OH but if anyone wants to make me something for my 18th birthday in March, you should write me porn and upload it on AO3 so I can click the "I am 18 or older" button for the first time without lying. Like drinking at a bar for your 21st birthday: reading smut. OFFICIALLY.
If I don't respond to a topic Beth wants to discuss, she'll continue bringing it up in the conversation. It's like when your cat sits on your homework because you're not petting them.
A/N: Christmas gift fic for writingandchocolatemilk!!
Summary:
“But what about your mystery man? You said he was going to be here for Tino’s bachelor party.” Feliciano sipped his fruity, salt-rimmed drink. Someone collided into his arm, poking his cheek with the umbrella and dripping some of the cocktail onto his satin vest. He stared sadly at the stain.
“Tonio is not a mystery. He had a lisp,” Lovino drawled, pointing to his lips as if that automatically disqualified Tonio’s mystique.
Lovino waits at a gay strip club, in the hopes of seeing Tonio.
Lovino arched on his toes, trying to see between the towering shoulders of shirtless men. An elbow knocked onto him and he landed back on the balls of his feet. “Hey, fuckass! Gonna apologize?” he spat, gaping after the muscular back which disappeared into the mass of clubbers, sweat-slick skin tinted under the purple lighting of the room. “I should just go home,” he groused, crossing his arms.
Feliciano touched Lovino’s arm sympathetically. “But what about your mystery man? You said he was going to be here for Tino’s bachelor party.” Feliciano sipped his fruity, salt-rimmed drink. Someone collided into his arm, poking his cheek with the umbrella and dripping some of the cocktail onto his satin vest. He stared sadly at the stain.
“Tonio is not a mystery. He had a lisp,” Lovino drawled, pointing to his lips as if that automatically disqualified Tonio’s mystique. “And he gave me his number yesterday. I could just call later. I didn’t tell him I’d be here anyway.”
Feliciano frowned, thumbing his stain. “You came all the way here with me to see him. It’d be silly to leave after only twenty minutes.”
“I didn’t come here just for him.”
Feliciano gave Lovino a flat expression.
Lovino shrugged his shoulders. “What? I like parties. And strip clubs.” A man in a snapback and wifebeater jostled him as they passed. “The fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted. The man spared him an indifferent look, white bangs matted beneath his hat, before continuing across the crowded room.
“Mhm.” Felician clucked his tongue. He tilted his chin up to view the stage of exotic male dancers as they wound themselves around poles, legs wrapped and spinning without arms as music heavily beat down on the club. The entire building reverberated to the bass, as if the roof itself was being pounded like a drum. “Why don’t you go ask one of the dancers?” he suggested lightly, brushing a stray piece of auburn hair from his eyes.
Lovino gawked at Feliciano. “You want me to talk to a stripper?”
“Sure!”
“Why the hell would they know? They’re working,” he sneered.
Feliciano pressed his lips together. “Don’t be a snob, Lovi,” he scolded.
Lovino unfolded his arms, offended. “I am not being a snob. I just don’t think they would know some random guy in the crowd.”
Feliciano brightened. “Well, it’s your best shot! I’d ask for you, but I’ve never met the guy. It would be difficult for me to describe him, don’t you think?” he smiled playfully.
Lovino narrowed his eyes, considering. “Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll go ask a stripper. You owe me twenty dollars if they don’t know who the fuck I’m talking about, though.”
“What?” exclaimed Feliciano. “I spent all my money on this drink!” he pleaded, waving his glass.
Lovino adjusted his tight-fitted blazer. “Then you better hope the strippers know where they’ve hid Tonio.” He took off, weaving through the gyrating bodies as Feliciano whined about “gay bar inflation” behind him.
The stage is patterned in loose bills, like the ceiling had drizzled rain. There were five poles, each attended by overbuilt men in various costumes and states of undress. They were all smiling, looking like they were having the time of their lives being gripped by achingly cramped briefs, except for a single blond with his hair slicked back. He was on the far opposite end of Lovino, holding his body up sideways and seeming for all the world like he was going for an Olympic medal, and not for tips from hollering gay men.
Lovino bit his lip and clenched his fists. None of the strippers appeared available to give directions to the nearest green-eyed Spaniard.
“Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to quit glaring at the dancers, pal. They can’t dance when you’re sending them telepathic voodoo death wishes.” Lovino reclined his head toward another tall blond. This one didn’t have slicked back hair, but rather thick strands that flared in the humidity and an absurd cowlick that stuck out in a curl. He had an all-American tan with patriotic blue eyes and gracious ab-exposure. A tray of cocktails was plastered to his hand and a toothy grin to his face. He was reminiscent of a Ken doll: Exotic Waiter Career Edition.
Lovino stepped backward. “I’m not telepathic,” he informed.
The waiter formed a pistol with one of his hands. “But you are wishing voodoo death.” He winked.
