DEF: So this is being uploaded nearly a month after Halloween but I think it still applies. The time period of the story doesn't actually follow along ours so yes it does work.

Kriston: DEF does not own ROTG, Star Trek, Adventure Time, DC comics, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Kuroshitsuji or Jak and Daxter. Nor does she claim to own any of the characters that appear in this story, only Autumne, Autumne is ours.


Saturday nights are always the best, the crowds are slutty, the alcohol is that side of illegal, the drugs are thick and the dancers are sexy. Saturday is always the best night to get shitfaced drunk and find a nice little fuck buddy, you don't have work the next day unless you're some type of masochist piece of shit and no one really wakes up early enough on a Sunday to notice strange people sneaking out of their neighbor's house, or apartment, or dorm, or whichever the fuck you want it to be.

However, that isn't to say there aren't special nights. New Year's Eve, Fourth of July, Guy Fawkesday, all the good shit that'll get the blood pumping and the drinks flowing. Tonight is probably the second best, only to New Year's Eve of course, nothing will ever beat New Year's, after all, is there a better way to ring in the new year than with debauchery and drinks?

"Jack, you and Marceline are on in ten," one of the twins stated, popping in and out so fast, you would swear it was a wack-a-mole game. The pale skinned woman leaning against the dressing table gave him a sharp toothed grin before pushing past the black curtain into the corridor that led to the stage. He had to admit, she was entirely different from what he thought she'd be, but then, he hadn't had much of a basis to go on anyway, although he will say that she's incredibly sexy. From her low heeled black boots to those half lidded grey eyes of hers, she's slight but the tight grey corset and second skin she dares call pants show off the lithe figure she has going for her. Then she pulls on the fitted coat and that figure disappears into the taunting, challenging smile he'd grown so used to much sooner than he would have thought.

He vaguely wondered what Pip would do if he told her he'd danced with her roommate in a club, oh no Pip, not on the dance floor, no, we were up on the stage humping each other and the gleaming stripper poles that rise from the ground. Yeah, that'd go over so well, he might as well just tell Pitch he'd once been a prostitute, selling his ass, quite literally, to make sure his little sister had food in her stomach and clothes to wear to school.

"Hey, you okay? You look kinda, pink," Marceline observed, sticking her head back through the curtain, he can't even help the smile that steals its way across his lips. The brunette might act all carefree and 'I-don't-give-two-shits' but there was something there, something that made him like her, no matter if she was supposed to be in school right now.

"I'm fine, just thinking about this gig. Never did somewhere as big as Millennium Mysteries before and honestly, I'm kinda shocked Yami actually asked me here," he admitted, no matter how fucking insecure that sounded. This woman, no this girl, she was nineteen, she was no better than him and he was no better than her, they were both on equal ground, ages excluded. YamiMouto, the freaking part owner of the hottest club in Domino had personally requested them, had taken the time to call Marceline and come see him after a shift at Seasons. He had no freaking reason to be insecure but there it was, humans were so fucked up.

"Come on dude, you're like, a great dancer. I've never even been to Seasons and I know your name and we've practiced for like six hours, so seriously, chill," she advised, sticking her tongue out at him, the silver ball of metal winking at him. There's something so damn charismatic about this girl, although he could tell she had her own issues, but most of the time people seem to gravitate towards the ones with issues, must like the challenge or something. According to Pip, her wonderful roommate had shown up for classes a month after they started without any of the professors so much as batting an eye. It has to be a rich daddy or a rich mommy, not both at once because whatever problems this girl has, it's obviously parental, his money is on the daddy.

"Then lead the way, your majesty," he answers, and he isn't Jackson Overland, he's really Jack Frost now, and Jack Frost is a showoff. He's ready to make everyone in the audience want him, he's ready to shake his ass and act like a total slut out there because that's what he was freaking hired for.


Domino City was a little less than fifty miles away from Burgess so God alone knew how this Yami person had heard of Jack, much less in time to know he was a good dancer, but he digressed. The hows and whys don't matter so much as the 'how the fuck did Jack get him to agree to this?' and 'why the hell had he let Autumne tag along?'.

He'd already moved out of his comfort zone by going to Naughty or Nice but he'd enjoyed himself hadn't he, it had ended incredibly well, hadn't it? What the hell was he actually complaining about anyway? At least that was the stand Jack had taken after he flat out refused to come to Millennium Mysteries on Halloween of all nights. He'd heard more about that club than he'd ever really cared for, about the dancers actually being the owners' whores, about the drug lords that frequented the place, about the people that went missing in the Mysteries and turned up dead months later. He was not, repeat not, going to set foot in that place, and neither was Jack.

However, that resolve had flown out the window when the blond, was he really blond if it was bleached?, said he was going there anyway and that Pitch might be his boyfriend but he sure as fuck wasn't he father. He thinks that had been their first real fight, but he can't be sure because they didn't act differently, they didn't scream, or shout, or demand the other get out of the house. In fact, he's pretty sure it wasn't a fight because their voices weren't even raised and somehow he ended up inviting Autumne along while Jack just made a list of costume ideas for him.

He smirks slightly at the memory, there was pounding on his door and it was three in the blasted morning but he really didn't dwell on that because all too soon he had a lap full of pale, lithe body and his ear was being talked off. He hadn't really listened to most of it, it was too fast for that anyway, and only caught the jist of what the younger man was jabbering on about. YamiMouto, part owner of Millennium Mysteries, the biggest club in Domino City, had come down to Seasons and personally asked Jack to be a part of their Halloween celebration. Their 'fight' had followed after and they'd both fallen asleep sometime around five, only to wake up about eleven because Autumne had been calling for hours and no one had answered the bloody door and Pitch really should let her have a key but oh there are doughnuts on the table.

