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The Church of Satan Officially Sanctioned Ghost Cabaret Club & Bar (though you only really saw the big GHOST letters with the upside down cross as the T on the logo when you looked at it from afar) was an institution at this point. Shortened to just the Ghost Club, it opened in the late 1960s in the pleasure district of the main city once over from the Church’s abbey. The storefront had close to six decades of service under its belt and somehow it was more popular today than ever. Since its opening, the club had been diligently managed by the Emeritus family. The original owner’s father had been in the pleasure industry, before strip clubs were even a thing, as were his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father, and his father’s father’s- you get the picture. Sin had been a family business for generations, as were the Emeritus line’s ties with the satanic church responsible for financing them. In service of the Church, the club had one mission: make more sinners. The Dark Lord needed more souls to feast upon and fuel his power, and a strip club was the perfect funnel to deliver that and have fun on the way down.
All sins were catered to behind the Ghost club’s doors. Lust of course was the most obvious, with the club’s numerous strippers, performers, sex workers. All sorts of flavors available inside to satisfy any preferences their human customers - and converts in the making - could have. Gluttony, because the club offered a wide array of luxurious drinks and tasty cocktails. They allowed their patrons to overindulge as much as their bodies could handle, and then well past that. Greed, green for all the money that changed hands between these walls, a river of ones and twenties and, from their high esteemed clients, hundreds, flowing unrestrained. Sloth, because countless clients stopped here instead of going to work, or going home to take care of their responsibilities. Disinterested in their duties when faced with all the glitter and gold the club offered. Wrath, with how tempers flared so easily when men were intoxicated and aroused. Fights would break out, but as long as the performers weren’t in danger, as long as it was just humans caving in to the sin, the club’s security staff would let them duke it out on each other before they kicked the offenders to the curb. Envy, because the customers so often saw each other as competition for the attention of their favorite performers. They’d scheme and plan, wanting to claw the private dances and V.I.P time slots from each other. And Pride, never far behind. Because every patron wanted to be special. Be the One. Have the strippers see them, fall in love with them, because they were the best of the best, they thought, writhing in their hubris, valuing their desires and whims above all others. It was a melting pot of sin, this club, and the team and owner were more than happy to lean into all those clichés to feed the Dark One Below.
The place was impossible to miss from the outside. It reigned over the surrounding streets with its multiple floors. A completely black building, safe for its immense church-like stained glass windows. In the early years, it had no windows at all, for privacy’s sake. Inside, the walls used to be decorated by decals of stained glass works and blasphemous religious art. As the years went on and they made more money, they eventually commissioned the most ostentatious floor-to-ceiling windows to be crafted, with historical glass-work techniques of course, as was appropriate for the theme. They were double-sided windows. The design seen from the outside was mostly geometrics, lattices and diamonds in different shades of red, with thick but intricate metal filigrees to frame them. Definitely eye catching when you’re just walking home at night, a beacon of temptation, but nowhere near as gorgeous as the windows were on the other side. Inside the club, customers were faced with decadently detailed stained glass depictions of satanic scenes like the fall of Lucifer, the circles of hell, grand battlefields where angels and demons fought, and all the previous Papas from the Emeritus line who were at the helm before - pride certainly ran in the family too. A breathtaking visual punch upon entrance to be sure, and if a client somehow managed to take their eyes off the dancers and move them to the windows, they’d have hours’ worth of details to analyze.
The current owner, Papa Emeritus IV, known to his staff simply as Copia, didn’t have a window yet. His ties with the Emeritus line were, well, shaky? Unclear. And while some people at the head of the Church vehemently supported him, others weren’t so keen to unlock funds to stamp his likeness into their walls just yet. So he had an immense portrait made instead. Less of a permanent fixture. A giant naked portrait of the man, renaissance style, loose cerulean blue fabric draped over him, framed in gold like a king of old, platters of food and fruits around him, with the odd addition of rats skittering around at ground level stealing some of said food. The man certainly had his tastes. The staff didn’t question it.
Other than the religious-themed decor, which oscillated between gaudy and captivating depending on each client’s sense of aesthetics, the Ghost cabaret had all the fixings of a strip club on the higher end of the business. Everything was lit in tones of red, thematic lighting to reflect what it would be if the sun shone through the immense crimson stained glass windows on the outer facade. The main floor featured, of course, stages for the dancers to perform. A bigger center stage with a center pole, and a couple smaller stages that framed it, for go-go dancers or cage dancers, depending on the night. Plush quilted leather seats, black and classy, were lined up against the stages’ outlines to allow for clients to come see the dancers up close and pay them extra if they so chose. To the side off the stage, next to the stairs, was the DJ booth, more subdued to not steal the show from the dancers, but visible enough to allow the performers and clients to come make requests when needed. At about the mid-way point of the floor, the seats turned to bar tables and chairs, all black still, so patrons could drink while they watched the show. The tables then turned to bar stools, and against the back wall of the room was the bar itself: an unbelievably weighty solid mahogany wood bar carved to look like a church altar, complete with reliefs of twisted biblical scenes. The wall was lined with encased shelving that featured every type of alcohol imaginable, and even more stuff you’d have never heard about.
There was a basement floor, reserved for staff. It could only be accessed by a back door outside behind the building, or from behind the main stage, hidden by the heavy black velvet curtains that acted as the standard backdrop for most of the performances. The dancers’ backstage area was down there, a spacious dressing room, lockers, vanities, mirrors, showers, all the sinks and counter space you could need. The staff’s break room was also there, the back storage and overflow for the bar, etcetera.
Up the long staircase that stretched high enough to clear the stained glass windows was the second floor, dedicated to private booths. Cubicles, some of them rather standard, some of them themed with different colored walls, some of them mirror boxes, that nicely fit two people for private dances. There were also a couple of bigger booths that could fit around six to eight people, if a group like a bachelors or bachelorette’s for example wanted group dances, or if a patron requested multiple performers at once. One of these bigger booths was the club’s built-in mini dungeon. They had an in-house pro-domme on staff, they would give her the space she needed to work her magic. The booths on either side of hers weren’t often booked: they were all sound-proofed, but sometimes screams carried through the walls anyway.
Floor three was for the V.I.P lounges. The building was an open plan, so from the top floor you could see down to the main floor and, in fact, had quite the nice topside view of the stage. The floor plan was split in six alcoves, three completely open, three semi-private with an open section near the railings to watch below and a closed booth for more private activities. No matter which type was booked, in the shadows and this high up, whoever was up there could see the whole club without being seen much in return. This section was decorated even more richly than the rest of the club. Black and gold theme, real gold; large sprawling couches, side ottomans, footstools; more art, glass tables, Baphomet sculptures as centerpieces, matte black chandeliers with actual crystal drops, not that cheap plastic shit. Pure luxury, for the patrons who could afford it. Of course a V.I.P lounge included a performer’s company, and sometimes more of the staff would wander over for extra entertainment. But the price for it was bottle service of the most expensive imports the bar stocked, tags shown on request only. High cost, high reward.
Given that the Ghost club was, essentially, a front for the Church to make money and gain followers, everyone on staff was a member of the Ministry. The owner was a human, as was tradition with the Emeritus bloodline, and they’d get the occasional Sibling of Sin on staff when there was an emergency or shortage. But the vast majority of the team was made up of ghouls. The demons were tied to the Church and obligated to follow the Clergy’s rules: glamor, cover their faces, obey, don’t cause trouble. A group of seven dedicated ghouls, with Copia, made up the core of the Ghost project. These club ghouls rarely returned to the abbey anymore, aside for the special big black masses around the year on holidays for which the club closed anyway. Things like the anniversary of the Fall of Lucifer and the like. The major celebrations. Otherwise, they lived out here, in the city, in or around the club. They were supposed to be under their Papa’s tutelage and guidance. Which was to say, as manager, it was the reigning Papa’s job to punish them when rules were broken and keep them in line. Previous Papas had been rather strict on their ghouls and kept the club running squeaky clean, by a satanic church’s definition of clean. Copia though… The man was more lenient. More keen on being the ghouls’ friend than their manager.
Since his reign began, after he’d spent a couple of years on a trial period as a cardinal, the Ghost cabaret had acquired a reputation amongst their human clientele for being a very thematic club. “The performers wore fake devil horns!” the humans would say. “And tails and fake fangs as parts of their costumes! It was crazy, the makeup was so well done! And they had special effects and holograms when they danced, some of them. Some pyrotechnics and smoke machines, things like that. It looked so real!” The humans convinced themselves perpetually that it was all illusions and tricks of the trade, that the club was this committed to its satanic theme, that the spectacle was this intricate. It wasn’t trickery, quite frankly. It was the club ghouls not giving much of a fuck anymore about the Ministry’s rules, and Copia not caring much in return to chastise them for it. Even the hell creatures deserved a break from all this masking and glamoring business, yes? Copia liked to have a positive relationship with his ghouls. So long as the Ministry didn’t know (and he sure wouldn’t tell them) then everything was fine. Once in a while the Church would plan inspections in their various storefronts - the strip club wasn’t the only one, the Church had their claws sunk in the back of many-a-business across the country, even around the world - but Copia was high up enough in the Church’s hierarchy he would be at the meetings where said inspections were announced. He then warned his crew in advance to be on their best Ministry Sanctioned Behavior for inspection day, and all was well. So far.
This is not a story about how the club ghouls and Copia got in trouble with their strict Ministry overlords though. At least, not this time. No, this is the story of an abbey ghoul on leave called Rain, and his first visit to the Ghost club…
***
Rain glanced from the piece of paper he held, to the gothic monstrosity of a building in front of him, to the paper, to the building, then pocketed the note with a laugh and a shake of his head. Yeah, this was the place alright. Honestly if he hadn’t been told an address, he would’ve still found it. This place could not be anything other than a strip club built by the Church. The design was so on the nose it was almost comical. But then again, he lived in an immense abbey made of marble and obsidian constructed on top of the gates of hell, so? In a strange way the club’s architecture was less flashy than the rest of the Ministry’s constructions.
