Chapter Text
“I wanna see some diiick!!!”
Keigo nearly spat his frozen drink all over one of the slot machines. That was certainly an odd thing to hear coming from her mouth, considering she was a stone-cold lesbian.
They had been partying all day, every day, for the past several days. His organs were begging him to relax, to eat something green, or to chug five gallons of water. The blazing intensity of the sun also didn't help the dehydration in his muscles. It was exhausting, gallivanting all around the Vegas strip and swinging long, plastic chalices full of artificially colored frozen cocktails for days on end.
Keigo expected her that bachelorette celebration would be in Las Vegas. She'd only been telling him about it years. And, though it was expensive and overwhelming, he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
He also expected that they would be headed to the strip club at some point during the weekend. "There's just something about it," she always vaguely explained, when trying to convince him to come.
But, a male strip club?
Keigo’s gay ass certainly wasn’t complaining.
But still, why? Maybe she thought going to an all-guys club was a novelty. Maybe she was catering to the straight girl majority of her friend group. Or maybe she talked it over with Fuyumi, and this was some kind of compromise.
Again, not complaining. Though, a part of him hated the idea of even going to a strip club at all.
He’d been a small handful of times before, and decided it wasn't for him. They made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way that strippers circled people like sharks looking for cash. He didn’t like the feeling of being studied, watched for weakness. His handlers used to study him the same way. And, when he didn't do what he was told, they used to make veiled threats about leaving him on the streets.
The marginalized people of society became monsters in his mind. It took him a while to unlearn.
He, too, had become wise to the weaknesses in others. He, too, sought for signs, for any tells of vulnerability.
In the military, they praised him for it. He quickly rose through their ranks by way of a little flattery and a charming smile. It was a job, and he was good at it. So, the awareness that those tactics were being used against him made his muscles coil tight in defense.
He could conceptualize that it was supposed to be "fun", but he couldn't help when his cautionary instincts took over. The talons of vigilance were hooked too deeply into his mind, always pulling him back to a cutthroat, dog-eat-dog reality. To a stripper, he assumed, he was just some sad, vulnerable guy with deep pockets ready to be taken advantage of.
But Rumi was one of his best friends. Despite what people assumed, he didn’t have many of those. She was the kind of can-do person that he liked to surround himself with. She always set out to have a good time, didn’t spend her energy on stress or worry. He admired her, and in turn, she understood him.
They've known each other since basic training, and it just so happened that they were both appointed under Senator Todoroki. Working for the Senator was just more evidence that things were finally going right. He had idolized the Senator for years after learning of his involvement in the arrest of his father. The delicious irony of it was more evidence that things were finally going right. Life was stable now.
Though, they were right when they said, 'Don’t meet your heroes'. The Senator himself was a massive asshole with a fiery temper that burned a mile wide. But, to his credit, he took Keigo’s and Rumi’s wisecracks about him on the chin. One fateful day, the senator’s cute daughter was dropping by and started chuckling at a few of their jokes.
Thus, Rumi met her future wife, Fuyumi.
And Keigo sat front and center at a strip club to celebrate the impending union
When their car dropped them off at the club, he put on a happy face. It didn't matter that he was tired or that he had become sick of everyone around him. If he convinced himself that it would be fun, then he was sure that some part of him would.
The club itself reeked of cigarettes, and the stench of sweat was potent from the moment they walked inside. Neon lights swiveled on the ceiling above them, weaving flashes of too-bright color through the otherwise dark room.
The pounding bass reverberated uncomfortably under his skin, but he would smile through it for Rumi. Half-naked men strut around the floor and the center stage, their oiled-up bodies illuminated by the ultraviolet lights. Women beckoned shamelessly for them, and Keigo noted how their eyes would follow wherever the money was held the highest. Predictably so.
