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“What if someone tries to smack my rear—“ Chrom walked alongside Gaius, down a seedy alley that twisted back between several windowless buildings.
While Chrom wore a trenchcoat buttoned up to his neck, Gaius sauntered by in only shiny spandex shorts snug around an exposed stomach and pale, freckled legs. Somehow Chrom looked more suspicious.
Gaius whistled long and low. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue for you, Blue.”
Chrom frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not a lot to aim for.” Gaius winked. He glanced up at the sky—the sun was tempering down to a golden glow that slinked toward the horizon. He chewed his lip. “Hey, Blue, thanks, by the way. Being moral support. You’re definitely going above and beyond the call of duty of a friend…” He hesitated, “But just walking me to and from work would have been fine. You didn’t have to…apply for a job here too.”
Chrom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, well…I guess what’s done is done—“ He picked at a button on his coat. “Plus, I could use a few extra dollars. Just, practicing and all that was one thing, but this is getting way too real all of a sudden, haha…”
Gaius made a show of slapping at his ass and missing. Chrom halfheartedly swatted at his hand.
“You’ll be fine anyway,” Gaius continued. “You have other good assets. And you’re actually pretty decent on the pole—“
“Athletics come easy to me,” Chrom said. “I just never envisioned this kind of athleticism…my resume right now: football and poledancing. Not going to write home about the last one.”
Gaius responded to this with a perky little hip swivel and a smarmy grin. “Luckily your sis doesn’t frequent strip clubs then, right!”
Chrom flushed to his ears. “Don’t even mention Emmeryn and strip clubs in the same sentence. You’ll summon her—“
With the lights on, the club looked innocuous enough. The set up was two cylindrical stages, elevated to about chest height for those standing around the edges. Each had two poles, which could easily be adjusted between static and spin.
Chrom climbed up the stairs inlaid in one of the stages, spritzed down the pole with an ethanol mixture, and wiped it down with a rag. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He glanced back.
One of his coworkers was setting up at the bar, but paused to watch him with one brow raised. An angled white bob contrasted with dark skin and sharp cheekbones. She was dressed for work—in a low cut black top laying over some strappy ensemble that crisscrossed over her cleavage and swooped up around her neck.
“Aversa, right?”
Aversa pursed her lips. “You look ridiculous. Don’t tell me you’re planning on wearing that on stage.”
Chrom’s laugh was sheepish. He tossed the rag to one side. “I guess not.” He shed the coat. For now he wore gym shorts, but the G-string underneath (lovingly selected by Gaius) hooked up high on his hips. Chrom flushed.
Aversa scoffed and turned to finish setting glasses on the shelf.
The warm-up process involved a lot of stretching, which Chrom quickly worked his way through. He ended by inverting a couple of times, both hands gripping and one bicep snug against the pole so he could swing his hips up, torso folding in half so his crotch was flush against the pole and legs splayed in a V over his shoulders. The pole spun lazily.
“This your first time performing?” Aversa finally asked.
Chrom nodded, breathless.
“They’ll eat you alive.”
“Is…that a good or bad thing?”
“Oh, Honey.”
When the bass in the club started pounding, Chrom’s heart countered it double time. By midnight the floor was packed, and Chrom peeked from around the changing room door as Gaius weaseled his way through a floor-work intensive routine. He descended with dollars stuffed along the sides of his G-string and the remains of a lollipop in his mouth.
Several of the dancers worked their way across the floor, serving drinks or seating themselves near or on patrons to entice them to buy a lapdance. Aversa ran the bar. A bald man, introduced as Basilio earlier, paced the floor and confiscated phones of those trying to take pictures.
A buzz roared in Chrom’s ears as the DJ announced him. He felt his legs move of their own accord, body numb and music a physical barrier he waded through on his way up onto the stage. There was no set routine—and Chrom had no say in the song selection. He’d have to freestyle his way through four minutes of hell.
Chrom started by cleaning his pole, wincing at the glitter coating it. “Thanks Gaius,” he muttered under his breath. He picked a god and prayed that the dim lighting masked his blush.
Chrom made the mistake of looking over the audience. A gaggle of sorority girls crowded his end of the stage; one donned a glittering sash and crown that read “21”. They screeched and hollered, a few waving dollar bills as Chrom nervously drew up to the pole and snapped his hips through a few body waves. He stared beyond them, swallowing. The room was mostly faceless, some in conversation and others crowded around the other stage where Olivia was spinning through a gemini-scorpio transition.