There was a line in front of the grand cathedral doors of the club. Corded between metal posts and black satiny ropes. Twenty, thirty people maybe? Not a huge line, but it took space on the sidewalk. Signaled the place was important. Especially with how nicely dressed the hopefuls were. Rain glanced down at his own outfit while he shuffled to the back of the line. He’d picked an all black look, figured he couldn’t go wrong. A little bit of flair with his chemise’s long sleeves, flowy starting halfway down the forearm with subtle lace detailing, and a couple choice pieces of jewelry. Not too flashy, not too dressed up, but looking at the other patrons he wondered if he wasn’t under-dressed. He didn’t know how these fancy strip clubs worked ok, he’d never been to a regular one, let alone this!
Rain was a water ghoul summoned four years ago by the Ministry. He wasn’t summoned for anything specific, he was just, workforce. Which was fine. He wasn’t mad he’d been pulled out of the pits. Earth was comfortable. More relaxed than down below. He enjoyed not getting hunted on the regular. In hell, he spent most of his time hidden away, and he was a master at it. He disappeared when he slithered in the tar-like ponds and puddles that littered his region of the underworld. But he liked not having to look over his shoulder constantly you know? He could breathe, up here.
As your basic workforce ghoul, he wasn’t given a name. He was assigned to the mess hall, where he joined the other hordes of nameless who took shifts one after the other to staff the abbey’s sprawling cafeteria. Yes it was open 24/7: the abbey employed literal demons for whom the concept of night and day was very foreign. They had to adjust to a demon’s internal clock, which sometimes made them nocturnal or close to it. Water ghouls were often assigned to jobs like dish washing, kitchen helper, wash and prep of ingredients, early positions on the cook line. Fire ghouls were at the ovens and cooking stations; quintessence ghouls were in service at the counters, etc. The water demons didn’t mind having their hands in water all day, contrary to fire ghouls who would throw hissy fits when they had to. In fact the water exposition helped them quite a bit. They required regular contact with water to keep their powers balanced and for comfort, to prevent them from drying out. While they would still need a full body dip in the abbey’s lake or rivers once in a while, to have their arms in water for many hours a day gave them an easier time with hydration overall.
It was in the kitchens that Rain got his moniker. He was dutiful, relatively unremarkable, concentrated on his job except when it started to rain or storm outside. Then he was gone in a flash, trotting out the mess hall’s back doors and into the field behind it, arms spread out to feel the rain. He’d be nervous, because he left his post and he didn’t want to get reprimanded, but he couldn’t help it. The rain had become his favorite topside meteorological condition. He loved the feel of raindrops splattering on his face when he angled it up to the sky, the humidity suspended in the air, the thickness of his breath, the sound rain made when it hit tree leaves or roofs. Being outside when it rained just felt right. Bonus points if it thundered. That noise touched his soul and was surprisingly comforting. It felt like the earthquakes that rattled the underworld and shook the water of his ponds back home. The same rumble but up in the sky instead of under him. It was his favorite. Once he was done soaking up the rain, he’d walk back inside the kitchens and resume his task like his clothes weren’t soaked and he wasn’t making a puddle on the ground. No matter, the kitchen floor was made for that anyway, it had drains and everything. After a handful of times doing that, the rest of the kitchen staff started to call him Rain, and the nickname stuck.
Rain had started out as a dishwasher and, surprisingly, four years in, he was still there. He didn’t hate doing dishes, but he wouldn’t mind a change of scenery either. Typically ghouls only stayed in these generic entry jobs until they found their niche, what they were good at, and were moved to bigger and better jobs. Rain did appeal for it. A couple times a year, ghouls could petition the Clergy to change jobs. They’d discuss where they would best fit and be moved around the abbey for trials. Rain had done it multiple times, and been denied every time. The Clergy didn’t know who Rain really was, they’d tell him. They found he didn’t have much personality, he wasn’t confident enough, they didn’t believe he could handle more responsibility. A few weeks ago, after one more failed petition, Rain had brought it up to his kitchen colleagues. There was no way this criticism was legit, right? But the other ghouls all kinda agreed. In various terms, but the core issue was the same: Rain didn’t have enough of a presence. He wasn’t assertive enough.
That rattled him a bit. He was confident! He felt confident. Inside. He felt sure of himself, he didn’t doubt himself often. But he also never did anything to show it. He was placid, as a ghoul. Taciturn. Forgettable, within the mess of very strong personalities the other elements were known for. More often than not, when he thought of something, he wouldn’t say it out loud. He calculated too much before he spoke. He had strong opinions, but wouldn’t voice them. When he got annoyed or angry, he preferred to walk away, avoid conflict. He was too tame. His colleagues told him that during his appeals, the Clergy probably wanted him to argue. Prove why he deserved a better position. When they said no, it wasn’t to deny him, more to rile him up. But Rain would nod and accept the decision without a word.
Damnit, alright, his confidence needed work didn’t it. He had to learn. How to be bold, be assertive. How to show the self-confidence he felt within on the outside. Work on his courage.
His kitchen colleagues had fun coming up with a thousand and one ways he could get some practice. Outside of some really outrageous ones - the fire ghouls that manned the ovens had the wildest ideas for pranks to pull on Clergy members; Rain valued his hide, he refused to go that far - he was down for most of their ideas. Debates, play quarrels, magic competitions, duels, board games, improv. He didn’t care, he’d try it. He didn’t know what was gonna click for him and make a lasting change in his confidence, so he cast a wide net. One of the suggestions he received was the paper note folded in his pants pocket right now. With the strip club address hastily scribbled on it, and “Go take a masterclass in confidence” written underneath. That was how we got here.
Rain’s reminiscing made the line go by fast. Quicker than he was ready for, in fact. He soon was at the doors, under scrutiny of the club’s burly bouncer. The man was tall. Not stupidly tall, but about as tall as the water ghoul, and Rain was quite lanky. He had a solid build, wide shoulders, he filled out his black dress shirt to the very limit of the fabric. With black dress pants, suspenders and shined shoes, he sure looked the part. He stood at the entrance of the bar, legs wide, arms behind his back, head held high, a sort of military stance. His sleeves were rolled up just below his elbows to reveal strong forearms and a smattering of body hair. He considered everyone in line carefully, one by one. Rain could only imagine what he got evaluated for. Dress code maybe? The bouncer’s meticulous eyes has a slight lavender tint to them, which immediately told Rain he wasn’t human. When their eyes met, Rain lightly unglamored his own sea-foam glint, and he thought he caught the hint of an upturned corner on the bouncer’s lips.
“I.D.” he was asked for.
Right, humans had a weird thing about locations being age restricted and they had identification cards that somehow proved that number.
Ghouls didn’t have the same concept of age or time. Technically in earth years Rain was four, but that meant nothing. He was obviously an adult. He’d lived in the pits an immeasurable amount of time. Counting years and eras wasn’t much of a thing down there. Once summoned, each ghoul did receive something of an I.D. card. It didn’t give a year of birth or a name like the human versions because ghouls had neither of those. It did however stated the date of their summoning, the name of the summoner they were tied to, and their job or rank within the Ministry. Rain also had a slip that proved he was on leave. He wondered if a place with a reputation as wild at the Ghost club would care if his vacation from the abbey was sanctioned or not, but he produced the document all the same.
The bouncer took half a second to glance at the card, his decision clearly already made before Rain dug anything out of his pockets. He gave a nod towards the door behind him.
“Sin forth.”
Tacky. Rain gave the lavender eyed man a look, but he guessed this must’ve been the club’s tag line? So he bit back his chuckle and just stepped inside instead.
The second the ornate cathedral doors closed behind him, blocking out the sound of the outside world with a strange vacuum seal effect, Rain was plunged into all the intensity of a bustling nightlife establishment. Some club banger or another boomed over the speakers; there was a constant rumble and roll of people’s voices on top of another; high pitches like whistles and the clinking of glass pierced the wall of sound arrhythmically; multicolored lights flashed over to his right while the half of the club to his left was plunged in a deep red sultry glow. Rain took a few steps in, his gait slowing as he absorbed it all and tried to decide what to look at, where to go. He halted a couple paces out of the entrance hall. He turned his head, looked around, unsure. Until he caught sight of the stage. Of the dancer upon it. And suddenly he knew exactly where to look.
She was stunning. A splendid mane of silvery white hair framed her face. Huge, bouncy and fluffy like a cloud, the tiny points of two horns barely poking out at the top. She had so much hair she could’ve gotten lost in it, but when she climbed the pole, gracious and fierce like a storm, Rain caught glimpses of her piercing pale grey eyes and it was obvious she wasn’t lost at all. She was in complete control of herself and her space. Her luscious body, full curves somehow deliciously stuffed into an equally beautiful set of sparkly white lingerie, spun around the pole like she was walking on air. She “walked” her way down slowly, until she landed in a front split on the floor, bounced up a couple of times for effect.
There was a crowd amassed close around the stage for her, some dog whistles were heard, people shuffled closer. She moved to the side, cleared the pole with her leg, making sure to spread her legs in a fan as she softly rolled on her ass until she closed them, folded them under herself in a sideways pin-up girl pose, and winked at a customer in the front. She rose a little to sit back on her heels - white high heel pumps, silver glitter packed so tight on them you could barely see the material under, real princessy - and took a dramatic pause. She shook her mane off of her face, shook everything, really, showing off how plush and soft her body looked, making sure her bejeweled bra caught the light in all the facets of the dozens of swarovski crystals that adorned it, before she folded her arms behind her back. The crowd got rowdy, whooped, appreciative, and the dancer beamed, laughed brightly before she unhooked her bra to an accent beat of the song she performed to, to reveal the most glorious breasts Rain had ever seen. Honestly. The water ghoul was stunned in place. Mouth open like a fish, and it was getting dry in there but Lucifer if there was nothing he could’ve done to close it.
To the roar of excited hollers from her adoring patrons, the absolute goddess on stage ran her hands on her love handles, her sides, on her breasts, up her neck and into her hair. She ruffled her mane then stretched her hands out to the ceiling with an elegant flick of her wrists. She basked in the revelry for a moment, eyes closed, breathed in the lusty yells and calls from her raptured crowd.
