A note: I was given this idea by my sister, and have been dying to write a stripper fic with a twist~ so. This should be fun. I'm super busy, however, so it may be a week or two between chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pandora Hearts
Pulsating in his ears, thudding in his chest, and the rush in his veins, it was all so exhilarating. The air was too humid and hot, and the elbows and limbs kept pushing against him uncomfortably. Frankly, the sweat and curves made up for the slight suffocation. Oz felt himself melting into the thriving crowd, and it was intoxicating.
The air smelled of strong body odor and thick heat. Alcohol was ever present in the breaths and voices of the bodies around him as he slid past faceless dancers. There was something undefinable about the scent from the dance floor. Between the musky feel of perspiration mixing with alcohol and the sweet sense of pulsating audio waves in itself, it was something entirely unique.
He found himself giving into the dancing and meshing of bodies. Identities and faces were all inconsequential, as flesh melded against fabric. Electronic beats and flashing lights filled his senses, and viridian eyes were bright with sparks of adrenaline. Drowning and falling deeper into the sensations around him. Oz. His own identity seemed to fade into the background of hammering hearts and friction.
Of course, no one cared who he was there. None of the dancing participants in their mob of panting bodies paid any mind to the sixteen year old boy drinking in their lifestyle. With the right amount of money, Oz could buy his way in, and that was fine with him. For the first time, the stress and reality was welcomed to melt away.
Emerald eyes looked up into the glowing colors around him, past the sea of people. The collection of rooms and separated areas all conjoined in the center around circular stages and a crowded bar. The few sober employees bustled about, their movements matching the tempo of the beats and grinding bodies. But it was the stages that caught a spark in curious viridian irises.
The movements against something as static as a dirty pole were no less enrapturing than the air of sex around Oz. He watched as fabric pooled around the man's legs, and arms embraced the cool metal like a lover. A pink tongue darted out to lick his lip, and Oz wasn't sure if he was doing it to be seductive or to wipe sweat away. He was left only in tight, black jeans with a glittering white belt dangling undone from his waist. Oz felt an excited shiver as he watched gloved fingers expertly work at the button and zipper.
Raven waves jerked away from the matted locks against flesh and sweat. His head fell back with a roll of his hips, and Oz's mouth was getting incredibly dry just at the sight. He caught a glimpse of golden eyes behind those dark lashes, and there was no doubt in what Oz wanted. Every bend and curve drew Oz in further, and a more primal desire flared darkly.
Oz drank in the sight of the man's chiseled chest hungrily. Muscles rippled from his abdomen, across pale skin and up to a faded pink gash of some painful memory that had left a physical imprint. His frame was lean, but the crevices and dips of toning was undeniable. For a brief moment, Oz wondered how the flesh would feel under his fingers.
It was when his thumbs deflty hooked under the waist of dark jeans that the blonde started shoving past other onlookers to get closer in any way. The atmosphere dripped into a tightness, constricting around him as bodies held him back and his clothes clung too close. His tongue licked the roof of his mouth in a sticky motion, swallowing dryly. Oz had made it within feet, and as golden eyes locked on his, he felt his chest swell. There was no change in expression, no words exchanged, and it was only momentary, but it was enough to drive a teenaged heart into a fit of uneven fluctuation.
And then it ended.
The man shot his crowd a smirk before tugging his pants up and, what Oz thought was intentionally, left the gaudy pearl belt undone and quavering as he walked away. Oz's eyes followed the slight sway of his hips off the stage, focusing on the moving lips as he exchanged a few words with someone the younger would never know.
Oz had been raised in such a way that he expected to be given anything that he desired, no matter price nor value. It was natural to him, as he slid past wallflowers and stumbling drunks towards the side of the stage, that he would have this man he was so enraptured by. His focus was wavering between the sea of bodies and lights, those golden eyes almost slipping away from view. Pink lips pursed slightly before curling into a persuasive smile as he spotted and began to approach the disheveled dancer offstage.
He didn't notice Oz at first, perhaps accustomed to the stares. Oz's smile strained a bit, and he stepped closer in a blatant motion, stepping into the dancer's line of view. Black brows furrowed slightly, attention now focused on the smaller blonde.
"Do you need something?"
The irritation to his voice was gruff. One hand rested on his hip in a demanding manner, his entire posture from narrowed eyes to clenched fists suggesting that he was not excited to see a gawking teenager.