The next week, he'd barely seen Jack, both of them too busy with work, the damn movie was starting filming and Jack had too much on his hands between Enchanted Bakers, Dunbroch's and preparing for Halloween. He'd only taken the time to stop by once with cin-vill tarts and that was it, although even that was more than he'd been getting before the blond had finally admitted his double life however many weeks ago. Jack had opened up to him, he'd told him his real name, he'd trusted him enough to tell him about his day jobs, and he'd trusted him enough to invite him here. Here being Millennium Mysteries of course with this being their first ever Halloween bash, which the owners had wanted to be special and lead to having six dancers from different clubs come perform for them.

Millennium Mysteries was such a hodgepodge of nationalities it wasn't even funny, there were two albino Brits, four oddly coloured Egyptians, two Japanese, an American, a man of European decent and two, well, he wasn't exactly sure what they were. He'd yet to figure out whether or not the last four were actually part of the club or just more specially invited guests though he was leaning towards the latter as the first five looked as though they belonged to the club. After he and Autumne had been led up to the VIP lounge, only three people had been there, the albino twins and the dark skinned barkeeper, the three men bickering over something in fast paced Arabic with wild gestures thrown in after every other word.

Not ten minutes later, a strawberry blond nearly tripped over the doorway, the only thing stopping him from bashing his face into the frame being the blond next to him. They had both stopped to greet the room at large, the almost a blond smiling brilliantly while his ginger haired friend just muttered something under his breath and found a nice secluded corner by the bar. Barely a half hour passed before three more people showed up, the first being another dark skinned Egyptian with more piercings than common sense apparently, the second an immaculately dressed European (?) with a hooded man bringing up the rear.

Almost an hour had passed since then and no one else had come up the stairs, which was exceedingly strange, considering it was Halloween of all things and the dance floor below them was packed to the brim with scantily costumed figures. Speaking of which, he cast a surreptitious glance at the red head next to him and her 'costume', she had told him she was supposed to be an assassin, or some such nonsense. Judging from the deep v-neck and miniskirt covered by a slitted white robe, he thought it was more of a chance for her to dress in one of the many outfits she ordered from her various online siteswithout people staring at her in disgust or trying to reproach her.

"Are you sure we're supposed to be up here?" she asked finally, practically laying on the glass bar while the bartender didn't even try to hide his staring, obviously he liked what he saw and he wondered vaguely how many drinks the red head would get free this time.

"You know, now I'm not so sure. Hmm, maybe we're in the wrong club after all and the bouncer made a mistake letting us up here, yes that must be it. We should leave before someone realizes and sends security to escort us out," he replied seriously, one eyebrow cocked while the bartender snickered softly. The glare she sent his way could cut glass but he wasn't particularly worried by it, he was more than used to her being pissed off by his dry sense of humor. He was also used to changing his lock every three to four months because she was always breaking the damn thing thinking she could pick locks, apparently, 'bit-of-metal-stuck-in-the-lock' equaled 'open'.

"I swear, one of these days, I will smother you in your sleep," she muttered, pulling her hood over her head, he smiled and the bartender rolled his eyes good naturedly. He nodded in return but couldn't help but think Autumne had a point, there was no reason to be here, despite the fact he wouldn't have been dancing even if he was down with the rest of the crowd. The lounge was posh and all, expensive glass bar with lights changing the colour of the water every few seconds with plastic skeleton fish drifting lazily along, walls covered in day glow paints to give the effect of ultraviolet blood seeping down. Even the glass covered balcony that looked out onto the dance floor had fake spiderwebs along its edges and even a few paper bats stuck on in random intervals, which was strange, probably a joke.

"Okay all you freaks, you ready to come in your pants?" The voice was clearly feminine, but it was as clear as though the woman had been speaking next to him, he turned away from the balcony and understood immediately. The VIP lounge really was top of the line, a huge screen had descended from the ceiling to cover nearly half of a wall and it showed the stage directly below them, oh that made sense now.

"I take it back, I love the VIP lounge. Vodka, straight, please," Autumne requested, spinning around in her seat to have a perfect view of the performance.


Marceline grinned at the crowd before her, they were all screaming their approval and damn it if didn't give an adrenalin rush just by being on a stage again. She'd gone way too long without being the center of attention, she needed this, and if she just so happened to find out her roommate's older brother is the notorious Jack Frost, then that was just an added bonus. Honestly, sometimes Pip was way too naïve, one look at the white haired guy behind her and she'd recognized him from the brunet on Pippa's laptop, too easy.

"Heh, might as well start the night off with your best," 'Jack Frost' added, smirking at her but not really at her, his eyes were unfocused and she vaguely wondered whether or not all the hype was worth it. She'd only met the guy about twelve hours ago, when Yami had paired them together and left them to practice, and even she could tell something was seriously wrong. Oh sure, he was happy enough but it was just off, like that time Uncle Simon forgot his wedding ring on the bathroom sink and didn't want to tell Aunt Karen, hiding something, yeah that was it, Frost was hiding something.

"You better be, can't have you ruining my rep, Frost," she muttered, tossing her hair over her shoulder casually, none of her business whatever the bleached blond idiot did with his life.

~Come with me, into the trees~

She turned away from the crowd sharply, they didn't exist anymore, it was just her, the stage, the music, the lights and Jack Frost. Various colours are slipping and sliding on the floor in front of her and she follows them with her eyes, listening to the calm voice of the woman as the first song the night seeps into her bones, pushing her, shoving her into being Marceline, the Queen.