Their whole group was getting VIP treatment. Rumi was sexy and loud and clearly a bride to be, dressed to the nines in a tight, short, white dress. She was fully decked out in a sash and heart-rimmed glasses, looking hot as hell in the part.
A dark-haired man wearing a Venetian mask, leather pants with suspenders, and literally nothing else, led them to their private booth. He offered them a bottle of their cheapest vodka and an assortment of sugary chasers. He even poured their drinks and sat down with them, flexing his biceps and encouraging the girls to touch.
The stripper featured on stage was putting on an incredibly depraved show. His body glistened under the spotlight, sliding and grinding all over the linoleum. He clearly knew how to perform, and despite himself and his earlier opinions, Keigo was really enjoying the show. He let out a loud whoop when the dancer’s movements slowed, mirroring the sensual, bass-heavy beat.
That’s when the stripper locked eyes with Rumi.
He pawed suggestively at the bulge in his costume, luring her in with a ‘come hither’ motion of his finger. She strutted towards him, putting on a show of her own for her posse and anyone else watching. The dancer ran his hands down the curves of her waist, stopping only to palm her ass. Keigo didn’t even realize his jaw was on the floor until their whole group erupted in cheers.
“Yeah, Rumes! Ow, OW!” Keigo cupped his hands around his mouth. Rumi laughed brightly, relishing in the energy and attention.
The remaining dancers on the floor made a beeline for their table. Most of them were only attentive to the girls, but Keigo took note of the guys who stared at him, specifically, for just a little too long. One of the strippers even sat down next to him and started yapping his ear off.
Jin was nice enough. He had this paradoxical way of making conversation that was both vexing and entertaining to be in the company of. But he was fun. Keigo even tried to flirt his way into a free, non-well drink or two, because why not? It landed more as a friendly dare, which was perfectly fine. Keigo liked exercising his charm, testing what he could get away with.
He had a knack for people. Sometimes he could get people to share their life stories with almost no prompting. It's not hard. People like to talk about themselves, so keep them talking. Flatter them, mirror them, make them feel safe. Wait for something to use against them, if needed.
The tension in his shoulders eased up a bit. He had a strategy now. He would sit here, hang out with Jin all night, and then laugh about it later. But that comfort was short-lived. Jin was yapping about something when he heard a gravelly voice that raised the hairs on his neck. He knew better than to ignore that prickling sense.
“- so I told her, the hat stays on, ma’am,” he overheard their server say to someone.
“Damn, Sato, how long did it take you to come up with that one?” the voice responded, sarcastically.
Keigo turned, and that’s when he saw him. He hadn’t noticed this dancer yet. He wasn’t one of the guys who ran to their table earlier. But there he was, helping their server clear empty glasses.
If Keigo had his usual powers of observation, he would’ve noticed that their server had a complete costume change. ‘Mr. Compress’ was now dressed as a slutty magician: sparkly bow-tie, no shirt, and tight pinstriped pants that over-outlined the bulge of his dick. But Keigo couldn't tear his eyes away from the really, really pretty one.
He would have believed him to be an angel, if not for all the body modifications and the mean curve of his mouth. His pretty, pale skin was adorned with various piercings and tattoos of blue fire that looked alive under the ultraviolet lights. He wore a multi-piece leather harness and these tiny, patent leather shorts, held together by corset-style stitching that Keigo instinctively wanted to rip apart. His eyes, as blue as glaciers.
Keigo’s eyes skimmed down his body, drifting to the shadows that carved out the lines of his abdomen, his shoulders— heart pumping faster and faster with every new detail he spotted. It was like he was plucked straight out of Keigo's teenage fantasies to test his self-control. Maybe he was.
“Oi, Blondie," the stripper barked, and Keigo's head snapped up.
"If you’re gonna eye-fuck me like that, better come over and tip me at least,” he said, a gleam of challenge. Keigo swallowed hard. He tried to conjure the perfect deflection, breaking into a cold sweat from the mental gymnastics.
