide like an offering. Oh how her legs would squeeze as she came pulling him deeper into her delicious cunt where he would finally find his end.
Fuck, what was he some hapless teenager?
Awkwardly he shifts in his seat, leaning back against it as he crosses his legs. He's always been long and gangly so he's gotten used to folding in on top of himself. Bending to make his body look more like it fits. She wouldn't be intimidated by his size, no, she'd climb him like that pole she's on holding tight as he discovered all the sinful little noises she was capable of making. Foolish really as he'd never even heard her speak before but that doesn't matter. All he knows is he wants her, her very existence is like fire in his veins.
He watches her like a man condemned. She's parallel to the floor, she's holding herself aloft with her back arched and her legs bent like the letter 'C', she's holding herself upside down by her thighs. No one has the right to be this flexible or this talented or this gut-wrenchingly beautiful. It's soon very apparent why she chose the name Skywalker because honestly she looks like she floats.
He's not entirely sure how long her set goes on for. It could be minutes it could be hours. All Ben knows with any certainty is that he could watch her forever. Not just on the pole but its the way she dances, the way she moves that captivates him, as though there is nothing simpler in all the world.
When she's done, standing between the poles with her body in a soft bow the crowd erupts around them. Ben's coherent thoughts are swallowed by the rapturous noise of hands clapping and people whooping. As he watches her bow again he notices she looks almost uncomfortable, maybe even a little shy as she crosses an arm across her chest, holding the other securely. Her chest is heaving slightly, a rosy pink dusting across her flesh accenting an array of freckles that Ben hadn't noticed before. She looks as though she's just come back from a quick jog not performed the most breathtaking display Ben has ever seen.
Ben wants to stand and clap but there's the slight issue of a little too much of him standing at attention. Instead he pinches his thighs together and joins the rest of the crowd. Cassian and Armitage are on their feet making utter asses of themselves and for a split second she looks in their direction. Ben can't believe it, it's like being twelve years old and Bazine Netal as just talked to him for the very first time. He's pretty sure he'd gotten an erection then too.
"You ok there Solo?" Gwen chides knowingly as though she too is very aware of his growing problem. She's not watching the stage, her eyes raking him in instead. He can see her scrutinizing his profile as he watches the Lady Skywalker walk off the stage. The lights overhead popping back into a quiet existence as the stage lights fade to black.
Sure there won't be any shows soon Ben turns and tucks himself into the table trying to avoid any unwanted attention as Armie smiles triumphantly. He looks as though he's just won gold as he begins pouring another round of shots for the table. The bottle appears to be bottomless. "Dom, be a lad and go get us another lime would you?" Armitage asks his cousin with no real question but a sort of demand edging his voice. Dom trots off all the same leaving the table in silence. "So, Benjamin," his dear friend starts again, never a fan of silences, "How do we feel about the Moons of Endor now?"
Ben takes a few minutes to register the question but Cassian is quick to jump on his silence, "Isn't that cute," he laughs softly, "Our Benny is speechless." He can't argue it, because he is, he really and truly is. He's been left in awe wanting so much more than he has any right to desire. Without thought Ben reaches out grabbing a shot glass from Armie's arranged line up knowing it back without ceremony. Armitage cries out in indignation as he snatches back the shot glass and sets to pouring another.
"You jackass, we do these together," Armie snaps but Ben is barely listening. He looses focus on the crowd around them and the voices of his friends as they taunt and tease one another. All that matters is that warm pooling in the pit of his belly and the overwhelming urge to find out who she is. He can see Gwen, watching carefully as she takes slow and easy sips of a new glass of red. Dom apparently took it upon himself to get her a refill and Gwen Phasma was never one to turn down alcohol.
Still she doesn't say anything, she simply makes a quiet noise which leaves Ben curiously unnerved. It's like she knows, or maybe she suspects or maybe she even understands. Gwen is an enigma wrapped in the body of a leggy and very strong-willed blonde. She's also probably the one who knows Ben the deepest. Neither spoke of it, Ben's not even sure Armitage knows but it's there. This dark secret that ties them together and lays the other bare. The feeling of being so vulnerable is unnerving to say the least so thankfully Gwen's gaze doesn't linger. Again, it's like she knows. Instead she leaves Ben to his thoughts of tanned skin and supple thighs, of palms that seem to know and a body made for sin. She's weakened him, ripped him asunder and left him feeling half the man he was. He doesn't even know her real name and already she owns him, already he would give her absolutely everything.