She mouths the words flawlessly as she steps forward, slowly circling the motionless figure, one foot in front of the other, she may have a slim build but it does have shape and the close set steps are enough to make her hips sway. She loves the tickle of her hair on the small of her back, the feel of her feet in short leather boots, the height it lends so she's level with the man in front of her. She extends one hand out to him, letting it graze his shoulder as she makes one full turn, enjoying the flare of her coat, letting the music guide her, and yes, there he goes.

His fingers are cool against hers and she likes the feel of his mutilated hoody on her cheek as he pulls her in close, leading her into a perfect spin and trapping her against his chest. No matter how often they've done it, she can't help but marvel at how calm he is, how steady his heartbeat is while hers is flying away, a mile a minute. She lets the ghost of a smirk find its way to her lips as he moves one leg forward and she's grinding on it, it's a slow build up and she intends to enjoy every minute of it.

When he flings her away, only not really, the crowd gasps as her coat's tossed away, leaving her shoulders bare and her body exposed, then he's pulling her back sharply and she grabs a handful of blue cloth. She's never really cared about the intricacies of her clothing, you dance, you pull and the crowd cheers, this is no exception, the lush sound of Velcro ripping apart and the pale stomach now display for all to see. She grins at him, tossing her head as he cocks one eyebrow and now there's a pole between them, a nice, warm pole with just enough grip. Again, it doesn't matter how many times they've practiced this, it still takes her breath away with just how agile and flexible and strong Jack is, she might be a good dancer but she's nowhere near being good as him. He holds himself upsidedown, yes fucking upside down, and wraps one leg around the pole, hooking it at the knee, a trick she's learned is his signature move, and spins, she copies it of course, only right side up and they still hold hands, fingers brushing.

~You're breathing in fumes, I taste when we kiss~

Even after the spin, he's able to reach out to caress her face, cupping her cheek and waiting for the cue in the music before pecking her once on the lips. So far the crowd had been positive but at the kiss, they begin to hiss and boo, apparently they want more, okay then, she'll givethem more.

She grabs the back of his head and drags him back for another kiss, a deep one, with obvious tongue and the cheers erupt like they've just scored a winning touchdown or something. She would worry about Jack's feelings in this but he doesn't push away, the guy's a professional, so she doesn't dwell on it and just continues on with their routine. They wait for the chorus to hit and both are flipping backwards, physical contact breaking for the first time, before grabbing for each other again, this time, she's behind him and he's pressed flush against the pole.

Her hands are around his neck, squeezing ever so slightly and her chin rests on his shoulder, she makes a show of it, making sure the audience can see her as she bites down on that ever so pale earlobe. Wolf whistles, screams of encouragement, the hands that are reaching behind the blond are resting on her ass and squeeze, hard, she moves to his neck in retaliation.

~Let me hear you crying just for me~

He flings her away from him again, forward into the next pole that has risen from the floor, and she grabs onto it, letting her elbow lock as she completes a small spin, shooting a fanged smirk at the crowd. Now he's the one moving towards her, someone had thrown out his crook from the crowd and he has it balanced on his shoulder as he lets his hips sway in a way no man's should ever be able to. She grins because she knows what's coming, she knows exactly when that cocky, lighter than air, strut will change, and they he goes. He lunges at her, crook extended, and the hook catches her around the waist. She pretends to resist when he tugs, then he pulls and she jerks away from the pole, straight into his arms.

She throws a leg over his hip, he rests one hand on her ass, she makes a grab for the crook but he's too strong, instead they end up holding it above their heads. His hand covers her own and as the last strains of the music fade away, she drops her head to his shoulder, making sure her hair doesn't block the audience's view of her face, painting a picture of pure ecstasy on for their behalf.

The lights die and she hopes this is not the last dance they'll have together.


Her eyebrows still haven't come down from where they seem to have taken up permanent residency in her hairline, and it's not even from Koz's reaction to his boyfriend, hehe still funny to think about, air humping some hussy, oh no, it's the reaction of the strange pair in the corner. From the moment the music started, they had broken off whatever argument they'd been having to stare intently at the screen, one had even pulled out a phone and recorded the entire thing. At the end of it though, the shorter of the pair, though his mouth more than makes up for it, strode over to the bar and inquired the name of the white haired dancer in a strangely accented voice.

She can hear practically hear the fuses blow and she can barely suppress the horrible shit eating grin that spreads across her face, Koz is livid and this man better play his cards right if he wants to leave in one piece tonight. She had known from the very start that this was a bad idea, Pitch had never seen Jack dance with anyone else since they'd started this strange relationship of theirs, not even his regular stage mates, Fairy or Aster, this Marceline girl had thrown him for a loop. Although it really shouldn't have, honestly, the man worked part time as an exotic dancer, obviously he would have to dance with someone else at some point in time.

"Why do you want to know?" the brunet ground out, having to spit the words out otherwise he just might lose his temper, something not even she wants to see, ever. The man turns slowly, incredulously, it's only natural, Koz had barely said a word all night, except to snark her and order drinks, and here he was all but reaching across the small space and slamming a stranger's face into the bar. Oh great, if he did that, then there would be a huge press blow up about it, people would start asking annoying questions, like what he was doing there in the first place and then Jack would come to light and it would all go to shit town.

"He's globbing amazing, that's why. Is he a friend of yours?" the man asked, oh, well, that seems to have been the right thing to say, or it wasn't the wrong thing at least because there isn't blood being smeared on cracked glass or security being called. She can't exactly see her friend's face from her angle but she can almost guess what he's thinking so facial expression shouldn't be a problem, hmm, let's see, probably grinding his teeth, eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed.

"He's Jack Frost and he's my partner," Koz answers succinctly and the man nods sharply, as though he'd been searching for that particular answer all along, oh hell.