“Damn- relax, hot stuff, just trying to get a better view of the guy on stage, is all,” he quipped smoothly, with a confidence he absolutely didn't feel.
The dancer's lips twitched upwards, amused. There was cunning in his eyes as they flickered up and down Keigo's form, sizing him up. Keigo didn’t break contact. A telepathic battle for dominance. He was afraid he had already lost.
"You seem to be enjoying the view just fine,” the stripper said loftily, splaying a hand over his chest and trailing downwards, spotlighting said view.
Brat. Keigo’s mouth tightened into a line, not trusting anything behind his lips. He knew he was fucked for sure when his eyes automatically followed that hand, wordlessly chanting yes please nice more. No, don’t be stupid.
He had to disengage.
He was here for Rumi. Not pretty boys. Rumi. Jin was still in his ear, and the girls were busy either talking amongst themselves or to the other dancers. What would really even happen, huh? You’ll never meet him again. Not worth it. Enjoy the company of your friends.
It wasn’t enough.
He couldn't deny it. Deny him. He wanted to keep looking, to touch, to feel him from the inside. But he hadn’t yet. He still had control. He couldn't, wouldn't, indulge in this little fleeting fantasy. He had a lifetime's worth of military discipline and a spotless reputation to protect. He couldn’t let that go.
But, god, this guy was hot.
Something about this dancer captivated him. There was something about his inescapable intensity. That pit in his soul was growling at him again, starving and dissatisfied by the lies he tried to tell himself. But he couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not ever.
He forcibly ripped his attention away and turned towards Yu, who was cackling excessively after her public lap dance experience.
“I can’t believe he just bent you over like that!” he said, having seen one of the men bend her over and faux-thrust into her perfect behind from his periphery.
She grimaced, “The public dry humping really isn’t doing it for me!”
“Ha, yeah,” he responded, sounding a little distant even to his own ears. His vision slid to his periphery. The stripper was still there, he knew, but he wouldn’t allow himself to turn fully. Then, the shadow was gone. Good. Perfect. Move on. “I think a lot of them are gay,” he blurted quickly.
“Prolly!” She slurred.
“What!” interjected Jin, “You kiddin’? We’re all - strait - as hell!” They laughed. “Let me get you guys more drinks! Damn alcoholics.” He said, before he ran off to fetch more vodka.
A successful diffusion, but it didn't feel like a victory. His traitorous eyes continued to follow the dancer. It didn’t help that his shock of white hair and the glint of his piercings always seemed to sparkle in the colorful, dancing lights. Neither did the tattoos. Or the fact that he kept bending over, and his legs would part just so that Keigo couldn’t help but imagine what lay between them.
Not that he was taking notes, but eleven minutes after their interaction: Keigo caught him leaning on the bar smoking a cigarette, staring listlessly at the stage. Thirty-two minutes later: he gave a lap dance to a woman across the room. He wasn’t stalking, he was just… collecting intel.
And sometimes collecting intel meant following every revolution of his hips, or noting every time he did something that made the woman beneath him smile or blush. Intel collection sometimes meant clenching your jaw and knocking back multiple drinks like an grumpy old man at a dive bar. But it definitely didn’t mean locking eyes with your target, or clenching your jaw at the sight of his sly smile. Maybe he still had some things to learn.
He was talking to Rumi when they actually met again. He felt fingertips lightly skimming his neck, igniting that very same chill he felt earlier. He already knew who it was, and nerves buzzed like bees in his stomach. He breathed deeply before he turned to look behind their booth and meet those wildfire eyes.
“Oh, hey,” Keigo said, trying to sound cool.
“Hey, stranger. How's the view been, hm?” The dancer responded, biting back his grin like he was trying to stifle a laugh. He leaned over the back of their booth, staring with that same raw intensity. Keigo craned his head backwards towards him. He couldn’t help himself. He was beautiful. He sat there brainless, rendered immobile by the dancer's hypnotic stare.
