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The sparkly, stringy object that Leonard nearly trips over on his way to the bathroom is the third of its kind this week alone. This time, he takes a detour to the kitchen and returns with salad tongs to pick up the offending item.
When Sulu opens his bedroom door, hair mussed and high on one side of his head and flattened on the other, the glittery shred of fabric dangles closely to his face.
"Would you please tell me what the hell is going on with you?" Leonard asks, scowling.
"The fuck, man." Sulu snatches the thong out of midair. "It's none of your business. Why do you have to be so nosy?"
"I'm your roommate. And, more importantly, your friend. I have a right to know about the origin of multiple thongs littering the otherwise clean floors of my apartment."
Sulu sighs and tosses the offending scrap of fabric into the laundry hamper on his way back to bed. Leonard hasn't seen much of him lately; medical school keeps him busy beyond belief. Sulu, on the other hand, dropped out of law school a few months ago. Since then, his odd jobs have typically allowed time for dinners, beers, and bad TV with Leonard, but lately when Leonard gets home, Sulu is nowhere to be found. Sometimes he's not even there when Leonard wakes up in the morning.
"I'm just worried about you," he continues, stepping into Sulu's bedroom. "I mean, I'm open-minded. If you're having some kind of, uh, sexuality crisis, I'm more than willing to—"
"What? No!" Sulu sits up halfway and grimaces. "Look, it's not a big deal, okay? It's just…for this new job I got."
"Doing what? Moonlighting as a drag queen?"
Sulu glares at him. "You wouldn't understand," he says. Leonard rolls his eyes and cocks his hip, leaning against the doorframe.
"Try me," he drawls.
*
When Leonard gets to the club, he double-checks the address, just to make sure he's got it right. The place is a dump, that's for sure, but one of those special dumps that goes all out to assume an air of sophistication and class—which, in essence, makes it look even more terrible. The ferns by the door look like they could use some watering, at the very least.
It's too early for a bouncer to be on shift, so no one stops Leonard as he makes his way inside. The main room, which looks to seat a couple hundred people, is completely empty, save for some guys hovering by the stage, doing tech work. Then there's a guy sitting by himself, looking over papers and tapping his pen on the tabletop in a bizarre rhythm.
"'Scuse me," Leonard says, making his way over. The guy looks up, dark eyebrows lifted curiously. The color of his eyes makes Leonard think of lazy days on the beach spent drinking gigantic cocktails with cheesy umbrellas.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm looking for…" Leonard blinks and pulls out the piece of paper again, which has the stupid stage name that Sulu insisted he use. "The Lieutenant," he says, sighing in exasperation.
The guy just laughs. "Sulu, you mean? He told me his friend would be dropping by tonight. He's not here yet, though."
"Well, it's after seven, so he's probably still sleeping," Leonard grouses. He shoves the crumpled paper back into his pocket and shrugs his shoulders. "Well, uh, tell him I dropped by. I guess."
"Hey, hey, where you going? The show's gonna start in a couple of hours." The guy jumps out of his chair and abandons his paperwork. Now that he's standing, Leonard can see the ridiculously defined abs attempting to bulge their way through the fabric of an extremely tight T-shirt—not to mention what's straining beneath his jeans. He forces himself to glance away but can't quite escape the guy's blinding smile. "Stick around, yeah? Lemme take your coat; get you a drink. I'm Jim, by the way."
"Leonard. Uh, Len," he answers, already letting Jim help him with his coat, even as he looks to the exit. "Really, I should probably get home and do some work. I mean, if he's not here anyway."
"He's not here now, but he will be. Now, what can I get you? Blue Lagoon? Bahama Mama? You look like a Bahama Mama sort of guy."
Leonard hides a smirk as he sits. "Dewar's White Label, neat."
Jim whistles low and grins. "I had you pegged all wrong. My bad. Hey, Uhura!" He calls out to the svelte woman behind the bar, who looks up from cleaning glasses. "Bahama Mama for Hotpants over here!"
Uhura gives him an A-OK gesture. Leonard exhales. "Great. Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, I gotta do something, but you're sticking around for the show, right? Yeah, of course you are. Cool."
Jim runs off, presumably to go annoy someone else, and Leonard makes his way to the bar, where there's already a Bahama Mama waiting on the bar in an oversized novelty glass, complete with cheesy umbrella. Leonard blinks at it, almost missing Uhura's knowing smile.
"So, what did you really want to drink?" she asks. "Something tells me you're more of a whisky guy."
"Dewar's, neat," Leonard replies. "You know what, though? You already went ahead and made this one, so…"
Uhura waves a hand. "Oh, please. Jim only did that because he wanted it. Whatever you want, it's on him."
He smiles faintly and sits on a stool. "Is he the owner, or…?"
"Or." She hands Leonard his drink, all precision and efficiency. He didn't even realize she'd poured it. "Admiral Pike's the owner. But the Captain runs the show."
