Viktor grew up on the streets of Retroan, a big city known for it's nightclubs, casinos, and crime rate. He fell in with one of the drug gangs, and quickly rose to the top. From there, he made a name for himself, and his gang, the Scarlet Dragons, as one of the biggest drug cartels in the city. Even the rich and privileged come to him for illegal drugs. He lives in one of his many nightclubs, a chain under the name of Whiskey Rose. Each club is named the same, with six spread across the city. The one Viktor lives in is two blocks from Central Square Plaza. And it's from these clubs his drugs are sold, and often traded for.
Another night, another crowd. Viktor is leaning on the railing of the upper floor balcony. His home club is the largest in his chain of Whiskey Rose clubs. An expansive ground floor, a second floor balcony looking out over the first where members only can lounge, back rooms where drug deals happen. Viktor's private quarters are located in one of these back rooms, equipped like a studio apartment. Currently, he's observing his many employees, not all of which are included in his cartel, move amidst the crowd. He'd been told a new boy had been hired, replacing one who'd been lost in a gunfight last week. This new boy hasn't been hired to the cartel, just to the employee roster of the club. Nevertheless, Viktor likes to know who's working for him.
Not yet spotting the boy, Viktor's eyes roam the floor. He can see some of his men convincing patrons to go to the back rooms and try his drugs. Others are making deals in the shadowed corners. Others still are outright handing off small packets to runners, hires sent out on the streets to pull in more customers. The general public has no idea. Most think this is just another popular chain club. Viktor prefers it that way. Him and his men are meticulously careful in selecting who to approach. Only a handful of times were the police able to apprehend some of his men, but never have they been able to trace the drugs back to Viktor and his clubs. Viktor sighs, lifting a glass of straight whiskey to his lips. Perhaps the new boy isn't on the floor yet. He should have spotted him by now.
Archer grew up in the poverty-stricken side of Retroan, with his parents, as an only child. The relationship between his mother and father was always a little rocky, so when his father packed his bags and left not long after Archer turned twelve, no one was surprised. The remainder of his teenage years were spent trying to help his mother care for the house and pay bills. She was fierce and sometimes not so sweet, but she showed him that even though the world is cruel, there’s always something to live for. After she died, when he was newly eighteen, he struggled to find a job. Desperate for money, he turned to stripping, an occupation that he’s come to be rather good at over the years. It was this talent and a few friends in the business led him to the infamous Whiskey Rose.
Music blared so loudly through the club that even in the back room, Archie could feel the vibrations against the handle of the door. He tried not to let himself feel nervous, fought against the flutter of unwanted butterflies in his stomach and the uptick of his own heart. This was a new club and his coworkers were new people, but the job was the same. Open the door, which didn’t make a sound on it’s perfectly oiled hinges, and walk across the stage like he was meant to be there. Grab the metal pole in the center of the illuminated platform, cool to the touch in spite of the room’s overbearing heat, and dance. The movements were natural, instinctive—the swaying of his hips, using the pole to support himself and use it to his advantage.
Being catcalled and whistled at was what he disliked about the job. The dancing was enjoyable, freeing even, and gave him the chance to show off the body he worked hard to be proud of. It was the nasty voices of the men and women on the floor below that gave him pause, the way they shouted unwanted promises to him over the drum of the music.
He wanted their money and he wanted them to appreciate his looks—to admire the denim shorts that hugged his hips and thighs, his bare chest—but he didn’t want to be told everything they wanted to do to him. Very few people admired strippers in silence, much to Archer’s chagrin. It was at least comforting that no one tried to grab him yet, as that was often when things got a little too much.
LustfulSins:
The Whiskey Rose has a strict no touching policy for their hired strippers. It had been put in place when a patron had actually tried to shove a toy in the body of a passing female dancer last year. It had resulted in injury to the female, followed by that man climbing on stage to attempt further violations. He had been disposed of, gang style, and the woman's medical bills had been paid. Needless to say, that woman had retired and left, but it resulted in the strict no touching policy. Touching is to be saved for off the stage.
VIktor turns his head when the stage lights come on. Time for a show. He wasn't expecting the new hire to be a stripper, though. Especially a lithe little redhead. Viktor's attention is immediately captured by the fluid movement. Right away, Viktor wants to know this boy, especially his body, intimately. He hadn't asked his club manager the boy's name, but now he wants nothing more than to know.
Viktor leaves the railing and starts making his way downstairs. He weaves through the crowd like any other patron. Viktor prefers nobody knows he owns the Whiskey Rose clubs, so most see him as just another VIP member. He makes his way to the edge of the stage, whiskey glass still in hand as he watches the redhead. He doesn't call out obscenities like other men, and often some women. Instead, he observes with rapt attention, waiting for the song to be over and the new boy to step off stage.
