Chapter Text
There were not that many things that Cyno could name off the top of his head if someone were to ask him about what he finds attractive in a person.
Yet, the way that the dancer moved across the mini-stage of the private room had Cyno captivated, as if he was in perfect control of every little movement of his body, as if the way his hair fell across his back was intentional as well. He thinks, yes, if he were asked to list things that he found attractive, this person would be the culmination of all things he could ever want.
The dancer slithered off stage, the movement so smooth he could barely process it before he was in his lap, the scent of flowers so subtle but so intoxicating Cyno swears he almost gets euphoric off that scent alone.
Soft lips caressed his own, the ghost of a touch, the promise of a kiss unfulfilled. As much as Cyno wanted to lean in and claim those lips between his own, he knew better than to break the rules. Still, there was a fire lit through the network of his veins, and Cyno knew himself well enough to know that that wasn’t from the glass of hard liquor he drank before all this started.
Flashing lights, sultry music, the sound of heels on black tiles and the scent of alcohol and perfume in the air. Here in the heart of the nightlife of Sumeru City, he felt like he had stumbled upon something illegal. As far as he was concerned though, night businesses and dance performances for entertainment weren't exactly against the law. As far as the city was concerned, they were operating within legal means - that didn't stop the weekly raids. Though, they never ever found anything incriminating either.
Cyno, safe to say, felt extremely uncomfortable being in a strip club of all places.
In here, he didn’t know where to put his eyes. The clientele was, surprisingly, expensive. The performers stood out in the crowd, all skin, flashy jewelry, lace masks and an almost captivating gait to their walk. That was to be expected for the most part, after all, performing was most of their job. They carried themselves like they owned the place, and honestly, Cyno was starting to believe it.
The customers were not easy to miss either. Each of them came impeccably well-dressed, suit and tie, with a sleek mask to match. That was the dress code, a high-end club for only the most refined of customers. The entrance fee said enough about the wonders that would go on inside this club.
Truth be told, Cyno had no idea what he was doing in here. After dinner with Kaveh, Kaveh had suddenly suggested they go to a club - to which Cyno countered that they were hardly at the age where they could still drink and party till late at night.
“It’s not that sort of club. It’s quite an establishment, really. I got introduced to it by another friend of mine, and, well, consider it a guilty pleasure.” Kaveh reasoned. His explanation made it sound more like an exclusive invitation-only club.
Before they made their way there, Kaveh handed him a sleek black mask. It was a fine quality, hardy, with ridges and polygons and gold lining that made it look similar to those ancient jackal statues he loved to study when he was younger. How ironic.
Safe to say, the biggest strip club in the Grand Bazaar Street wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. They entered the place, and before Cyno could even question what the fuck were they doing in a strip club, Kaveh had already disappeared around the corner, behind a velvet rope barrier.
Thanks for that.
Cyno figured that that was probably the last time he followed Kaveh anywhere after dinner. One drink and he was going home. One drink to unwind, and then he was gonna get a cab home, take a hot shower to get this grime off his skin, and then he was going to hop onto his computer and play Genius Invokation TCG Online. Yep. That was his perfect Friday night right there.
He sat by the bar, looking solely at the ice melting in his glass so as to not stare at the passing people dressed in barely anything. Sure, this was their job, but it didn’t make Cyno feel any less out of place when he did stare, or worse, when he caught some other person staring.
The mask was itchy, and honestly a little hot. It made his peripheral vision almost nonexistent and that annoyed Cyno in ways that he couldn’t quite place yet. The white-haired man was a careful person, always watching his surroundings, observing. Even though this was definitely a place for people who had money to waste, he still felt as though he needed his guard up.
That was just Cyno being Cyno. Always wary and cautious, to the point Candace and Kaveh constantly had to tell him to loosen up.
Just as he was finishing his drink, the scent of flowers filled his nose. It wasn’t quite like the other people who had come and gone during his time at this bar, this wasn’t obnoxious or suffocating, it was passive, alluring, like bait to a fish. There was the scent of wood lurking under the flowers, Karmaphala maybe, and the slightest hint of dates.
“I’ll take a spritz, thanks. The last dance was a nightmare, Amir.” His voice comes out soft and gentle, the kindness in his voice contrasting against the snark in his tone. He hears the jingle of jewelry, and it only confirms that he’s found one of the establishment’s performers. “I feel like I need to carry around our club’s pamphlet in my leggings or something, just so I can throw it at some of these idiots. What part of no touching don’t they get? Do I have to paint it on my skin in neon green?”
The attitude was not something he was particularly expecting. Coupled with the scent and the sound of his voice, it was enough to make Cyno lift his head, turning in the direction of the new arrival.
What a mistake that was.
