Chapter Text
The first guy to come out on stage was all tanned oiled muscles in a bedazzled fireman costume and Nancy and her friends went wild for him while Steve surreptitiously checked his watch and sipped his drink.
The next act, though.
The lights dimmed as the bright, dancing pop music dropped out, leaving eerie silence behind.
When the guy walked out on stage, it was like he stole all the remaining light in the room, like Steve couldn’t see anything else.
He almost looked like he’d wandered onto the stage by accident, if he hadn’t been the most gorgeous man that Steve had ever seen.
Long blond curls and a face like an angel. Lucifer, specifically.
Holy fuck.
Nothing about his outfit screamed stripper, either. Just skintight jeans with motorcycle boots and a ripped-up tee shirt, topped by an admittedly sexy leather jacket.
It didn’t look like a costume, not like the sequined firefighter jacket that had come before him at all.
He was holding a cold bottle of beer loosely in one hand, amber liquid sloshing around as he stood in the center of the stage and pulled out a cigarette, tucking it neatly between his lips.
He flicked open a skull-emblazoned lighter, igniting the flame just as the music kicked back on, heavy metal screaming through the speakers and blowing Steve away.
The guy barely moved, sucking on his cigarette as he scanned the room, tucking his lighter in a jacket pocket.
His eyes traced over Steve before snapping back to fixate on his face for a long, heart-stopping moment.
Oh, god.
Steve could feel himself going bright red all over, unable to look away.
The guy started to move to the music, just a little. Mostly walking belligerently but rhythmically around the stage, sneering and snarling at the cheering crowd.
He stopped at the front of the stage, just left of center.
Directly in front of Steve.
Or, more likely, directly in front of Nancy, who was whooping and hollering in her seat next to him, toasting with her much depleted glass of wine.
But, his eyes went to Steve.
Pretty blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes that burned brighter than his cigarette as he stared him down, setting his beer on the edge of the stage before he ran his hands slowly down his body, hips gyrating to the beat.
Steve was hard in his khakis and sweating under the collar, choking on his drink as the song screamed about ‘American thighs’ and the guy tore open his belt buckle with rough fingers, yanking the length of black leather out of his jeans with a loud crack against the stage floor.
He kicked it to the side with his dirty boot, hips still working in ways that were mystifying to Steve as his hands went to his jacket, exhaling smoke through his nostrils before shrugging it off slowly, letting the heavy leather slide down to his wrists.
He turned like that, displaying the way the drape of his jacket perfectly framed the most magnificent ass that Steve had ever seen.
It was a gift to the denim gods.
He looked back over his shoulder, right at Steve, and pulled one arm free until the jacket dangled from the other hand.
Then he walked to the edge of the stage, brought the jacket in front of his crotch, and proceeded to stroke the extended sleeve in time to the music in a filthy, smirking pantomime that went straight to Steve’s dick.
He lifted his chin, half-lidded eyes burning through Steve as he hauled back and tossed the jacket directly into Steve’s chest, knocking the air out of him with an undignified sound.
It was heavy, slapping his skin and sliding down to his lap as he gathered it up with hesitant fingers.
This was not a prop.
This was the dancer’s real jacket, clearly well used, leather warm and butter-soft.
The jacket smelled like male sweat and dark cologne, like beer and cigarettes and aftershave and Steve could have driven a nail through the wall with his dick.
The guy did a turn of the stage, pausing here and there to thrust out his hips and accept cash stuffed into his waistband before returning to his preferred spot, tossing down the cigarette and crushing it in time to the music.
His tongue slipped out without the cigarette to occupy his mouth, pink and wet and sin incarnate, wagging in Steve’s direction beneath sparkling eyes.
Steve clutched the jacket in his lap, trying not to show how affected he was by the act and clearly failing miserably judging by the way the guy’s face lit up.
He started up a slow bump and grind, hands sliding up his torso to the neck of his shirt.
Then he tore it open down to the waist, growling low under the thumping music. Steve had to check to make sure that he wasn’t drooling over the sight of those improbable abs, dabbing at his chin discreetly.
The dancer threw the shirt off to the side, ignoring the excited screech of the woman who caught it.
Walking to the edge of the stage with his harsh, rhythmic stride, he picked up the beer bottle again, opened the cap with his teeth and spat it out onto the stage with a snarl that made Steve press his thighs together.
He wanted to know what else those teeth could do.
The dancer threw back his head and drank half the bottle, letting his free hand rub over his exposed torso down to cup the bulge in his jeans.
Christ.
Steve wondered how he would feel about replacing that hand with Steve’s tongue.
The music built to a frenzy and he lowered the bottle, turned his head to the ceiling, and spat a fountain of beer straight up, letting it run down his chin and neck all the way to his torso, golden droplets tracing the hills and valleys of his abdomen.
It was completely disgusting.
Steve could watch that shit all day.
The guy finished his beer, letting the empty bottle clank to the stage floor and roll away as he flicked open the top button of his jeans, to the cheers of the crowd.
He did another turn of the stage, collecting more tips before returning once again to his spot in front of Steve.
This time he looked him dead in the eye as he placed both hands inside his waistband and yanked sharply, tearing his jeans clean off in a shower of dollar bills.
The crowd went wild, Nancy knocking over her wineglass as she tried to wolf-whistle.