Chrom’s gaze wandered to the bar—he was aware that his body waves were growing old, but he could manage little else in his panic—and he froze. His eyes locked with a stranger’s there, hair as white as Aversa’s but skin a slightly warmer, olive tone. He sat on top of the bar, completely at ease, a book propped open on his lap. When he noticed Chrom, the corner of his lip quirked into a reassuring little smile, both brows raised.
Chrom took a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. He slid a hand up the pole and sauntered around it a few times, eyes snapping back to the stranger. Finally, he tried a simple spin—
And slipped--
--He recovered by dropping into a crouch then dragging his chest forward on the floor, butt popped up and back arched. He reversed this to all fours, bent his knees outward so his crotch touched the floor, then swept his legs to either side and snapped his feet together behind him. He rolled onto his back and rose into a bridge on his tiptoes then snapped through a few butterflies, knees coming together at the peak of the roll, then parting outward as he lowered his butt back down.
This seemed more effective—the gaggle of girls screeched and a few draped themselves over the edge of the stage to shove bills into Chrom’s G-string. He turned his face sharply away, nearly shivering with a sense of violation. He felt someone squeeze his bicep. Bit back an exclamation. Crawled back to the pole and did a basic spin from the floor to sweep up to his feet.
Chrom hiked one knee up high, same arm reaching even higher, and fell forward into a jasmine spin. He angled his straight leg toward the ceiling, his opposite arm sliding pointer finger down toward the base of the pole as he released his first hand and arched it over his head to skim the floor. His routine was much like this, transitioning from simple tricks—jasmine to genie to tulip to swan. He inverted and switched through various leg hangs—anything to avoid the floor and prying, groping, prodding hands.
When the song faded, Chrom’s chest was heaving and sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead. His forearms felt nerveless and a Charlie horse had him limping down the stage. The nerves in one elbow seared from repeated split grips.
Chrom felt one too many smacks on the ass as he hobbled to the bar, cheeks burning and jaw clenched.
Aversa scoffed and plunked a shot down in front of him. “If you want the tips, it really helps if you’re within reach of your patrons.” She plucked a fiver from his G-string as payment and shoved it in her bra.
Chrom shrugged and downed it, wiping his forehead with one arm. For the hundredth time that night, he was having second thoughts. Nausea settled as a lump in his throat.
“He needs two or three more of those.”
Chrom jumped. The stranger had snapped his book shut and slid off of the counter.
Aversa plunked down three more. “I’m putting it on your tab, dear brother.”
“Brother--?”
Aversa hummed. “Yes, this is Robin.” She patted Chrom’s shoulder. “He’s out of your league.”
Robin offered a hand. Still shaking from exertion, and a little taken aback, Chrom accepted it. The back of Robin’s hand was tattooed with a set of three eyes, connected into a curved V. Robin smiled and Chrom’s heart tripped over itself.
“I’m Chrom.” Chrom suddenly felt very exposed; his eyes darted down to the shots. “Um, you want to help me with these?”
Robin downed one. “Other two are yours.” He clinked his nail against the side of the glass, waited for Chrom to down both of his, then dazzled him with another mischievous little smile. “You’re new here.”
Chrom nodded. He felt the warmth of alcohol ease the tension in his core. He relaxed his shoulders. “So you come here a lot? Or is it that obvious.”
“You had a little bit of stage fright,” Robin said. “It really helps if you can get out of your own head. Trust yourself; your muscles know what to do.”
“Easier said than done. I’m starting to think I’m in over my head.” Something about Robin put him at ease. He stared at his hands, folded on the counter in front of him. “Do you—do you dance as well?”
“I compete, mostly.”
“There are competitions?”
“Quite a few. It’s very rigorous.”
Chrom rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I should look into something like that. I’d need to get better, but—I guess that’s something I wouldn’t be quite as embarrassed to share…since all of this is a lot. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. This—this isn’t me.”
Robin’s brow furrowed. “There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper. They established and perfected this art. I started as one.” Before Chrom could respond, Robin playfully shoved a dollar into his g-string. “And if you’ve forgotten already, you’re one too.” He rose, leaving Aversa a few more dollars tucked beneath the empty glasses. “See you around, I hope.”
Gaius rounded on Chrom, throwing an arm around Chrom’s shoulders so suddenly that he almost tipped over. He reeked of alcohol. “Hey, who was that, Blue?”
Chrom cleared his throat. He snatched the shot from Gaius’s hand—to cut him off of course—and downed it. “A new friend.”
Grinning, Gaius leaned into him. “Friend?”
“I suppose if you want to be technical, an acquaintance,” Chrom muttered. He was still processing the encounter.
“He’s hot,” Gaius said.
“Is he--?” Chrom’s cheeks seared. Yes, yes he was.
