DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one. This is a work of pure imagination. Kyle definitely isn't a stripper and Jonathan definitely would never do this, not in a million years.

A/N: Totally came up with this when I was in Chicago last weekend. I thought Kyle could make a good stripper and in turn thought Marc would make the second-best stripper, and my friend definitely took the words out of my mouth and asked Marc via Twitter (linking my Twitter name in the tweet, so now he knows just who thinks it) if he could be a good stripper. Apparently, he thinks he could too. Thanks. I wasn't going to write that, though, since he's engaged. Might be a leeeeetle awkward. And I know Kyle's a brunette again, but keeping him blonde just goes better with the image in my head.

Anyway, reviews and concrit would be lovely.

The dancer is a tall, pale boy, skinny and toned. His hair is peroxide blonde, spiked and mussed to perfection. Electric blue glitter eyeliner and eyeshadow encircle his eyes, creating the illusion of a sparkling meteor shower. The thong he has on matches, and Jonathan wonders, for one absurd moment, just how everything is fit in there.

He shouldn't be here, Jonathan knows that. He's not even sure anymore why he came in the first place. As the dancer lifts a leg to wrap it around the pole, Jonathan swallows, tightens his grip on his tumbler and watches how the spotlight illuminates the boy's thin, hairless legs.

In a fluid motion like waves rippling through the ocean, the boy lifts his body up and slinks an arm around the pole, fingers catching tight before he slides back down. Jonathan's mesmerized, eyes wide as he stares at the boy. He picks up his tumbler and knocks back his whiskey, groaning and shaking his head as the liquid burns its way down his throat.

He looks back up at the stage the same time the boy is slowly sliding his ass down the pole. Jonathan sucks in a breath, watches how the boy's stomach muscles flex as he twists his body. Glitter-swathed eyes roam the crowd and finally land on Jonathan. A smirk second cousin to a smile graces the boy's lips and he blows a kiss to Jonathan.

Jaw slack, Jonathan stares at the retreating barely-covered ass of the boy. Before a second train of thought can board, his chair is being pulled out and he briefly flails his arms before he's got a lapful of skinny dancer. "Hey cutie," the dancer whispers into his ear, "I've never seen you before." A broad, slim-fingered hand is placed on Jonathan's chest.

"I—" Jonathan starts, attention more focused on the hand moving southward at an alarming rate. The dancer stops his hand right above Jonathan's belt buckle and moves to cup Jonathan's jaw, thumb rubbing over the stubble there. He slowly begins to move his hips in little figure eights, leaning down and placing his lips on Jonathan's cheek.

"So I've just got to know one thing, baby boy: are your lips really as luscious as they look?" He dips his hips down, thinly-clothed cock rubbing against Jonathan's. Even though the dancer isn't hard he still moans when Jonathan does.

Jonathan's sure he's probably going to have to pay for this—the club was already more than a little expensive, so he figures that a little one-on-one with a dancer is just about going to break his wallet. He wants to relax, he really does, but up until tonight he'd always pushed away his feelings for men, kept those aside in the dark recesses of his mind. Up until tonight he'd never been a strip club, high-end or otherwise.

The dancer twists his body around, pushes up off Jonathan's thighs and oh God, it's a real lap dance this time, no more beating around the bush. Jonathan swallows, teeth digging into his lower lip. The dancer has a nice ass, he'll admit that. But then again, everything on the boy seems to be nice.

"I—" Jonathan tries to start again, distracted by the swaying motion the dancer has adopted, the jut and dip of his torso as he spreads his legs out. The dancer turns around, a smirk fully in place now, and leans down to rest his palms flat on Jonathan's thighs, fingers brushing dangerously close to Jonathan's lap. "You… what's your name?"

The dancer laughs, in a mocking-yet-not way. Jonathan knows he has a stripper name, of course he does, but it's possible that the dancer knows just which name he's asking for. Jonathan looks down the dancer's long, lean body, drinks in the subtle muscle tone and pretty pale skin, material on the thong stretched tight across jutting hips, shadow of a bulge there and so, so tempting.

"Sorry honey," the boy says, carding his fingers through Jonathan's intentionally-messy hair, "names are extra. That's why this club is called Mystique. Keeps you guessing and the customers paying for more."

Jonathan has his wallet out in a matter of seconds. The dancer raises a dark eyebrow, lips pursed. He finally grabs Jonathan's hand, pulls him up out of his chair and says, "It's DJ Knucklehead. But you can call me Kyle, High Roller."

The room Kyle is staying in is definitely one of the extravagant comped suites the hotel gives out. Kyle forgoes any formality, though, and says, "Put the money on the bar over there," and gives Jonathan only a few seconds to think and act before he's pushing him against the wall, grinding into his lap, and this time Kyle is hard.