"The Captain," he repeats flatly.
"Ugh, seriously, Len?" Jim asks, appearing at his side and picking up the abandoned cocktail. "And here I thought you were a man of discerning taste. Well, more for me."
Leonard tries not to stare as Jim sucks strongly at the straw. It proves to be…difficult.
"Uh, so. When does Sulu get here, again?"
"Probably about a half-hour before the show. You are staying for the show, right?"
Leonard frowns and wonders if he actually has a choice. When Jim grins at him around the tip of his straw, he knows he doesn't.
*
The show, predictably, is awkward as hell to watch. The lighting is crazy, the music too loud, and even though he's standing a good thirty feet from the stage, Leonard is positive that he's going to find glitter in his hair and clothes for days. The women in the crowd are going absolutely insane for the dancers, waving their long, acrylic nails in the air and fishing money out of their seemingly bottomless purses, shoving bills down strippers' pants like it's too hot to hold in their hands. There are a few men, too, hanging out by the bar for the most part, drinking giant Bahama Mamas as they watch the goings-on with roving eyes.
Leonard has to shield his eyes when Sulu takes the stage dressed as a sexy pilot, of all ridiculous things. He does a slow strip tease as the announcer—that Pike fellow, maybe—makes a horrible joke about taking a ride in the "cockpit." Leonard groans and wonders what heinous thing he's done in a past life to deserve this: having to watch his best friend, who's like a little brother to him, jiggle his ass for dollar bills under a strobe light that's bound to give someone a seizure.
On the other hand, Sulu seems to be enjoying himself. In fact, he's smiling in a way Leonard hasn't seen in a while, eating up the attention from the crowd. It's almost refreshing to see—that is, until the pants come off and he's left in a glittery thong and Leonard has to get another drink immediately, if it's the last thing he does on the face of this Earth.
He almost makes it all the way to the bar without Jim intercepting him, until Jim intercepts him. Of course.
"Enjoying the show?" he asks, shit-eating grin plastered onto his face.
"Sure. I love watching my roommate shake his ass for money. Despite living with him for two years now, I hadn't yet gotten a detailed mental picture of the outline of his penis in an oversized elastic band, so thank you for that. I'll carry it with me for the rest of my days."
Jim laughs, following along as Leonard goes to the bar and motions for a refill. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a clothed dick."
"Not at all," Leonard says. In fact, nothing could be farther from the truth. He makes sure to keep his eyes averted, though, because Jim doesn't need to know as much. And Leonard has a notoriously bad poker face. His eyes always give him away. "But it's Sulu. It's different."
"Well, he's almost done, so never fear."
"Great. The sooner he finishes, the sooner I can leave."
"Don't you want to see the rest of the show?" Jim asks, leaning heavily against the bar top. "I promise it'll be worth your time."
"Not really." Leonard fishes out his wallet from his back pocket, waving a hand when Jim opens his mouth. "No paying for me this time. I don't even know you."
"Well, you're about to know me a lot better."
"What does that mean?" Leonard asks. But Jim's already walking away, ending the conversation with a wink and a smirk, which pretty much answers Leonard's question. He takes a large swallow of his drink.
And he stays.
*
Admiral Pike—who isn't a bad-looking guy himself, if you like the salt and pepper thing—comes out to introduce the next dancer and there's suddenly a crackle of electricity in the crowd. Leonard looks around and notices the more seasoned audience members fishing fistfuls of money from their handbags, all of them practically vibrating in their seats. Clearly, they know what's coming and whatever it is, it's got to be good.
After a few minutes of light banter, the lights go down, Pike tips his hat to the crowd, and announces with a gruff drawl, "Ladies and gents, please give a warm welcome to our handsome, flexible, and extremely multitalented captain."
It's at that exact point in the evening when Leonard has to somehow stop himself from dropping his glass or crushing it to tiny shards in his hand.
Jim pushes the curtains aside and strolls out onto the stage, a swagger in his step that commands everyone's attention and then some. His captain's uniform is so tight it's obscene, the fabric pulling from every angle as it does its best to hold together across that broad chest, those ridiculous arms, and that divine, shapely ass. Nothing is left to the imagination as Jim begins to swivel his hips, hands clasped behind his head, and—good lord, is that Ginuwine playing? Leonard hasn't heard this song in years and he already can tell it's going to take forever to get the damn tune out of his head.
Not that he minds much if the music is paired with the memory of Jim's ass swaying back and forth to that hypnotic, lazy beat. Jim gives the crowd a coy look from beneath the brim of his hat before he tears open his shirt and drops to his knees all at once, and…fuck. Leonard is staring. He knows he's staring, but he can't help himself, not when Jim is literally humping the floor, his toned and svelte body moving across the stage like crisp water flowing in a goddamn stream. Leonard starts to feel heated, like his clothes are too tight, and he gulps down the last of his drink way too fast.
