Chapter Text
Ghost stood still on the sidewalk for a moment, hesitating. He was 35 and had never been in a strip club once in his life, and yet here he stood, neon of the large sign in the window that read "BOYS BOYS BOYS" in rainbow lights in front of the largest pride flag he'd ever seen reflecting off the shiny surface of his hardshell skull mask. He could hear music thudding inside and cringed a bit internally, wishing he had earplugs.
He watched for a moment as Price spoke quietly with the bouncer. The guy was just barely shorter than Ghost and wearing a ski mask with what looked like a messily hand-painted on skull face. The bouncer listened for a moment as Price said something and pointed over his shoulder towards the club before nodding and taking a step back to let them in.
Ghost looked back at the sign. Somehow, of all the dark, creepy places his work had brought him in his life, this was the one that felt the most intimidating.
He was jerked out of his reverie by Price suddenly clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, son, they don't bite. Not unless you ask real, real nice," he said, moving forward and pulling the door open. Ghost took a steadying breath and followed him in under the sign that read "141" in huge black numbers.
The place was dim, bordering on dark, which almost (but not quite) made up for the volume of the music. Ghost quickly scanned for exits, doors to other areas, windows, the bar, dj booth, and finally, for tactical reasons, he let himself look over at the stages.
There were two, and another bouncer stood between the two of them, just visible enough to someone who was looking for him. One stage seemed to be for dancers just in bottoms and the other for dancers wearing bottoms and impossibly small tops. He watched for a moment as an absolutely massive man, positively towering over 7 feet tall in heels that must have been at least 8 inches, clad only in a balaclava similar to his own and a thong, flipped himself upside down on a pole that he was almost as tall as, legs spread in a graceful V. He blinked at the impressive display of strength, observing for a moment as the lights caught the various scars that littered the pale skin of the mans strong arms and abdomen, before glanced over at the other stage and his eyes went wide.
There were two men on the other stage, and both of them were breathtakingly attractive. They seemed to be doing some kind of joint routine; the one on the left was wearing a sheer crop top sparkling with gems in various shades of blue and green that shone beautifully against his deep skin, making him glitter delicately in the stage lights. Ghost watched for a moment before recognizing the colors matched the small gay male pride pin his brother Tommy had gotten him back when he had first come out. The dancer's outfit was completed by impossibly tight black patent leather shorts that left precisely nothing to the imagination and thigh high black boots.
The man on the right was wearing a similarly sheer tiny top with what Ghost vaguely registered was a the Scottish flag on it paired with what appeared to be a mid-thigh length kilt. His hair was shaved into a very grown-out mohawk, and Ghost almost thought it looked stupid until the man started to bend at the waist and he felt his face burn at the sight of his tanned ass peeking out from under what was really more like a tartan mini skirt.
"You with us there, Ghost?"
Ghost nearly jumped out of his skin at Farah's voice, horrified to have been caught staring, and looked over at her and Alex, who were both smirking at him.
"Never been to a place like this, hm?" Alex asked, leaning on the bar next to his wife. Farah was ordering drinks from the bartender who Ghost thought looked almost out of place as he assessed her: white, likely late fifties, American accent, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a low bun, plain blue button down buttoned up to a respectful height; he almost thought she looked like the dancer's den mother or something.
Ghost cleared his throat, standing stock still in an attempt to maintain his pride. "And you have?"
"Farah and I like to have our fun," Alex said, accepting a glass from the woman behind the bar. "Never quite been able to convince one of these boys to come home with us yet, though."
"And you never will," said the woman behind the counter, her voice light but with a clear undertone of 'ask one more time and you're gone for good.' "Not here anyway. None of our boys do escort work and we do not tolerate anyone badgering them to. I know people who can get you those services if you want them, but they're not here." Ghosts den mother impression seemed to be correct.
He scanned the room again and saw Price further in the back, in an area behind a velvet rope, talking to a very odd looking man who was holding a tablet that Ghost could infer from their previous discussions must be the owner.
All Price had deigned to tell them was that he wanted to check this place out and see if it was 'worthwhile,' but he had not elaborated on what exactly it would or would not be worthwhile for and Ghost knew better than to press him. If Price wasn't telling them exactly what was going on, there was always a reason.
Trusting Price was what had gotten him out of his old life, and for that Ghost would be forever grateful. It was why he was even willing to come to a place like this that he would normally be entirely too freaked out to even go near - if Price said it needed to be done, Ghost was ready to make it happen.
Still, he had to wonder what on earth Price could possible want with that strange looking man in a black fabric mask and beanie, eyes almost completely obscured behind large glasses.