She then opened her eyes, to cast a suggestive side glance and a raised eyebrow to a woman in the first row. She front crawled up to her, to the edge of her illuminated stage, slowly, rolling her luxurious hips into the motion, until she reached her patron. She held out her hand and, after having received a nod of permission, lightly traced the woman’s face and jaw with her fingers. She had long stiletto nails on, pearly white, nacre effect glistening under the spotlights; her forth finger, the accent nail, had a delicate tiny chain pierced through the tip, from which hung a tear drop like crystal jewel. The patron was transfixed, almost shaking. Had it been him, Rain knew his brain would have leaked out of his ears right that second.
He finally managed to close his mouth and swallowed thickly, mouth pasty, while the glittery dancer pulled back to let clients hook dollar bills into the band of her panties, sneaking touches on her silken rump on the way.
Well, damn. Yeah, that was a display of confidence alright. Rain’s colleagues weren’t wrong. If he could manage to be a tenth as confident in his daily life as this breathtaking creature was on stage? He’d get promoted to the head of the damn Clergy tomorrow. Sheesh.
He remained a bit frozen until a hand landed on his shoulder. A strong hand that pushed into him, held him in place. Not aggressive in any way, but firm. Rain would have been too surprised to shimmy away anyway, wrenched from the display of the cloud-like stripper so unexpectedly, but now it felt impossible to move. There was a force that washed over him. Like an unavoidable weight that shackled him to the ground. A sort of awake sedation. Rain’s brain buzzed with recognition. Quintessence. Glowing lavender eyes appeared in his periphery, as the bouncer from before leaned over his shoulder from behind him, his wall-like presence heavy at his back.
“She’s something else uh?”
Rain could see the quintessence ghoul’s smile from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t hear it in his tone.
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah. Yeah she is.”
“That’s Cumulus.”
“Right.”
On stage, there was now a rain of glitter falling from the ceiling strategically over where the sparkly stripper - Cumulus - was doing some floor work while her panties hung from the heel of a shoe. It looked like cleaning up all that glitter after the show would be hell, but somehow it stayed weirdly put and ordered, pulled in and held tight by some sort of wind, a vortex. When she twirled a finger in the air, the glitter would follow the motion.
The bouncer caught the way his guest’s eyes followed Cumulus’ gust of glitter critically.
“You should catch her second show later, she makes a wind body double and they dance together.”
Uh. So an air ghoulette then. Just showing off her powers in the open like this. Unmasked while only partially glamored. Completely unapologetic about it. The sheer amount of broken Ministry rules made Rain’s head spin.
The bouncer’s quintessence increased in pressure, as if sensing his qualms.
“Listen here buddy,” the larger ghoul started, but then he paused. “You go by anything?”
“Rain.”
The bouncer nodded. “Rain. Good to know.” That sounded vaguely threatening but the water ghoul didn’t want to spend too long on that thought.
“Listen, Rain. I’m sure you get what we’ve got going on here.” The bouncer squeezed his shoulder to drive his point. “I’ve not seen you around these parts before. First visit?”
“Yes.” Rain tried to unclench his teeth.
“Then it’s important you know that what happens in the club stays in the club, you catch my drift? You’re gonna see a lot of things here that don’t fly at the abbey. We don’t need a Ministry lapdog running back over there to tattle on us, alright?”
So was what the bouncer was getting at. Rain nodded. To tell on people’s business wasn’t in his nature anyway. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for gossip, moreso that he kept to himself too much to participate in the rumor mill that the abbey could be sometimes.
“If you talk, we’ll know,” the quintessence ghoul continued, “we get way more human patrons then those of our kind, and you reek of ghoul so much it’s like you walked in with a damn neon sign above your head.”
Rain pulled at his frilly sleeve at that, rubbing the lace between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to ground himself thanks to the texture. He hadn’t glamored his scent. Of course he hadn’t, it’s not like humans could smell a ghoul anyway, their noses were so unrefined. Underdeveloped. He hadn’t noticed before, but now Rain could see a few pairs of lightly glowing eyes dotted around the club, half hidden in darkness, all fixed on him. On them. Like they studied the situation between him and the bouncer very carefully. He swallowed.
“Noted. I have no reason to speak about any of this.”
“Good. Good!” The bouncer released his grip. He patted Rain a few times on the shoulder warmly, and it was like the whole ambiance of pressure and dread cracked at once. The quintessence lifted, giving back space in Rain’s lungs for normal air, and he nearly tumbled under the other ghoul’s wide handed strong pats, from gravity suddenly being so loose.
“Didn’t mean to scare you buddy, you know how it is. With that out of the way, have a good night!” The other man’s voice felt much kinder. Warmer. Something like relief unlocked within Rain.
And he could’ve just said thanks and moved on. Go wander around the club, he didn’t know where to. Most likely he’d have ended up standing awkwardly against a wall, people watching. But. He was here to learn to speak out. Learn to be bold. A bold person didn’t let themselves become a wallflower. A bold person was comfortable asking for direction when they didn’t know what to do, right? So Rain took a deep breath.
“Um-” He reached out to the bouncer as he started to walk away.
The quintessence ghoul stopped and turned, a soft expression on his features now. Waiting.
“Do you have a name too?” Rain tilted his head.
“You can call me Aether.”
The water ghoul smiled softly, absorbed the moniker, repeated it in his head. He’d try not to forget. Then he looked around, a tad lost.
“I- Like I said, it’s my first time. Not only here but, uh, in a club at all.” He felt his typical embarrassment creep up, because to display a lack of knowledge openly like this was not something he’d do usually. He might think it, but chances were he wouldn’t expose himself out loud. Today though, he chose to press on. “What am I supposed to do next?”
Aether gave him a wide encouraging smile.
“Ah! Of course. I’ll tell you what you do.” He walked back up to Rain, laid both hands on his shoulders, a much softer touch than before, and spun him towards the bar area. “First thing you’re gonna do is pay a visit to our fiery bartender over there and grab yourself a drink.” He bend down closer to Rain’s ear as if to let him in on a secret. “Don’t worry he knows what you are, so he’ll pour it ghoul strength. None of that lightweight human shit. He’ll give you a buzz if you want it.”
Rain immediately noticed the pair of striking flame orange eyes fixed on him from behind the bar. Unblinking. Unmoving.
“Then,” Aether continued, gently turning Rain towards the stage, “you take that drink and go sit somewhere with a good view. Like what you see? Go up to who you like and tip ‘em. You got bills, surely?”
“Yes.” Rain wasn’t that uninformed.
“Then you’re all good. And if you like what you see enough to want to have ‘em for yourself for a bit? You go up to them after they’re done and you ask for a private dance, alright?”
Rain gave a few good nods. He could do this.
“Thank you.”
One more wide slap on the back.
“You got it buddy. Go have fun!”
The bouncer glamored back the lavender glow of his eyes, and off he went back to his post at the door. Rain let out a deep breath.
He did as he was told. Walked towards the grand mahogany altar that the bar used as a counter. He wondered how long he’d have to stand next to it, to wait for the bartender to pay attention, but clearly that was not going to be a problem. The fire ghoul hadn’t stopped staring him down since they’d initially locked eyes. So when Rain slid himself between a bar stool and the other end of the counter, one elbow on the varnished wood, looking but trying to not be too obvious, the bartender was at his side in a second. He nudged his upper arm with the butt end of a glass he was drying off.
“What’s your poison?”
Rain opened his mouth to answer but he had to take an actual second to think. He wasn’t the ghoul to drink much, you know? Now, the earth ghoul’s secret herbs, from that one hidden greenhouse? That was a whole other story. He enjoyed smoking those quite a lot. But human types of alcohols alluded him.
“Dealers choice?” he said as confidently as he could.
The bartender slowly blinked, unimpressed.
“You’re one of those uh.”
Rain almost apologized reflexively, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself.
“Alright,” the fire ghoul plopped the glass on the counter, “Sweet or savory?”
“Um, I don’t know? Savory I guess?”
“Satan, that’s not a fucking hard question.”
“Sor-” This time Rain began to apologize, the fire ghoul cut him off immediately.
“Nah, don’t even. It’s fine. I’ll figure something out for you. You want it strong, uh? Sure looks like you need the help.”
“Give me your worst.”
“Ha!” Now the bartender had a hint of a smile on his face, a glint of amusement in his coal-like eyes. “You couldn’t handle my worst even if you tried. I’ll be right back,” and he stomped to the other end of the bar, grabbing some shit off the shelves, from under the bar in mini fridges, slamming stuff on the counter, making noise. Everything the ghoul did felt slightly aggressive. Like he wasn’t pissed off yet, but you were one wrong sentence from setting him off. A short fuse. Fitting for a fire ghoul, Rain shrugged.
He looked over the club from his vantage point, gaze wandering back to the lit up stage. The music had changed, for the ethereal but sweet bubblegum vibes of Cumulus’ show to some guitar-heavy sleazy classic rock. Out from behind the velvet drapes came the next dancer, energetic and bouncy on her ungodly high platform pleaser shoes, bright sun yellow with those well known lipstick red soles even Rain, with his lack of knowledge of the midnight world, knew the brand of. These shoes alone must’ve cost thousands of dollars but Rain guessed, if she was popular at a high profile club like the Ghost club seemed to be? She might buy a new pair every week for all he knew. The ghoulette strutted along the back edge of the stage to the quick beat of the track, curly mop of copper red hair strewn over one eye bouncing with each step. She threw a thumbs up in the direction of the DJ booth to the side of the stage, clearly pleased with the song choice. She planted herself in the middle of the stage, hips cocked, stomping her heel in rhythm, until the intro to the song ended. Once the main riff rang over the speakers, she took a running start towards her pole. Literally ran, jumped full speed and caught the pole with one hand and a hooked knee, spinning quickly from the momentum. To a chorus of yells from her audience, she flipped upside down, legs spread in an open V shape, a hand tightly holding the pole between her open legs. She dropped her head, hair flopped out of the way, and cast a wide toothy smile to the crowd as she spun. Her eyes shone a pale yellow-ish orange, like it was watered down. Rain furrowed his brows. A hybrid? He guessed wind from how she almost flew up the pole earlier, but with the orange tint she probably had some fire in her too. The dancer finished her dizzying spin by flipping back upright and digging her massive heels into the floor, wrecking herself to a full stop. She used the momentum to back bend until her hair touched the floor behind her, spine in a perfect arch. With just one hand holding the pole, she used the second to grab a bill a patron shook at her, that she tucked in her bra as she unfurled to a straight position by the sheer strength of her core muscles. Damn. Flexible and strong. And so fearless. Rain took mental notes.