It doesn't help, especially not when he senses Jim's eyes flashing right back him—but that only lasts for a second, before Jim makes his way into the crowd. He finds a more-than-willing woman to engage in a little audience participation, pulling her onto the stage and into a strategically placed chair. That's when the pants come off and the real show begins, met by a tidal wave of mind-numbing screams from the other patrons. Leonard finally looks away but not before he catches a glimpse of Jim's package, which looks to be straining and suffocating within the confines of that scrap of fabric someone decided to call a thong. Jim perches over the woman's thighs, an enviable lap dance ensues, and Leonard bites his tongue when he realizes just how badly he wants to switch places with her. His dick aches at the very thought of it and he flushes as he realizes this asshole—this annoying, childish imbecile he met just a few hours ago—has gotten him rock hard in public, in hardly any time at all, with just a wiggle of his behind and a few thrusts of his hips.
Leonard's still standing there like an idiot, hiding the lower half of his body behind a chair, when he realizes the crowd is clapping and Jim's dance is over. He curses under his breath and puts his glass down, then makes his way to the nearest corridor to find the men's room. The situation in his pants is not going away without a cold shower, a photo of a dead puppy, or some other type of drastic measure, and Leonard's nowhere near a shower. Plus, dead puppies make him cry.
The place is like a maze with no discernable restrooms that he can find. One wrong turn and then another, and Leonard ends up bumping into the studly captain himself, who's still mostly on the naked side, glitter dusted along his collarbone and shoulders. Leonard swallows and decides not to think about leaning in and licking said glitter off, but oh well, what do you know, too late.
"Sorry," he blurts, "I was looking for the—"
"Holy fuck, it's you," Jim says in a rush. His eyes flicker quickly between Leonard's eyes and his mouth and a responding rush of heat floods Leonard's gut. "You were watching me out there. I saw you."
"I'm sorry if I was staring. I didn't mean to—"
"Jesus Christ, dude. C'mere."
Jim grabs Leonard by the forearm and yanks him into a random room. Leonard takes a fast look around, noting the potted plants and a few wall mirrors on one side of the room, all lit from below. Clearly, it's some kind of dressing room. A communal dressing room? That other people are bound to walk into, sooner or later? His heart starts beating faster, if it's even possible.
"I was looking for the bathroom," Leonard says, his voice a little gruff. "I couldn't find it anywhere in this godforsaken place."
Jim ignores him, shutting and locking the door. Leonard tries not to look directly at that thong.
"You're hard," Jim observes, but not in a mocking way. In fact, he sounds almost…breathless. Leonard shuts his eyes; he doesn't have to look down to know that Jim's right. He is hard, and embarrassingly so. He's a grown man, for god's sake. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen. Except that it is happening and when Leonard opens his eyes again, Jim's standing even closer, and the sight of that fucking incredible body only makes things worse. "I swear, I've never seen anyone look at me like that while I danced," Jim continues.
"What the hell are you talking about? Everybody out there was screaming themselves hoarse over you."
"But nothing ever like that." Jim starts to crowd his space, so Leonard takes a step backward. He lets out an involuntary gasp when his back hits the wall. Jim looks him up and down and licks his lips—and fuck, that is just unfair. Leonard has to forcibly choke down a whimper. "Do you even know what you were doing to me, staring at me out there with those fucking eyes of yours?"
His eyes. Of course. Always getting him into trouble. "Jim, what are you—" Leonard pauses when he realizes they're breathing the same air, and his cock responds with a hot pulse at the thought. His resolve, if he even had any to begin with, crumbles to dust. "Damn it, man. You could have your pick of anyone," he finally says.
Jim smirks and leans in, arms crowding Leonard against the wall. Leonard thinks he's about to get the life kissed out of him, but at the last second, Jim tilts his head and sucks Leonard's bottom lip into his mouth, putting all his energy—and, yes, talent—into that one focal point. Leonard surprises himself with a moan when Jim's tongue swipes across his inner lip, wet and hot as hell, and he grabs onto Jim's bare, bare hips so he doesn't fall and make an ass of himself. His hips jerk when he feels the quick sting and luscious bite of Jim's teeth, and by the time Jim lets him go, he can feel his lip starting to swell. He's dizzy, his nostrils filled with the scent of Jim, and when he glances down, he can see there's already glitter on his shirt.
"Hey," Jim murmurs, mouthing along Leonard's jaw. "Lemme blow you? Been thinking about it since I saw you out there, getting down on my knees for you."
"Jesus, kid," Leonard says with a small, choked laugh. "Like I'm actually going to say no to that."