Steve couldn’t look away from the bulge in his black g-string, obviously half hard and already impressive.
The dancer slid his hands down his stomach to frame his bulge in the diamond space between each thumb, fingertips digging into the meat of his thighs.
Steve only realized that he was on the edge of his seat when he nearly fell off of it, scrambling back before he hit the sticky floor, still clutching the jacket like a lifeline.
The guy spun around to walk across the stage, grinding the air in front of the crowd as people screamed and shoved money in the tiny strings across his hips. His ass was—
It was—Steve had never—it was perfect, okay? Ridiculous, even.
Then he returned to center stage to drop to his knees with a thud that made Steve wince. He arched his back at a ridiculous angle and thrust up into the air before raising up to stare Steve down as he slipped the very tips of his fingers beneath the fabric of his g-string. He blew a filthy kiss right at Steve that was somehow even hotter than the acres of exposed skin.
He clasped his hands above his head, every muscle flexed on display as he thrust into the air in time to the music until it ended with a crash of drums and warbling guitar.
Then he got to his feet in the echoing silence before the next song, gave Steve a long, hard look, and just turned away to disappear backstage.
Steve sucked in a harsh burst of air as he realized that he had been frozen, entranced, holding his breath.
A scantily clad guy built like Steve ran out to clean up the tips and bits of costuming strewn across the stage, but when Steve held out the jacket to him, he just shook his head with wide eyes and scurried away.
Great.
Now Steve had to figure out what to do with this stripper jacket.
He could just leave it, he guessed, but that wasn’t his style. Steve was the kind of guy who cleaned up after himself in a movie theater, who always returned his shopping cart to the proper place.
He was going to have to get this jacket back to the dancer somehow. It was very good quality and obviously well-loved. It had clearly been an accident to leave it with Steve.
Steve tugged on Nancy’s sleeve as she whistled at the next dancer, a brunette in a sailor suit that did absolutely nothing for Steve. “Hey, listen, I’m gonna head out, okay. Have a great night and don’t stay out too late.”
Nancy nodded distractedly, pressing a haphazard kiss to Steve’s cheek as he pulled away, her eyes glued to the stage.
“And drink water!”
She waved him off as he started walking away. He made his way to the bar to approach another dancer. This one was cute in that high-school jock kinda way, covered in freckles with a cocky grin on his face. He wore a very abbreviated football uniform and more than a handful of glitter.
Steve had to lean in to talk, flushing beneath the guy’s raised eyebrows.
“Hey, uh, “ he checked the name printed across the severely cropped football jersey, “Tommy? I think your coworker left this behind. Do you know where I should leave it?”
Tommy looked him up and down, a tiny frown on his freckled face. “Damn. Why does that asshole always get the good ones?”
Steve shook his head, barely able to hear over the pounding music from the stage. “I’m sorry?”
Tommy sighed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s waiting for you in the dressing room. Door to the left of the stage. Listen, if you change your mind about him I’ll be right out here. I get off in a couple hours.”
Wow, that was. Flattering.
Steve did alright for himself but he knew he wasn’t exactly the type of guy to appeal to somebody like Tommy, with his perfect body and wolffish grin.
Steve was just a kindergarten teacher. He spent half his time covered in glitter for very different reasons than Tommy did. If the lighting was better in here, Tommy wouldn’t have looked at him twice.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck with a laugh and lifted the jacket slightly. “Oh, thanks. I’m really just going to go return his jacket, though.”
Tommy rolled his eyes and slumped back against the bar, petulant lower lip sticking out just a little. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that. Better hurry or he’ll change his mind, penny loafers.”
Steve glanced down at his shiny brown penny loafers, flushing even harder. He really stuck out like a sore thumb.
He made his way to the door Tommy had indicated and took a deep breath before knocking twice.
“What?”
The voice that growled through the door was anything but encouraging and Steve nearly dropped the jacket and left.
But, he knew the right thing to do was to deliver it into the right hands.
Steve always believed in doing the right thing.
So, he knocked again, harder this time.
“Tommy, I swear to god, if you—”
The door ripped open to reveal the blond dancer in nothing but a damp towel, curls tight and dripping wet across his shoulders. Steve tracked a fat drop of water all the way over the hill of his collarbone and down his chest, holding his breath as it trembled on the peak of one tight pink nipple before falling to the ground.
“Can I help you?”
Steve jerked his head up guiltily and held the jacket out like a shield. His face burned all the way to his scalp and he knew he was a bright, furious red under the perfect blue gaze of this Adonis.
“Hey, sorry, I wanted to make sure this got back to you. I think you accidentally left it behind?”
The dancer made no move to take it, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe as he let his eyes roam over Steve from top to toe, tongue flashing out between his teeth. “No accident, country club.”
And, in retrospect, perhaps a baby blue striped polo shirt and khaki pants were not the most appropriate choice for a strip club.
But Nancy had said party casual, and this was what Steve wore.
He didn’t own things like a motorhead crop top and painted on jeans. Things this stripper—
Dancer, he mentally corrected himself.
Things this dancer probably wore like he was meant for them.
Steve could never.
He drew breath to say something, anything to cut the tense silence as the dancer stared him down but all that came out was a squeak as strong hands reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him into the dressing room before the door slammed shut behind him.