“Here, try this.” The water ghoul snapped his head back to the bartender who slid him a tall glass of pulpy looking red liquid with a branch of celery in it. “Liquid courage.”
“Thanks.” Rain grabbed the drink, smelled it. “What is it?”
“A Bloody Mary. We call ‘em Holy Mary here, cause.” The bartender gestured with one arm to their surroundings.
“Thematic.”
“You gotta. Lemme know what you think. They’re supposed to go down great apparently.” The fire ghoul had to hide a chuckle with the back of his hand at that. Rain was puzzled. When no more explanation came as to why that line was funny, he figured it must’ve been a Ghost club inside joke or something.
He paid for the cocktail. Took a gulp. From the salt and pepper around the rim, to the obvious tomato juice base, to the hot sauce punch, to the branch of vegetation that almost poked him in the eye, the water ghoul was confused.
“Feels like drinking a whole meal.”
“You asked for savory, that’s on you,” the bartender snapped, but he was smiling.
So abrasive. The small fire ghoul seemed to be made out of 100% concentrated snark. He was interesting, but in a way that destabilized Rain. Confident, clearly, but thorny. Rain didn’t know if he felt like pricking himself on his thorns and bleed tonight. Maybe another time.
“Are you named too?” he asked, keeping the subject light.
The fire ghoul nodded sharply.
“Yeah. We all are. We don’t let anyone go nameless here. I’m Dewdrop.”
Rain frowned. That was a rather water-coded name-
“Don’t ask.”
He immediately dropped the thought. Rain wanted to practice being bold, not dumb. He wouldn’t push Dewdrop’s barbed wire boundaries.
“Go watch Sunshine now and you come back if the drink isn’t strong enough ok? I can make ‘em harder.”
Somehow Rain knew this Dewdrop character could make many things harder for everyone easily. He tipped him his glass. Unglued himself from the counter.
He shuffled his way through clients, squeezed his lanky shape between tables and chairs and people’s backs. Between trying to not step on people’s shoes and to not spill his drink, he just saw flashes of the stripper, Sunshine, twirling up and around the pole again, using it almost like a ballroom dance partner, the fringes of her neon yellow lingerie splayed around, suspended in the air. She read like a competitive dancer who stripped for fun on her off time, you know? Still wanted to dance, but ditched the etiquette and uptightness of the ballroom world, went all unhinged yet still offered her athletic skills up for viewing. Rain had no idea if there was any truth to that, but the speed at which she spun, the vivacity of her moves, the tasseled outfit, the snap of her limbs. It felt true.
He decided on a corner table next to the music booth. A bit out of the way of the crowd, since he didn’t know if he wanted to jump in yet. One step at a time. In between sips of his meal in a glass - was he supposed to eat the celery? Or was it just decoration and it would be weird to bite it? He wanted to bite it - he found himself sneaking glances at the DJ, who was currently vibing mad hard behind his rig. He air-drummed along with the rock song, eyes closed, coming to from time to time right on beat to adjust one level knob or another on his mixer. The brief flash of his eyes Rain caught, before the other ghoul went back to drum along to a particularly juicy drum fill, hitting the cymbals positions around him like he was behind a real kit in his mind, was of a deep forest green glow. Almost black, dark even in the dimmed light, imperceptible for humans, but Rain knew better. An earth ghoul then. He figured every staff member of the Ghost club must be ghouls at this point. Plus the lad was unnaturally tall. He slouched a lot, bent as to not bang his head on the staircase overhead, because he if deployed himself to full height Rain was certain he’d embed the top of his skull on the sharp corner of a step. The funniest part though - Rain had made bubbles in his Bloody Mary when he noticed because of how he tried to hide his laughter in his glass - was that the DJ didn’t wear shoes. He had shoes. They were nearly pushed against the edge of his booth, ready to go. But on the platform, he only wore socks. Now that, Rain didn’t know what to make of. A quirk? An earth ghoul thing about being more grounded when barefoot - or in this case in thick woolly grey socks? They could get rather hippie, their earth brethren. One thing was for sure, this towering musical conductor marched to the beat of his own drums.
When Rain refocused on the stage, he caught the last few moments of Sunshine’s routine. She had her magic out now in a very obvious way - how did the human patrons not think that was strange? Rain was baffled. He had no clue how the club got away with so much. Hands made out of fire, quite akin to how a ghoul’s unglamored clawed hand looked, hovered around her, following the curves of her body, before they touched her. They were an illusion, the hands, for sure. One of her creations. It confirmed Sunshine as at least partly fire ghoul. She commanded these hands to grope her for the viewing pleasure of her audience. She acted as if they were these men’s hands on her, a proxy for their lust. Exposed skin touched but never burnt. Fiery fingers cupped her small breasts, encircled her waist, grabbed handfuls of her ass, flame illusion sinking into her skin with a fake sear. She turned to give different angles to the adoring eyes glued to her figure. The crowd was wild. Rain’s eyebrows could not have shot further up. This club was something else. Now he understood why he was warned to never speak of what he saw tonight back at the abbey.
Sunshine’s performance ended on that note. She gathered her money and her clothes from the floor, giving waves and bubbly wide smiles to her patrons. She was good. Vivacious and talented. So alive. The DJ spun a lo-fi tune while the clients dispersed. Some of the seats against to the stage opened up. Rain considered it. He wondered if he could take it, being this close to the next dancer. He’d get some attention, be it from the next stripper or from the crowd. But. That was what a bold person would do, right? A confident guy wouldn’t care to have the spotlight on them for a moment. In fact, they’d go looking for it. So. Rain carried what was left of his Bloody Mary over to one of the quilted black leather single couches and sank into it. He lost some time to his inner discomfort. What drew his attention was when the music changed once again, to electronic dance music this time, a touch of soul in it. Interesting. Rain put down his drink, looked up, wondering who would be next, what their gimmick would be.
Then he saw him.
***
There were three things Swiss loved most about stripping.
First was the decorum of it. Everything that went into a performance. The planning, the theatrics, the lights and smoke machines, the outfit. By Satan’s Grace, this outfit. It was one of his favorites. Hell to put on, but it made for one hell of a show, so it evened out. Just the boots, his thigh high matte leather pleasers, they almost stole the show by themselves. Once-in-a-lifetime boots, these. They fit perfectly, snug around his strong legs, no loose fabric anywhere, like they’d been molded around him. Three buckles held them secure, one at his ankle, one at the meatiest part of his calf, one above his knee, the silver hardware of the straps the only contrast to the deep velvety-looking black of the genuine leather. Black laces, from close to the tip of the seven inches heeled shoe all the way up to about a third of his thigh, made sure the fit felt like a second skin, supple and comfortable to move in. The top edge of the boots squished so nicely into his thigh, a tantalizing detail only the most observant of clients would pick up on. The multi ghoul made sure that, once someone focused on him, little details like this wouldn’t ever leave their mind. Sear themselves into their brains.
If the boots somehow didn’t do it for a patron, chances were Swiss’ rather small black panties would. Thin straps that dug just right into and above his hip bones; high quality tightly woven mesh in abstract patterns; a opaque modesty panel in the front of the panties that did its best but truly didn’t hide much in the end. Yes, this tantalizing, barely covered image might burn itself into the viewers’ eyes instead. The V of his taunt stomach dipped below the pantie line with a promise of what could be seen, what could come next. It lead his patrons’ gazes exactly where Swiss wanted them.
And if even that wasn’t enough? Well then, the leather corset his waist was sinfully cinched into just had to seal the deal. Black buttery soft lambskin (the outfit sure had a theme), waspie cut, and contrary to the boots’ heavenly fit that had been a fluke, this piece fit like a glove because it had been custom made for him. A pride and joy of his, this corset, a luxury that hugged and melted into the contours of his waist perfectly. He felt like a million bucks every time he strutted in long, sultry strides from behind the curtain onto the stage in this get-up. And his audience? They ate it up.
The second thing Swiss liked most about stripping was the power. From the second he’d poke the tip of his boot out from behind the curtain, all eyes in the building were on him. And he knew how to hold them right there. He walked up to the pole, a panther clad in leather, shoulder blades rolling into his steps, gracious and predatory. He relished in how captivating he was. Couldn’t help a smile when he grabbed the pole and people whistled. Oh he’d make the crowd sing alright. He knew exactly what to do.
He stood behind the pole, not in a hurry to climb it at all. Rolled his hips in a mesmerizing figure eight, side to side, hypnotic. Swiss preferred a buildup. Let the clients take a good hard look at him, let the blood leave their brains so their money could leave their wallets later. He treated the pole like a lover. Hinted at what he could give them, if they only opened up their bank accounts and paid him what he was due. Swiss could treat them like that too, in a private booth. Two hands on the pole, up and down motion, subtle but not at the same time. He’d grind into the symbolic floor-to-ceiling silvery shaft, press himself all against it, push his hips into it like he’d rub on someone. Like he wanted to fuck through the damn thing. More whistles came from the crowd, some rowdy yelps. Swiss nearly owned his audience now, with so little work too. The sheer amount of power he held over these feeble humans. So easy to sway. To captivate. To possess.