CrescentBlade:
The song felt like it lasted no longer than a millisecond. One moment it was fading in and the next, it was fading out. Quick as a breeze, gone like a whisper. Archer found it so easy to lose himself in the dancing that he found it difficult not to be surprised when his time on stage was over. Amidst the whistling, he stepped off the stage, careful not to trip going down the stairs back into the employee room. He was breathing harshly, palms sweaty. The exercise was nothing. The nerves, however, took quite a physical toll. He took several deep breaths, as a more senior dancer passed him to take their place on the stage, and then pushed open the door.
Not for the first time, he was grateful that the rooms laid out for the dancers were often one of the most comfortable places in the building. Soft couches, multiple changing and makeup stations, anything a guy could need between songs. There was plenty of time to rest, so he adjusted his shorts and took a seat in an armchair closer to the door. Feet propped up, arms crossed over his chest. He could have covered his eyes, but he didn’t want to smudge the light layer of glitter and eyeliner that helped to enhance the shape of his eyes.
He hears a door open, but he doesn’t turn his head to look. There are more than a handful of dancers here and they all take turns on stage, but it isn’t his turn for another three songs, and he simply wants a moment to get used to everything. His last club hadn’t been quite so nice.
LustfulSins:
Viktor is almost cursing the end of the song. He follows the boy through the crowd to the dancer's studio door. He could easily go in, but he doesn't want the boy knowing he's his boss, yet. So instead, he grabs the wrist of one of the dancers to come out, tucking fifty dollar bill into the front of the man's underwear. "Go back in there and tell the new boy a VIP member wants his attention." This dancer know who Viktor is, but also knows not to change a message he's told.
The dancer goes back in, walking over to the new boy and tapping his ankle. "Hey kid, you caught the attention of a VIP member. He wants you outside. Staging isn't the only way to make money here, and VIPs pay really well. Better go before he changes his mind." He's not going to give the kid another word, heading back out to the stage.
Outside the door, Viktor leans against the wall, handing off his glass to a passing server. He pops the second button on his white dress shirt, adjusting the rolled sleeves. It's a lot warmer down here on the ground floor than it is on the balcony. Less people up there. Dancers don't get to go up there unless by invitation of a VIP member. Currently, there's only two working upstairs. Viktor intends to invite this new boy up to the VIP section.
CrescentBlade:
VIP?
Archer knew the importance of VIPs, both for the success of a club and for the success of its strippers, but he wasn’t used to being asked for. He knew that he was attractive, otherwise he wouldn’t have been given the job. Knew that he could dance and that he was just as good at it as anyone else here. Very few people were willing to pay extra for private time with him and his last club hadn’t offered much of it—a big reason as to why it went bankrupt out of the blue. When clubs like this existed, with handsome and talented dancers that provided extra entertainment towards important regulars willing to pay, it was impossible to compete in the business.
Quickly, he checked himself over to make sure that he was presentable. Not too ruffled, since his night had just begun, and of course still dressed properly to entertain. There wasn’t a single part of him that was embarrassed about his choice of clothing or lack there of, so he left the back room and took a different door into the main club. This one lead him not onto the stage, but onto the group floor with the others.
He’s met immediately by the sight of a tall, dark-haired man. Handsome and with a posture that screamed confidence. The look in his eyes was intense, enough so that it made Archer’s skin prickle. Being asked for might not be a common occurrence, but he knew well enough what to do, and was quick to loop his arm around one of the man’s. Sticking himself close enough that their sides pressed together. “You asked for me?”
LustfulSins:
Viktor's pale hazel eyes land on the new boy the moment he steps out. When the boy doesn't hesitate to sidle up close to him, Viktor is even more pleased. A boy who knows his job is to flirt with the patrons and relieve them of their money. Viktor's smile is charming, as always, and he places his left hand over the boy's wrist wrapped around Viktor's right arm. "I did, indeed. You're new here, correct? I've seen all the dancers this club has to offer, but I've never seen you."
Viktor steps away from the wall, leading the boy away from the safety of the dressing rooms. As they move through the crowd, people they pass don't hesitate to run their hands across the redhead's skin. Viktor doesn't correct them; the boy needs to get used to the constant touching. And if it means he presses closer to Viktor, all the better. Briefly, Viktor entertains the thought of taking the boy straight to his private quarters, but that would give away his position too quickly.