It feels nice, and Kyle obviously knows what he's doing. Strong hands grip Jonathan's shoulders, talented lips brush across his cheek and neck but never once stray toward his lips. Jonathan gets that hint, doesn't ask for a kiss and rarely do his own lips make any contact with Kyle's skin.

They bump and thrust against each other, breaths getting heavier and sweat forming at hairlines. Kyle's makeup hasn't smudged, and his blue, blue eyes stay as bright as ever when he rolls his hips sharply upward.

Jonathan's head thumps against the plaster as he groans deeply and pushes his hips forward. Shy as he is, he ends up sliding a hand between them when Kyle's hands stay anchored at his shoulders, fingers finding Kyle's cock through the damp material of his thong. He squeezes, rubs his palm over the head and is rewarded with an encouraging moan.

He says, "I'm Jonathan," as he works Kyle's cock to full hardness. Kyle half-nods, lip caught between his teeth as his hips jerk forward into Jonathan's touch.

Sliding the thong down, Jonathan goes with it, landing gracefully onto his knees. Jonathan's never done this before, but it's not like he's going to admit it out loud. He knows the basics and hopes that'll be good enough as he leans forward and takes Kyle's cock into his mouth.

Kyle tangles a hand in Jonathan's hair, grips tightly as his hips thrust forward minutely. Jonathan pulls back slightly to avoid gagging, sends up a warning look to Kyle that says don't even think about fucking my mouth. Kyle sighs but nods, moaning softly as Jonathan flicks his tongue over the slit and his hand comes up to work at what his mouth can't get.

"C'mere," Kyle says after a few minutes, hands gentle and encouraging on Jonathan's shoulders. He urges him up and grabs Jonathan's hand, tugging him down a small hallway and into a bathroom. Kyle shuts the door and turns on the light, and suddenly Jonathan is staring back at himself.

The mirror is above the sinks and extends all the way down the wall. The countertops are waist-high and carved out of twinkling black stone. Kyle moves behind Jonathan, hooks his chin over the other boy's shoulder and places his hands on Jonathan's chest. "I thought you might like this," Kyle whispers into his ear, slowly sliding his hands down. "You seemed like that type. I could see it in your eyes."

He deftly undoes Jonathan's zipper, slides his belt open and begins to inch his jeans down. Jonathan swallows, watching every movement in the mirror. Slowly, skin is revealed, elastic waistline of Jonathan's boxers getting caught on the belt of the jeans, sliding down enough to reveal dark, cropped hair.

Kyle takes his time, fingers touching and teasing and swirling over Jonathan's skin as he goes. He mouths at Jonathan's ear, slides a hand up the brunette's shirt. Kyle trails his hand back down, gently raking his nails down the skin of Jonathan's torso, and ghosts over the front of his boxers. Jonathan inhales, jerks into the touch and makes an "mmm" sound when Kyle asks, "This feel good, baby?"

It's not long until Jonathan's jeans are at his ankles and his boxers are haphazardly on his hips. Kyle steps back and Jonathan tugs his jeans off and tosses them in a corner, stepping out of shoes and socks. "Lift your leg up," Kyle murmurs, icy blue eyes fixated on Jonathan's body in the mirror. "But first, those boxers gotta go, pretty boy. I wanna see your even prettier cock."

Jonathan blushes but does as he's told and sheds his boxers before lifting his leg up to rest the sole of his foot on the countertop. He averts his eyes from his form in the mirror, feeling more exposed than he did five minutes ago. Kyle makes a contented noise in the back of his throat and runs his hands up Jonathan's thighs.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Kyle asks softly, wrapping a hand around Jonathan's cock. Jonathan gasps, closes his eyes and nods. "What was that?" Kyle lets his loose fist slide down, then back up slowly.

"Mm, just… please," Jonathan says. Even in the heat of the moment he's not going to say those words. He's still got a little bit of his old self somewhere. He grinds back against Kyle, feels the slick slide of the head of Kyle's cock against his ass. "Do it now."

Kyle shakes his head, leaning down and opening a drawer. He rummages around for a few seconds before he straightens back up and sets a small bottle of lube on the counter. "I don't think you're the type for pain. Is this your first time?"

Jonathan nods. Kyle says, "Then do this. It's a little more erotic than the alternative." He lifts his right hand up and prods at Jonathan's lips with two fingers. Unsure, Jonathan opens his mouth and takes the digits in. He hears Kyle say, "Now suck," and does what he's told, laving his tongue around Kyle's fingers until the boy other pulls them out, surprised at the soft groans Kyle emits as he does.

