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When Lance first met Keith Kogane, he was immediately enraptured by how beautiful he was. His violet eyes. His dark hair. The smirk he wore that exuded an effortless, sexy confidence. Lance had immediately asked him out, and bless his stars, Keith had agreed. And then he agreed to a second date. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.
And in that time Lance had started to like Keith.
Over the course of them dating, Lance had learned all these interesting facts about the other man. For one, he’s adopted, and Shiro—who texts Keith when they’re on dates just to check on him—was the brother he was raised with. He has a killer cherry red motorcycle that Lance begs for a ride on every single time he sees it, never missing how Keith’s eyes flare hotly when he asks.
And the cutest thing that Lance had learned is that Keith had a fascination for costume jewelry.
He learned about this little fact when they’d popped into an antique store after a lunch date. Lance was somewhat surprised that Keith—motorcyle-riding, leather-wearing, devil-may-care-smirking Keith—had an affinity for… the finer things in life.
Keith had carefully brushed his fingers over lace vests and antique corsets with real, metal boning and costume jewelry with big gems. His face lit up when Lance had bought Keith a bracelet with blue gems that he’d been eyeing most of the time they were in the shop. For the rest of the day, Lance smiled every time he thought about Keith’s excited face when Lance had handed him the bracelet.
But even though he knew all these nooks and crannies of Keith Kogane, he didn't know what Keith did for a living. It wasn't a deal breaker by any means, but Lance still wondered. Every time he asked, Keith would reply with, "I'll tell you one day, I promise."
So far, Lance's number one suspicion was that Keith was in the mafia.
Then, one day, Keith handed Lance a simple, black business card with an address and phone number on it. Looking at the card did nothing to alleviate any of Lance’s suspicions.
Keith had looked hesitant, nervous. Normally, he was so sure of himself and every decision he made. But he stood in front of Lance, biting his lip, twisting his hands together, shifting from one foot to the other as he made a simple request. "Be there tonight? At 11? Please?" he asked haltingly. "I'll show you where I work."
Lance nodded, knowing this was important to Keith. "Yeah, of course," he agreed immediately.
Which was how Lance found himself here.
Outside of a…
Burlesque Club?
At least, that’s what the glowing sign said. Bright, orange light lit up the street where a line of people stood to get inside. A metal staircase led the way into what Lance assumed was the club, and patrons passed each other coming and going on the stairs. Loud music echoed down into the street as well as hoots and hollers.
Did the Mafia work out of a burlesque club? he thought to himself.
Shaking his head, he headed toward the entrance, where he saw the long line of people wrapped around the block. As he shoved his hands in his pockets and started to make his way to the back of the line, someone gently grabbed his sleeve.
Lance turned and came face-to-face with the bouncer, a big Samoan man with an even bigger smile.
"You Lance?" the friendly giant asked.
Lance nodded, confused.
How did this guy know his name?
"Cool. Keith said you might be coming by before 11. Head on in, man," the bouncer said, unclipping the velvet rope from the pole that closed off the club to the rest of the public.
Lance shook his head and pushed the interaction from his mind. As he made it inside and his eyes adjusted, he searched for Keith in the club. Maybe he was a bartender or another bouncer. But he didn't see those violet eyes or raven hair anywhere.
With a sigh, he headed for the bar, ready to get a drink while he waited for Keith. As he sipped on his whiskey sour, Lance looked around the club.
It was packed. Tiny tables crammed with chairs surrounded the stage and lined the walkways. People were practically sitting on top of one another in the round booths with plush benches. Waitresses flitted between tables, trays stacked full with drinks. A few people danced here and there, but most sat at their tables.
Waiting.
Watching.
But for what? Lance thought.
“Yo, whiskey sour!” someone called, breaking Lance out of his thoughts. He turned, and came face-to-face with a bartender who didn’t look old enough to actually drink alcohol, much less serve it. Big round glasses took up half their face, and floppy, auburn hair fell into their eyes. “You Lance?” the bartender asked.