Viktor steers the boy toward the guarded stairs up to the second floor balcony. The bouncers there step aside to let him pass with the boy. A wordless invitation up is still an invitation. On the second floor, the two other dancers smile brightly at the new boy. He may be new, but jealousy is rare here. Another dancer up here means breaks in between lap dances for these two. One is a petite blond woman, the other a lean but muscled middle aged brunet man with a well groomed, short beard. Viktor pulls the boy with him to on of the oversized plush armchairs. "Your hair looked like fire under the stage lights. What's your name?"
CrescentBlade:
The stranger is as charming as he is handsome, putting a hand on Archer’s wrist and guiding him through the crowd. It’s an experience that he’s not fond of—too many hands, touching and feeling. Gliding across his skin, tousling his hair, and it’s a miracle that he doesn’t tense up. He does press himself closer to the man’s side, but his companion doesn’t seem to mind or care about the unwanted contact whatsoever. Used to the atmosphere of the club by now, Archer assumes, or perhaps simply not concerned with the feelings of a stripper. Maybe a little of both.
Archer has never seen the second floor. It wasn’t included in his tour the previous day, when the manager allowed him to get used to the layout of the club. A couple dancers informed him that only the ones picked out by VIPs were allowed up there, tour or no tour. They claimed it was an honour to be invited and if it lead to a larger increase of his salary at the end of the week, he would be inclined to agree. The other two strippers present smile brightly at him and, while he doesn’t know their names, he gives an equally warm smile back. Whiskey Rose’s lack of unnecessary jealousy is a serious change of pace from his last club, where the men and women fought like dogs for the most attention. Himself included, when he needed to.
Being pulled into the lap of the stranger is a different sensation than simply dancing. Not enough to embarrass him, but enough that he is unsure when he settles his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, with sincerity. Not calling the man sir or mister—for the sake of being polite or not, it seemed a bit much right off the bat. The smoothness of his voice didn’t change when he answered with a soft, “Archer, but my friends call me Archie.”
LustfulSins:
Viktor isn't shy with his own hands, not that he has the redhead straddling his lap on the chair. His palms run up and down the boy's thighs, and over his hips. The touch isn't light either, it's firm, like a memorization of the redhead's skin. Not one for nicknames, Viktor rolls the given name off his tongue like he's tasting expensive candy. "Archer. An unusual but beautiful name. Perfect for a pretty boy. Give us a little fun, hm?"
Viktor doesn't take his hands off Archer, but it's clear he fully expects the boy to give him a lap dance. His eyes roam the boy's body, waiting to see how he'll comply. The other dancers are entertaining three members fifteen feet further down the balcony. One is watching the brunet man seated backward on another man, gyrating his hips on his lap. The third man has the woman on his lap facing him, one hand on her bare breast and the other in the back of her skimpy black lingerie bottoms.
CrescentBlade:
A little fun. That, Archer could do. A lap dance was no different than dancing on stage, in theory. The pole was replaced by the man beneath him, the crowd replaced by this one man’s intense gaze. Despite the lack of people in the room to watch, he almost felt more nervous about this than he did being on stage. Sliding his hands up and down the man’s chest, he rolled his hips in small, circulating movements. At first in the air, not touching him, and then lowering himself down, to grind against the rough fabric of his groin. It wasn’t the first lap dance he’d ever given in his life, but it was the first one he was giving to a customer and not a partner.
The expectations were higher, here. This wasn’t a man he was going to take to bed and show how much better it could get. No, this was a man who was paying to be given a show and teased, and that was what Archer planned to do. He stepped gracefully down from the man’s lap, legs brushing his thighs, and turned himself around smoothly before repeating the same motions. This time, his hands were braced on the stranger’s knees to keep his balance. Talking should have felt awkward, but his words were steady. “You said you’ve seen all the dancers. Do you come here often?”
LustfulSins:
Viktor leans back in the armchair as Archer starts dancing on his lap. His hands still roam the boy's skin, up and down his back, stroking his hips. It's almost a possessive touch. When Archer turns around, Viktor hides a smirk. He keeps his own hips still. The other dancers know he likes to grind up against them, but he doesn't want to scare this new boy away.
"I'm here most nights. Nobody at home waiting for me, so I get my attentions here." Viktor's hands slide along Archer's thighs again, then to his hips. One hand dips down to rub across the boy's groin firmly before returning to his thigh. Across the balcony, the male dancer moans. His customer has a hand in the front of his leather briefs and is clearly stroking him. Many of the dancers here have no inhibitions. One of the perks of being a member is the freedom to do more than just touch the dancers. Part of the reason members get access to the upper floor, and regular patrons don't, is the partial privacy. Though, even calling it privacy is stretching it.
