2Dylan
“I look fucking gorgeous,” Dylan announced, as he primped and preened in front of the mirror in the changing room at the Heaven and Hell Club.
“Only as gorgeous as every other guy in here,” Kyrone said as he fastened a black, diamanté studded collar around his neck. “Not quite as gorgeous as me.”
Kyrone was dark skinned, tall, muscular, and pretty damn hot for a cocky alpha male type. Then again, in the testosterone fuelled world of pole dancing and stripping, it paid to be self-confident, or at least to be able to pretend to be. Dylan was pretty sure that Kyrone didn’t pretend; he really was just that self-assured. He had every reason to be. He was a fantastic dancer, and a popular stripper.
“Oh, I forgot, you’re the club’s Adonis,” Dylan said sarcastically.
“Damn right I am, and don’t you forget it.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. He still couldn’t get over the fact that his friend had actually got ‘Adonis’ tattooed across his chest. Then again, he had his own self-indulgent tattoo in the form of the words ‘Danger Zone’, just above his groin. The guys who paid him to strip for them always went wild for it, as did the men he fucked. Speaking of which—
“Are we going to the Vibe on Wednesday?” he asked. “I really need to find myself a hottie this week. I think you’re mean to not share your beautiful twink.”
“Hands off Jared.” Kyrone laughed. They both knew Dylan was joking. Mostly. “I don’t see why not. Are you up for it, Jag?”
Jag made up their dancing trio for the night. He was a twink, like Dylan, and shit-hot on the poles. Unlike Kyrone, he wasn’t full of himself, but he was engaged to the club’s owner, Michael, so maybe he didn’t need to be. Being a twink made it easier to score private dances because pretty much every other dancer in the club was a big guy, like Kyrone.
“Sounds fun,” Jag said as he dabbed silver body paint over his face.
Jag had only recently started being more social outside of the club. There was a weird story behind his sudden turnaround. It turned out that Kyrone’s boyfriend, Jared, was Jag’s ex, only he’d had an accident and couldn’t remember Jag. Jag had totally lost it, but afterwards, he’d been a lot less neurotic and a lot more chill.
Grinning, Dylan turned away from the mirror and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Who else is coming to the Vibe on Wednesday?”
Hunter put his hand up—the huge dancer was always game for clubbing. Along with Jag, Hunter had taught Dylan how to pole dance when he’d first talked his way into a job at Heaven and Hell.
“Looks like we’re set for a good night,” Dylan said.
He adjusted his cropped waistcoat and then put his hands on his slender hips, turning this way and that as he observed himself in the mirror.
“You’re gorgeous,” Mac said from behind him. “Now get out there and dance.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. For some reason, the older man rubbed him the wrong way. It was probably because Mac was always bossing him around. Okay, so that was his job as the club manager, but did he have to be so tetchy about it?
“How many dances are you on?” Dylan called across the room to Hunter.
“Four.”
That sounded like an easy number to beat.
“Get out there,” Mac said in a sterner tone.
Dylan, Jag, and Kyrone filed out of the changing room and into the club proper. They used a door just behind the stage, passing Logan, Taylor, and their co-dancer as they left the floor to take a break.
“Are you coming to the Vibe on Wednesday?” Dylan called.
Taylor gave him a thumbs up, which meant Logan would be there too.
Dylan loved being on the stage. He was at his happiest when he was the centre of attention. Even though he had to share the stage with Jag and Kyrone, he knew there were guys in the audience who were only watching him. He could hear them calling to him, praising him. As he hung upside down in an invert, he picked out a guy who had wolf whistled and winked at him. He made a mental note of where the man was sitting, so he could persuade him to pay for a striptease once he was off the stage.
He pulled himself upright, perfectly in time with Jag and Kyrone, and then swung around the pole, spiralling down until his raised legs grazed the floor. In unison, they released the poles, put their palms flat on the floor, and pulled themselves forward towards the front of the stage. They rippled their bodies to the delight of the audience who clapped, cheered, and begged them to take their hot pants off. As he stood, Dylan hooked his thumb into the waistband of his shorts and pulled it away from his skin, briefly showing off his tattoo before he let the elastic ping back into place.
They turned their backs on the audience, shimmying down to a crouch and back up again, wiggling their hips and arses seductively. The whistles the move generated made Dylan’s skin tingle and filled his heart with joy. This was why he danced—to feel loved.
By the time their set was done, Dylan was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Their routine was hard work, especially under hot lights in a packed room. But there was no rest for the wicked. As Hunter’s trio took to the stage, Dylan, Kyrone, and Jag began to work the floor.
