makinglies | Pretty Woman

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Pretty Woman

There were still dying ribbons of pink resting on the horizon when Jet settled in against the outside wall of the strip club. He could hear the bustle and voices of customers coming in for the night around the corner but didn't bother to look. He didn't care.

One, two, cigarettes and two other people stepped into the mouth of the alley. The shorter one turned to face the taller one and wrapped his arms behind their neck to pull the taller man into an intense kiss. They exchanged a few words, the shorter man kissed his friend again then saluted as he turned into the alley and walked up towards Jet.

The red head watched as the taller shadow seemed to hesitate a moment before finally leaving, then turned his attention to the man who'd settled in beside him with his own cig.

"Thought we agreed you weren't gonna hang around out here by yourself anymore."

Jet shrugged. "No one's really around yet. Besides, I got done with my stuff early and decided heading over was easier than hanging around."

Bucky didn't say anything to that, just gave a mildly irritated grunt and worked at the stick in his mouth instead. They were better at silence when it came to those heavier issues like why Jet wasn't supposed to hang around on his own.

Jet wasn't like Bucky, he didn't pack as much punch on his own, though he did have his height. Beyond that, Bucky had Steve who never failed to walk the brunette to and from work like an overprotective watchdog. Jet had been present for the arguments that had ensued about Bucky feeling like Steve didn't trust him to take care of himself, but those arguments had stopped after one night when a customer had gotten really handsy with Buck -more than any other customer before- and after the night when Bucky had found Jet behind the club after that one guy went too far.

That had been over a year ago and where Jet lacked a body-builder-esk boyfriend, he had his own methods of protection. It wasn't even really that he wanted a boyfriend like Steve, he had his classes and his job and plenty of things that made having a boyfriend difficult, but he'd be lying if he said the idea of having someone care that much about him didn't sound appealing.

Too bad he was a stripper and guys like Steve didn't come out of the woodwork very often.

"Come on, we should head in and get ready. You know Jackson hates it when we smell of smoke."

Jet nodded and stomped out the butt of the cig before leading the way through the back entrance and into the backrooms.

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If there's one undeniable truth of the universe it's that Albert does not want to be here.

It's his birthday and by all rights he should be glad he has people in his life that still even want to drag him places to celebrate the fact that he's still breathing but after a day full of dealing in other people's happiness, he'd rather just go home and wallow in the fact that he has little of the same. Instead Martin and Harry from work had taken his keys and dragged him out to this strip joint. He'd never been to one before and the other two men had been flabbergasted enough to close the shop early and initiate him into the joys of topless women dancing for his entertainment. He imagines they think it'll improve his morose attitude. He has doubts.

But here he is anyway, sitting at the small round table and listening to his coworkers whoop and holler and generally make asses of themselves by waving singles at the woman on the pole with the body of a goddess and eyes like a shark. She's gorgeous and the things she can do with her legs start some gears turning that he hasn't used in years, but Albert remains more intent on his drink than her bare skin.

At least, until the smaller stage to their left's lights start flashing and a heavy beat picks up. Suddenly everything else is so much background noise as a tall, lithe redhead slides onto the stage, swaying in time, slowly slipping out of each already small stitch of clothing.

"I thought you swung the other way, Bert!" Harry slaps him on the back so suddenly that Albert nearly spills his drink right down his font.

"Whatever, it's his birthday! Live a little!" Martin turns his wad of ones from waving at the predatory pole dancer to the gyrating redhead down to nothing but chaps and a thong while Albert tries to sink into the floor out of embarrassment.

It was a normal night with the normal crowd. Bucky went out and worked the floor while Jet worked the stage and they would switch once Jet's 'turn' was over. Bucky had always been better about garnishing attention before he showed off whereas Jet was better about continuing to gain it once he'd been up. They made a pretty decent double act that earned a bit of popularity in the club for the time they implemented it.

He noticed the small group of guys -closer to the other stage than his- waving their money around like a call signal shortly after they seemed to have noticed him. He finished his dance on the stage until he was down to the bare essentials like he was supposed to before stepping off to begin his 'mingling.'

He strode over to the table, grace and confidence in every step and stopped with his hands planted lightly on his hips, head playfully cocked to the side as he regarded them.

He'd only been at this job a little over a year and a half, but clad in a very short and very tight frayed top, tight shorts that barely covered anything, tall boots to accentuate his long legs and the many accessories accenting his outfit, he was dressed like a pro. The confidence, aura of sensuality and the nice thick layer of liner around his eyes only added to that.

Bucky had said he'd be good at this job and his friend was hardly wrong.

