Author's Note: I've had this idea for a really really long time and I just wanted to play in it so I hope you guys like it. I definitely like the idea of this AU being a full story, but for right now, this is all I can do, haha. Please leave a review and until next time, be safe! Love you guys!

Stripper Brian

The flashing lights blinded Brock as he took in his surroundings; he'd never actually been inside a strip club before, this was the first time. The music was loud, bass bumping in his ears, and there was a certain aura about the place – sultry, exotic… However, it was also luxurious to a point. He wasn't sure what to think. It's just a bachelor party, he had to remind himself, you don't have to stay long. His dark eyes scanned the smoky room for his friends, and he soon found them sitting in chairs by the main stage. There were different girls, guys too, all working hard for their money.

"Hey!" The groom to be yelled, "Glad you made it." He continued as Brock made his way over to him. They had been friends in high school, and Brock only planned on making an appearance. "Come sit down." He said as he patted a chair beside him.

Brock merely obliged, however, not really paying attention to the girl currently on stage. This had never been his thing, especially not with a wife at home. But he sat there, he had a drink and he had some conversation with his buddies from high school. It was odd, indeed, but he wanted to be a good friend. A few girls had danced, collecting their dollar bills, and there was a short break before the DJ spoke into the microphone.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, you know what time it is… You know him, you love him, and he is ready to see a pot of gold at the end of his pole…" The DJ paused to laugh. "Taking the stage now with his luck of the Irish, Clover!" The music began, a slow beat filling the air, and the lights dimmed as a pale man walked out in ripped up leggings, high heeled boots, and a crop top long enough just so the fuzz on his upper pelvis barely peeked out. He glittered in the neon lights, and his hair was piled messily atop his head.

Brock looked over and saw his friends turn away and start talking to each other; obviously they weren't interested in a male stripper… But Brock was absolutely mesmerized by the way Clover was moving. It was graceful, intricate, and his body snapped in time to the rhythm of the music. He wrapped around the pole so acutely, Brock couldn't look away. The beat was loud, but he could hear Clover's boots clicking on the stage; he was so in tuned to everything he was doing. And then, slowly his crop top came off, and Brock had to make sure he remembered how to close his mouth.

His body was beautiful, pale, slightly defined and glistening in the glow of the club. Brock couldn't get to his dollar bills fast enough. He held one out for Clover, cheeks red and ears hot, while he waited for the younger man to grab it. He crawled on the floor of the stage toward Brock, slowly, sensually, and took the money in his mouth with a wink, before grinding the floor. It was then, Brock concluded that he could watch Clover dance for hours. There was a certain art to it.

The way his limbs moved made Brock's imagination run wild, immediately, he had to go to the bathroom. He stood up fairly quick, and made his way there promptly. When he looked in the mirror, he was shocked at how flushed his face was. Turning on the sink, he exhaled and splashed some cool water on his hot skin. The feeling sort of grounded him there in the club, music still beating in his head, Clover's beautiful green eyes still in his memory. Never ever in his life did he think he would feel this way about an exotic dancer, and yet, here he was. To say the least, it was strange.

When Brock felt that he was ready to go back out into the main room of the club, he took a paper towel and dried his hands. However, nothing prepared him for what was waiting for him outside the bathroom door. "Enjoy the show?" A smooth, Irish lilt took him by surprise, and he nearly had a heart attack when he saw Clover leaning up against the wall by the bathroom. He looked even more handsome up close and in better lighting. There was no way this was real right now.

A nod, "I did." Brock replied, voice low, almost as if he was embarrassed by the fact.

"Can I interest you in a private dance?"

Almost immediately, blood rushed to the older man's face. God, did he want to say yes. But his high school buddies came to mind, as did his wife, and his wedding ring weighed a million pounds in that moment. Clover was so smooth, so charismatic and sensual… And Brock was awkward and shy; the two were complete opposites. What the hell was he doing here?

"Maybe next time." He answered shortly, without thinking.

Clover's eyebrows shot up on his forehead, "So that means I'll see you again?" Fuck, Brock thought, what the hell did I just do? There was no way in hell he was coming back here again, especially not alone and for his own personal, selfish reasons… But, he still said yes, and his heart was thrumming wildly in his chest because of it.

The drive home was awful. Brock couldn't get Clover out of his brain… He wondered what his real name was, if he had hobbies, what he did in his free time, if he had another job or was going to school. There was so much buzzing in his head. And then he wondered too, why did the Irishman follow him to the bathroom? Was it merely coincidence, or did he actually want to talk to Brock? Which brought on another question. Was he interested in Brock, or did he just want another regular client? So much to think about, the older man couldn't focus, but finally, after what seemed like forever, he made it home feeling guiltier than ever.

Some time passed, Brock went about his normal routine… But he only made it about a week before he found himself going back to that damn club. He felt like a drug addict if he were being honest with himself. He was addicted to Clover in every single way imaginable. Because during that week he was away, he couldn't get the younger man out of his head. His song choice, his dance movies, his heals… They were all engraved in his brain. And those eyes, oh those eyes; Brock felt them in his soul.

It was late when he left his house, the only proper time to go to the club. The wedding ring on his finger felt like it was burning him, so he quickly took it off and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans as he mustered the courage to actually get out of his car. Brock sighed, this was a lot harder than he thought it would be. When he did finally manage to step out of the vehicle, a wave of an unknown feeling washed over him. Desire… But also guilt. A hunger lingered in his gut; he was a mesh of emotions.