“Uh, good,” he said, stupidly.
“Ahem!” Rumi interjected, thankfully. “No, thank you!”
Keigo released a shaky sigh he didn’t even realize he was holding. She held her hand up to the stripper’s face, who gave her a venomous look. The delusion that the stripper was somehow possessive over him tugged at his heartstrings. His eyes bounced between the two of them.
“It’s fine, Rumi,” he assured, reaching into his pocket to grab a twenty-dollar bill.
He told himself (and everybody else) that he wouldn’t break out his wallet, but this game had to come to its logical end. So, whatever, he would eat his words. It would be more embarrassing to keep testing the limits of his own self-control. Plus, the stripper even said it himself: if Keigo was going to eye fuck him, he really should be paying for the privilege to do so.
Once he caught sight of the money, he closed in on Keigo like a snake narrowing in on its prey. He slithered around their booth until they were face-to-face, hands bracketing Keigo’s head on both sides. The cheap leather upholstery crackled softly in his ears as the dancer hovered over him until Keigo was eye level with his waistband.
Keigo recognized a power stance when he saw one. He worked in government, after all. Interesting, was it just a performance, or just his nature? Maybe he felt powerless most of the time. Or maybe he liked pinning people down and liked watching them squirm.
Keigo wouldn't let himself squirm. He would wield whatever power he still had left. So, he didn’t dare look away as he slipped the twenty-dollar bill into the waistline of his shorts. The dancer smiled at him, satisfied. The approval felt so good, so warm, despite what it literally and figuratively cost him. Keigo even let himself indulge in a small caress of his hip bone, rolling his thumb over the stud of that pretty dermal piercing.
“You have pretty eyes,” came a husky whisper in his ear, barely audible over the pounding bass.
It wasn’t a compliment Keigo expected to receive in a strip club, of all places. Anywhere else it would’ve been cliché, but here, in this moment, it felt strangely authentic.
“Not as pretty as yours,” Keigo admitted, because it was true. Because that was one of the first things he noticed about the dancer as well.
He let his shoulders relax, despite his baser instincts. He let those lithe fingers play with his hair at the back of his neck. He even tipped his neck back, almost sighing as those hands scratched lightly at his scalp. It had been too long, if ever, since anyone had touched him like this, so full of care.
But was it just an act? Just like the comment about his eyes?
“Wooo, how about a dance?” Rumi whistled towards them. Both their heads whipped towards her to see her holding up one of the ‘free dance’ tickets that the club’s manager gave them for booking a big reservation a month in advance. There was a ticket for each person at the party, but many of them remained unused.
“For you? You’re the bride, right?” he asked.
“No! For him!” She yelled back, her voice competing with over the music.
The dancer’s brow furrowed, and Keigo was unclear whether he was confused or annoyed. Then his expression faded into a coy smile. He let his fingers untangle from Keigo's hair and situated himself in the space between the two of them. He spread his legs wide, playfully knocking knees with Keigo. Another display of power. One that made heat bloom embarrassingly fast on his skin.
The dancer plucked a cigarette from the shared pack that lay on the table, snickering to himself as he lit it. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, building anticipation. Then he released a slow drag, smoke curling in the neon lights dancing above them. The stripper stretched his long arms around both him and Rumi, pulling them in.
“I can only dance for him in the backroom. That’s the rules,” he explained, taking another drag. ”If he wants that, of course”, he added, dragging a teasing fingertip along the curve of Keigo’s bicep. His muscles flexed under the touch, but not because he was trying to impress him. The stripper giggled, "But," he turned to Rumi and raised that same hand to her chin. He tilted her face towards him seductively. “I can give you a dance right here.” he purred.
Keigo must look offended, because Rumi mouthed ‘sorry’ over the dancer’s shoulder.