CrescentBlade:
A hand dipped past the skin of his thighs, rubbing right along his groin, and the sound Archer made was fueled purely by surprise. Small and quiet, more of a squeak than a moan. He refused to admit that it had anything to do with the jolt of pleasure that it sent down his spine. Said hand soon returned to his thigh, but the damage was done. He was starting to pay more attention to what was actually going on around him, startled by the moan of the other male dancer. A sideways glance confirms his suspicions, when he sees a hand down the man’s leather briefs. The sight makes his face go beat red.
This is uncharted territory. Stripping for money is one thing, but this? Not a single club he’d ever worked at had allowed customers, members or not, get quite so handsy. There were rules against it.
The touches were fine, before. Now, they felt too odd, and he was a little more hesitant with each roll of his hips and brush of his hands. “Is this kind of attention normal around here? This wasn’t included in the job description,” he replied, showing a bit of snark. Not too much attitude, but the insinuation was clear: he was on the fence about letting too much happen.
Viktor picks up on Archer's hesitation immediately. His hands remain on the boy's hips now, eyes glancing over to the other four people up here. The woman has staved off further sexual touches, but the male dancer has no problem letting the patron get him off. His attention returns to the redhead on his lap, and he leans forward to brush his lips against the boy's ear. "It's normal, and fairly common. The more you're willing to allow, the more you get paid. Especially by members."
Viktor's right hand pulls away. His hips lift, pressing his groin up against Archer, but it's to get his wallet from his back pocket, which he'd obviously been sitting on. His hips relax again shortly after. From his wallet, Viktor pulls a fifty dollar bill. The wallet gets set on the arm of the chair, then his hand copies that of the other patron and dips into the front of Archer's shorts. It doesn't stay there, though, merely depositing the fifty there. Viktor murmurs into Archer's ear. "How much are you willing to allow?"
Lips softly pressed to Archer’s ear bring a shudder down down his body, one that he puts a lot of effort into concealing. Unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that his touches are quite so effective. The more you’re willing to allow. The words echoed in his head like a second voice. Excitement at making extra cash was not what he felt. Curiosity, in part, soon smothered by indignation. This was not the job he applied for and, judging from the man’s tone, he had room to reject the offer as he saw fit.
The man’s hips moving upward made him instinctively tense, though the movement was only to retrieve his wallet and a tempting fifty dollar bill. He wasn’t sure exactly what out him off the idea of accepting such an offer. Money was something he could certainly use more of. The man was handsome, too, and clearly a smooth talker. Someone he would have gladly let take him to bed outside of work.
Maybe that was it. This was work, not his private life, and such things were meant for those he chose himself. Not people who sought him out in his place of employment.
“A lap dance,” he answered curtly, removing the fifty from his shorts and sticking it down the front of the man’s shirt. “I’m sure the other dancers would be thrilled to have you...entertain them.”
Viktor almost laughs when Archer gives him back the fifty. Almost. Yes, the boy had rejected his advances. But apparently he had rejected Viktor's payment for his lap dance as well. Viktor takes the fifty from his shirt, this time tucking it in the back of Archer's shorts. "Careful, you don't want to make it seem like you're giving out dances for free, now, do you? Members here pay well. You'll be lucky to get a twenty from the patrons down there, for such a short dance."
Viktor sets his arms on the arms of the chair. This time when he moves his hips, it's an encouragement for Archer to continue his lap dance. Viktor's eyes promise more payment for the redhead's continued attentions, while his arms set aside promise no more touches. There's a soft cry as the male dancer across the way soils his leather briefs, and the woman is lightly laughing at him. Her patron is busy fondling and kissing her breasts. "There may be plenty of other dancers to earn my money, but I want it to be you. Besides, building up a list of regulars is in your best interests here. The more money you make, the more patrons come in asking for you. And that results in more people spending more money on drinks. Which in turn, gets people to spend more money on dances. It's a logical cycle."
Archer disliked the the fact that the man made so much sense. Everything he said was rational, easy to understand. Purely logical. People would come asking for him, they would buy more drinks, and afterwards they would buy more dances. Not only would it contribute to the success of the business, but also to the success of his own paycheck. Fifty dollars was generous, in his opinion, and if he gave multiple lap dances a night—he was looking at a hefty chunk of change every night, in triple digits, even.
A flash of a scowl touched his features, though he was quick to push it away in favor of a neutral expression. Agreement was not the same as giving the man exactly what he wanted. He didn’t reject the money a second time. The stranger was being courteous and polite now, but he could have turned angry and disgruntled at the flip of a coin. Patrons of clubs were unpredictable at the best of times, and while he knew the man was not quite so drunk, he wasn’t taking any chances.
The dance continued. Archer didn’t break his gaze from the man’s face, grateful that his hands stayed where they were, and did his best to ignore the cry of the other male dancer. Someone is enjoying themselves, he thought, as he continued to move down against his own client. Brushing his arms and his chest, his thighs—everywhere he knew he was supposed to, but unlike the other dancer, he refused to let the physical sensation of being so close to someone else affect him. “And why, might I ask, do you care about my best interests? There are hundreds of strippers in the city.”