"Oh, that's cool. I'm Finn, that's Jake and the girl out there is one of my dancers, we'd love for Jack Frost to come dance for us sometime. Would you mind giving him our card?" the man, Finn, requested with a bright grin reaching in a back pocket before handing over a crisp business card. She peers over Koz's shoulder to look at it, a completely white background with blocky red writing and some motto 'Adventure Time' or some such nonsense. It doesn't look like any other business card she's ever seen but hey, who knows what the business cards of club owners, because these two are so obviously that, look like. She also can't help but notice how young the blond looks, he can't be anything over twenty-five, if even that, yet he's supposed to be running a club?

"I'll do that, thank you Finn," and just like that Koz has managed to end the conversation on a lighter note than it started on and even through her light buzz, she stares down Finn as he returns to his friend, who immediately starts another argument. However, now she can see that it's almost good natured, if she could understand a lick of what they were saying, she would guess they were talking about something stupid like the cat. They struck as the type to be called 'best friends for death' at least a dozen times a day, and she can't say they're wrong.

"So Kozzy, looks like your boyfriend is in high demand tonight," she teased, poking him in the side with her pink, paper umbrella.

"Does it really matter when I still get him tomorrow morning?" he replied, as smooth as silk and she can't help the obnoxious snort that bubbles up. The white haired bartender laughs again before returning to wiping down the glass counter, oh dear, looks like tonight was just one fill of jokes.


"That was so sexy, and slutty. I loved it!" the never ending firecracker that was Alois proclaimed, grabbing his hands and forcing him into a spinning victory dance. There must be something seriously wrong with this man, he always acted like an over-sexed, under mature, child, the slight, aristocratic features didn't help matters.

"Thanks Alois, not like I helped or anything, just stood there like a dead fish and stuff," Marceline interjected, bumping the blond away with her hip and taking his spot at Jack's side. He was almost glad she'd done that, he couldn't handle Alois in anything more than five minute increments as it was and Marceline was much calmer, not to mention he was used to her.

"He's an idiot, you guys were awesome, only hope we can follow that up," the other beach blonde sighed, Tess, sticking her arm through Alois' and dragging him off to the stage, their set was up in five minutes, give the crowds a little while to calm down, get some drinks then hit them with more 'It's-everything-but-sex' dancing. He actually hadn't seen their dance beforehand and wondered if he could go out onto the dance floor right now without being molested by the dozens of drunks out there.

"You wanna see the dance, right?" the almost-brunet-but-really-a-blond, Christ they had a lot of blonds here, Kirk he thinks, asks, turning with a smirk so much like his own that it's almost creepy, but it's mostly cool.

"Bet your sweet ass we do," he grinned, hey, names weren't that important and just because he was in a relationship didn't mean he wasn't allowed to notice nice asses. Kirk had one, it was there and he couldn't resist the urge to smack it, besides, Pitch was probably going to let him have it as soon as they were alone for dancing with Marceline without telling him so what's the harm? Oh, that sounded like cheater talk, he'd never cheat on Pitch, ever. Pitch was the greatest thing to ever happen to him and he was the last one to want to fuck up a good thing.

"Come on, you can see better from the office," Kirk explained, leading the way through the twisting turning backstage, behind the public bar and upstairs to an office opposite the VIP lounge and a perfect view of the stage. The bouncer doesn't say anything, it's obvious they're dancers, mostly because no one else is dressed as them, there was a strict dress code in effect, no one was allowed in if they were Jack Frost, A Startrek Captain, a Victorian noble man, Nightwing, a mechanic girl, or rock vampire. The twins, Yami and Yugi only because the rest were working, look up from whatever they were doing at the desk, then ignore them.

The beginning of the song sends a shiver up his spine, the music is like an aphrodisiac, fuck his eyes have even slipped half closed. If there was a way to make the clanging of pipe sound techno, then this was what you'd get.

~Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me~

Alois stands in one spot, biting his lips so hard it looks as though he'll gnaw right through it, his hands move over his body but it's clear they aren't touching. Tess starts off the dance proper, turning from facing to the crowd to Alois, resting one gloved hand his shoulder delicately before spinning him around to face her, sliding her hand to rest on his neck. Even from this far away, he can see the blown wide pupils and the slight panting despite the fact neither one has done anything to cause it. The both of them are enjoying this way too much, the way they're lapping up the attention lavished on them, it's easy to see they're both at ease doing this.

They turn as one this time, joined at the waist as they sway their hips in tandem, just flowing with the music for about half a minute before breaking apart. Tess taking half a step to her left, away from Alois, and the movement is automatic, Alois hooks his ankle around hers and pulls, the only way for her to not fall on her ass is to grab onto his plum waist coat. He knows it's only imagined but he can swear he hears the wet sound of fabric tearing as the deep purple cloth flutters to the stage like the broken wings of a butterfly. Underneath, he's wearing the exact same outfit as Tess, belly top and short shorts with high heeled boots. Their backs are to the crowd and they bend as one, one hand resting on the small of their backs, as they pick up the ripped fabric.

The sound of the crowd's cheers and leers reach them even in the office and he has to admit, both of the blonds have nice asses, it's really the icing on the cake when they give a slow roll of the hips, tossing their heads back and letting blonde hair fly. Tess has one lip caught between her teeth, cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded, Alois' lips are parted ever so slightly, eyes wide but it's clear he isn't staring at the crowd, oh no, this face is for just one, probably his boyfriend in the crowd. The cloth is still fluttering after them, almost as though they've forgotten they have it, as they stride over to the pole that's risen in the middle of the stage. In a move that's perfectly timed, perfectly practiced, they both grab the pole with one hand and hump it, one first then the other, so the crowd gets the full effect.

