Chapter Text
Miles isn't one for getting a lap dance.
Especially at a club that isn't his own.
Typically he's behind the scenes when he’s on his own turf, making sure that every night runs slick and smooth as clockwork so he can get some proper work done - no time to think about the frivolity that goes on.
But tonight, well. Tonight he’s not on his own turf.
To put it bluntly, Miles is wound up - business is slow, and that's alarming for someone in the trade that he's in. Not his main trade, oh no; the club is doing fine. It's his other area of expertise that's causing problems. If people aren't coming back for cocaine, it means one of two things. One: all of a sudden, hundreds of people in central London have decided to go cold turkey. Two: someone else has set up camp and has been taking his clients away.
He has a feeling it's not the former, and he doesn't like that one bit.
So, here he is. Helders convinced him to take a rare evening off (stating that "I'll look after things, mate, just take it easy tonight"), so he's travelled across the city, far away from it all, to a friend’s club. Not that it’s really helped - half of the time he’s been here he’s been stewing away, worrying and wondering about how to fix his problem - where to start, and how to start it, fast. It was more than his income that was on the line - it was his reputation. Of course, he's had a few rivals over the years, and generally they were very easy to stamp out (or, if that wasn't possible, he'd allow them to operate in an area as long as they paid him a percent of their earnings), but this was more than a small loss of business - it was declining at a frightening rate. He’ll be a has-been in months, if not weeks, if he doesn’t take some kind of action soon, and one thing Miles hated the most was embarrassment, of being outsmarted. He liked to keep a tight ship, with a sleek, members only club, stylish dancers, even better music, and subtle under-the-table dealing if a client was so inclined. None of this tacky nonsense he’d seen so often elsewhere. No, he simply cannot let this slip under his radar. Frankly, he's annoyed at himself for letting it get to this state in the first place - he just isn't as sharp as he used to be, and it's worrying. Everything is worrying.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before deciding to turn and watch some of the dancers in a slim attempt to distract his mind - he was getting into a spiral. His tactic doesn't work - no one in particular here is catching his eye yet anyway, and if he’s being honest, he’s not really in the mood - he's been so focused on work the past few weeks that it's been a while since he's even had a chance to think about romantic endeavours, and here is hardly the best place to start.
He downs the last of his drink with a sense of finality, places his empty glass on the bar, and begins collecting his jacket to leave.
"Can I order you another drink, love? Your glass looks empty."
Miles turns in his chair and comes face to face with what may well be the most strikingly handsome man he's ever seen. Even under the darkened lights of the bar, and partially hidden by a mop of dark brown hair, Miles can see that the bloke has a fairly sculpted face, a soft smile, and deep set eyes. He's not wearing anything special or flashy, a pair of suit trousers and white dress shirt, but the effortless way he wears it half-buttoned and sleeves rolled up draws Miles’ eyes to his body without even trying.
He’s almost unable to reply.
"Um, I mean,” He surprises even himself at the way he fumbles his words. “I were about to leave-"
"Oh come on, let me treat yeh. You look like you need to unwind." The man insists, his tone (a drawl from Sheffield, if he’s not mistaken) low, almost a purr, and definitely suggestive. Miles has to glance away almost instantly, unable to look at him for too long - his eyes have an instant magnetism to them that have him blushing like he’s a bloody teenager. He desperately hopes that the dimmed lights hide his flushed cheeks - blimey, how much had he had? Miles was never shy.
"What do you say?"
The man leans on the bar beside him, and Miles swears he flutters his eyelashes a little, giving him a warm, inviting smile.
Hmm.
Maybe here is the best place for a bit of distraction after all. Especially if this guy's involved.
“Alright then.” Miles humours him, ordering another drink. The reaction he receives in response only solidifies his decision, a charming, almost smug grin forming on his face.
He expects to pay for his own drink when it arrives, but the man taps his own card on the machine before Miles even gets a chance to get his wallet out of his pocket.
"Cheers." Miles says, pleasantly surprised, and sort of stunned at just how forward he was being. To be honest, confidence was a quality that he found rather attractive, and this guy seemed to exude it with no effort whatsoever.
"My pleasure, love. I'm Alexander. I'll leave it up to you whether you call me Alex or not." He says with a wink.
Miles laughs.
"I'm Miles. Nice to meet you, Alexander."
Alex raises his eyebrows for a split second.
"What?" Miles asks. Alex shrugs.
"Nothing."
Miles narrows his eyes.
“What.”
Alex shakes his head and glances away, but a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Nothing.” He says again. “It’s just that sometimes you can tell a lot about a person depending on if they shorten your name.”
Miles takes the bait.