Viktor hums lightly, leaning back in his seat again and enjoying Archer's hands on his body. This boy would be a challenge to convince to be his sub. Viktor enjoys challenges, he's not likely to give up. First, he has to get the boy in his bed. Show him what submitting to him is like. Then make it permanent. Break down Archer's walls, his inhibitions. Viktor represses a shudder at the thoughts, refocusing his attention on the pretty boy grinding on his lap.
"Why do I care? Because you're attractive. Because I want to see you succeed here. Become more confident, extend your contacts. If you become more confident, I'll get more and better dances. You won't be so reserved." Viktor isn't hiding the growing erection in the front of his jeans, pressing up against Archer every time the boy moves. But he's not acting on it either. Erections should be nothing new to Archer. Strippers encounter them all the time. "My name's Viktor. Let me buy you a drink when your shift ends. Alcohol can be very effective for relaxing after a night of dealing with unwanted touches."
Being attractive got him more attention than the others? That seemed odd. New. All of the strippers here were attractive, in one way or another. Clubs didn’t hire people that wouldn’t attract large crowds of patrons ready to spend their hard earned cash on people that most of them couldn’t actually have. That was the whole point of clubs: to look and watch, nothing more.
Except this man must have a different opinion on such things.
Reserved was the right word to describe Archer at the moment, especially after noticing the erection steadily growing beneath him. Rubbing against him every time he moved downward, making his palms sweat and his face feel hot for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge. The man—Viktor, he said his name was—offered to buy him a drink and he considered turning down the offer. Viktor was right, though. After this unusual first day on the job, he very much needed a drink. “One drink,” he decided as he purposefully shifted his knee to brush the man’s groin, a touch that was neither gentle nor lingering. Faking innocence with big blue eyes and a nervous smile.
Viktor grunts and he's quick to grip the back of Archer's thigh, lifting to relieve the pressure, Little brat, he wouldn't be pulling that if he knew who Viktor was. But he's not going to find that out yet. Instead, Viktor just smiles, before sliding his hand up the back of Archer's shorts hem, along his thigh. "Careful, patrons don't pay money for injuries, Archer. Why don't you head back down to the stage? I've kept you long enough. I'll find you after your shift is over."
Viktor pulls another fifty from his wallet, tucking it into Archer's shorts again. He doesn't ask when the boy's shift is over, nor does he hint that he already knows. But he takes his hand away and gestures to the stairs, left hand rubbing across his groin. After Archer leaves, Viktor would have to call over the all too eager brunet male dancer to deal with his erection. That brunet is one of only three dancers included in his gang family. They dance purely for the protection being in Viktor's extended brings them, and they'll do anything to avoid being sent away or disposed of. Blackmail, perhaps, but Viktor won't turn that on Archer. No, he wants to win the redheaded spitfire the old fashioned way.
Archer happily accepted the second fifty and pretended to be flustered about his not-too-accidental move. “Thank you very much,” he stressed the last word with a smile that was neither sweet nor warm, tossed a nasty wink over his shoulder and eagerly made his way back down to the main stage.
For the rest of the night, his dancing was a bit off—it didn’t have the same flare, the same heart to fuel the fire. He felt more jittery than he should have, every sound too loud and every stare lingering too long. It wasn’t even that the attention was unwanted, but Viktor’s words had gotten into his head. They stuck to his mind like leeches, refusing to be removed until they drained him of all other thoughts.
When the end of his shift came, he was slow to change from his required uniform. The shorts left unpleasant indents where hip met thigh and thigh met groin, always an unfortunate part of unforgiving denim. His shoes pinched his feet, though he was used to the blisters by now. The outfit he changed into was marginally less provocative, but infinitely more comfortable. A hoodie and loose, soft shorts. Tennis shoes that were worn and well broken in.
He felt a tad bit braver as he headed for the open bar, now that he was in comfortable clothing and off the clock. Like he no longer had to put on a fake mask. If the man said something he didn’t like, he would simply tell him so.
Viktor did indeed call over the brunet male, much to his patron's chagrin. But the man didn't complain and went in search of alcohol downstairs instead. The brunet ever so willingly knelt before Viktor, using his mouth to service the man's erection. Afterward, Viktor spent the remainder of the evening at the railing, watching Archer on stage, watching him give dances to other paying patrons. Though he had used the brunet to relieve his discomfort, Viktor finds himself wishing it had been Archer.