They continue the movement twice more before throwing their heads back, bending backwards until their bodies are a perfect ninety degrees to the pole and the only thing holding them up is the cloth they tied to it. Those sneaky bastards. He can't help but smile when they snap back up, spinning just enough so they're both on one side of the pole, chest to chest, one hand still clutching the ripped cloth, as they kiss, it's much more intense than the one shared between him and Marceline but it's appropriate.

They surge against each other, lips and tongue and teeth clacking and clashing as they fight, fight for dominance, fight for the crowd, whichever. Tess lets go of the cloth, wrapping both legs around Alois' waist and burying one hand in his hair, jerking his head back with it and letting her free hand grip the pole above both their heads. Alois slides both of them up the slicked metal, one hand resting on his partner's ass, the other just under hers on the pole, and they both spin, still kissing and if that isn't one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

~It's better to be broken than to break!~

The separation is much more violent this time, Tess, what must be, cartwheels away like a freaking contortionist and Alois makes desperate grab for her. She lets her grip on the cloth slacken and laughs, a scarily girlish giggle, crooking her fingers to Alois while dancing on the spot, her head is thrown back and her hands are all over her body. Alois on the other hand, remains on the pole, switching so it's behind him and sliding up and down as though it's a potential fuck. The real kicker though? They're both still facing the audience and mouthing the words as though they were singing the damn song.

~A fading memory when my mind is frozen~

Alois remains almost sitting, ass resting on his heels, legs open wide, both hands extended above his head in a parody of bondage, oh wait no, his hands are actually tied to the pole with that damn piece of purple cloth. Tess is breathing hard, the tops of her breasts peeking out of the low cut of her top, there's a pleasant flush on her body in general and a self-satisfied smirk on her crowd is all but climbing on stage to get at them and Jack's pretty sure some of them are having sex right there on the dance floor

"That was fucking hot, still liked you better though," Kirk states simply, resting an elbow on his shoulder. He cocks an eyebrow at the man but doesn't say anything, just rolls his eyes, whatever.


Jason Todd crosses his arms tightly as another dance finishes, the pair of blonds bowing deeply as they make their way off stage, blowing air kisses to the crowd who just screams louder. He shouldn't be here, he really shouldn't be here, but Dick asked him and the bastard can be pretty damn persuasive when he wants to be, which leaves us here. Here being him in a the VIP lounge with about nine other people, total, none of whom he wanted to touch with a ten foot pole and Dick over in the office with the rest of the guest dancers, fun.

He would much rather be down on the dance floor, pick pocketing or starting fights, hell he might even dance, but he didn't have the choice of going down, not with that white haired freak eying him like a hawk from across the room. The man was dark skinned, Moroccan from what he'd heard, with sharp quicksilver eyes, somehow he was a friend of Dick's, who knew Dick palled around with serial killers, and no he was not making this shit up. He would know that face, fuck that scar, anywhere, the guy had been pretty hot shit a few years back when Jason had only just gotten in the game.

His name had simply been Thief King and the man had an unnerving habit of stealing any and all valuables on his victim's person at the time…and leaving drawings of his prizes on the walls, or floor, or bodies, in blood, not always the victim's either. The man had taken nearly twelve lives before he stopped, not gradually, not lavishly, but abruptly, from a killing every two weeks to nothing, it had been a shock. The police had refused to believe it of course, killers didn't just stop for no reason, there had to be something more, something he was planning, something big, and he had calmed down to throw the feds off his trail. Nope.

The Thief King had stolen everything they had then disappeared into the night, only those in the ah, unsavory sectors of society knew some portion of the truth. First off, the Thief King wasn't one man, which made sense, how could one man murder so many people and avoid detection for so long? Secondly, the Thief King wasn't some deranged maniac with no sense of self or others, he was actually pretty well respected in polite society. Third, he had never killed an innocent person but very few knew about that, one was a drug dealer, another a pedophile, one had even been a rapist, but all those people, all those victims, had been functioning, upstanding members of society, it wouldn't do to taint their deaths with something as tactless as their less than perfect moral compass.

Lastly, and most damning of the set, the Thief King was actually a name shared by Ryou, Bakura and Akefia Alton, three of the richest pieces of shit in America. The first two, Ryou and Bakura, were albino twins, they'd inherited Alton Industries after their parents died in a car crash or something, he wasn't too clear on the details, their adoptive brother, Akefia, took over and schooled them in the ways of business until they were all ready to take over, together. He had no idea where the killing came in, some people said they were all just bored, others said they were fucking psychotic, one guy had even sworn they weren't human, or rather, Akefia and Bakura weren't human, but he really didn't like to listen to bull.

He hadn't known they were working in Mysteries though, otherwise he most definitely wouldn't have been here but shit all he knew was that they'd dropped off the grid right after the killings stopped, was big news for a while there, even Bruce had to admit that, despite them being his biggest competition. Whatever the fuck they were doing here, it wasn't legal, or maybe it was, he didn't want to know, he didn't care for that matter, he was only here for Dick. Speaking of, there he was on stage with hot piece of ass, damn, what would Brucie say if he could see his perfect little son now? Heh, probably something along the lines of, "I'm so proud of you, shaking your ass for strangers' enjoyment. How charitable", the bastard.

He should stop thinking about Bruce, he would just end up breaking something, preferably the pristine glass of the balcony, yeah, he'd use this chair. The shatter-shards would look so fucking pretty raining down on the crowd below, the lights would catch the shards as they fell and turn them every colour of the rainbow, from ultraviolet blue to dragon's blood pink, maybe even supernova green.