"This'll hurt," Kyle says, and from behind him Jonathan hears the pop of a cap. "So just breathe and don't tense up." He coats the already-slick fingers with lube and gently starts to ease his index finger in. Jonathan squirms uncomfortably, taking a deep breath. It doesn't hurt, not that bad, but it's weird and terrifying and pleasurable all at the same time.

Kyle only adds the second finger once he feels Jonathan's muscles relax slightly. Visibly jumping this time when the tip of Kyle's middle finger breaches him, Jonathan closes his eyes and wills himself not to freak out. He wants this, he does. Kyle is gorgeous and talented and Jonathan really, really trusts him.

When Kyle starts thrusting and twisting and turning, Jonathan finds his breathing deepening, finds himself moaning softly and pushing back against Kyle's fingers. Kyle presses his lips to Jonathan's shoulder blade, then up to his ear, whispering, "Just look at yourself. You're loving this so much. Look."

Jonathan slowly opens his eyes, half-afraid of what he's going to see. When his eyes focus, he sucks in a deep breath. Kyle's arm is wrapped around him, fingers on his other hand thrusting in-out, in-out repeatedly, and he likes it. Likes the way his legs are splayed, muscles are tensed, hip bones are jutting.

"You're such a pretty whore," Kyle murmurs, and Jonathan should probably contradict him, since Kyle's obviously the paid exotic dancer here, but he instead finds the words stirring some primal feeling inside him and he continues to watch the pale flash of Kyle's hand until the other boy removes his fingers.

"You'd better have a condom," Jonathan says, voice husky and throatier than normal. Kyle laughs behind him, bell-like, and replies, "Of course I do. Always come prepared for naïve boys like you."

Kyle reaches into the same drawer he got the lube from and feels around until his fingertips meet the cool foil of the packet. He gets it out, rips the packet with his teeth and slides the condom over his cock, running a lube-slick hand down the length of it.

In front of him Jonathan watches every move, swallowing and feeling more apprehensive than he has during this whole thing. He almost wants to tell Kyle to stop, pay him extra for his trouble, but he closes his eyes and breathes, tells himself he's already come this far and he might as well get to home plate.

It is Vegas, after all, he tells himself, the town of new possibilities and secrets that won't ever leave.

When Jonathan opens his eyes again Kyle's cocking an eyebrow in the mirror, giving him a knowing look. Jonathan blushes. "I'm not going to chicken out," he says decidedly, though he can detect the hollow pang of uncertainty in his voice.

"You're sure." There's a flat tone in Kyle's voice, like the blonde doesn't believe him either, but Jonathan nods fervently and he's ninety-nine percent sure that he doesn't want anything else at the moment.

Kyle grips Jonathan's hips securely, admonishes, "Don't tense up and it'll feel ten times better than my fingers," and guides his cock to Jonathan's hole, pressing forward slowly. Jonathan makes a small exclamation of pain and bites his lower lip, willing himself to relax and for the sting of tears to go away.

He moves a hand down to rest on top of Kyle's, squeezing until the blonde has bottomed out. Kyle presses wet kisses to Jonathan's shoulder and neck, repeating the motion until Jonathan moans quietly and gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Kyle's first thrusts are quick, careful, and he locks eyes with Jonathan in the mirror, lifting his right hand from Jonathan's hip to wrap it around his cock. Jonathan gets lost in bliss, closes his eyes as Kyle moves faster and harder, and Kyle isn't really jerking Jonathan off but the slight pressure of his fingers is enough to keep the brunette on edge.

Jonathan feels his foot slip, and he has to quickly twist his body to keep from falling forward. Unconsciously he reaches a hand backward, grabs Kyle's ass, making the blonde moan and his thrusts stutter in their steady movement. "Fuck, do that again," Kyle pants. Jonathan does, and he keeps his eyes open long enough to watch the expression of pure bliss paint itself onto Kyle's features.

"So good," Jonathan murmurs, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "So good, Kyle."

"Touch yourself," Kyle says into his ear, hot breath making Jonathan shiver. "Open your eyes and touch yourself. You're so pretty this way." He moves his hand back to Jonathan's hip, steadying him as he bottoms out again, balls slapping against Jonathan's skin.

He changes angles, shifts his hips and Jonathan cries out in pleasure as the head of Kyle's cock hits his prostate. Jonathan tightens around Kyle, little whimpers and groans falling from his mouth. He can barely register Kyle whispering into his ear over the pounding rush of blood, but he knows that Kyle is still telling him to touch himself, go on, do it.