"Well, I mean, you could," Jim says. "But you'd be pretty dumb to do it." He flashes him a smile as he sinks down to his knees, and goddamn, that is an image that will keep Leonard warm at night for a long time. Jim runs his hands over Leonard's thighs before he gets his pants open, then immediately tucks his face against Leonard's groin. The heat of his mouth and the warm pressure make Leonard want to keen in pleasure, but he settles for a faint grunt in the back of his throat instead. He clasps Jim's shoulder with a light squeeze and Jim regards him with a playful look. "You ever gotten your dick sucked before?"
"What?" Leonard asks, barely resisting the urge to flick him in the neck. "Of course I have. Do I look like a virgin to you?"
"No, but I mean, have you ever gotten your dick sucked?"
"The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"You'll see," Jim quips. And with a quick tug on Leonard's underwear and a long, hot lick along the underside of his cock, he does get the picture pretty damn fast. Jim swirls his tongue around Leonard's shaft once, twice, and then sucks him down with an alarming amount of skill and speed. Leonard gasps as his world narrows to the slick, molten world of Jim's gorgeous mouth—Jim working his cheeks so hard that Leonard swears he can feel the kid's pulse. He struggles not to buck forward, not to grab at Jim or pull his hair. Jim shrugs one shoulder, as if to say he wouldn't mind, but Leonard's a gentleman above all else, goddamn it. Shaky as his fingers are, he cards them rhythmically through Jim's stupid, highlighted hair and he feels it in his very bones when Jim responds with a low, pleased moan.
"Better stop moanin' and groanin' down there," Leonard hisses, his accent heavier now that he's aroused as all get out. "Been like this since you sashayed out onto that stage, m'not gonna last…"
Jim, little miscreant that Leonard already knows he is, steps up the moaning and groaning even more, sliding his fingers over Leonard's inner thighs and rolling his balls in his large palm, squeezing gently. Leonard curses and jerks forward, but Jim takes it in stride. He pulls back just a tad, to flick his tongue against Leonard's sensitive slit, over and over, and just when Leonard's knees are shaking in response, Jim takes him in fully again. It's too much for Leonard to withstand—Jim's sinful mouth paired with the memory of his striptease, still playing on infinite loop on the backs of Leonard's eyelids, not to mention the delicious possibility of being discovered at any given moment—and he manages to squeeze Jim's shoulder in warning right before he comes, his whole world whiting out around him.
When Leonard blinks his eyes open again, Jim is still crouched on the floor, wiping Leonard's come from his jaw with a half-smile. There's a full-fledged erection peeking out of Jim's thong now and Leonard scrambles to get him to his feet and out of that glittery piece of elastic because damn it to hell, they must do something about this. Jim laughs, sounding almost drunk as he holds onto the front of Leonard's shirt and nuzzles his cheek. By now, Leonard knows the glitter must be everywhere.
"You're so hot," Jim murmurs, and then before Leonard can scoff in return, "Can I just kinda…" And he shifts his hips forward to demonstrate what he wants. "…against you?"
"Yeah, Jim," Leonard breathes, turned on all over again. "Whatever you want."
He crouches down a little against the wall and juts out one leg so Jim can get a good position going, and then watches with wonder as Jim takes a ride on his thigh. He wraps his arms around Leonard's shoulders, pressing close, and Leonard takes advantage of the proximity, launching an oral assault on Jim's throat and neck. He licks away a stray smear of his come from Jim's jaw and Jim groans from the sensation, bearing down harder on Leonard's thigh. Leonard begins to move beneath Jim, rocking in time with his thrusts, and he tugs on Jim's earlobe with the very edges of his teeth. Jim lets out a wavering little yelp and Leonard can tell this isn't going to take much longer.
"You see what you did to me?" he whispers right into Jim's ear. "Such a hot piece up on there on that stage. All I wanted to do was take you home and screw you into my mattress. You want that, Jim? Want me to make you scream my name?"
"L-Leonard!" Jim gasps, bucking down hard. He seizes momentarily in Leonard's arms and warm dampness follows, spreading across Leonard's thigh. There's a moment of stillness followed by a soft, satisfied sigh puffed against Leonard's cheek. He shifts to kiss Jim properly, cradling the back of his head until they part. "Holy shit," Jim says, which pretty much sums it up. "Can you come to, like, every show from now on?"
"Don't tempt me. I'm in med school; I can't afford it."
"Well." Jim grins and helps Leonard tuck in and zip up. "If you're looking for some extra cash, we sure could use a doctor on the team. If you catch my drift, which I think you do."
"Put your damn thong on," he says, adding a severe eye roll for emphasis.
Jim winks and bends over to do as Leonard says, giving him an eyeful in the process. "Okay, maybe you're not the dancing type. But you should definitely swing by again. I'd make sure you get in free. No pressure, just…think about it."
And when Jim reaches up to dust the glitter out of Leonard's hair, eyes bright and smiling lips damp from their kiss, Leonard knows that he's doomed to do exactly that.