He fluttered his eyes closed. Leaned in, tilted his head, dramatically slow. Opened his mouth and licked the pole. Kissed it, full lips catching on the cold metal, and he heard the gasps from the front row patrons. Heard them hold their breaths. He had them. Fuck, he felt like a god. It was that easy. He slowly opened his eyes, smoldering, and locked gaze with a patron a bit off to the side, the one who’d gasped the loudest. The man had a soft face, beautifully fluffy hair past his shoulders with lovely smooth swoops and waves, the kind of hair Swiss would gladly run his fingers into and, oh- the slightest sea-foam glow to his eyes. Ooh. That’s how it was? Their new ghoulish visitor, one of his captives? Swiss almost felt flattered. Suddenly his night had become a lot more interesting than anticipated.
He broke the spell, turned on a heel to have his back against the pole now, grinded like that for a moment. Give the crowd a good view of his ass in these panties. Of how the muscles of his back worked when he had his arms above his head, the difference in texture and color between the tightly laced corset and his deep skin tone, the mouthwatering lights and shadows of his shoulders blades. He lowered a hand to card through his dense curls, shake them loose a bit. He grinned.
Show time.
The third thing Swiss liked most about his job was how he got to fly. Maybe it was his inner wind core that leaped in satisfaction every time he left the ground. He didn’t know which part of him it fulfilled, but it brought him such a sense of belonging. Of purpose. When he pushed himself off the ground firmly, kicked strongly off the stage to get the pole twirling, he felt such alignment within, like this was what he was always meant to do. And well, from the outside, it was a damn good show. Where Cumulus sold sex with her salacious floor work, and Sunshine was all about the athletics of pole, vivacity and rhythm; Swiss’ jam was aerials, smooth transitions, flow and a darkness the other two strippers didn’t have. He embodied wicked temptations and sacrilege, a profane fiendish peddler of lust. He was danger. And he was oh so very aware of the allure of danger.
He climbed the pole high, his boots giving him an extra good grip while diminishing the pain of his moves - not that Swiss disliked pain, quite the contrary in fact, but he liked it better when a person peppered his inner thighs in bruises, and not a cold piece of metal. Once at the top, he let his torso fall backwards, just his legs holding him in place, back arched, curling his body to the side into the spin. He extended his arms out fluidly, like reaching out to the crowd, to fully stretch the lines of his body, then inverted. He pulled down a leg with him while he kept the other fully extended and angled to the ceiling, foot beautifully pointed, his boot’s heel to make the line seem interminable. He pulled his leg to himself into a perfect diagonal line with the other one. One hand under him for support, the pole clutched between his pelvis and his thigh, his free hand caressed down his leg, drawing attention to the shape his body made, an upside down split in the air, some beautiful madness called a bird of paradise pose. Bird of hell, bird of sin, more like. He smiled, breathing heavily into the effort. Hip bones prominent with the position, abdominal muscles fluttering under his corset. Eventually he cast off to renew the spin, folded his legs under him as he did. He put his weight into his arms only now, and elegantly spun out of position and down to the ground in a stag spin. Once he came to a stop, he bent and snapped, to then walk around the pole, surveyed his domain. Made sure to look in people’s eyes again, to make it personal - to catch those striking cerulean eyes again - to check if everyone’s attention was still on him. It was. Perfect.
After some more seductive gyrating of his hips, he took off again, a fluid flight from the floor through a cup grip handspring into a full moon pass.
It was all about the flow from then on. He chained combos and made it look effortless - though it was, in fact, very intensive stuff he’d taken most of his years on earth to learn. He curled his body in all sorts of shapes through the next minutes of his song. He breathed hard, rib cage contracting and expanding inside his corset, fighting against the top hem, threatening to make it pop. An enticing thought for his clients. What if they could make him breathe like that later. What if they could take the corset off.
Throughout his dance of darkness, movements strong and soft like silk, Swiss couldn’t help but to check in on the water ghoul in the front row. What, he was curious! For some reason, he needed to know if he’d captivated the man. Every glance he got as he spun around, he saw the ghoul get more and more bothered. Pull at his long sleeves. Tug at his collar. Stare, mouth slightly agape. Oh Swiss wanted to eat him up. He knew this guy wasn’t the biggest fish in the club tonight. Ghouls typically had less cash on them than humans did given that they didn’t use money much at the abbey. The multi ghoul was certain there were mortals with fatter pockets here he could swindle out of every bill. But. They weren’t as interesting as the cute little thing that did his best to maintain glamor while he melted in his plush chair and radiated shyness. First timer energy. Swiss just had to give him a go first. If the water ghoul wasn’t down for some solo dance time, he’d move on, spear the bigger fish. But he was too interested to pass the chance.
Swiss finished his show with a final spin, during which he strategically let go of the pole at a specific angle and used that momentum to make himself slide on his knees up to the edge of the stage, like a rock star would do with their guitar. Not right in front of the water ghoul, he still wanted to keep a modicum of subtlety, but close enough. Facing another patron, Swiss started to hump the air, strong thighs taunt from how his legs were folded under him, up and down and up and down in time with his heaving breaths. He wasn’t hard, but he sure had a semi. The crowd’s yells for him did that. Swiss was an attention whore, what could he say. Clearly nobody minded his hint of chub anyway, as hands clutching bills reached for him while he continued to hump the air with a measured tempo, hands caressing his own thighs and ass invitingly. Enraptured clients rushed to hook their dollars in the top of his boots or his panties. You could tell which client was into leather and which client was into his dick by just that choice. Good info to have. He smirked and licked his lips, taunted his chin up at people, raised eyebrows, challenging them to pay him more.
Eventually his senses pinged him off to the left, ghoul scent, and he snapped his head towards it, just as the water ghoul shyly approached. Swiss could tell by the slight grimace on his face that even getting up to pay tribute took effort. Too cute. Swiss slowed the roll of his hips to give him a chance, held eye contact. The water ghoul didn’t look away, bless him, and handed him a twenty.
“May I?” he asked tentatively.
Swiss just about melted. The boy asked for fucking permission.
“Yeah baby, where’d’you want it to go?”
He smirked when he saw a flush spread quickly on the water ghoul’s face.
He had to give it to him though: the guy picked a very bold placement for his bill. Chose to fold it into the front of his panties, just off to the side of his almost-hard on. Fingers curling ever so slightly inside his underwear, nails grazing his pubis. Satan, not so shy after all uh. Swiss was the one who had to end it there, get up and exit the stage, because otherwise he might have just pulled this cute boy halfway up the stage to make out with him, and he didn’t want to kill his chances with every other client in the club by doing that openly. Swiss was impulsive, but he was still a business man first.
He strutted confidently behind the curtains, then started to gather the bills that hung from his clothes as soon as he was out of view. He went downstairs to the artist’s lounge. When the doors to the staircase closed behind him and muffled the sounds of the party upstairs, Swiss took a deep breath. Always felt a bit depleted after a performance. Sunshine and Cirrus were in here. He threw his stack of bills on his vanity corner before he flopped on one of the sofas.
“How did it go?” Sunshine asked with the brightest smile. She was stark naked, barefoot for once which showed how petite she actually was when she was out of her platform red bottoms. She didn’t have a care in the world for the nudity - most of them didn’t, it went with the job - as she tried to pick her outfit for her next show. She held a neon orange mesh lingerie set flat to her body, turning from the full length mirror on the wall to Cirrus and back, then chucked it on a growing pile of other brightly colored lingerie options.
“Decent,” Swiss groaned as he stretched and sprawled over the comfortable seat. “Lucifer, somebody help me out of these.” He kicked his feet in the air.
Cirrus chuckled. “I’ll do it.”
She made her way to the multi ghoul. Standing over him, she started to undo the buckles of his boot after Swiss handed her a leg.
“I say you did more than decent,” she mused, deft fingers moving on to the laces at the top of the boot, that she began to pull out of each eyelet carefully - second skin footwear like this, you just had to unlace all the way.
“You came up to watch?”
“Uh hu, a little bit. You prepped the crowd for me good. With your whole kinky leather vibe.”
She winked. Swiss smiled back with a satisfied nod as he began to unclasp his corset from the row of hooks in the front. Whew, being able to fully expand your ribcage was underrated, honestly.
“Happy to help. You gonna go round after this?”
“Yeah. Cumulus is already up there. I’ll see if I can find myself a pet for the night, after you’ve gotten them all in the mood.”
Cirrus was their domme. An unusual in-house offering for a strip club but then again, it wasn’t like the Ghost club was typical in any other way either. Every ghoul that was part of the Ghost family was free to do more or less what they wanted. For the air ghoulette, that was to dominate and cater to the more niche kinks. There were always at least one or two patrons that were down to be humiliated by a gorgeous woman when they came to establishments like this. The timid ones that felt unworthy of attention. Or the big bad company CEOs that craved to be taken down a peg. She could cherry-pick. She didn’t take many clients each night, but she charged lots. Tonight she’d chosen to wear a full knee-length long sleeve electric blue latex dress, indecently tight and revealing, catching in all the right places under her curves and body rolls, beautifully highlighting her natural shape. She was by far the most covered of the club’s workers, technically, but just as eye-catching of a sight. That was the thing with pro-domming: a lot of it was about titillating. Letting the client guess. Cirrus rarely took any clothing item off during her sessions, besides maybe a glove or a shoe if a client really deserved it.
She was at Swiss’ ankle when she dropped the bomb:
“I might go see that new ghoul. Rain he’s called. Aether came by earlier to tell me. He looks like the bashful type, might want to obey-”
Swiss flicked his foot at that, kicked off Cirrus’ hand.
“No.”
Cirrus froze, hands hovering.
“No?”
“You heard me.”
“Swiss.” The air ghoulette narrowed her eyes.
“He’s mine.”
“He’s yours?” The domme’s voice peaked up, part question, part judgment. Her glare made Swiss more conscious of how he sounded right now, but he’d already staked a claim out loud. Couldn’t back out now.
“I saw him first.”
Cirrus snorted, brought a well manicured hand before her mouth.
“We all saw him when he came in,” she clicked her tongue. “Honey, do you hear yourself right now? This is surprisingly childish of you.”
The multi ghoul used the side of his leg, unlaced boot hanging limply from it, to push Cirrus aside so he could sit.