Oz smiled brightly at him, the expression glaringly out of place from the pulsating atmosphere, "Yea, my name is Oz," he greeted, tilting his head as his voice strained to push above the music, "You were really good. Come home with me."
The man blanched, and Oz smirked slightly from the reaction. Oz was also raised to be straightforward. He didn't like to play pointless games when he was impatient, in which case, he was rather excited to take the dancer home with him.
"I'll pay you."
After a heavy moment of searching in his pocket, Oz's hand emerged with crumpled dollars of values most sixteen-year old boys should not carry. He shoved it at the man with a grin, not bothering to check the amount that he was offering.
Hesitantly, gloved fingers took the wrinkled papers from his hand and gently smoothed them out as he counted. His mouth tightened into a frown as he stared at the money. Oz wanted to know what was going through his mind as golden eyes focused so intently at the paper, what was being debated. If not for a response, Oz nearly would have asked.
"I'm a stripper, not a prostitute," he shoved the money back at Oz, who in turned blinked and shook his head. Veridian eyes darkened a shade and he laughed, not taking the abused bills back. Irritated, the dancer glared and barked, "And kids shouldn't be here anyways. Go before I call security."
"A hundred an hour, in addition to this payment."
Oz smiled at him sweetly, small hands smoothing out the creases in his dress shirt diplomatically. Not only was he sincere, but he was determined, and by the look on the older man's expression, he was also winning. When in doubt, throw more money at it. Shock painted his pale face rather cutely, Oz thought, and giggled when he shook his head.
The younger reiterated his offer by handing the money back to him, adding offhandedly, "I can give you more if that's what you-"
"Fine," the man grunted, amber eyes flickering from the money and back to Oz.
Cheerfully, the younger clapped and clasped his hands behind his back, "I'm so glad! We should leave now, oh don't worry about the rest of your shift, I can pay you the difference." He waved the idea off idly with a chuckle, money as undrainable resource and a concept to appease himself. It was all he had.
Previously having been so caught up in the excitement that he had said yes in between flashing lights and a thudding bass, Oz realized that he had forgotten to ask something to entirely vital.
"What's your name?"
As if in a daze from the entire situation, the man hesitated before mumbling, "Raven." His tone was something of distaste, as if bitter about the simple title. He sighed, running a gloved hand through dark waves, "That's my stage name though. Just call me Gilbert. Gilbert Nightray."
Albeit happy, Oz was honestly surprised that he had been entrusted with such an important detail. Gilbert. It rolled around in his mind like a foreign spell, and Oz whispered it to himself to experiment how it felt on his tongue. He looked up at him, Gilbert he reminded himself, and nodded. Gilbert sent him a disgruntled scowl, arms wrapping around himself as he waited for Oz to react.
"Nice to meet you then, Gil!"
Gilbert, or the aforementioned 'Gil', pinched the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. His eyes squeezed tight, voice strained, "Stupid kid." He had meant for it to be whispered to himself, but interested, Oz perked up and a slight pout fell onto his features.
"Hey, I am not a kid," he protested, pointing at Gilbert accusingly. Or rather, Oz had more money to his name than age could count, it really all became so obsolete after a few bills.
Gilbert stared at him, the technicolor beats filling the silence as someone yelped in the crowd of meshing bodies behind them. He parted his lips slowly, clearly attempting to speak slowly, "Are you even old enough to be here?"
Oz grinned wider.
There was a longer moment in which Gil's expression was blank, before he shook his head and motioned for Oz to follow him as he turned around. Oz giggled to himself, pleased with his apparent victory. His eyes followed the movements of his torso as he trailed behind him into a door leading into a electric lit corridor. Curiously, he asked where they were going and was told he needed to get his things.
"There's a car waiting for me in the back parking lot," the younger noted as he waited outside the door for Gilbert to come out with his things.
The dark haired man appeared in the doorway with a modest grey sweater and heavy black coat. Oz mentally noted the holes and dirt on the coat with interest, but was careful not to be caught staring as Gilbert walked past him with a grunt. He watched him take out a cigarette as they opened the door to the outside. His hand was shaking.
The sounds from the club had become faded and dull, only the undertones of the bass pounding through concrete and into the cold, winter night. Oz quickened his pace to catch up to his new companion, biting his lip as for once, he was unsure of what to say. The parking lot was dark, and littered with trash, but the lights from the city illuminated the sky softly. Not even the stars compared to the electric colors and hues.