He tried to remember what the guys name was, but unfortunately at that moment, the song changed to something he actually recognized and Ghosts eyes snapped back over to the stage that was now occupied only by the scot and a chair. He froze again as he watched him dance, all smooth, sensuous movements the likes of which he had never seen in his life. He had never found himself more confusingly jealous of an inanimate object as the man sat in the chair and spread his legs wide, hand resting ever so gently over his crotch to keep his kilt obscuring whatever he was packing underneath it, leaning back and smiling cheekily at the bills piling up on the stage. Then suddenly was looking up and locking eyes with Ghost, who's heart jumped directly into his throat and -
"It's good manners to tip if you're going to stare like that, son."
For a third time Ghost found himself struggling to maintain his composure and not flinch as a voice pulled him back to reality. He really had to snap out of being so damn distracted.
"Come on, I got us a section in the back and secured some company," he said, gesturing for Ghost, Farah, and Alex to follow him as he headed back towards where he had been talking to the owner. Ghost saw the gorgeous dancer that had previously been on stage with the Scottish man nod to the owner before leading them back and decided immediately that he would be standing security; there was no way in hell he would be able to handle sitting with the party.
He brought up the rear as the dancer led them into the back area and to smaller section with plush velvet couches and shiny wooden tables, all cordoned off into private areas with heavy, deep red curtains. Ghost was slightly surprised at how large the club was for seeming to only be one floor.
"Here we are," the dancer said, eyeing them all sweetly. "Myself and Soap will be taking care of you all tonight as soon as he's finished up, as well as several of our darling wait staff," he continued as Price, Farah, and Alex made themselves comfortable.
"And what is your name, sweetheart?" Price said, patting the couch next to him in clear invitation, slinging his arm across the back as the other man sat down next to him, curling up rather cutely for such a well-muscled man.
"You can call me Gaz," he said, voice dripping with honey.
"Darling name for a darling boy," Price purred. Ghost turned away and rolled his eyes. Watching Price hit on people always made him want to vomit; as much as the man had provided him with a new start and money to get off the ground, he couldn't deny that Price could be a bit of a sleaze. He idly wondered who Soap was and when he would show up when he heard the curtain behind him rustle and turned to see -
Ghost wasn't sure how much more he could take before he went into actual cardiac arrest. of course it was the scot, smirking and looking almost offensively delicious with a sheen of sweat over his tanned skin.
"Hey there, doll," he drawled, accent thick and heavy and as much as Ghost wanted to hate it, god did he love it. "Come have a seat with us, won't ye?" he invited as he draped himself invitingly across the soft fabric of the lounge next to Farah, who looked him up and down interestedly.
Ghost gave him his best Kubrick stare, fighting to pretend that the request hadn't gone straight to his dick, but was saved from having to actually speak by Price, who seemed to have understood that Ghost would be standing watch, saying "Don't worry love, the lieutenant will be standing guard for us; you know how ex-military are."
Soap gave him a quick elevator look that made Ghosts entire body tingle as he turned his attention to the entry way they had come back here through and tried to tune out the sound of clinking glasses and flirtatious banter.
He let his mind stray to what on earth Price could possibly be wanting with this place. Surely he enjoyed the entertainment and company that dancers provided, but there had to be more to it than that. Normally Ghost would be privy to conversations like the one he had had with the owner, so it was unusual to him that Price was being so tight lipped about it. But then, he knew his place: good soldiers followed orders.
He was unsure how much time had passed before he felt someone coming up behind him and turned sharply; it was Gaz, who seemed to have managed to pry himself off of Price's side for a moment.
"Strong and silent type, hm?" he said, looking up at Ghost through thick eyelashes. Ghost had always been terrible at talking to attractive people, but the men in here were nothing short of super models. He figured even if he wasn't autistic, there was no way in hell he would have been able to get a single word out.
"We saw you enjoying the show, are you sure you don't want to join us?" he continued flirtatiously. He's just doing his job, he's just doing his job, he's just doing his job -
A momentary distraction appeared in the form of a waiter dressed in a playboy bunny suit, complete with black stilettos and headband ears. Gaz stood and carefully plucked the drinks from his tray, exchanging some kind of clearly meaningful look with him, though the actual meaning was lost on Ghost.
"Please consider, wont you, Ghostface? Scream's my favorite horror flick," he said with a wink, turning to walk back and pass the drinks out to everyone on the couches. Ghost watched for a moment as he handed Soap what was very obviously a low ball glass of ice water.
He took a deep, steadying breath, reminding himself that these men were at work and that this was just a normal part of their job. And i do not look like Ghostface.