“I’m just saying,” he busied himself untying the rest of his shoe, “I worked on him my whole show.” When he looked up to the air ghoulette, his fangs were out. “Find someone else.”
Cirrus pondered the stripper before her. Patted the tight pin curls on her head, one of her multitude of severe looking but sensual hairstyles she liked to mix and match with her outfits and moods. The two ghouls stayed in a staring match, until she broke tension and sagged her shoulders.
“Fine. You look like you’re about to bite my face off, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Swiss rolled his eyes.
“I won’t go for him, since somebody’s got a crush.”
The stripper snapped his head back up. “I don’t-”
“Shush. It’s ok. Believe me I’ve had clients like that before too. Now,” Cirrus scooted back closer, to lay some affectionate pats on Swiss’ leather clad knee, “may I finish getting you out of your hell boots so you can squeeze into something more comfortable and go at your boy?”
Swiss almost retorted, but instead he kicked off his undone boot at the heel with the tip off the other, glamored back his fangs and flopped onto the sofa again. He crossed his legs, giving better access to the air ghoulette in a silent agreement.
From behind them, Sunshine chimed:
“Cirrus! Orange or sky blue?”
The domme smiled fondly at the quirky band of ghouls she gravitated around.
“Let’s do blue sweetheart, we’ll match.”
***
Deer in the headlights would’ve described Rain perfectly right now, though he tried his best to hide it. He didn’t know what to do with himself. There would be no more shows on stage for a bit. He’d asked the DJ, see that was a daring move, he socialized and asked a question! The impossibly tall earth ghoul, aptly named Mountain, had explained that now was round hour: the dancers either took breaks or came up in the crowd to offer private dances to a lucky few. Now was the time to go get drink refills, go for a smoke or some air, whatever he needed to do before the next batch of performances. The DJ was nice. Man of few words, to the point, slightly aloof, but he seemed of a kind disposition. Rain was certain they could’ve gotten along, if he wasn’t so keyed up and nervous. That last stripper had rattled him. The way his hand had shook when he pulled it back after placing a twenty dollar bill next to his literal cock- Satan’s Glory and Grace how in hell did he do that?! If he clenched his fist now it still trembled. He wanted more. It was a stupid thought, surely the pole artist had better things to do than give him the time of day, but he couldn’t help it. Those were the steps of an evening at the club right? The bouncer, Aether, had told him earlier: drink, check; watch the show, check; tip if you enjoy, check; book a private. Rain wanted to. Bad. Not that the previous dancers hadn’t been his type, they were all so charismatic and confident, but there was something about that last one. The way the man sought out connection, looked into his eyes often, and yeah, ok, how ungodly attractive he was too, Rain couldn’t very well ignore that. He wanted more of this guy’s time. He was determined to ask, if the ghoul - what element, Rain had no idea, he tried to pay attention but let’s face it he got a tad distracted about thirty seconds into the performance - showed back up. But he hadn’t seen him again. He’d spotted the first cloud-like stripper, she’d come around for rounds, found a patron within minutes, left for the upper floors. Good for her. Rain had wandered back over to the bar, but even the prickly bartender from before had vanished, replaced by another ghoul who was curt and all about business. He got a new drink anyway, he asked for sweet this time, he learned his lesson. He watched the door. Wondered if he should just go. Call it a night.
Until he felt someone slide on the bar stool next to his, turned, and ended up face to face with handsome eyes framed by smile lines on a handsome grizzled face he immediately recognized, and he almost spat out his drink.
“Hi,” said the stripper of Rain’s dreams and Ô Lord Satan why did his voice have to be hot too?!
“Hi,” Rain somehow forced out.
“First time with us, uh?” The ghoul’s posture was open, lax, coolheaded.
Rain attempted to disappear into the pink swirly concoction in his glass. “Uh hmm.”
Be bold! his brain screamed at him. Easier said than done! his inner voice snapped back.
“Cool, listen,” the dancer went on, clearly used to carrying entire conversations by himself, “you caught my eye earlier, so I came to check if you’d be interested in a private dance?” His smile was stunning, a row of white teeth that Rain knew was glamored to be perfect, but it still was effective.
Wait, Rain had caught his eye??
Be bold, be bold!
Rain tried, oh he tried but the killer combination of the stripper’s smile and the knowledge that he’d caught this man’s attention had him say “How-?” then freeze.
The dancer cocked his head. Waited patiently for his client to go on. How… about a dance? How much for a dance? How long ‘til we can go in a private booth? Those were typical questions Swiss expected. He waited until it was clear Rain’s brain wasn’t gonna unstuck itself without a little help.
“How what, love?” he egged him on, but from how the water ghoul widened his eyes at the endearment and immediately looked at his drink with the passion and awe of someone in front of a painting at a museum, Swiss wondered if he’d gone too far.
“I can drop the pet name, I don’t have to use it if you’d rather-”
“No. No, the-” Rain cleared his throat. Be bold. “The pet name can stay. It’s, quite alright.”
Swiss hummed and nodded. “Alright love.”
Rain gathered his bearings then finally met the other man’s eyes.
“How are you so confident?” he blurted out.
The question hung between the two of them for a spell, before Swiss just, burst out laughing. A gorgeous, sing song bright laugh, honest, genuine, and for as much as it pinched at Rain’s heart, he was mortified.
“I’m sorry-” Swiss tried to catch his breath, “I’m sorry it’s just,” he giggled on, wiped the beginning of tears from the corner of his eye with a knuckle, “this might be the most unique pick up line I’ve ever heard.”
Rain grimaced. “It’s not a-”
When Swiss caught on that the other man wasn’t laughing with him, he attempted to get himself under control.
“It’s not a pick up line.”
Swiss tried to breathe.
“No, I mean it. I need to know. How you got this confident.” And Rain proceeded to launch into a whole explanation about how he ended up at the Ghost club tonight. A long explanation, but that’s how he was. Man of short sentences, until he spoke about an interest he was passionate about or he over shared about his life, like he was doing right now.
This entire time, Swiss didn’t stop him. He thought about it, after the first ten sentences or so about how Rain was summoned and his daily life as a kitchen ghoul, but man the guy was endearing. No clue why, but he wanted to keep listening. To know the rest of the story. He settled on having his elbow on the bar, leaned into the water ghoul, his chin in his hand but not in a boredom gesture, more in a “wistfully listening to your crush talk about their day” kinda way. He didn’t sigh, he wouldn’t push the note this far, but fuck. This ghoul was cute.
Once Rain was done with his tirade, Swiss could safely state he was smitten.
“That has to be the dumbest reason to be at a strip club you’ve ever heard, I’m so sorry,” Rain mused out loud, because it was one thing to live through his weeks of trials and error to develop his courage, but to recount it out loud like this made it sound absurd.
“You’d be surprised.”
The beautiful stripper had stayed by his side through the spiel and somehow he didn’t look bored.
“So a confidence class eh?”
Rain took a deep breath in, let it out. “Basically.”
“I can do that.” Swiss looked off to the side, rubbing his chin and the shadow of facial hair that lined his jaw in thought.
“You don’t have to, it’s stupid-” Rain waved him off, going for the end of his drink, but the dancer stopped him.
“Not very confident of you. Believe in the process.” He gave him a cocky smile and, well, Rain had to acquiesce. “You got enough money for a private session?”
The water ghoul nodded. “Sure. I came prepared.”
Swiss huffed. “You’re so fucking cute,” he whispered under his breath, then, louder, “Come with me then?” and he held out his hand. “I’m Swiss by the way.”
The other man considered his hand for a moment, before taking it and sliding off of his bar stool. He did his best to ignore the static in his brain at the mere touch of Swiss’ skin. “Rain,” he offered, but once again, Swiss cut him off, wide smile already in place.
“I know. Come.”
He pulled him towards the staircase.
On the way Swiss caught Cirrus’ eye; she threw him a thumbs up, then went back to cruising.
Rain got dragged up the stairs, to the sound of Swiss’ high heeled stomps. The stripper had traded his stage boots for some simpler (but still staggeringly high in Rain’s eyes) black vinyl heels with some ankle support; his corset for a tightly woven sheer mesh crop top; and the panties for some briefs that covered more skin but somehow managed to look tighter because of that shiny fake leather material they were made out of. Under the mesh top and around his waist, Swiss added some gold body chains, thin and delicate accents, their glimmer barely visible unless you were up close and personal. He knew what he was doing. A couple steps behind him, Rain was mesmerized by the sway of the loose chain around his waist.
He figured they would stop on the second floor and get a booth, but they didn’t. Swiss guided him upwards still. The decor morphed into a much more luxurious section which made Rain unsure. He squeezed Swiss’ hand; that had him stop halfway up a step, and the water ghoul almost crashed into his back.
“I, uh. I wash dishes for a living remember? I’m not sure I can afford being up here.”
Swiss cast him a look over his shoulder.
“You can’t,” he smirked widely. “Don’t worry about it.”
Before he could protest Swiss pulled him along, all the way into a very fancy looking private booth with a balcony. He lead him to the back section of the alcove, behind some sliding doors, and pushed him down on a large quilted leather bench, similar to the seats from the first floor but with larger diamond shapes stitched into the material and some sort of stone or crystal embedded in each cross section of the stitching.
“You sit here a minute for me love.”
Rain nodded, stunned. He was out of his element. His brain lagged; he started to touch at one of these stones absentmindedly to ground himself. Felt the texture of the cut (the stone was cold, it couldn’t be plastic. How much was this bench worth??), lightly pulled at the junction between the crystal and the leather. Didn’t dare pull too hard though, he wondered if he’d make out of this club alive if he tore one off accidentally. This one freakin’ stone might be worth more than his entire summoning ritual, and the Church never let them forget how expensive their summonings were.
Near the sliding doors that Swiss clicked shut was an intercom. The stripper punched a code on the number keyboard. After a few beats, the very distorted voice of the fire ghoul bartender from earlier was heard:
“I swear to Satan if this isn’t important Imma fucking kill you Swiss, I’m busy.”
“I need you to step away from your broom closet hook up for five minutes-”
There was a furious hiss that came through the speakers just then, and Swiss chuckled because he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.