After Archer's shift, Viktor is waiting for him at the dressing room door. He's leaned against the wall again, this time without a drink. Seeing the boy in a hoodie and shorts that no longer hug his backside is disappointing. "More comfortable? Come on, let's go to the bar." Viktor slings his arm over Archer's shoulders before the redhead can protest, leading him to the bar. He makes a subtle sign with his hand hanging down Archer's chest. The boy would think nothing of it, but the bartenders know it means not to call him boss right now. "Whiskey for me, and this boy's order."
“Those outfits are designed to be sexy, not comfortable. At least not the denim ones,” Archer answered with a single raised eyebrow. He didn’t attempt to push the man’s arm away. For now, the contact was fine. Welcomed, though he wouldn’t say so, when he was tired and bit chilly from hours of dancing. He studied the bartender with bleary eyes when he turned to take his order. “Whiskey as well, thank you.”
Tonight, he wanted something stronger than his usual. Gratefully accepting the glass, he took a sip. At last, he let his gaze wander back up to Viktor. “You’re taking an awfully specific interest in me,” he commented. A bit suspicious, considering how lovely and wonderful the other dancers were. Archer was a pretty face, but he knew well that his personality and attitude didn’t match. Not well enough to keep a man who could dish out a hundred dollars on a stranger invested. “Are you really into redheads or just super lonely?”
Viktor laughs as he leans his elbow on the bar, he's just over a foot taller than Archer, but he stands close, not worried about having to loo down. Archer would be higher up if he chose to make himself comfortable on the barstool behind him. Viktor is well aware of the design of the outfits the dancers can choose from. His manager has a keen eye for what draws patrons' attention. "If the shorts were so uncomfortable, you could have worn less. Dancers can have quite a bit of success on stage naked."
Viktor clinks his glass against Archer's before taking a gulp. He seems to think about the answer to the boy's question, setting his drink on the bar. He's clearly not concerned about anyone trying to drug it, as he's not even covering the top. "Hm, I suppose I just have a soft spot for natural redheads. The other redhead here is actually a natural blond, and it looks awful when his roots start showing."
Dancing naked sounded simultaneously thrilling and horrifying all at once. Archer never dreamed of doing something so risqué. The idea intrigued him—pushed it aside for now. Another problem for another time. Tomorrow morning, maybe, when he was well rested and clear minded. Viktor might be the type of man to get frustrated with being denied the eye candy he so clearly desired. It was more fun to mess with Viktor by blatantly refusing what he obviously wanted. Perhaps he would wear something more intricate, with less skin showing. “I think I’ll go with a softer fabric next time. Maybe a nice cotton or silk. Those never chafe as much.”
Archer is visibly more cautious with own drink, keeping it in his hand and close to his body. Never out of reach or out of sight. Then again, he didn’t know the employees here, nor did he know what their possible intentions were. Anyone could be a major threat. “Is that so?” So, redheads were his thing. At least one of them. He had a suspicion pretty dancers were his thing, too, unless Archer was an exception. “So, what are your plans for the night, Viktor? Aside from unsuccessfully trying to get me into bed, of course.”
Viktor is not surprised that Archer can see through his intentions. He chuckles, laying his forearm along the bar so his fingers can brush against Archer's arm. "Am I really that repulsive that you wouldn't come home with me? Maybe I should just get you drunk enough that you forget your morals." Viktor keeps his deep voice lighthearted, to show he's only teasing. Drunk partners are lousy and generally just lay there while he does all the work.
"My plans consist of saying here until closing, then going home empty handed, seeing as you are so against humoring me." Viktor's fingertips are stroking Archer's arm idly, just to be in contact with him. It doesn't matter that Viktor had only laid eyes on the boy a handful of hours ago. He knows what he wants, and always gets it. Eventually, even Archer would give in to him.
“Repulsive, no. You’re okay.” Archer’s gaze travels up and down the man’s body, a glint of fiery amusement in his eyes. Viktor was far beyond okay—he was unbelievably attractive. In appearance, yes, but his confidence was also quite pleasant. The way he thought he could get what he wanted, like he controlled the flow of the world, was both baffling and a source to draw in his attention. Nothing was more attractive than confidence, being able to walk like he didn’t have a care in the world and like he owned it all. “Mm, I might be short, but I’m pretty sure I could drink you under the table. Maybe another night, though.”
Archer didn’t feel bad at all, knowing the man would go come alone, with only his hand to keep him company. He allowed the fingers on his arm to lull him into a giving a small smirk. “Oh, what a shame. You could find another boy to fulfill your deep, dirty desires? I’m sure a man such as yourself has no shortage of men throwing themselves at your feet.”