"Evening, fellas. Did you like the show?"

The German is at a loss for words but his company seem to have enough between them to make up for it. 'Birthday' and 'lapdance' get thrown around along with a decent amount of cash and Albert can't even get a word in to decline.

He's not even sure he wants to decline, which makes him want to run and hide because he hasn't wanted anything sexual in so very long that the sudden return of his hormones with a vengeance has him wanting to run for cover.

But there's no escape with his two coworkers practically stuffing the bills in the ginger Adonis' shorts and boots. He's trapped.

Lap dances were usually hit or miss, sometimes they were fine and could even be a little fun depending on the reaction and sometimes they were less than fun and left Jet feeling like he needed five showers to make up for it. The worst ones were when entitled assholes thought the 'no touching' rule didn't apply to them and security had to come over and remind them that it did. Jet always just wanted to call one of the girls over and have them smash the guy's hands in with their heels and while he was sure they'd be happy to, it was far less trouble for everyone to just let it go.

The lap dances that were bought for someone else, though, tended to be okay, mostly because the one he was dancing for was often too flustered or too shy to try anything. That seemed to be the case with this one.

Jet started slow, keeping a little ways away from the chair to allow himself room to get closer. His hands ran slowly over himself and led him to the floor where he crawled up to the man's legs. One hand on each knee, he pushed his customer's knees apart and slid in-between them, his hands gliding up lightly along the older man's thighs.

Jet's face hovered over the man's legs and crotch area, just close enough to blow air on his pants, but not close enough for contact. He nuzzled in close to his quiet audience's stomach and moved up his chest and near his face, bracing himself only on his arms for as long as he could.

Once his lips had passed the other's with only a breath between them, long legs gracefully found their way on either side of those noticeably strong thighs as Jet half sat, half stood, in the man's lap.

His hands slid up an equally strong chest and over his shoulders, brushing up through silver hair as his hips gyrated dangerously close to his customer's. Any potential sounds or words being said by the guy's friends went completely unnoticed, the whole bar might as well not exist for the amount of attention and half-lidded eye contact Jet was giving.

But just as his hips nearly got close enough for their crotches to meet, the red-head stood and turned, demonstrating his flexibility with how he could contort his body and how far his legs could stretch.

But no matter how far away he got, he got closer again and straddled the older man again, backwards, with Jet's hands on his knees. His ass ground against knees, thighs and finally right into the guy's lap for all of a second before Jet settled enough to lean back and leave a light kiss on the guy's cheek, marking the end of his dance.

It was a little bit more than he'd normally give a customer, but it was the guy's birthday....and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't one of the most handsome men Jet had serviced in a long time.

Bucky'd probably give him shit for it later, but if what he'd felt pressed against his ass was any indication, it had been worth it.

The pounding beat thuds in Albert's ears as those long legs seem to wind their way in, around, and through his own. Little bucks of hip and all the bobbing a weaving almost get him motion sick with how much Albert's eyes flit around the stripper's form, trying to take in everything at once as the everything he tries to take in keeps gyrating into a new position and there's hands on his thighs and breath on his inseam and the sudden realization that the pounding isn't the music at all but his own pulse in his ears.

Gott, the kid is attractive.

He loosens his tie in an effort to make it easier to breathe, only to have hips backed up into his lap and the redhead bending backwards completely double, providing all kinds of wild things to his heretofore disused imagination.

I mean, really attractive.

The pounding in Albert's head intensifies, making him dizzy and short of breath. The lanky stripper placing himself in Albert's lap and planting a light and coy kiss to his cheek makes him freeze up altogether, utterly and completely overwhelmed, with only one thought making it through the muddled mess of hormonal jelly his mind's been made into.

I want to--

But he doesn't let that thought finish, his heart clenching painfully at the somehow familiar but still completely foreign feeling of want. Not sexual, though it started there, but for companionship. The ten ton thought steamrolls his mind and has him bolting for the door, completely undoing his tie and shedding his blazer as he goes because he just can't manage to get a deep enough breath.

I want to get to know you.

Jet blinked in surprise at the man's sudden exit and the men with him seemed amused for a moment before talking amongst themselves and deciding to follow after their friend.

It wasn't exactly unheard of, but that kind of reaction happened more in virginal boys and girls than adult men. Ultimately, it wasn't Jet's problem, he'd give the guy some of the best he had and the poor fellow hadn't been able to handle it. So he moved on.

Although he didn't forget about it. Even if he'd wanted to, Bucky was right there to remind him about it at the end of their shift.

"Wow, Jet, you really chased that guy off, huh?"