“-and get me a bottle up to the VIP lounge, we’re gonna be up here for a while.”
Suddenly the hiss stopped. There were some muffled shuffling, belt buckle clinking sounds, Dewdrop telling someone to shut up.
“Alright, I hear you,” Dew spoke closer to the microphone on his side. “New boy’s spoiling you uh? Which one do you want?”
“I don’t care, like, Perrier Jouet maybe?” Swiss turned to Rain: “You like rosé or regular champagne?” But as the words left his mouth he realized all of this must’ve sounded like another language to the water ghoul, who gave him a lost lamb look. “Let’s do rosé.”
“You got it.”
“A reasonable year, Dew?”
It was to the club’s benefit to pass off the priciest bottles to the clients, and in regular circumstances Swiss would have been all for it.
That made Dewdrop pause.
“Ok something’s up,” the bartender’s voice crackled and sputtered mechanically.
“…Put it in my expenses.”
“What?”
“Dewdrop-”
“You can’t put down bottle service and a VIP lounge as a business expense Swiss-”
“Just fucking do it.”
“If the church finds out you’re fucked.”
“I don’t care. Bring it up.”
“You’ll owe me big time.”
“Yes, yes. You name it, I’ll do it, just bring the damn champagne up.”
The laugh that came through the tiny intercom dotted speaker sounded distinctly evil.
“Oh you are so gonna regret that. One PJ rosé coming up. I’ll leave it outside by the door. Have fun,” and the communication channel crepitated to a close.
Swiss let out a breath. Shook off the potential consequences of the mad promise he’d just made to the fire ghoul. Centered himself. Here and Now. With his client. He took a second to set up some mood lighting on the console next to the intercom - each private dance booth had a set of adjustable light bulbs, the second floor lights could only be dimmed or brightened, the VIP booths had the bulbs you could choose the color of - and put on a soundtrack. The strippers each had their own playlists loaded on the system. Swiss picked a track that spoke about marrying young and tongues, something or other.
When he turned back to Rain, he found him with a worried frown and discomfort written all over his face.
“Please don’t get in trouble over me.”
Swiss sighed fondly.
“I won’t.”
He made his way back over to his VIP client, now that everything was set up.
“That sounded like trouble.”
“That was Dew in a good mood actually, I got lucky.”
When he saw more questions form in Rain’s eyes, Swiss just knew he had to make him stop.
“Rain? Get out of your head. Listen to me.” He hovered above the water ghoul now, who looked up to him with some hesitation in his deep sea-foam eyes. Swiss drew his hand close to his face, and when Rain gave him a tiny nod, he gently pushed some of his silky hair behind his ear. Carded his fingers into the heavenly softness of Rain’s lazy waves.
“Don’t ruin this,” Swiss asked for in a low soft voice. The type of voice Rain would have done anything for. “You got me here, now, all for yourself. Be present, ok?”
“Ok.” Rain’s voice was just above a whisper.
“Good. Now!” Swiss stepped away from the bench, to go stand a little ways away, in the middle of the booth. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He let himself feel the music finally, swung his hips on the down tempo. “You say you want to learn how to be more confident. Say shit, be bold. Be assertive, demand that big promotion of yours, right? Well we’re gonna get some practice in tonight darling.” In for the kill now, Swiss raised an eyebrow and shot his client his cockiest smile yet: “Tell me what to do.”
“W- what?” Rain fumbled, and immediately Swiss chided him.
“None of that. Confidence, remember? What do you want to see?”
“But- I don’t know the rules, there has to be rules?” Rain stumbled.
Swiss still lazily rolled his hips, hands feathering on his exposed stomach. Barely touching. Not doing much yet. Just hints and possibilities.
“There are, but I don’t give a shit. The VIP booths don’t have cameras. Tell me what to do,” he repeated, this time dotting the words. “I’ll do anything you want as long as you order me to. But I won’t do a single thing if you don’t say it. Then your time’ll run out, and you’ll have missed out on this. On me. You’d regret it, right?”
“Yes,” Rain forced out.
“To walk home back to your kitchen, head full of everything you couldn’t seize. You couldn’t forgive yourself.”
“No.”
“Then be bold. Right now. Do it. Tell me what to do.”
“Dance for me?” the water ghoul tried, but his tone was squeaky and it was a question.
“More specific. Order me.”
“Fuck!” Rain’s words were stuck in his throat. His face felt hot, cheeks burning, he was sure he looked pathetic. He ran his hands in his hair and squeezed. He knew what he wanted. He wanted a million things. He wanted this devilishly handsome man to give him a show that nobody else would get. He wanted Swiss to sit on him, wanted to feel his ass, wanted him to make him hard. He wanted to touch his skin, his hair, his jaw, the prickle of his facial hair, he wanted those lips on his, he wanted his tongue, he wanted everything. His head swam in all the things he wanted, if he could just make himself say it! He had to. He growled in frustration.
Fuck it! What could go wrong? Even if he fucked up, it didn’t matter. He might never come back here. He might never see these ghouls again. Who the fuck cared. Satan, he was just gonna do it-
“Come closer. In front of me,” he heard himself say, and it felt almost like an out of body experience. Like it was his voice, but not his words yet.
Swiss did exactly as he was told.
“Dance. Like you’d do for other customers. Show me what we’re working with.”
Holy shit where did that come from. Rain felt like someone else spoke through him, and it would have felt jarring if the stunning dancer in front of him wasn’t absolutely delighted by what he heard. He laughed, but that eager, excited barking laugh Rain finally understood meant he laughed with him, not at him.
“That’s it!”
And so the stripper did as he was asked. He rolled his hips into the beat, picking up speed; tilted his head to expose his neck seductively, ran his hands on it, long dexterous fingers encircling it; he ran his hands down his torso, over the mesh of his top, over his exposed skin below, arms taunt, veins apparent on them and on his hands; he thrust in the air suggestively, hands tugging at the band of his briefs to expose more of his V. The music was good, he was feeling it now, how the space between him and his client progressively dissolved its previous awkwardness, became more tense. This could go great. If Rain didn’t drop the ball, it would. He believed. The water ghoul had it in him. He just needed to have his back against the wall. To feel the pressure, to be trapped. When caught, Rain could be assertive.
“Turn,” Rain commanded again, and his voice shook a tiny amount, from stress or adrenaline or both, but it didn’t matter. Not now. He was doing it.
Swiss turned around. Showed off his back, the dip of his waist, his ass - he wasn’t in the thick ass gang particularly, even more in a club full of people like Cumulus and Cirrus and fucking Aether who eclipsed him in ass size and plushness any day of the week, but he still had something to show, a bit of bounce, and the briefs helped, they lifted everything up nice. He bent down, hands running on his legs, to draw attention to how strong his calves and thighs were from his pole dancing, how sculpted they were from being in heels all night long. He heard Rain hum. The sound encouraged him.
“Come here. Sit on my lap.”
Rain bit his lip as he watched Swiss obediently back it up. He felt such a rush from the power he had right now. He wasn’t used to it, but somewhere deep within told him he could get used to this real fast. He could have more of this in his life if he acted this assertive back home. The doors this opened. If this behavior wasn’t a fluke. If he could replicate it later. For it to work right now, he couldn’t think about what he would say next. Had to blurt it out immediately, before he registered it. Otherwise he’d overthink. Reason himself out of the instinct. He couldn’t let that happen. Not with the stripper ghoul all up on his lap now, facing away from him, grinding all that ass into Rain’s crotch. He could feel himself begin to fill up in his pants, blinked sluggishly as his blood rushed downward. He clenched his fists around nothing, clutching the air, trying his very best to not touch, because that was the one strip club rule he’d heard of before. Patrons weren’t supposed to touch the performers so much, right? He didn’t want to assume. Overstep. Make Swiss uncomfortable. His fists shook, knuckles growing whiter. What he’d give to put his hands on that waist- Wait. It occurred to him, a bold person would just ask. He could ask. It was within his power.
“Can I touch you?” he dared.
Immediately, the multi ghoul stopped all movements. Froze midway in his dance. The music continued, but he didn’t. Rain bit back a confused whine.
“Don’t ask me.” Swiss shot him a glance over his shoulder. He reached behind on both sides to grab Rain’s long, lithe hands into his more square, large ones. Pried open his fists with his thumbs. Brought Rain’s now open hands to his waist, just hovering above, so the water ghoul could feel the heat of Swiss’ skin radiating, the hint of a fire core within. “Take it. Take what you want.”
Rain’s breath shuddered, but he lowered his hands all the same. Fingers met warm skin and he groaned, a bewildered sound of lust and relief. He let his long fingers graze along the dents and dips of the dancer’s midriff. Once Rain got permission to do something, he was fine. It was that initial jump he had trouble with. Now that he could touch, he touched, greedily. He felt Swiss’ dusting of body hair, growing denser as his hands approached Swiss’ lower stomach. He ran his fingers along the curves and angles of some prominent veins. Lucifer he was almost dizzy with it.
“Continue,” he heard himself croak, voice getting huskier by the second.
“You got it.”
The stripper resumed his ministrations, this time allowing his client to feel his muscles as he worked. Their clench and release with every roll and dip of his hips. The dainty chain he had around his waist bumped and slid on Rain’s fingers, sometimes caught into one and tugged. The water ghoul’s breath stuttered; with Swiss moving over his crotch like this, he had a hard time thinking of where to touch, where to go next. Somehow he ended up just gripping the man tightly, held on for dear life, pressed Swiss firmly down on his lap to get the absolute most pressure he could have.
The dancer arched his back to go lay his head on Rain’s shoulder. Mimicking how he could be made to arch his back if someone pulled his hair while fucking him from behind. He never stopped grinding, sure as hell didn’t stop feeling Rain’s growing erection under him - it made him quite proud actually, that he’d aroused the guy enough to get him out of his head - and he reached for him. One hand went to the outer side of Rain's face and into his hair, clutched his soft curls, the other hand went on Rain’s own hand on his waist to communicate how he didn’t want him to feel nervous, that touching was more than ok. Rain mumbled something, a moan or other. Swiss turned Rain’s head towards him by his hair, tilted his own head to the side so he could look into his eyes.