Lance nodded once. “How do all of you people know me?” he asked, seeking answers.
The bartender snorted once, a crude but genuine noise. “He never shuts up about you,” the bartender said. “Plus, he said you’d be here. There’s a reserved table near the front of the stage that’s for you. Meet me back here after this set.”
Lance nodded numbly again before standing up from the bar and heading towards a small booth near the stage, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds, obviously reserved for high-paying customers. Numbly, Lance took a seat just as the stage lights went down and a hush fell over the crowd.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” an emcee said. “Let’s give it up for your favorite dancer and mine… Cherry Tart!”
The lights focused on one spot in the curtains as the band started playing a song with heavy bass and drums and a tambourine. As the song built, the curtains slowly, oh so slowly, rose and revealed…
“Keith!?” Lance said before he could stop himself.
And sure enough, there stood his boyfriend.
The rest of the audience started clapping along to the song as Lance took Keith in. His dark hair was pulled back into a braid that was tied off with a ribbon. Dark eyeliner winged his eyes, and red lipstick stained his mouth, but the combination made his pale skin look milky and heavenly. He wore a lace-up vest with a blue lace pattern. Dark navy booty shorts clung low to his ass and showed off the vee at his abdomen and his stomach. Fishnet tights clung to his thighs, and his calves were covered by black, leather boots with heels.
Keith was beautiful.
As Lance watched, entranced, the light glinted off a bracelet. The bracelet. The gaudy thing with blue gems that matched the blue of his vest perfectly.
The exact same bracelet that Lance had bought Keith all those weeks ago.
Lance was so captivated by Keith and that damn bracelet that he nearly missed the actual start of Keith’s performance.
I’m telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe
But you keep frontin’
He was singing damn Pussycat Dolls!? If Lance’s jaw wasn’t on the floor by now, it was then. Keith was singing in this gravelly voice that Lance had never heard from him, despite the fact that Keith never sang in the car with him.
Keith started strutting down the runway of the stage, singing the beginning of the song, his hips shaking back and forth, the stage lights glinting off his bracelet. He stopped occasionally to dance, his hips popping with the beat or stopping to drop low, low, low to the floor or running his hands up and down his chest. When he reached the end of the runaway, he stopped, right in front of Lance’s booth.
And there,that same wicked, confident grin snuck across Keith's face before he threw a wink Lance's way.
I'm a sexy mama
Who knows just how to get what I wanna
As Keith sang that line, he dropped to his knees on the floor with his legs spread, and he flipped his head back and forth before coming up into body roll, his hands running down his chest before framing his pelvis.
Lance swallowed hard.
But Keith, ever the diligent worker, wasn't distracted by Lance. He turned his body towards the other side of the stage where he danced and sang for a few minutes before finally standing up again. At the end of the stage, Keith walked down a set of stairs and made his way through the crowd, singing and dancing, flitting away before anyone could hold onto him. Until… he got to Lance's table.
You say you're a big boy, but I can't agree
'Cause the love you said you had ain't been put on me
As Keith sang to Lance, he turned so he faced the crowd, which meant his backside was to Lance. He moved his hands down his chest, swaying his hips before snapping into a ninety degree angle, his ass suddenly in Lance's face, and then he slowly came back up to standing while the band went into an instrumental part. Keith turned to face Lance.
"Hey, Lover Boy," Keith whispered before he reached forward, closing Lance's gaping mouth for him. Then he picked up Lance's drink, and knocked the rest back in one go.
The crowd went wild.
God. God. Keith was irresistible right now.
Keith separated his knees and dropped into a squat, his legs spread while he ran his hands up and down his chest.
Loosen up my buttons, babe
Loosen up my buttons, babe
Baby, won't you loosen up my buttons, babe?
As Keith stood back up, his poised sexy persona slipped for just a second, and he stumbled minutely. But he reached out, placed a hand on Lance's shoulder, and Lance’s skin (waburned in places where Keith's hand touched, five hot points digging into his shoulder for just a second before they were gone. With another wink, Keith was gone, heading back toward the stage. His song was almost over, and he was focused less on dancing and more on singing.