The dancer moved to mount her before she could even say yes. He kneeled around her, caging her thighs on both sides. He pulled her hands to his hips and began revolving them over her, slowly, sinfully. Keigo had seen this choreography before, multiple times already. But up close, it was more electric, more alive. It was as chilling as it was beautiful, like a hungry wolf circling prey that he hadn’t yet decided whether to kill or spare.
Rumi somehow matched his intensity. She laughed as she held onto his hips, thrusting in her lap. It was weird, but they actually looked hot together. Whether it was the heat between them or the way they played off each other, it was an odd thrill to watch them.
The dancer gently peeled her hands from his hips and ran them up his torso. His eyes fluttered closed, like it was getting him off. His torso spun in a slow, hypnotic arc, leaning back like he was overcome with ecstasy. She turned to Keigo and burst into a fit of laughter.
"Help! I'm way too gay for this!" she said.
The dancer didn't care. The dancer took her hands again, this time to roll over his nipple piercings. Keigo’s attention strayed from her to the stripper’s chest, watching the metal glint under her fingers. The dancer smirked, sharp and knowing and of the same mind.
Keigo was also way too gay for this.
The dancer swooped in, a motion so fast he nearly knocked Keigo in the nose. He curled himself into the crook of Rumi’s neck. His face was only inches from Keigo’s own, close enough where Keigo could could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. If their gazes had hovered there a second longer, he might've dove in to capture the dancer’s lips right there. They were parted, just so, swollen pink and inviting.
When his eyes flicked up to look back at Keigo, he swore that would happen. But instead, the dancer brushed a stand of hair over Rumi’s shoulder and exhaled, long and slow. Hot breath spilled over her neck and shoulder and billowed over to tickle Keigo’s face. A shiver ran through him, his skin tingled cold from the vanishing heat.
Then, the dancer stood up abruptly and turned away from the two of them. Just as they thought it was over, he started dropping to the floor, parting his knees open like a butterfly’s wings. He held onto his knees this time, bouncing his hips. The dancer looked over his shoulder, and Keigo knew this part of the show was just for him.
The dancer rose from the floor and bent towards them, ass out, inviting them both to touch. Keigo had not seen this part of his routine yet. A prickling blush prickled at his cheeks. Earlier, it was sneaky, exhilarating, ogling him from afar. Being so close made him nervous. His eyes followed every move, hypnotized, his heart pounding in his throat.
Rumi took the bait and smacked him hard. The sharp clap resounded like a bolt of lightning straight to Keigo’s dick.
“Cmon, smack his ass!” She encouraged, patting his backside.
“Can't say no to the bride,” the stripper chided.
Fair enough.
He raised his hand and brought his palm down hard, squeezing greedily at the contact. The stripper exhaled a filthy moan, biting his lower lip for dramatic effect. The optics of it were probably hilarious. Rumi was certainly hollering. So Keigo cleared his throat, acting as if nothing had happened. The dancer, too, finished his routine abruptly. He snatched the free dance ticket from her hand, all business, all of a sudden.
“Come to the back with me,” he whispered to Keigo. A question and a command. A dare in disguise.
He knew the question was coming, and still, every nerve within him lit up like a match. Make an excuse, find any reason not to fly too close to the sun. He prided himself on his ability to think under pressure. But now, those thoughts seemed like future regrets for the plane ride home to California, when it didn’t even matter.
He remembered telling the girls earlier that he wouldn’t enjoy himself. Strip clubs were stupid, an expensive way to make yourself vulnerable and broke. Yet here he was, playing with fire anyway.
He wanted to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
He was curious about him. It was almost beyond physical. Sure, he could blame the Molotov cocktail of alcohol and illegal substances he took during the course of this bachelorette bender. He could blame Sin City itself, practically chanting its encouragement around him. He could blame anything but the truth.
“Oh my goddd. Just go, ya big slut,” Rumi said, giving him a pat on his back and effectively knocking him forward right into the dancer’s orbit. She was never one to mince her words.