Viktor laughs again. Archer could try to drink him under the table. He would lose. But Viktor will let the boy think what he wants. As for other company, sure. Viktor could have boy in the club, if he tried hard enough. Or any boy in his extended family, if he didn't want to work for it. But with his mind wrapped up in Archer's features, he would only be imagining this redhead beneath him. That wouldn't be fair to whichever boy would be working hard to bring Viktor to climax.
"You're right, I could have anyone. But they are not the pretty little redhead standing in front of me. They aren't the ones with my attentions right now, and for the foreseeable future. I want you, Archer, in my bed. And I can wait until it happens. I'm a patient man. Eventually, you'll realize you want me too." Viktor might be prideful in his claim that Archer will bend to him, but he will make the boy do so, in time. He has wealth, his attentions, his charm. And though his personality is forward and more than a little demanding, he's not crass or dirty mouthed like many of the patrons that had been watching Archer on stage.
Viktor was hellbent on making Archer his, in one way or another. To what extent, the man had yet to figure out just yet. Was he in it purely based on physical attraction—was it all for the sex? The man seemed a little too keen on him, personally, for it to be a passing fancy or desire to have a one night stand. Very few men in the world would wait days, let alone weeks, to sleep with one specific person. They’d give up and move on to easier fish. Viktor, however, seemed unlikely to throw away his wants so easily.
“You’ll be waiting for eternity to get me into bed,” Archer said at last, when he found the nerve to speak up again. It was hard to figure out exactly what he wanted to say to something quite so bold and forward. His gut reaction was to reject him at once, which he did so as directly as he could. If he made it seem like he would never budge, then perhaps Viktor would turn his attention elsewhere. No one had given him their sole focus like this, though. He was ashamed to realize that he kind of liked it. “I doubt you’re patient enough to wait forever, because the only thing I’m realizing is that it’s time for me to be going home. Wonderful chatting with you, Viktor. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
As he moved to put his drink on the counter, he ran his hand along Viktor’s arm—deliberately teasing, because he was exactly what the man couldn’t have.
Viktor smiles at Archer, listening to the boy speak about waiting forever. His eyes drop to the boy's hand on his left arm. Archer hasn't outright rejected him, and now he's teasing. Viktor chooses to take that as a further challenge. If Archer was truly not interested, he'd have said so, precisely. So Viktor flips his arm beneath Archer's hand, catching the boy's elbow in his left hand. His right hand raises to lightly grip the redhead's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head back.
Just like that, Viktor bends his head and kisses Archer. It's a chaste kiss, a light press on lips on lips. The man drags the tip of his tongue across Archer's lower lip as he pulls away a heartbeat later, like he's tasting him. Then he drops his right hand, left hand releasing Archer's elbow. There's a smirk on Viktor's lips. "Oh, you'll definitely be seeing me again."
A hand grabbed Archer’s chin and tilted it back. Their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss, the barest hint of a tongue along his lower lip. It wasn’t mind blowing, but it left him feeling boneless and pleased, much to his own displeasure. He pulled away with a scowl. “Hopefully not anytime soon,” he mumbled as he stood up, not even glancing over his shoulder as he did so.
——————
Unfortunately, the next time they would meet, it was very soon. The next day, in fact. Archer stepped out of the dressing room in leather briefs and a matching crop top. He was on break, but he felt more like getting a glass of whiskey than he did a cup of coffee. He was halfway there when he spotted him—Viktor. It took a lot of effort not to let his expression turn into an instinctive scowl, but he managed by the skin of his teeth. The man was there, on the second floor, looking down at the crowd with a face that was impossible to read from where Archer stood.
Everything about Viktor irritated him. The way he spoke, as though he could have whatever he wanted, and walked around like he owned the place. He wanted to say that he couldn’t stand him, but Archer would be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious. The kiss the night before hadn’t left his mind, as simple as it had been.
A devious idea formed in his head as he sipped on his drink. One that only took a quick glance to find a VIP customer, lure him in with a brilliant smile and fleeting touches across his chest, to get the man to take him up to the second floor. Viktor wanted Archer, but Archer wanted to play a game.
“Want my drink?” Archer asked his client, with a smile that he had never (and never planned to) give Viktor. He pushed the glass into the man’s hand, put a hand on his chest to push him back into a chair. Smoothly climbed into his lap, close and touching, no sign of reservation. It was what Viktor wanted, but what Archer refused to give him. “You should sit back and enjoy it.”
Viktor laughs when Archer mutters under his breath, pulling away and leaving hastily. His words are pointless; Archer works here, and Viktor spends ninety percent of his time here. After a couple more drinks, Viktor retreats to his private quarters, alone, to enjoy his imagination, Archer's dancing body still imprinted in his mind.
