Stripper Dan. Bartender Phil. Dan stays late one night and phils left to clean up and dan kinda complains that his last customer wasn't that good and Phil just brags like "I'm very good so I wouldn't know what disappointing anyone would feel like."
- the night feels like it moves quickly, but yet, not quickly enough. customers seem to melt away, meld together into one, as they all get steadily drunker and tell increasingly less coherent stories about their weeks. there’s only so many blokes and their stories dan can take, physically and mentally. he slips onto a bar stool, cradling the drink he bought before his shift, but never got to finish.
- the bar lights are dim, as usual, but there’s a few dull little ceiling lamps and they illuminate dan just enough. traces of glitter still linger on his face. it’s migrated from his eyes to his cheeks and really, there’s no use at scrubbing it off, he’ll just have to apply more tomorrow. phil turns around, having been cleaning away the remnants of beer stains and liquor spills, eyes settling on dan’s slumped form. didn’t you buy that one earlier? he says.
- ‘m suprised you remember, but yeah, you know we’re not allowed to drink during our shifts, dan replies, sipping at the lukewarm alcohol. looks like you could use a new one, phil notes with a chuckle. is it really that obvious?
- bad night? phil asks, too lazy to mix a drink, so he pours a shot instead. bad job, more like. my last customer was a dickhead, got thrown out, dan groans, drinking the shot, chasing it with whatever leftover alcohol he had in his glass. oh, he was yours? heard he violated one of the rules
- yep, tried to get me to fuck him, got his cock out and everything. kept promising me a good time, which i doubt he would have even given me, based on the size of his dick. disappointing, really, dan says, holding his shot glass out for another. phil barks out a laugh, pouring dan another shot, emptying out the bottle. he turns around, puts it with the other empty ones. never had the said about me, now that i think about it, phil responds.
- cocky, never heard that said about my shows, either, dan notes, swallowing the alcohol. it burns and he’s never been a fan of whiskey, but he feels the alcohol swarm in his bloodstream, waking him up. well, put on a show for me? i could be the judge of that, phil whispers, walking out from behind the bar, settling into the seat next to dan’s.
- dan laughs, but he’s tipsy enough he doesn’t mind. with the help of one hand he easily jumps onto the small stage next to the bar, he straightens slowly, sensuously, his hand automatically grabbing for the pole in the center. there’s so much to look at; his thigh muscles flexing, his bicep straining, the way his hair falls into his eyes. phil stares, riveted, as he swings around it just once, like he’s testing the sturdiness of the construction.
- dan angles his body back while still holding on to the pole with both hands. he slides the pole between his legs, subtly rubbing his crotch against it while softly swaying his hips. his grip on the pole is so firm, he’s leaning his body outward while his bicep bulges under the weight. deceptively slow, he picks up speed until he finally tenses his arm and lifts his feet off the ground, airborne for almost two revolutions.
- it’s not easy to damp down on his instinctual reaction, but phil manages to keep his relaxed posture, eyes languidly trailing up and down dan’s body as he navigates about the small stage. his moves are strong, a certain type of energy hiding just beneath the surface, one he softens with the way he holds his other hand out gently. his eyes, on the other hand, hint at whispered secrets, at late night thoughts and a promise of pleasure he intends to keep.
- unbutton your shirt, phil says, voice purposefully rough though it doesn’t take much. satisfaction fills him when dan’s entire body reacts to his words with a slight tightening of muscles and a definite hitch to his breath. dan’s hands travel down to the buttons of his shirt, hands fiddling with the buttons in a shockingly efficient manner.
- phil waits patiently, shifting subtly at the growing tightness in his jeans. staying quiet isn’t easy but still outweighed by his curiosity in observing dan’s next move. dan pushes the shirt of his body, letting it fall to the ground. another little hip shimmy and dan turns away, facing the pole, toned ass suddenly the center of phil’s universe. there’s no fancy tricks on the pole, just a spin or two, movement perfunctory at best. there is, however, a lot of grinding and rubbing, interlaced with desperate little gasps and uncontrolled little moans.you look good up there, phil says, because he needs to say something before the tension rips him to shreds.