Jonathan forces his eyes open, watches in the mirror as their bodies meld together and move in rhythm, Kyle's fringe flopping in and out of place as his hips move, Jonathan's cock bobbing. "Do it," Kyle whispers, voice hitching, nails digging into the brunette's skin.

Jonathan wraps his fingers around his cock, slides from tip to base and squeezes, moaning. "Close," he whispers breathlessly. "Harder, Kyle." His eyes slide half-closed, blurred figures as Kyle obeys and speeds up, even blurrier movement of his hand on his cock as he frantically strokes.

Their voices crescendo and decrescendo, a symphony of skin-on-skin, forte and piano moans. Jonathan's wrist starts to burn, and the muscles in his legs are burning, but he doesn't care, not while Kyle's behind him, movements getting choppier and more frenetic, showing that he's just as close as Jonathan.

"Come for me," Kyle finally says, panting as he takes shallower thrusts. "Watch yourself. Keep your eyes open, Jonathan." He places his hand on top of Jonathan's, mutually getting him faster to the edge.

"I—I," Jonathan barely speaks before he's coming hard over their hands, over the sink with a strangled shout of Kyle's name. His eyes are locked on his face in the mirror, the way it contorts in unimaginable pleasure. He's barely keeping himself upright as Kyle rests his forehead against Jonathan's shoulder, moaning as he comes into the condom with a string of curse words.

Kyle pulls out, ties the condom and drops it in the wastebasket. They're both panting and sweaty, hunched against the sink, and all Jonathan can think of for a few seconds is that they really need to clean the countertop off. It's completely absurd and definitely not what he should be thinking, but he does until he feels the hot pressure of Kyle's lips against his shoulder.

Jonathan almost wants to say thank you but doesn't want to seem rude. He turns around, falling into Kyle's embrace, and he's almost shocked at the moment of tenderness the dancer is showing. Kyle smiles, the brightness of it reaching his eyes, and he lifts a hand to tuck a few sweaty strands of Jonathan's now-curly hair behind his ear.

"For your first time, pretty boy, you were damn good," he says, voice airy and bright, and Jonathan can't help but smile and laugh, feeling slightly awkward and pleased at the same time. "Thanks?" he ends up saying.

Kyle shakes his head and jerks open the door, saying over his shoulder, "I don't often give out compliments. You're an exception." He sashays away and Jonathan stares, for what feels like the millionth time that night, at Kyle's ass, unable to look away as the blonde bends down to open a drawer, pulling out boxers and a pair of ratty shorts.

After Kyle dresses Jonathan's surprised at how normal he looks, minus the electric-colored eye makeup. He belatedly realizes he should probably get dressed as well and ducks back into the bathroom to pick up his jeans and boxers. After he pulls them on he leans against the doorframe for a few heartbeats, drinking in everything about this night.

When Jonathan steps back into the living area, Kyle's combed his hair down to a flat volume and is perched on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through TV channels. Jonathan watches him, his relaxed pose and intent stare, ratty old Four Year Strong shirt stretched tight across his chest.

Jonathan starts for the door, looks back to see if Kyle's moved. He pretends to be messing with his iPhone, which has way too many new messages and missed calls for his liking and he doesn't want to explain this later, why he's sweaty and smells like sex and smoke and alcohol. He eventually shoves his phone in his back pocket and turns around, hoodie hanging unzipped from his broad shoulders.

"How much does kissing cost?" he asks suddenly.

Kyle turns toward him and blinks, taken aback. He stands and walks over, unsure for a few moments, before leaning in, hands coming up to cradle Jonathan's jaw. They lock eyes, not saying anything. Kyle presses their lips together, holding them both still as his thumbs rub over Jonathan's jaw. "For you, nothing," he says softly when they part, smiling, slipping something into Jonathan's palm before he steps back.

Jonathan's mouth is half-open, eyes widened comically. Kyle winks and walks back to the couch, sitting down and propping his feet up on the expensive glass-and-polished mahogany coffee table. The sounds of a fake sitcom laugh track fill the room.

Turning on his heel, Jonathan twists open the door handle, eyes momentarily falling on the wad of green bills on the marble bar top. Kyle doesn't say anything else, doesn't look toward him, just chuckles at something on the TV, and Jonathan thinks for a few seconds how warm that laugh is.

He leaves, closes the door behind him. Halfway down the hall he realizes there's something in his hand. He unfolds his fist, takes the crumpled piece of paper out and unfolds it. He reads it as he waits for the elevator to come up to the floor.

You're too cute to pass up, baby boy. Give me a ring sometime.

xo Kyle B.

p.s. your lips are definitely as luscious as they look.

Below it, a number.

Jonathan grins as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.