“No. I’m looking for someone.”
“Someone you want to beat up?”
Lovino rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m totally on a murderous rage. What’s your problem?”
“Who ya’ looking for?”
“A friend.”
The waiter rotated his shoulders. “I’m a friend. Name’s Greased Lightning,” he introduced, holding out his hand.
Lovino looked to his hand, then to his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said drily.
The waiter dropped his arm, along with his smile. “It’s Alfred, you killjoy.”
“Fantastic,” quipped Lovino. He watched Alfred for a couple seconds before exhaling. Alright. “Have you seen a guy here? Roughly your height, I think, shorter, I guess. Curly brown hair - but maybe it’s wavy? His eyes are either hazel or green, I can’t remember.”
“Sorry, bud, I couldn’t make out eye color in this light anyway.”
“Dammit,” swore Lovino, under his breath. “Fuck Tonio, the fucking liar.” There was no reason to lie about going to this party, it’s not as if Lovino was going to ask him the next day they met and he needed an excuse. Unless Tonio thought Lovino was that desperate. If he thought that, then why did he even bother giving him his number?
Come to think of it, Lovino never sent him a text. It could’ve been a fake number.
But Lovino never asked for a fake number. Tonio could’ve just left, without teasing him, making him think he was interested.
“Tonio?” Alfred repeated. “Spanish dude, bright green eyes, wears a tomato hairclip, smiles a fuckton?”
Lovino snatched his eyes back to Alfred. “Uh, yeah. You know him?”
Alfred grinned something akin to the Cheshire. “Oh, yeah. I know him. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “you should be getting to see him real soon.” He winked once more, before breezing by Lovino, tray in hand.
“What does that even fucking mean?” murmured Lovino, astounded. He scanned the club, expecting Tonio to materialize suddenly and fulfill Alfred’s cryptic prophecy. He found an empty, leather-bound chair and hurried to it. Lovino crossed his legs, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. Boredly, he gazed at the stage of strippers. He shifted his legs after a few uncomfortable minutes. It felt like attending a human zoo, with men performing tricks instead of dolphins.
Lovino giggled. Bouncing balls on their noses. He might pay for that, probably not, maybe.
“Would you like a dance?” Another overtly large man proposed, hands on his hands as he grinned.
Lovino dipped his head. “No,” he answered curtly. Then, “Thanks,” not wanting to be impolite.
“Okay, cutie. If you change your mind, just ask for me, or whistle me over if I can see you; I’m Fabio.”
Lovino snorted a laugh as the dancer sauntered away. He was so not a Fabio. Of course, how many strippers here went by Fabio?
The music stopped, and Lovino saw Alfred scrambling atop the stage, foregoing the stairs. His tray was gone, but he was still wearing the apron over his ass-hugging shorts and a black bow-tie around his neck. He had recently acquired a pair of furry bear ears which obscured his cowlick. He plucked a microphone up from the floor, sliding a finger up the bare bridge of his nose, as those who wear glasses do in the absence of them. As he swaggered to the front of the stage, two green spotlights focused in on him and the current strippers exited behind the back door. Two new strippers replaced them.
Alfred tapped the microphone twice, before speaking into it in a strong, clear voice. “Everyone doing good?” he questioned. A collection of yes’s echoed, punctuated by an anonymous “No!”
“Well, no refunds!” responded Alfred, chuckling. “I would like the host, our lovely ex-bachelor-to-be Tino, to stand up!”
Lovino twisted around in his seat, barely making out a short boy with a white cap rising from his place at the bar, a taller man with crazy-gelled hair thumping him on the back. There were a couple whoops from the group of guys beside him, likely his closer friends, preceding the cheering of the whole club.
“Tino is getting married to a wonderful man with glasses - I got those contraptions too, at home, we four-eyes are great catches - who goes by the hip name Berwald.” More cheering.
“Tino’s friends are apparently big fans of the Bear Saloon’s hottest ticket, and thought a good dance by him is what Tino needs to send him off to a life of monogamy. Alas, Tino requested no lap dances!” The clubbers booed. “But, but, this dancer is still dedicating a pole performance to him, and anyone interested can signal him over for their lap dance after.”
“Gentlemen, welcome to the center stage, the Latina Wonder Woman, our Patriotic Papaya - ” Alfred swung his arm out as someone scurried toward him, “Antonio!”
No way.
Tonio, Lovino’s mystery man from yesterday, was leaning against a pole, very unmysterious in a scanty rendition of a matador costume. Alfred prodded his shoulder, then pointed at Lovino.
Lovino automatically straightened his back. Tonio smiled and waved at him. Numbly, Lovino felt his hand go up to wave back - he hastily turned into it the middle finger. Tonio burst into laughter. He tried retraining his dance position, but his forehead fell against the poll as he tittered. Alfred shuffled off the stage.