- dan cranes his neck to look at him, smile just peeking out. i’m glad you like it so far, then. i like your eyes on me. phil groans, quietly. he definitely wants his hands on dan, slide them over his collarbones, down his chest but skirting the rapid rhythm of his heart, aiming for the nipples instead, down over his belly, warm and tight, further to -
- dan seems more focused now as he grips the pole with both hands and leans his torso back, knees bent and bracketing the pole until he’s looking at phil upside down. want more than your eyes on me, though, he says in an eery copy of phil’s thoughts. from this angle he can see one of dan’s nipples, phil wants to lick it. or maybe bite it, until it’s swollen and red. your hands, your mouth. your - god
- phil knows, but he’s distracted when dan turns, leaning his back against the pole, one hand grabbing it over his head, the other one making its way slowly down the front of his body. i’ve wondered, you know? imagined how it’d feel if you touched me
- phil follows the mesmerizing trail of dan’s hand towards his jeans. his fingers walk over the fabric folds confidently, flattening out to slide his palm down his thigh. his thumb just barely teases the edge his cock, where it’s bulging against the white and straining denim. trailing back up, dan’s fingers drag over his crotch fully. he bites his lip like he’s holding in a moan, eyes burning into phil’s.
- the fabric shifts under dan’s twitching cock and phil’s smile turns just a bit more dirty. he watches dan tease himself through the denim, rough rubs of his palm like he just can’t help himself, and dan can’t look away either, lip turning dark red where he keeps biting down on it. over and over his gaze returns to phil’s thumb and he watches while phil plays with the outside seam of his trousers. dan’s adam’s apple bobs on his next swallow, making clear the price he pays for wrenching his gaze away. so, not really a one-way street then.
- phil shifts, subtly, planting both his feet flat on the ground. he slides down in his seat, only a bit, just a suggestion, before he spreads his legs like an invitation. jesus fuck, comes dan’s breathy moan, his hand speeding up. he sinks to his knees slowly, looking like a wet dream come to life. phil’s dick throbs in sympathy. slinking towards phil and arching his back, needing to stretch under the attention. phil watches his muscles shift as he sits back on his heels, knees spread and eyes downcast.
- his knees spread further and it leaves phil with nothing much to look at but dan’s tenting crotch. seemingly for emphasis dan cups himself, body writhing in that prone position. you were right, i suppose. you make me so fucking hard, phil. phil chokes out a moan, reaches down and cups himself, pressing the heel of his hand down hard to relieve some of the pressure. a striptease is one thing. an insanely hot guy writhing on his back, cupping himself and slurring his name is something else entirely.
- dan rocks his hips gently into his palm and phil, he wants to bite at all the exposed flesh, hold onto it while – i wanna know what you feel like, dan interrupts, hips undulating like he’s riding cock and phil’s own cock might just bust out of his jeans at the sight. especially when dan keeps up stroking his own body.
- dan pinches his nipple and moans, loud and unabashed, hips snapping forward as he keeps abusing the little nub, pinching it until it’s red and tender looking. do you like it? dan whispers urgently, hips moving in a tight little figure eight. do you like it when i touch myself for you? and yeah, phil more than likes it. dan sees it in his expression right away, a satisfied smirk spreading on his pretty pink lips.
- push your hand further down, phil says. dan does so immediately, like all his stalling had really been him waiting for phil’s say so. he sighs when he does, eyes slipping shut as he arches into his touch, spit-covered lips falling open invitingly. he’s just entirely indecent, phil thinks, as he watches the long line of his neck stretch. what about, what about you? he pants out, heavy-lidded gaze drifting to phil’s crotch. phil swallows. what about me?
- dan’s hand shifts desperately in his jeans. he bites his lip. don’t you wanna touch yourself? phil almost cums right then and there, just from imagining them both getting off with their hands shoved down their pants in desperation. he mirrors dan’s movement, shoves his fingers past the hem of his jeans, feels them bite into his hips at the tight fit. he hisses at the wave of pleasure, unsurprised that he could cum from this, would need nothing but a few well-timed tugs. dan’s eyes are on him as he spreads his thighs, arches into it as his nerves go haywire with pleasure.