He wasnt sure how long they were there until Price finally seemed to be ready to leave, and as they began to stand up and mill around, he actually did flinch as the Scottish dancer sidled up next to him, all blue eyes and strong features.
"Not much of a social butterfly, hm?" he teased. "Never seen a man turn Gaz down before."
Ghost only let himself look at Soaps face for a second before staring at one of his shoulders, trying not to give into overwhelm.
"First time for everythin'," he grunted, letting his eyes shift down to the medium-sized tattoo on the other man's forearm.
"So ye do talk," he said, cocking his head cutely. "I was startin' to wonder if ye were non-speaking."
The phrasing got Ghost to look directly at him again.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Reading people's 90% of the job, doll," he mused. "Plus, yer just like my sister."
"Let's get moving, Ghost," Price called, and Ghosts attention snapped over to his boss, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows and a smile.
Ghost tried to snap out of it without physically shaking his head; it was difficult. He settled for just walking away without looking back but heard the man call out "come back soon, aye?"
He heaved a deep sigh as they walked out into the overly warm summer air; why was it still warm this late at night?
His musings about climate change were cut short by Prices voice: "Alright, this place will definitely do; I'll update you all on movements for next week in a couple of days, okay? Head home and get some sleep."
Farah and Alex waved as they walked off, giggling with each other. Ghost sometimes felt himself slip into thoughts of wondering what that kind of human connection felt like, but quickly reminded himself that it didn't matter because he didn't need it.
"You enjoy yourself at all, then?"
He glanced at Price, who was looking at him knowingly. Price always treated him more like a father than his biological father ever had, and for everything else about him, Ghost had always silently appreciated it. In this instance, however, he wished Price would just ignore him.
"I'll just head home, sir, unless you have anything else for me," he said stoically, not wanting to give himself away.
Price chuckled. "Yeah, I bet you need a bit of alone time after all that," he joked. "Have fun, Ghost."
Ghost was ever grateful for his mask and eyeblack, feeling himself burn all over as he tried not to sprint home.
He barely made it inside before he was ripping a glove off, sucking on his own fingers in a desperate attempt to get them wet, and jamming them down into his pants, leaning against his locked front door as he desperately thrust in and out of his pathetically needy cunt, mind full of the vision of Soaps gorgeous ass flashing out from under his kilt as he gyrated over that chair.
He pressed his palm up against his dick, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from moaning too loudly lest a neighbor hear him. He ripped off his mask, suddenly feeling it was entirely too hot and stifling.
Hey there, doll.
Ghost had to jam the knuckles of his free hand into his mouth and bite to smother the absolutely unholy noise he let out; his saliva wasn't enough and the angle wasn't right and his pants were too tight to work himself the way he wanted to but god if he didnt feel like he was about to bust already at just the memory of that man talking to him.
He pulled out of himself to spit on his fingers and palm, desperate for more, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He quickly shoved his pants down past his knees to spread himself wider, fucking into himself with more fervor than he had in what felt like (and probably had been) years.
Come have a seat with us, won't ye?
Ghost gasped; the memory of Soap spread so easily across the deep pink velvet was almost too perfect to be real. He was lying almost flat on the floor now, just the back of his head and shoulders pressed at an uncomfortable angle against the door.
He rubbed desperate circles on his dick; his thumb was too dry and it hurt a bit too much but all it took was the thought of Soaps kilt flipping up just a bit higher and Ghost threw his head back, gasping as he slammed into the door much too hard but not even registering the pain as he came blindingly hard, clenching almost painfully around his fingers.
He panted as he came down from the high, fighting to steady his breathing, and winced as he pulled his slightly too dry fingers out of himself and tried to catch his breath.
He laid his legs flat, the floor cold on his bare ass, and wondered what the hell had come over him as he stared up at his ceiling.
"Fuckin' hell."
If only he had known that across town, several hours later, a very antsy Soap was in his shower, grinding against a vibrator like his life depended on it until he too was gasping and shaking, head full of thoughts about the hulking, fully covered man that he had made burning hot eye contact with during his chair set.
"Steamin fuckin' jesus," he swore, chest heaving, forehead resting on his forearm against the shower tiles. He'd never gotten hot for a customer like that before, but he'd be lying if he said that a man covered head to toe that had stared at him from behind a half-skull mask like a demon straight from hell didn't light a searing fire in the pit of his stomach. Probably something to talk to a therapist about, but who had an hour every other week to spare on that?
Gaz had teased him a bit for approaching Ghost so boldly as they were leaving, but Soap knew how to keep things professional. Even if he did just get off thinking about shoving Ghost flat onto his back and railing him within an inch of his life...yeah, he knew how to keep things professional.