"What can yeh tell about me so far, then?"
Alex takes a long pause, his gaze suddenly becoming calculating as he deliberately looks Miles up and down. Miles squashes the urge to squirm.
"Nothing yet." He concludes nonchalantly, although there’s still a glint in his eye that excites Miles quite a bit, that says it’s definitely not nothing. "What do you do for work? A career can reveal a lot about someone."
Miles laughs once, humourless. He finally decides to forget about work, and still it bloody comes up.
"I'm not at liberty to say." Is what Miles settles on, his usual answer to the question if it ever comes up in public. It makes Alex raise an eyebrow.
"That so?"
"Mm."
"You seem very private, if you don’t mind me saying.”
"Just like to keep to meself.” Miles says with a shrug. “Is that something people who say your full name tend to be like? Uptight and difficult? Like your Mum if she’s mad at yeh?"
Miles isn't trying to be abrasive on purpose - it’s just the way he is sometimes. It's ingrained within the trade he's a part of to be private. He kicks himself for acting so cold towards his utterly gorgeous man who is more than likely a sure thing with the way he’s acting, but Alex doesn't seem to take offence, giving another little chuckle.
“Not usually. Although if they are uptight, I tend to get them to unwind eventually.” He says with a little smirk.
Blimey. He is confident, isn’t he? Miles finds himself finally getting a little hot under the collar, somehow more attracted to the cockiness of this bloke to go around saying how good he’s been with his clearly many sexual partners.
“Is that right? How'd you do that, then?”
Alex's hand reaches towards his, giving a reassuring squeeze, his thumb caressing the inside of his wrist, and somehow even the small contact makes his heart rate skyrocket at an alarming speed.
"I do everything I can." He purrs.
And that's when it clicks.
Miles was no stranger to the techniques used by dancers to gain attention from potential clients, having seen it used hundreds of times every night at his own place, but it now seemed that he was on the other end of the stick.
And it had totally gone over his head.
Instinctively, he wants to pull away, pretend that he suddenly has somewhere to be, out of sheer embarrassment. Frankly he felt like a fucking idiot for falling for the ruse - no wonder he was so friendly. Was Miles so dumbstruck as to forget where he was? Did he really think for a second that this utterly gorgeous man was actually interested in him? He finds himself almost resenting Alex for exposing such emotion in him so quickly, for making him want him so fast.
"What would you like me to do?" Alex asks after a beat, and that's when Miles realises he needs to make a decision.
His mind was still telling him to make his way out, knowing that this wasn't genuine at all; Miles is an all-or-nothing sort of bloke - it wasn’t that he was opposed to partaking in his own services, it’s just that, well. He usually avoided one night stands because he always got attached.
But a bigger, more reckless, more primal part of him wants - no, needs - to go through with this. Maybe it'll get his head straight, help him move on and solve his problem with no tension. A fresh perspective.
Maybe this time he doesn't have to get attached.
Maybe it's just good enough to have a gorgeous man for the evening.
So, he plays along.
"I don't mind. Have you been on the poles before?” Miles says, only partially joking.
A soft laugh escapes him in response, his thumb still on his wrist.
"Yeah, I could do that if you wanted me to.” He drawls, before lowering his tone. "I have a few better ideas, though."
"Like what?" Miles isn't sure when his voice became so breathy, but he imagines that it's something to do with the way Alex looks up at him through long lashes with doe eyes, all coy despite the nature of their situation. He probably does this to everyone, he has to remind himself, because something about Alex seems especially convincing. Especially real, like he's having a genuine conversation, not just soliciting someone for the cash.
"Hmm." Alex thinks. "What d'yeh think about The Beatles?"
Miles almost falls off his chair. So much for ‘don’t get attached’ - he gets more perfect with every sentence.
"I love The Beatles."
Alex's mouth quirks up in a smile.
"Thought so. 'I Want You' is one of my favourites to dance to. I don't do that one on the poles, though."
"Really?"
"Mm. I bet that one would get yeh to unwind. You may even end up saying me short name." Alex murmurs with a chuckle before leaning closer, his hand moving up to his bicep. "You'd be surprised, the shit people say when they've had a few and they've got someone in their lap. Most people don’t even get past the first letter.”
Miles' mouth goes dry.
He tries not to imagine Alex in his lap.
He fails.
"Really?" He says again, dumbstruck. He's seconds away from asking Alex back to a private room, until he continues:
"Mm. I know things you wouldn't believe."
And something switches in Miles' brain, a sudden epiphany.
He came here to try and forget work, but it seems he may have found the perfect solution to his problem.
"Is that right?" Miles asks. "How'd you fancy a change of scenery, Alexander?"