~Break out all the mechanical~

Oh wait, there's Dick out on the stage, in furry blue cuffs, nice. The outfit they had him in was delicious, sinfully delicious, black spandex with some blue symbol that he could care less about. Everything was highlighted, abs, muscles, ass, it might be a full body suit but it left nothing to the imagination and he should really come see Dick at work more often. The other dancer, the blond with the nice ass, was in long sleeved yellow shirt of all things, ugly canary yellow but somehow he pulled it off, the dog chain and collar helped some though.

He watched closely as Dick and Blondie separated, though clearly still together, Dick dropping to his knees and rolling backwards giving the audience a nice view of everything there was to see and simultaneously slipping out of his cuffs. He didn't even stand, nah too much of a tease, he swayed from hip to hip, showing off that sweet acrobat's body of his as he did, coming to rest against one of the mobile stripper poles, the cuffs spinning from one finger. Then he gripped the pole with both hands, one above the other, and slowly, ever so fucking slowly, flipped himself upside down, one foot touching the pole first, then the next, and then he was right side up again and both legs were wrapped around the pole as he spun.

The other dancer, Blondie, was having way too much fun sending the crowd these obscene 'fuck-me' looks and licking his lips as though he was ready to eat them all up. He still had his chain and collar combo looking way too submissive for the confident expression on his face, that fucker, his smirk widening. He was swaying on the spot, nothing too dramatic, chain held in one hand as he made his way over the second pole. Jason already knew Blondie wasn't going to pull a Dick, or Jack, and wasn't too shocked when the guy grabbed the pole like his life depended on it and humped the thing.

Dick and Blondie were clearly dancing to the same song, going along to the rhythm and all that jazz, but they weren't exactly dancing together, oh sure they were on the same stage but they weren't interacting like Jack Frost and the vampire chick had, they weren't even mimicking each other like the blondes before. Nah, they were more playing off each other, they kept the crowd on their toes, having to split between the two, from one to the next because you sure as hell didn't want to miss either one.

~Going down the rabbit hole~

There they went, proving him right. Dick did another impossible flip, faster this time, crooking his fingers at the crowd, as though inviting them to join him on stage, or be a part of the high he was experiencing, whichever. He knew the only reason some people didn't actually do it was because of the bouncers. Oh, there went the shirt, the clingy but way too covering black material went flying and that mouth-watering chest came into view, yeah baby. Now, Dick wasn't a built man, uh no, he wasn't a muscular man? Fuck, he didn't have the typical body that said 'I'm built and I will fuck you up' nah, he was more of the 'I know ten different martial arts and fifteen different ways to dispose of a body so don't piss me off', and was more than proud of showing it off.

He's back on his pole but he's got one leg hooked around it, one hand in the pair of furry blue cuffs, the other side of which is locked around the pole with his free hand half on his hip, half on his ass. Jason could never understand how strippers spun on their poles, he knows it takes a fuck ton of upper body strength as most of the time you were supporting all of your weight with your arms but the spinning thing is always so cool. Still, cool or not, Dick isn't the only one on stage, speaking of which.

Blondie, on the other hand, was on his knees now, back to the crowd, head tossed over one shoulder in something way too seductive to be masculine but shit was it sexy. He's grabbing the pole with one hand out in front of him and as he stands the chain dangles between his slowly spreading legs. It's almost, no, it is obscene the way the man leans over like he's about to be fucked, the chain is swinging gently because the guy is still swaying his hips and treating them to a beautiful show. Of all the dancers he's ever seen, and trust him that's a lot, not many of them can look so completely and uttered fucked out as this lot, it's as though they practice the face in their mirrors or something.

Then he's rocking backwards, slowly, discreetly at first but soon it's enough that he can see what's going to happen, this time he is surprised. Blondie bends backwards, as in, crab back, gives a shit eating smile before snapping back up, chain clenched between his teeth and that god awful canary shirt disappears somewhere on the stage, hopefully never to be seen again. Then he takes the time to run both hands over his chest, down his perfectly flat stomach, dipping lower to cup his crotch and back up to hook both thumbs in the waistband of his black pants. Did he mention that those pants are hanging low on his hips, if not well there you were, very low.

Something is tossed on stage, he isn't sure what, but Blondie catches it and the chain is falling from his mouth, the steel glinting sharply in the multiple lights aimed at the stage. A lollipop, it's a fucking lollipop, one that Blondie wastes no time in unwrapping and beginning to suck, and lick, and basically perform fellatio to on stage, not that he's complaining. Something else is tossed on stage and Blondie snatches that too, apparently he isn't too preoccupied with his bright red sucker.

Now, Blondie and Dick haven't been that far apart since they got on stage, not more than six feet really, but they're both doing their own thing and he can't focus on both but he can now. Why? Cause Blondie's bridged the gap, lollipop caught half in his mouth half out as he grabs Dick by the arm, stopping his spin but also offering the bottle or whatever to him. The grin, smirk (?), that lights up the brunet's face spells more than a little trouble but he's already uncapped whatever and is squirting it into his palm, more than he can hold apparently because it starts dribbling down his wrist.

The stuff is a nice amber colour, not viscous but not solid either as it takes so long to move and he wonders what it smells like because it sure as hell looks sticky. The pair both grab the pole with one hand, the other preoccupied with either amber stuff or lollipop, and even now they aren't doing the same thing. Dick has one leg wrapped around the pole and is humping it but Blondie has both legs around it and is leaning away, leaning backwards so it's easy to see him violate the red candy.

Honey…The amber liquid is honey. How does he know? Easy, because Richard Cock Tease Grayson is licking, practically slurping, the stuff up like it's the tastiest shit in the world and there're only two things Grayson considers truly tasty shit. One is honey, the other is straining against his tight leather pants, he probably should have worn underwear with it but eh, the pants were too tight for underwear, it wouldn't have looked as good.