A Shakira song came on. They were really marketing his ethnicity. Reflecting on the other strippers, however - they had all been white.
Tonio’s palm on the pole, he swung himself back like a receding tide, circling the pole fluidly on the balls of his feet. He shrugged off his red jacket, embossed in gold swirls, exposing a loose button-down with a deep, frilly v-neck, the hem cutting off at his navel. Then he yanked himself up, legs splitting in the air before wrapping above his head around the pole. He erected himself, sliding back down like a carousel as applause thundered and money tossed.
Tonio smiled, grateful for the extra attention from the announcement, had his shirt shucked before his feet reached the ground. He was not stacked and burly like the majority of the strippers. Rather, he was lean and defined.
Lovino’s mouth was dry. How long did someone have to work out in order to achieve that body? The amount of hours invested would be ludicrous. He supposed it was good to know Tonio’s flaws right now, before anything happened - such as, how incredibly dull his life must be, to have the free time to spend so much of it on his looks.
But the tiny black shorts clinging to Tonio’s ass made it hard to criticize. Tonio’s butt was perfectly round and looked a lot like those memory foam beds in commercials, where Lovino had watched a woman place a wine glass on and jump around without spilling to prove how firm the material was. Lovino had an oddly satisfying, grimly amusing image of his face imprinted on Tonio’s cheeks.
Tonio danced for three songs, gathering his tips at the end of his set. Lovino vaguely wondered what Feliciano was doing, if he was watching. If he knew that this Antonio was his Tonio.
“Looking for a dance?” Tonio was standing there, hand on the back of his leather seat, smiling warmly.
“I assumed you were invited to the party, like I was.” Lovino was not invited. Feliciano was. “I did not expect you were hired for the party."
Tonio laughed into his hand. “I didn’t really want to give the wrong impression.”
“You didn’t have to give any impression. I never would’ve come, if you didn’t go mentioning how you’d be here, and what-fucking-else.” It took a second for Lovino to realize what he had confessed to, to essentially following Tonio here, and he hoped that the club was dark enough to hide his face.
“I just wanted you to know why I wasn’t going to ask you out the day after we met,” Tonio explain.
Lovino’s fists balled by his sides. “I wouldn’t demand an immediate response, I’m not that fucking desperate,” he bristled.
“But I am,” Tonio admitted.
Lovino’s jaw parted in surprise.
“So,” Tonio reattempted, “would you like a dance?”
“I, uh,” Lovino grasped for words. “How much?”
Tonio cockd his head. “Hm,” he pondered, tapping his chin. “You buy me dinner. My shift ends at 1:30. Think you can wait two hours?”
“Well, I waited to find your fucking ass up on stage, so I guess I can ride it out a tad longer,” Lovino grumbled.
Tonio rested his hands on either of Lovino’s shoulders, climbing onto his lap. “Then let me ride you out for the next three minutes,” he teased, smiling lopsidedly. He nose crinkled happily, like he was watching a puppy fall asleep next to a kitten. Lovino swallowed nervously.
The next three minutes were hell.
“Don’t you think you’re riding a little low?” Lovino mumbled, sucking in. Tonio kept brushing against his crotch.
“This is standard,” promised Tonio, gliding his chest over Lovino’s face.
“You’ve got high standards,” Lovino commented, voice strained.
“The best.” Tonio dismounted and smirked, changing positions so his back faced Lovino.
Tonio’s ass was now near his mouth.
“Oh,” he breathed, impressed.
Tonio dropped to Lovino’s lap again. He let slip a groan.
Tonio laughed sharply.
Lovino glared. “Is this dance over with yet?”
Two hours later, Lovino had texted Feliciano not wait up for him and nestled into the passenger seat of Tonio’s car.
“I can’t believe you meant Taco Bell,” Lovino yawned as Lovino pulled into the parking lot.
“There’s not much open at this time of night. Or morning,” he excused, sounding wide awake and excited. “Besides, it’s definitely the cheapest lap dance I’ve given.”
“This is inexcusable,” Lovino griped. “Are you sure the main entrance is even open? I think it’s just their drive-through.”
“Uh,” Tonio droned, searching through his rearview mirror. “Let me check,” he said, unbuckling and hurrying out the car. Lovino sighed. This was not romantic.
Tonio’s cheapest lap dance, and Lovino’s cheapest date. This was shaping up to be a very cheap relationship.
Tonio came jogging back up to the car. “You’re right. It’s just their drive-through.”
“Of course, I’m right. I always am, about the shitty things.”
Tonio buckled in, revving the engine so they could circle around to the drive-through.
“We’re not doing anything tonight, I hope you know. I’m not that cheap,” Lovino warned.
“I know you’re not. I’d rather you just watch me swallow a burrito for now, if that’s not moving too fast for you,” Tonio joked, smiling happily.