Jet smirked and hit him in the arm. "Shut up. Maybe he was married or something and got cold feet. That's what happens when you've got friends who'll buy you lap dances."

Really, Jet had made a pretty good haul off of even just that dance, much less everything else, so he didn't have any second thoughts about it, just dismissed the meeting as he followed a pace or so behind Bucky and Steve as they made their way home.

It takes Albert at least a week to recover from the encounter. He's not sure when he got so fragile - when she died, probably, but he's never been so overcome before as to have to run. He'd barely made it home that night rattled as he was and was grateful that he'd been given that Sunday off regardless. Even so all he does all day is go through the motions and try to figure out exactly what it was about that man that made his heart stop. The way the redhead moved, the way he spoke, that little twinkle in his eye that was somehow equal parts mischievous and fragile and how Albert feels he knows this despite never having met him before.

He buries his head in the pillow again and doesn't come out until he has to the next day.

* * *

The week carries on as normal with classes and work and Saturday rolls around again, only this time instead of Albert getting in extra time in the music lab, instead he finds himself scurrying through the black double doors of the Onyx Club and finding a dim booth to watch from where he won't be seen.

The next week he does the same.

And the next.

He always stays long enough for Jet to dance, eyes transfixed on the way he moves and the grace with which he conducts himself when he knows everyone is watching. And each night the second the song ends, Albert leaves his tip, turns up his collar, and slips out the doors.

There's nothing wrong with watching, he reasons. It's just watching. He's not touching, not pursuing, just observing a talented dancer. Jet's wasted in this place, he decides privately, though he can't quite be upset that he's there at all. Otherwise he wouldn't even know the redhead exists.

Then he has to wonder if this is how stalkers get started and vows not to go in again.

He does this every week.

Only this week, on Sunday, he's agreed to do a favor for the head of the theater department, an old friend from Europe (English though, not German) who's casting the spring musical and needs a pianist for the dance auditions. Albert agreed to it, thinking it would be a nice change to play for something other than grades for awhile.

Considering Jet shows up with the rest of the audition hopefuls, Albert has to wonder if someone up in heaven - or in hell - is mocking him.

He pulls his collar up and his hat down, hunching over the piano so his face isn't visible. He can't bolt now, but god does he ever want to.

He'd almost completely forgotten the encounter with the attractive man at the club, he had plenty of other things to think about instead. Like the auditions for the musical that got announced.

He hemmed and hawed about it so much that even Bucky got tired of him and said if Jet didn't go, he'd toss the red-head onto the stage himself day-of. So Jet practiced and practiced, every time he had a chance, he was dancing.

By the time the day of the auditions came around, he felt like his chest would burst with how hard his heart was beating. What i they thought he was awful? What if they actually liked him? He wasn't sure which option was more terrifying.

The fact the auditions were held with the rest of the hopefuls watching didn't make him nervous, although it was clear how a couple of them got self-conscious from it. Not all of them though, there were plenty of very talented people there and that made him nervous.

Then he stepped on stage.

The lights made everyone else vanish and the second that music started, his nerves didn't matter anymore, he just started dancing. It was going well until he could hear the music strain and break the tempo as the pianist messed up the chords. Annoyance flared through him, but he tried to keep going. After his performance was over, Jet snuck off to the piano to have a word with the pianist. After all, it was amazing how he hadn't messed up once the entire time and only just now while Jet was on.

He rounded the piano, irritation brewing...and stopped short once he finally got a good view of the man. He'd pulled his hat down and his jacket up, but Jet could see the silver hair peeking through and that defined jaw he'd admired for the time he'd been staring at him.

"Hey! You're that guy!"

It's the same tune he'd played for eight dancers before and he'll have to play the same one for almost twenty after but with Jet on stage Albert just can't make his fingers behave in the way they're supposed to to keep playing. They freeze up every time the redhead moves to his side of the theater because Albert's eyes stray from the music to the stage. And this time, this time it's not for sex, there's no gratuitous shaking or dipping, just raw art and grace, tugging at the German's heart with the emotion that's obviously behind the drive to perform. Even with Albert's imperfect playing, they would be fools not to cast Jet.

And then the audition is over and there's a break called. Albert comes back to reality just in time to find the taller man bearing down on him like a stork, looming over the piano bench from one side and causing Albert to duck as if he's been struck.

Scheisse, now he's 'that guy'.

He nearly runs. As it is, he pops up and gathers his music books in a hurry, pulling his hat down over his eyes almost like he could disappear into it. There's a mumbled 'I have to go' and then he's gone, leaving behind a nondescript blue notebook under the piano bench.

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