So here we have Blondie violating a lollipop and Dick acting as though honey is the ambrosia of the Gods all while turning on a roomful of people, well two roomfuls if you could the VIP lounge as another room. The thing is, they still don't acknowledge each other, Blondie and Dick that is, they're attached to the same pole, eating and licking up their respective treats and neither one so much as bats an eyelash that their legs are practically around each other rather than the pole. Professional, really damn professional.

He knows the song is winding down and the crowd knows it too because they're starting to calm down, starting to murmur instead of shout and scream out their lungs. He should have been expecting it, he of all people know how damn dramatic Grayson can be but he didn't and that was his down fall.

They're both reaching for each other before the audience has any time to react and suddenly, Dick has the lollipop in his mouth, the red a stark contrast to his lips while Blondie is licking his palm, sucking on the fingers to get more of that honey. He can tell everyone is confused, oh sure they're popping boners because shit, it might be gay as fuck but it's still god damn hot as hell, but they're still confused. The dancers spent practically the whole song ignoring each other and trying to steal the spotlight for themselves and now they're trying to devour each other? Dafuq?

He isn't sure what to think when Dick crunches the red candy between his teeth, the stick falling to the floor, and Blondie leaves off the sticky, honey hand to press his lips to his partner's, searching for the sweet he gave away. As the last of the man's voice strain away, the pair on stage pull apart, chests heaving as though they just ran a thousand mile race but with such devilish smirks on their faces it should be considered illegal. The last thing they do, the proverbial cherry on top because damn if they had a real cherry, Dick undoes the collar and chain, taking it for himself. In retaliation, Blondie takes away the blue cuffs, both of them are too well anchored for that support to unbalance either one but they both pull away all the same, their dance is done and they'd done what they came on to do.

Jason really, really wishes he'd tapes this shit, if only to show to Bruce because there's no possible way perfect son Richard is on the straight and narrow now, in any sense.


The crowd's ready and rearing for more, the paired off dancers have only made them want more, lust for more if we're being honest with ourselves here. The owners, the adorable Game King and his Master of Ceremonies, his Dark Magician some might say, know what has to go on next, what the crowd needs to see next. All of this, the audience, the dancers, the workers, hell even the others, the special ones, are all game pieces to be moved into place, prodded into just the right position for the players to make off with a flawless victory. The club, well that's just the game board now isn't it, everything that goes on inside these walls, every god damned thing, is controlled, preplanned, by the owners.

So they know, they've known for months, ever since the Magician went searching for a few new pieces to spice up the night, to make their lives that more exciting, and if it had the added bonus of raking in more money then that was just the cherry on top. They knew exactly who they wanted, sat down and combed through hundreds of choices, bickering back and forth over which would be the best, which would fit into the Mysteries and which would stand out. And if they ended up with six instead of the seven they wanted then who the fuck cared? They still had friends, or rather, they still had dirt on some people who really didn't want to be found by the police, and those people had friends. All that mattered was that everything worked out in the end.

Which is why, when the music starts, they don't doubt the reaction they'll get from the crowd, it's the first single act of the night after all and it's sure to make an impression. Heh, who knows, the idiot might even start dancing professionally again, really shouldn't let something as trivial as murder get in the way of one's dreams. People should live life to the fullest and all brands of bullshit like that.

This song, this song, is the only one that sounds as though it belongs in a club, the instruments are all electronic, they all sound as though you couldn't get them out of traditional drums or guitars, hell even keytars, if you tried. They don't usually use the fog machines, usually causes more trouble than it's worth but this time, it's worth it.

The curling, whirling smoke create the ideal effect, the lights that catch on it and brighten the insubstantial mist only add to the aurora of naughty, sexy, Mystery and Halloween. They'd discussed it before, after the first three acts being coupled, after they had started off in the middle of the stage, the crowd would obviously focus there and they were nothing if not professional.

This time, the only thing centre stage were a pair of ribbons, oh not the ribbons you'd buy for your daughter's arts and craft project, no, these were proper performers ribbons. A deep purple, not the plum of Alois coat and not the lavender of the lighted mist on stage, this was a proper royal wisteria, the colour of the sky at dusk, the colour of creativity, a colour of lust. They knew exactly when the audience would follow the line of the slowly twirling cloth to see the dancer, or when they would catch the glint of golden metal, or just plain get bored of the ribbons and look up.

Gold, bronze, purple. They would see the rich bronzed skin, they would appreciate the slim, almost feminine body, the contrasting sand blond hair. After the body, the body wrapped in the same silken lavender ribbons, they would spot the gold, so much of it, and all of it real. Thick metallic circles that fit snuggly against all body parts whether that be from delicate wrists all the way up forearms, around that slender neck, covering up that pulsing vein. Slightly higher now, to the circlet, tiara, crown perhaps, that rests on his forehead, ever so precariously perched, it's most definitely going to slip down into his eyes.

Quick from the face, can't stand those eyes, from the face to the bare torso, that wonderfully bare torso, perfectly hairless, just that side of shining under the vibrant lights, down, down to angular hips. Their gaze would carry further but somehow they're stuck on those hips, those sensual, though provoking hips, the ones clad with scintillating golden bands that fit so well you'd think they were grafted to his skin.

Somehow they'll manage to tear their eyes away from the hips and the torso and the beautiful neck, trail along smooth, hairless legs, practically miles and miles of flawlessly tanned legs. Complete with more gold of course, more gold bangles that fill the space from ankle to mid shin beautifully, couldn't have asked for a more artistic use of gold. Makes you wonder where he got so much of it and is it custom made to fit his body, how does he take it off?