Sayin' what you gon' to do to me
But I ain't seen nothing
And with a final note, Keith flung his arms out and the music stopped.
The crowd erupted. Whistles and catcalls and applause filled the space, and for the first time, Keith seemed bashful as he bowed. Almost like he was shocked at the crowd's reaction. Lance clapped and whistled so hard that his throat was sore, but it was all worth it when Keith sent a small smile his way as he bowed for the last time before leaving the stage.
Piped-in, top 40s music came back on, and the crowd went back to murmuring and whispering. Another act must be following Keith, but Lance felt sorry for the poor bastards. Keith was…Keith was a force. He gave himself two minutes to collect his breath and then he headed for the bar, flagging down the bartender who’d pointed out the reserved table earlier.
“So, what’d you think?” they asked as they came around the bar to stand next to Lance. They barely reached Lance’s shoulder.
“He was… something else,” Lance said, still a bit dazed.
“You ain’t kidding,” the bartender replied as they led Lance to a side door off the main stage marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. The bartender whipped out a key and unlocked the door as they continued to speak. “I’m not really into any kind of person, but Keith is something.” They ushered Lance in through the door before closing and locking it back. “But, you clearly know. You looked at Keith like he was a fountain after you'd spent a year in the desert.”
Lance nodded numbly as he followed them down the hallway. “I didn’t know he could dance like that,” Lance said. “Or sing like that.”
The bartender laughed. “Yeah, he’s a jack of all trades.”
Once they reached the last door before the emergency exit, the bartender turned back to face him.
“This is Red’s dressing room,” they said, pointing at the door. “He said he wanted to see you if you showed up. Guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t have another set tonight.”
“Thanks for bringing me back here,” Lance said.
“No problem,” the bartender replied. “I’m Pidge, by the way. You might as well know my name since I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you around here.”
Lance smirked. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “Will he be in here?”
The bartender nodded. “Yep,” they replied. “I better get back to the bar. See you around, Lance.”
Lance waved goodbye and turned back to the door. Keith’s door.
He knocked.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Lance swallowed once before turning the doorknob.
Inside, Keith sat with his legs crossed and perched in a big chair covered in dark, antique fabric. In front of him, a vanity was stacked with makeup and bottles and brushes and jewelry and hats and an array of items. A series of vanity lights lined a big, oval mirror that hung on the wall behind the vanity, and Keith was looking at his reflection as he pulled the pins out of his hair. When he saw Lance walk in, his eyes went wide before he turned around to face him.
"Lance!" Keith exclaimed, a huge smile on his face. "You came!"
Lance was once again enraptured by Keith. Despite the sweaty brow and his damp hair, Keith’s cheeks were high with color, and his eyes sparked.
Keith lives for this, he thought. Lance closed the door and rushed forward, leaning down to take a warm Keith in his arms. He fell forward into Keith’s space, needing to kiss him hard and kiss him now. Keith eagerly returned the kiss, his hands coming up to card through Lance’s hair.
"Of course, I came," Lance said when he broke away after a few minutes of breathless kissing. "You were mesmerizing, babe."
"Really?" Keith asked, his eyes widening in happy surprise. "You don't think it's dirty? Or trashy?"
"No!" Lance exclaimed. "You looked so powerful up there. Like you were meant to be on stage."
Keith sighed, clearly relieved. He leaned forward, resting his head on Lance’s shoulder. "Other boyfriends have said shit like that to me before," Keith explained. "Somehow, I'd knew you be different. You get it. You get why I do it."
"Yeah," Lance replied. "Because you're beautiful up there, babe."
Keith smirked, his sweet smile fading into something dirtier. "Beautiful, eh?" he said. "Saying stuff like that will get you a private show, honey." He pulled on Lance's shirt, pulling him in for another kiss.
I can only hope, Lance thought as he pressed his lips to Keith’s.
I can only hope.