- - - - -
The following evening, Viktor is once again up on the VIP balcony, watching Archer the moment he steps out of the dressing room. He knows the boy can see him, and waves one hand. No glass in his fingers tonight. When Archer locates and flirts with a VIP member, one not of Viktor's family, the man chuckles. He assumes the redhead has latched onto the fact that VIPs pay more.
As the VIP brings Archer upstairs, Viktor finds himself a seat. It's not uncommon for others to watch members get dances up here, so Archer's customer doesn't think twice about being watched. Instead, he does as told, leans back, and watches Archer dance on his lap. It rapidly becomes clear the man is enjoying Archer's movements. After a short time, the man sets the half finished drink aside. With Archer showing no reservations, the VIP gets handsy. He slides his palms up Archer's thighs, over his hips, then down the back of his leather briefs. His fingers grope and knead Archer's ass, even going as far as to pull the boy closer so that his movements rub his grasped ass against the man's groin. With the way he's being held, Archer can't just pull away.
The VIP was getting handsy, equally as much as Viktor had been the night before. Except this time, when the hands start up his thighs, he smiled and continued his dance. He considers trying to pull away when those hands slide down his leather briefs, groping and kneading his ass, but then he catches sight of Viktor. Seated nearby, watching—and that’s all the motivation he needs to let it continue. Viktor couldn’t have what he wanted last night, but Archer was going to give whatever the man behind him wanted. Going as far as to allow himself to make a small noise, halfway between a sigh and a groan.
He doesn’t try to pull away from the man’s groin, but rather arches and grinds his ass back against him. Although, he’s not immune to any of it. The man’s erection pressing into him through his briefs makes his own dick twitch, a fact that is impossible to hide with his current attire.
Then, he shifted his gaze over to Viktor and grinned a sharp, devious grin. Taking one of the man’s hands away from his ass, he guided it to the front of his briefs, down past the fabric.
Viktor sets his elbow on the armrest of his chair, intense gaze burning into Archer. He's not the jealous type, though the redhead likely hasn't realized that yet. From where he sits, Viktor can't hear the sound Archer makes overthe loud music coming from below. A group of other members come up the stairs, but they're not interested in watching the redhead's display, so they move to sit at the other end of the balcony.
Archer's customer is all too happy to sink his guided hand into the front of the boy's leather briefs. His fingers wrap around Archer's cock, stroking him in what small space the unstretching leather allows. He leans forward, lips traveling along Archer's shoulder as well. Archer is allowing, even encouraging, the VIP to touch him, so the man is taking advantage of that. His left hand still grasping the soft flesh of Archer's ass, one finger starts rubbing the boy's entrance. Again, with his right stroking Archer's cock inside his leather briefs, the boy can't pull away.
Archer groans as the man’s hand closes around his cock, stroking and squeezing, a motion that he mimicked with his own hips. The music was drowned out by his own blood rushing in his ears, from more than just pleasure. It was a little embarrassing, to be doing this in front of an audience, and he closed his eyes for a moment. People couldn’t hear him panting and moaning, but they could see him. Watch the man fondle his cock and stroke his entrance, see how much they were both enjoying each other’s touches. Was it worth going through with this just to prove a point—that he didn’t want Viktor? That another man could play the same part just as well, if not better, a man that he picked out himself?
After all, he’d encouraged the man in the first place, and there was no room to pull away. When he looked back at Viktor, he was disappointed not to find any signs of jealousy. Only his intense stare, which he met with his own harsh gaze.
Fine. If Viktor wasn’t going to get jealous, then Archer would try to make him angry. He couldn’t possibly be alright with Archer allowing every other man to touch him, but not doing the same for Viktor himself. That was the moment he decided that he would make it his personal goal: making Viktor angry. He wouldn’t let him do this, wouldn’t let Viktor touch him the way the man currently was right now, hand around his cock and grinding into his ass.
Viktor may not be able to hear Archer's moans, but he can see the way the boy is moving, and his parted lips. So, he's going to let the stranger touch him, but he won't allow Viktor the same. He can't say he's pleased, not at all. The show is enjoyable though, as it almost seems like Archer is becoming more distracted by what his customer is doing. Viktor leans back in his seat, pressing his palm to his own hard groin. His eyebrows are furrowed together, displaying his discontent in the fact that Archer is purposely going past his previous inhibitions just because Viktor is a spectator.
The VIP is now thrusting his hips up against Archer, even as his stroking hand is keep the boy on his lap. His intentions are clear, he is taking advantage of the redhead's encouragement. Assuming Archer has no restrictions, the man pushes that stroking finger into the boy's ass. He doesn't seem to care that there's nothing lubricating; his finger slides back and forth, and he's breathing heavily against the side of Archer's neck.
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