- it’s either the arousal or the dancing, but pink blotches appear high on dan’s cheeks, his lips bitten deep red in contrast. he can’t seem to help himself, licks them each time his gaze drops to phil palming his cock, the edges of his teeth dragging over the puffy skin. take off your pants, dan. phil says, and dan moans, chest heaving as he pushes the rough material of his jeans down and off. he looks like he could be running a fever, eyes red rimmed and cheeks burning. underwear too, phil commands, rising up off the stool, pushing his own down.
- he shuffling forward, then, onto the stage. he can feel the heat radiating from dan, doesn’t miss the shaking in dan’s right hand. he presses his mouth onto dan’s, sliding into dan’s mouth, licks right into it, hands roaming dan’s body. he feels mad with it, the need to touch dan, feel dan everything. phil squeezes dan’s ass, hard, and dan gasps, presses forward, grinding their cocks together. turn around, phil whispers into dan’s ear, pressing a bruise to his neck.
- dan twists, grabs onto the pole, pushes his ass out. without another word, phil sinks to his knees and slides his hands down to dan’s ass, spreads his cheeks, and blows right on his hole. it’s a close call, but dan nearly shouts. maybe, just maybe, it’s the alcohol still coursing through him that makes it feel like sparks are flying along his skin, but when phil kisses him, sloppily, and right on his hole, he feels as though he’s going to break into a million pieces.
- phil slides his tongue along his crack, up to the top and down, all the way to his balls. fuck, dan moans, and he can’t believe he’s whining already, arousal making his toes. phil licks and kisses and scrapes his teeth at him and really, dan can’t concentrate well enough to let out a few sounds.
- he bends at the knee, lifting one leg up onto the pole, he’s that much more open and now, phil can, oh god, dan groans, in a squeak, just as phil spreads him wider with his hands and licks into him with the flat of his tongue. he makes a noise as he does it, humming, so it vibrates around dan’s rim. phil laps at him and dan, he can’t bear to focus on anything anymore. his cock leaks against his stomach and he aches to touch, but his grip on the pole is already slipping.
- phil tongues at his rim once more, twice, before he pulls away. dan whimpers when he feels it but he rests his forehead against the pole so he can catch his breath, but phil doesn’t give him any time, doesn’t give him a second, before he’s leaning back and blowing on his hole again. look at you, phil says, and his voice is wrecked, rough and unsteady. he’s thumbing at dan’s hole on either side, stretching it as far as it’ll go, and it burns, but it’s so good.
- phil doesn’t mess around this time, points his tongue and swirls it around the rim, pausing every few seconds to lick broad stripes around it, fits his tongue in as deep as it will go. dan can’t say a word, not anymore. it feels like the next noise coming out of him is going to have to be his dying breath. he clenches, desperately, around as much of phil’s tongue as he can but it’s not enough. he tries to cry out and say it, tries to get enough air in his lungs to let phil know, but he can’t. you close? phil asks, as he pulls away
- dan nods because fuck, how can he not be with what phil is doing to him? phil presses his tongue in harder, deeper, faster, dirtier. back arching, dan cums all over his own stomach, panting heavily into the pole while his whole body shudders uncontrollably. the orgasm is intense, phil can tell.
- phil palms himself quickly and it isn’t long before he feels the beginning of his orgasm at the base of his spine. it’s like a tidal wave he’s trying to stave off with a bucket and shovel, fucking impossible, and that’s it, the final straw. phil arches and groans as his orgasm hits, eyes slipping shut when the feeling shoots up his spine, makes his fingers tingle and his mind blank out.
- for a long moment they stay like that, entwined, sharing damp breaths. then there’s lips on dan’s neck, sucking at the aching spot, kissing it gently. hope i didn’t disappoint, phil says quietly. dan laughs, but he sounds tired, exhausted, slumps backwards into phil’s chest. you didn’t, trust me, he murmurs back. phil’s fingers run over dan’s body lazily as he hums happily.
- now that the haze has lifted and phil is more aware of their surroundings again, of what just happened, but there isn’t even an inkling of regret. it feels pure and true and motivates him that much more. maybe it’s the hormones talking, the post-orgasm haze, but he’s sure the two of them can have so much more. he’s more than willing to put some work into it.
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