The man beside him wore a mask on his face that was black, with green accents, leaves and branches intricately woven into the edges of the mask. Though the mask did nothing to take away from the big ears atop his head - he’s heard of hybrids, but never seen one so up close. His hair was a glossy black and green, matching the colors of his mask. His body was slender in all the right ways, dressed in gold and cheap silks that were meant to be taken off. He’d seen his fair share of the staff working here tonight when he walked in, but none like this. Was this rude? Was he staring?
When he stares for a moment too long, the other turns to him. Their eyes meet, and he knows instantly, the moment his eyes fixate on the person beside him, he knows that he was a goner tonight. Striking brown-green eyes framed by lush lashes - what a beautiful set of eyes.
“You know, if you were trying to eavesdrop, you could make yourself a little less obvious.” He speaks, and of course, it’s nothing but snark and wit dripping from every word. Cyno quite likes it. He prefers it, even.
“Sorry. You just… caught my eye.” Cyno doesn’t know what else to say but the truth.
The dancer hums, blinking at him slowly. He was assessing him, taking in the mask, the hair, the business suit and tie he wore to work. Moments of silence ticked by before finally, a small smile graced the other’s lips, amused.
“First time?”
“Yes.”
“Nervous?”
“No.”
There’s a small chuckle, “Then, you don’t know how to ask for a dance?”
“Not that. I came because a friend invited me here. The moment we entered, he turned and disappeared around the corner. I already paid that ridiculous entrance fee, so I figured I’d get a drink and go home.”
“Don’t want to stay?”
“Not particularly. This isn’t my sort of place.”
“Hm. Well, it isn’t really mine either, but it pays the bills.”
Cyno doesn’t have to act surprised. He knows how much money this type of work can bring in, and a place like this, with the anonymity to boot. You could be anyone here and not be afraid to get exposed - that was attractive to plenty, he supposed.
“You can’t exactly leave here without a dance, though.” The dancer leans in, just a tad, chin resting on smooth knuckles as he eyed Cyno with a playfulness.
“I’m not really interested.”
“Hm… Perhaps stick around a little. I’ll find someone to dance for you.”
“It’s not going to be you?”
The playfulness in his eyes began to curl into his lips now, an expression . Cyno understands in that second, that it was just a ploy to get Cyno interested - and he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. He replies nonchalantly, “Well, if you want it to be me, you should know that I only do private dances. Might be a little much for you, since it’s not something you’re interested in.”
“Well. Tell me more about you first, then I’ll decide.”
He laughs, amused, “This isn’t a speed dating event. I can tell you my stage name and my specialties, though, you’ll probably prefer to see the latter for yourself.”
“The name, then.”
“Fairy.”
“Doesn’t suit you.”
He earns another laugh for that before ‘Fairy’ continues, “Actually, I wanted my name to be Vulpes. But the manager said nobody was going to pay for a stripper named Vulpes - two thirds of these drunk bastards didn’t even know what it meant. So, we went with something easier; Fairy.”
“I would’ve paid for Vulpes. Can I call you Vulpes?”
“Well. That makes one. You’re allowed to call me whatever you want, but only with me. Nobody else here is gonna know who you mean.” The masked dancer beside him shrugged, though the growing smile indicated that he liked the comment. He takes a slow sip of his cocktail, and then as if well aware that Cyno was watching him, the pink tip of his tongue slips out, dragging along the plump of his lips to catch any lingering droplets of alcohol.
Cyno had to swallow down the lump in his throat. Did he know what he was doing? Surely, he did.
As if by an automatic response to his nervousness, he cracks a joke, “What’s a fairy’s favorite drink?”
The quizzical look he’s met with tells Cyno that the other has no idea.
“A Sprite.”
Cyno was suddenly well aware that what he thought was a stellar joke could very well result in the alluring dancer to stand and walk away. People have been very vocal about how much Cyno simply was not funny. But he could see it happen in slow motion, the cogs turning in this fairy’s eyes, and slowly, he let out a half-amused snort.
“You’re not good at jokes or comedic timing, are you?”
“You don’t get it, then? Let me explain-”
“No, no. I got it. Sprite’s another word for fairy, and it’s also a soda.”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
“I don’t see you laughing either, Jackal.”
The nickname throws him off before he remembers that he was wearing a mask in the shape of one. He shakes his head, gesturing vaguely, “It’s even less funny if I laugh at my own joke.”
“That’s true too.” And for a moment, he catches a glimpse of a real smile behind the playful, teasing tilt of his lips. Cyno takes a chance on that alone, setting down his empty glass as he turns to the foxy (pun, intended) dancer.
“Can I ask you for a dance?”
His ear twitches as his head tilts, and then, he grins. There’s a slyness on his lips as he flashes sharp fangs behind his lips. Cyno had to remind himself that jackals preyed on foxes, not the other way around, “It’s your first time. You have to get some documents signed first. Amir can help you out.”