The familiar view of the club came into sight and he hoped Clover would be working tonight. So many things crossed Brock's mind. What if he got caught? Would this be considered cheating? It could be so wrong, but to the older man, this was all he wanted right now. He needed to see Clover. The music clogged his ears as he walked into the main room, and the lights flickered and flashed before him. Clover was on the main stage in nothing but shorts and heals; Brock knew right then and there he was getting his private dance tonight.

His legs carried him to the stage so he could watch the remainder of Clover's dance, and he readied his dollar bills. The Irishman twirled around the pole gracefully, and gave a pretty smile when he caught Brock's eye. He'd been expecting him. At that moment, Brock held a few dollars out for him. Clover grinned wickedly and bent down in front of the older man so that he could stuff the money in the pocket of his shorts. This night was already too much for Brock to handle. How was he ever going to get through a private dance? The music died down, and Clover picked up the rest of his money before coming off the stage. Immediately, he found Brock.

"You came." Alcohol was strong on his breath, and it intoxicated the older man.

"For you." Brock answered, voice husky, their eyes meeting one another. There was a connection and it was strong. "How much is a private dance?" He inquired.

"It's 60 bucks." Clover replied without missing a beat.

"Done."

Brock simply didn't know who he was at the moment. What had he turned into? Was he so blinded with lust that he was willing to do this to his wife? He figured she didn't have to know if he could keep it to himself. There was just something about Clover, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but they were definitely into each other. For a brief second, Brock wondered if Clover was in a relationship and if his significant other was okay with him dancing. But that thought immediately washed away when he felt the Irishman grab his hand and pull him through the small crowd of people. It was slick and warm and he never wanted to let it go.

He led them to a small room in the back, one with a curtain so that there was privacy; this must have been where they did the private dances. There was nothing in the room but a couch, and that was where Clover told Brock to sit. "I'll be just a minute." The younger man said. "Go ahead and get comfy."

He obliged nervously, sitting on the piece of furniture completely a mess. Maybe he should have had a drink. However, all those thoughts vanished when Clover came back wearing a new outfit. The tank top barely covered his torso, and his shorts were so tight Brock thought they would rip off in just a second… And the boots; the boots were black, mid thigh, and the older man could feel his face heating up as the music began. It was much quieter, since they were in the back, that's when Clover approached him.

He placed himself in between Brock's open legs and began swaying his body to the beat. His fingers brushed Brock wherever they could, and he found himself falling in love with his broad shoulders and soft arms. He grinded into him, making intense eye contact. "What's your name?" Clover questioned/

The older man couldn't think, the only thing he could focus on was the beautiful man dancing in front of him. "Brock," He finally got out, voice a lot darker than he intended it to be.

Brian smirked, "I'm glad you came back, Brock." The way his name rolled off his Irish tongue made Brock dizzy and weak in the knees. He wanted to hear Clover say it over and over and over again. He was absolutely mesmerized and in his own world, but the dancer was able to keep his attention. "Give me your hands." Clover ordered as he held out his own. Brock studied his long fingers before placing his own into the Irishman's. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. Clover took them and placed them on his stomach, slowly dragging them up until the tank top rolled up, and Brock's hands were basically on his nipples.

Immediately the older man's face reddened. "Isn't there a no touching rule?"

Clover gave a smile, "I won't tell if you won't."

"What's your name?" Brock asked, continuing to smooth his fingers over his chest.

"It's Brian."

"I could watch you dance forever, Brian." The older man admitted.

Brian laughed, "I bet you could." He turned around, dropping to the ground in front of the other man, then came up very slowly, almost torturous. "There is a certain art to it, isn't there?" But Brock couldn't respond, he was in a trance, stuck in his mind afraid of what he was doing, and yet he couldn't take his eyes off Clover. There was so much friction, so much sexual tension, and yet all he was doing was exchanging money for a dance. It was purely business, at least, that's what he kept telling himself. When the song was over, he was too embarrassed to stand up. Brian stifled a laugh, "I think my job here is done."

"Are you going back out to the stage?" Brock inquired.

Clover nodded, "You're welcome to watch me all night if that's what you want." He couldn't help but to smile. There was something about this man – a gentleness, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "We could get a drink when I'm done." He wanted to know more about him, wanted to hear him speak. It was almost as if they were drawn to each other. Because on the night that he and Brock first met, he knew he wanted to dance for him right then and there; he knew he would appreciate more than anybody else.

"I'd like that." Brock agreed, the possibilities of spending an evening with Clover sounded amazing.

"Okay." Brian nodded, before turning to the door. "I'd better get back out there." He left the private room swiftly, leaving the older man in awe. What the fuck was he doing? Right at that moment, Brock tried to talk himself out of having a drink, but he wanted Brian so badly, he couldn't do it. He couldn't help but to think of himself as a bad person. But it felt so good to be bad, and if he got Brian out of it, he almost thought it was worth it. When he was finally able to, he made his way back out to the main stage where he continued to watch Brian dance into the late hours of the night. And when he was done, the two went out for their drink. Brock didn't know what this would turn into, but at the moment, he didn't care; he enjoyed the company of Clover. And maybe, just maybe, they'd end up sharing a future together.