Gaius clapped him on the back, “Better luck next time, hm, Blue?” He sauntered off to find a crowd to appeal to.
Aversa rolled her eyes as she cleared up the glasses. “Oh don’t look so dejected. You actually got him to put down his book. That almost counts for something.”
A hush fell over the crowd as the music cut off. Chrom turned in his seat to squint at the stage. A figure stood barely illuminated by the light reflecting from the pole. He’d kicked off his shirt and pants to reveal a sheer bodice, lace creeping up a lithe frame but leaving his sides and legs exposed for grip.
Aversa scoffed. “Oh, and you got him riled up. Little show off.”
The music started slow.
Moving as if through water, Robin slid into a crouch, with his back to the pole and hands above his head. He spread his legs open as he swiveled to face the bar then closed them as he rose again, fingertips trailing up his legs. His heels flashed on with the first pulse of bass. With all the intensity and brightness of an aurora, they undulated between colors with each beat. They swung a mesmerizing arc as Robin leaned back into a fan-kick, twisted, then inverted into a gemini. He swung his other leg around into a pike, feet by his face, and released the first forward, sinking into a jade split. The pole spun idly, the light of his shoes glancing off every curve of every muscle.
Each movement was carefully calculated--graceful, but effortless. Robin moved like an underlying current that pushed and pulled and snapped seamlessly into the music. Each swing of his hips, arch of his back, and kick of his legs was a pendulum that dragged time to a stop.
Scoffing, Aversa jammed a thumb under Chrom’s chin to push his mouth shut.
“Dang,” Chrom managed, as the music drew to a close. His throat was suddenly dry. He’d never seen a soul so immersed in anything. An art, he’d described it. The man himself was art, and he’d poured his everything into just four minutes of dance.
Robin stepped effortlessly down. He maintained eye contact with Chrom his entire walk back to the bar, but sat without a word and drew up his book again.
“Have fun up there?” Aversa asked dryly.
Robin hummed. Up close, Chrom was hyper-aware of just how sheer the lace on Robin’s bodice was.
“That’s—that’s a cool outfit,” he managed.
Aversa made a noise in the back of her throat. “That’s Alexander McQueen, you moldy sponge.” She turned away.
Robin choked back a laugh and finally set his book down. “Sorry, I’m studying for my bar exams.” He tilted his head. Studied Chrom.
“You’re a law student?”
Robin nodded. “I am more into the philosophy than anything else, but having earning potential is usually desirable so sacrifices had to be made. I suppose when I’m not being deplorable on the pole, I need to compensate by being a slightly more socially acceptable blend of deplorable in the public sector.” He smirked. “You?”
“I got my degree in business,” Chrom said, “But for now I’m a high school football coach. Taking life as it comes for now.” He gestured to the clamor around him as if to emphasize his point.
“What made you become a stripper?” Robin asked.
Chrom choked a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “My best friend needed to for student loans and stuff like that. I didn’t want him to have to go at it alone, so here I am.” His laugh was sheepish. “God, I don’t know if I can keep doing this, though.”
“Why don’t you quit then?”
“I don’t want to leave my friend here alone. And, if I’m being honest, it’s a pride thing too. I don’t like to fail.”
Robin’s expression was unreadable. Slowly, he nodded, eyes soft. “I see.”
Chrom let the silence linger a moment. “What about you? Why’d you become a stripper?”
“I like to dance, and I needed an excuse to be someone outside of the expectations set in front of me. I’m not ashamed of my choices.” Robin chewed the inside of his cheek. It was clear he carefully sampled those words. “As for competition, that’s something Aversa encouraged me to do. It’s been fun, but it’s stressful. I’m taking a break.”
“Will you be sticking around long-term then?”
Robin cocked his head. Blinked. “Looks like it. Why?”
So I can see you dance again-- The words came unbidden to Chrom’s mind and he nearly slapped himself. Rather than let his eyes linger too long at Robin’s hips, he stared at the bar. “I was going to ask if you’d help me with some of my transitions for some of the harder moves. If I’m going to be a part of this world, I want to put my everything into it. Like you do.”
Robin considered this and nodded. “It’d help me stay sharp. But only if you provide a service in return.”
“A—what kind of service.”
“I prefer company when I take breaks from studying. You seem like good company. Go on walks with me. Let me bounce ideas and concepts off of you.”
“Oh—“ A slow smile spread across Chrom’s face. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“We have a deal.” Robin rose, but not before tugging free another dollar from Chrom’s stash. He sprawled his number on it. Instead of replacing it, he handed it to Chrom with a quirk of his lip. “Then I’ll definitely see you around.”