Cyno has never skimmed through a document so fast. For the most part, he makes the first payment, and grasps the basic rules - no touching, no photography, no bribes. The dancers had the right to any additional rules, or to allow limited touching should their act permit it. There were cameras recording in every corner of every room to ensure their dancers’ protection, and reserved the right to use it as evidence against any prohibited behavior in the private rooms. There were non-disclosure agreements, there were written contracts to not expose their dancers should they find any evidence of their real identity. It was decently thorough.
Perhaps, Cyno would’ve taken a longer time to assess each word of every single page of the documents if he didn’t have the prior realization that it’s been a long time since he’d gotten off, and that this person ticked all the right boxes for him.
Fairy, or rather, Vulpes, took his hand after everything was settled, leading him up a set of stairs and down a long corridor. He doesn’t think the hand holding was something that happened often, but Cyno wasn’t complaining. If anything, Cyno was more entranced by the swish of the fluffy tail attached to the base of his spine.
After a while of walking, he opens a door seemingly at random, and allows Cyno in. The room itself is small, the round sofa probably seating four or five people at most, tucked closely against a stage with a pole on it.
Oh.
“Any song requests?”
“No.”
“Then get comfortable.” Vulpes lets go of their joined hands, as he fiddles with the stereo system. Cyno settles on the seat, eyes fixed on the other, and for a moment, realizing how long the other’s legs were. He had much more fabric on his body than the others out there did, and that made Cyno all the more excited.
As if he didn’t have enough weaknesses against this man.
“Any limits tonight, Jackal?”
“Limits?”
“Anything you don’t want me to do?”
“No. Surprise me.”
Vulpes casts a sly look over to him before he plays the music, and it’s a slow beat, a sultry voice that croons over the speakers as he steps up to the stage. His fingers wrap around the metal pole, and his body swings around it easily, warming up. Their eyes stay connected, an unmistakable intensity in the room as Cyno leans back in the seat, suddenly aware of the heat pooling in his stomach. Archons above, he was horny. He could admit that much.
As the beat drops, the first layer of clothes drop onto the floor, and Cyno’s eyes follow the foot that kicks the cloth off the stage, and back up to the newly exposed arms and torso. He wasn’t surprised at the sight of sinewy muscles, dips and grooves that were not a showcase of his softness, but proof of the effort spent dancing. He wondered then, what it would feel like to kiss them. To kiss him.
Cyno watched, entranced, as Vulpes kicked himself off the ground, making shapes out of his body that he would never think were sexy up until this moment in time. If anything, this moment was reworking his brain chemistry, if anything, this dancer was finding ways to fit himself into every nook and cranny of Cyno’s mind - at the very least, he’d have good reason to come back.
Every movement was deliberate, every swish of his hips and roll of his body against the pole was timed and intentional to pull his focus in, to keep his attention in the palm of his hands. And it worked. Vulpes shimmies down the pole, with nothing but shorts, tights and heels on, back to Cyno, still partially watching the white-haired man from the corner of his eyes. He inches down until his heels clack on the tiles, and then even more slowly drops down into a perfect split, the curve of his ass accentuated against the floor.
And then, suddenly, he abandons the pole that he clung to, kicking his feet straight as he lays on his stomach. The dancer eyed him, cheek on smooth tile as he smiled, a moment’s bliss as he raised his hips off the ground, chest never leaving the stage floor as his tail curls up perfectly, as if to tease him with it - a position of submission. Cyno doesn’t know if he should beg or just leave with his dignity intact.
Slowly, he raises himself off the ground, and then, allows himself a moment of rest as he rests against his heels. His head rolls along his shoulders, and smiles prettily, “Do you want to touch me?”
“Yes.”
He holds his hand out, as if prompting for the other to take it. And for the longest moment, he stares at it. Surely, it can’t be this simple. Surely, he didn’t spend a good twenty minutes pouring over written agreements just to break it all in one night. Despite all that doubt, Cyno, entranced in the siren song that was Vulpes, took it without hesitation. To Celestia and back with all that - Cyno had never wanted, needed, yearned for anything more than this.
And just like that, he grips Cyno’s hand tightly and eases himself off the stage and onto his lap in a smooth movement, the weight of the fox landing onto his lap as easy as that.
He takes both of Cyno’s hands, lips brushing against the skin, ghosting over each tanned knuckle. Words form against his skin as he whispers, lips a millimeter away from his skin, and the words only make Cyno aware of the sticky lip balm the dancer seemed to be wearing, “You know, I don’t know if I should be flattered or amused.”
“Why’s that?”
Wrong question. Vulpes shifts higher up on Cyno’s lap, and makes him all too aware of the straining fabric of his pants. There’s something akin to a purr that starts in the other’s throat as he shifts Cyno’s hands to rest neatly on his hips. Cyno doesn’t know if he should be focusing on the pressure against his dick, or how marvelously smooth the dancer’s skin feels against his calloused thumbs.