~Nine inch heels come marching in~

This act isn't one of skill, it isn't one of flaunting and enticing, it's one of seduction. The bastard won't even make the pretense of trying to following along to the song because he isn't. When they got him, they knew he wasn't going to play along to anyone's rules, even theirs, and in that way he was playing along, it's complicated, don't try to keep up. They had picked out his song for him, picked out one that was slutty, sexy, whorish enough to capture everyone's attention, dancer and crowd alike, and keep it while he did whatever the fuck he wanted.

He's suspended above the stage by his ribbons, one underneath his shoulder blades, the other under his knees, if he isn't careful he could fall and get a nasty bruise, break a bone, snap his neck but he doesn't care, the danger's just part of the fun after all. He's lax and he's plotting, waiting for the bridge to fly by and he's a blur of motion, the ribbons shivering and shaking as he contorts himself. From laid back, to one leg wrapped in lavender silk while he's upside down, crawling down the ribbon, hand over hand, carefully, methodically.

Six feet from the stage he pauses, the chorus is rushing to meet him and he's stopped, dramatic effect you'd think and you'd be right, in a way. The spare leg suddenly wraps around the second ribbon and he's swinging from one to the other, bending upwards, in half, spinning, a butterfly fluttering from one spot to the next. He leaps for the shining silver pole next, leaving the crowd mesmerized, stunned, enraptured.

He's spinning on that pole now, lazily, at a pace that contrasts ever so spectacularly with the song, with the words and the music but not with its general message. Sure be a slut the woman says, we don't care, you've come here for a reason after all and what's the point of pretending otherwise? So come on, come with me to a place where everything goes, where propriety is just something holding you back from the good time you deserve to have, here, have something to drink, sit back, relax and observe our dancers. You're in no rush but just know, there's always a price to pay for this, for all of this, but for now, just have a little fun.

So when the song comes down from the high, makes the transition from chorus to verse, there's nothing really shocking about the way the dancer decides it's about time to get off the pole. He's strutting around as though he owns this shit, he does own that shit though, in a way, always in a way because they'll always be the Masters of these wonderful Mysteries.

He crosses the stage twice, practically floating like some freaking fairy, flaunting that perfect little ass of his that's barely covered by the almost transparent ribbon that makes up his costume, well the part of his costume that isn't gold at least. The tightest, shortest, most sinfully translucent pair of shorts that the world has ever seen and will probably ever see because things like scrap of cloth just weren't meant to be worn as clothing. After his second walk though, as the bridge rears its head, he steps off the stage completely, out into the crowd, and disappears.

The crowd is too stunned to do anything, to move, to shout, to take their chance to grab at the perfect ass that passes by them, which it probably for the better though. This dancer's more dangerous than the rest, this one won't hesitate to break bones, to rip flesh, to use teeth and nails and every nasty trick in the book to get rid of them, to get them off him. By the time he makes it back to the stage, it's plain something happened while he was in the crowd, his hair is tousled beyond belief, his lips are swollen, his eyes, no look away. A deep, dark mark has been artistically painted onto his collar bone, exactly where the skin is drawn thin over the sharp jut of bone.

The shorts, if you can even call them that, are wrinkled, and there are the strangest bruises on his thighs, long, thin red lines, nearly welts really, but not quite. More finger prints, almost as though someone had grabbed at the flesh and squeezed, squeezed hard enough to make sure the skin bruised, and bruised quickly, because they wanted everyone else to know. They wanted to send a message, that being 'Listen up fuckers. This bitch is taken.'

They think it conveys the message effectively, they might have a bit of a messy clean up in the morning but they don't really care about that, there's always a messy clean up. When the dancer staggers back on stage, looking as fucked out as all the others, and yes, they must have all practiced that particular expression in the mirror at least a hundred times a day to get it exactly right. When he staggers back on stage, he grips the pole as though it's the only thing keeping him upright, and maybe it is, those bruises look as though they hurt like a bitch. But the shivers that run through the man, the tremors that wrack that nearly skinny frame aren't all a result of pain, oh no, there's more than enough pleasure in there too.

He's barely swaying in place as the chorus comes around again but the crowd is eating it up, they enjoy the subtle movements, the barely there smirk on his kiss bruised lips. If they didn't know better, you'd swear the dancer had come back with cherry red lip gloss or lipstick but they do know better, it's not make-up. Of course not, nah, it's just dried blood, blood from bitten raw lips either from his own teeth or another's they really don't give a fuck.

~Hello, hello dear sir. I've something for you.~

He extends his loose fist to the crowd, fingers curled ever so slightly over something resting on his palm. Oh, there goes one of the more adventurous people trying to climb onto the stage and yup, there he goes, not even on the stage before he's dragged off with a high pitched shriek and a darker chuckle. The dancer on the stage pays no mind to either of them, the man or the 'person' that snatched them off, pulled them away before they could reach him.

He leans away from the pole, relying on arm to hold his weight as he stretches for the crowd, looking as though he could fall onto the stage but he doesn't. The people are pushing, jostling each other to get closer, to see what the fuck is in his hand. He doesn't show them, not once. Presses his hand to his mouth and swallows, letting them all see as he licks his palm clean, oh what treats brought to you by these Mysteries.

~Boys and Girls in the redlight district!~

Laughing, horrible, terrible, sensual, enticing laughter. Ah, perfect way to start the night, no?


DEF: Well sorry for the long wait and even now it's not over, cause Halloween's a freaking two parter :)

Kriston: Here's a list of the songs used in the chapter ; Stripped-Shiny Toy Guns, Frozen-Celldweller, Down the Rabbit Hole-Adam Lambert and Redlight District-Porcelain and the Tramps.