“Still okay?”
“Yes.” His answer is immediate, and he doesn’t know how to voice that he wants more, despite clearly wanting more.
Before he can even make a mental process of trying, Vulpes had already read his mind. The other had already begun moving against him, one hand braced on Cyno’s knee for support, the other hand dragging sharp nails down the other’s button up as he rolled his body expertly, each motion perfectly accentuating the gyration of his hips that ended and began at Cyno’s arousal. Here, the scent of flowers mixed with sweat, alcohol and arousal - Cyno had no idea which was whose, but it was intoxicating.
Walking into the club an hour ago, Cyno would’ve never thought that he’d be leaving with several new discoveries about himself. Yet, here he was.
Cyno was never a fan of clothed sex. There was something impersonal about it, something that felt too closed off. When the hand clawing at his chest moved to dig into his hair, pulling his head back for the dancer to lean in, their breaths mingling as he rubbed their cocks just right against each other, the friction hitting all the good spots, Cyno realized that maybe, maybe he just hadn’t been doing clothed sex right.
The fox leans in, eyes half-lidded, a sense of ecstasy behind those blown pupils as he gazes at Cyno. Cyno could only watch, fingers digging tighter into the bones of his hips to prevent himself from letting his hands wander, or worse, flipping them over and taking this into his own hands.
Did he know how much power he had over Cyno at this moment?
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
His heady smile only grows, and he leans in a little more, until their lips are a hair’s breadth from each other, and Cyno can almost taste the chapstick he used. Their lips never press together, even if Cyno wants it so bad. Vulpes only hovers over him, the picture perfect definition of an incubus preying on his next meal, each movement calculated and precise to milk his victim of all he’s worth - this was hardly the fox’s first rodeo.
And then, his head was jerked backward further as the dancer dipped his head down, fluffy ears tickling his jaw as his mouth made contact against Cyno’s neck. He suckled and Cyno shivered, as if the other had pressed all the right buttons. He doesn’t think anyone in all his past experiences had ever managed this much in such a short period of time.
Cyno could barely keep focus as his mind clouded over. His eyes were focused on the dim lights on the ceiling, head too full of good feelings as his teeth bit down on his lip to stop a moan from bubbling out of him. The dancer, on the other hand, focused his movements into a meticulous art form, working an orgasm from Cyno as if his life depended on it.
It doesn’t take much more than that, as his lips pop away from Cyno’s neck, a newly formed hickey surely left behind as a souvenir. He pressed his body closer, moving his hand from his knee to bury both into his hair.
And this, this, made Cyno weak in the knees. There was an intimacy that he never thought he would be able to achieve with someone he had met barely an hour ago. It made him want to tear away the mask covering the other’s face as soft little gasps worked itself out of those pretty lips, if only to see the face he made when true bliss had hit him.
The next moments are a blur, an accumulation of all things, the throbbing beat in the back of his eardrums, the buzzing heat of their bodies, the sight of this almost-stranger falling apart with him. It is the last few rolls of his hips that sends Cyno over with a low groan, a sense of release built up from the friction that had rubbed him just right that caused the muscles in his lower region to tighten and spill over with satisfaction.
The dancer doesn’t move for a few moments after, skin trembling beneath Cyno’s fingertips. Cyno doesn’t need to ask to know. The song comes to a slow stop, and silence fills the room outside of their panting.
“What about the cameras?” Cyno asked suddenly, eyes glancing around to try to spot them. Was that not rule-breaking? Was he about to get banned on his first night? On his first dance, nonetheless?
“Well. Technically, you didn’t break any rules. Besides, I was consenting. What are they going to do? Ban a perfectly obedient customer? Hah. The audacity.”
That was all the conversation they managed before Vulpes peeled himself away from Cyno, bidding him a good night and to take his time before he left this room. He had other things to attend to, apparently. Cyno could barely process it, still reeling from the recent events.
If Kaveh knew what happened, Cyno would never hear the end of it.
In the wake of post-nut clarity, he manages to stumble his way home, peeling away sticky clothes that would have to be washed and dried before he slept tonight. He thinks about returning to the club next week, but he doesn’t know how he’d do that without Kaveh finding out. They did work at the same place. They did have dinner together every Friday evening.
It is only when he is emptying his pockets of any spare material when he realizes he missed something. It is only when he flips the black card over when he realizes that maybe he doesn’t have to worry about Kaveh finding out at all.
Sneaky fox.
When did he find the time to sneak this into his pocket?
Instead of exhaustion, Cyno was met with a sense of brimming excitement. This was different. Nothing like he’d ever experienced before. In the monotony of order, the idea of having a few secrets filled Cyno with anticipation. The card, embossed with golden numbers, sat on his dresser. A little something for tomorrow.