“You like that, love?”
Rain’s eyes fluttered closed and back open. That damned nickname again.
“Yeah.” Satan his voice was so hoarse.
“You’re doing so good.” Swiss felt Rain’s hand reflexively clench against his stomach at the praise. Ok, maybe he didn’t play fair, but he meant what he said. “So confident right now. So bold. Do you hear yourself? You’re doing it.”
“Lucifer,” he heard Rain faintly gasp in his ear. The water ghoul plopped his forehead against the side of Swiss’ head, just behind his ear, nose buried in his hairline. Swiss held him close, fingers threaded through his soft hair. Rain breathed in deep, took in the natural scent of the other ghoul’s skin, so concentrated at that spot. It went to his head. He felt himself twitch in his pants, and from how stiffly he held Swiss down on his groin, he could guarantee the other man felt the spasm too.
“Turn around. Face me.” The way he bit his words and pushed them through his teeth, it almost sounded painful. Gravely like if his voice was blown out. Maybe it would be by the end of this.
He felt Swiss nod against his face, his facial hair scratchy against his cheek, let go of his hair. Rain let him step off of his lap, but only for the second it took for Swiss to turn and straddle him. Immediately his hands were back on Swiss’ hips, and the stripper started to grind again, more of a forward body roll this time, an undulation from his thighs to his neck. Slithery, sinful, tempting. They were face to face now, and Rain knew he was the one who asked for it, he just said what crossed his mind, but he spoke with his dick currently not with his brain ok, because this was a very bad idea. It had to be, with Swiss this close, he opened his eyes but had to clench them shut them right away, unable to take more than a second of a glance at the stripper’s handsome face, his bright playful eyes, his tempting lips- fuck Rain just wanted to make out with him. He tried to focus on something else. He finally remembered he could move his hands, ran them along Swiss’ back, followed the flowy curve of his spine. Sought the texture of the mesh crop top stretched over the wide planes of the dancer’s back, nails catching on the body chains under the clothes.
“Take it off.”
Swiss was quick to obey, lifted the suggestion of a shirt above his head and threw it off somewhere on the floor. The now freed body jewelry made his body rolls even more exquisite. The delicate chains glided along, dangling, catching on the soft peaks of Swiss’ nipples, and at that point Rain had to look. He was only so strong. He licked his lips.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered.
The stripper chuckled under the flattery.
Rain thought to ask if he could touch more of him, but he caught the words before they came out of his mouth this time. Be bold. Take what you want. So he laid his hands flat on Swiss’ chest. Felt him move. Grazed his fingers along his collarbones, his shoulders, the base of his neck. Swiss hummed and tilted his head back, offering more of his throat. Goosebumps broke across Rain’s skin. He directed his hands downward, to retain some control (because Dear Dark Lord, choking was his thing, and he could not go so far as choking a stripper he’d just met, come on): his fingers danced across Swiss’ ribs, thumbs caught on the dainty chain harness, accidentally flicked a nipple. Swiss’ breath hitched at that, and oh Rain did not miss it. That little sauntered breath was the loudest thing in the room. Confidently this time, he drew both thumbs across’ the dancer’s pectoral muscles, traced their square-ish shape, glided up to his nipples so he could circle them once slowly. He felt them burgeon immediately. Swiss let out a long breath. Kept grinding. Rain tried for more of a direct touch this time, ran the flat pad of his thumbs over them. The stripper made a low noise at the back of his throat. Rain just about smashed his head into the wall behind with how that sound shot straight to his cock.
“My turn to find something you like, uh,” Rain marveled, at the junction of surprise and satisfaction.
Yeah he was getting more bold alright. Swiss huffed.
“Sure seems that way.”
“I’ll give you more.”
It wasn’t a question, and somewhere deep in Swiss’ mind, that was getting further away by the minute mind you, the dancer registered that as a success, but in reality he just nodded. Concentrated on keeping the tempo with his hips, because this was still supposed to be a lap dance after all, while Rain eagerly played with his nipples. Yeah they were one of Swiss’ Achilles' heel and he wasn’t mad the water ghoul dared to go for them. Rain rolled his nipples under his thumb diligently, fascinated by the texture, the hardness that pushed into the fleshy part of his fingers, the way sometimes he’d catch a chain into his touch too and that got louder gruff sounds out of the stripper. The way Swiss’ muscles would flicker, how Rain accidentally tickled his ribcage with his long sleeves. Rain wondered how Swiss would feel under his tongue, and normally that was something else he’d ask before doing, so he purposefully didn’t. That too, he would take. He bent forward and kissed a nipple, full lips catching softly on the hard nub, before he dove in proper, made his tongue flat and licked it. Immediately Swiss’ hands shot back into his hair. The dancer gripped his head to hold him closer to his chest, to steady himself, like it could help, somehow. He breathed out heavy through his nose.
“Fuck, Rain.”
The water ghoul hummed against his chest, open lips around his nipple, making his skin tickle with the vibration. To hear his name roll out Swiss’ mouth like that. Satan he wanted so much more. He licked greedily, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to do this. He moved his mouth to the other stiff peak, fingers tracing the slippery saliva he left on the first nipple, using it to rub it some more while his spit got cold, made for a different sensation. He used the point of his tongue to flick the reactive nub in his mouth. That gained him some more groans; Rain cataloged them all in his mind. Unforgettable noises. He licked wide strips on Swiss’ pectoral muscle, left it glistening, drew his teeth on the full skin, on the nipple, reveled in the shuddering breath he received as a reward.
His free hand firmly gripped Swiss’ lower back, trying to get as much friction as possible from how the dancer somehow still managed to roll his hips perfectly on beat. A true professional. He pressed him down on himself, on his crotch, now fully hard, and that’s when he noticed how hard Swiss was too. From that angle, and with that pressure, it was unmistakable. Rain gasped around Swiss’ chest and looked up, a much steadier gaze now, finally.
“You too.” Not a question, not a question Rain reminded himself, a statement.
Swiss nodded, smile lines at the corner of his eyes so apparent.
“You think I do this with every client? I’m feeling it too. This is all you baby.”
Rain’s eyes widened. He flared his nostrils, breathed out strongly, so flooded with feelings and sensations and desire. This was all him? This stripper, whose job and career was literally about peddling sex and fantasy to the highest bidder, who probably danced up on clients all week long (and more power to him for that honestly) thought Rain was special? Worthy of such a reaction? Unique? Rain turned him on this bad? That did him in. Something in his brain snapped, and the last shreds of uncertainty and shyness he could’ve held onto evaporated.
“Kiss me. Kiss me, now Swiss, now.” The urgency in his voice, the need. He needed Swiss’ lips on his this very second, otherwise if would feel like all the oxygen in this room was sucked out, he wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore without his mouth-
Swiss shifted his weight onto his knees, snaked his arms around Rain’s neck and kissed him. He swallowed the water ghoul’s shaky exhale hungrily, wet tongue on his lips, sliding over the sheen of saliva Rain’s stint on his chest had left. Rain clutched Swiss hard enough he might leave hand prints - for half a second, he worried: for a stripper to take the stage covered in hand prints from their previous private dance, that wasn’t gonna sell great, would it? Then, you know, Swiss’ tongue did something or other and dissolved his brain, so he couldn’t care enough to let go. Swiss’ waist and ass were buoy in a storm, his tongue as the waves, his breath as the wind, and for once in his years incarnated on earth Rain did not feel in control of his element at all, swept away by Swiss’ forceful current. He couldn’t think. It didn’t take him long to open his mouth, meet the other ghoul’s tongue with his own. Avidly, powerfully, like he was supposed to be, like he would learn to be after tonight. He felt and tasted everything he could, teeth, gums, tongue, and Swiss met him with the same intensity. The other man’s facial hair prickled at his skin, reddened his lips and the delicate skin around them. Rain delighted in the feeling. He wanted to remember Swiss for days after this. Wanted him to carve himself into his skin with his kiss.
They tried to stop, a couple of times. They failed. Swiss would pull away but with Rain’s bottom lip held in his teeth. Or Rain would instinctively follow him to get more. Or someone would moan - at this point it was difficult to know where one of the ghoul’s breath ended and the other one’s began - and the other would chase the sound, drink it, parched and avid for every drop, every noise they could draw out of each other. Eventually it was Rain who pulled away for good, because there was one question that nagged at the back of his mind since they’d started to make out.
“This cannot be legal,” he half stated, half asked, breathless.
Swiss looked up to him with the most pleased expression ever.
“It’s not. We’ve been breaking club rules since maybe a minute in.” He had the audacity to wink. Rain felt weak in the knees.
Now, some part of Rain’s brain wanted to panic. To wonder if he’d get in trouble, get kicked out of the Ghost club, or worse, put Swiss in a tough situation. But the courageous part of his brain boldly claimed he didn’t give a fuck, because confident people made their own rules, right?
“Might as well break more,” were the words he landed on, and judging by Swiss’ wide smile, they were the right ones.
“This confidence class takin’ hold uh?”
Rain reached for Swiss’ face, held it on both hands, to kiss that smile some more. Molded his lips on it, committed it to memory, so he’d never forget its shape, the pang in his chest it gave him.
“Touch me,” he breathed against the dancer’s lips when they parted, “I’m sure that’s one more thing you’re not supposed to do.”
Swiss chuckled, his puffs of warm breath the ghost of a touch on Rain’s face.
“You damn right.”
He shifted his weight a bit, song now completely forgotten honestly, no need to uphold the masquerade anymore when they were just making out and groping each other, and they saw nothing wrong with that. What were camera-less VIP booths made for if not this exact situation? If Dewdrop came upstairs to deliver their champagne now he’d have a fucking field day eavesdropping. Swiss worked deftly at Rain’s pants, belt, button, zipper in quick succession, the practiced motions of a pro. He pulled at Rain’s tucked in fancy shirt, the bottom edges of it in the same lace pattern he had on his fluffy sleeves. He flipped the pretty fabric out of the way on each side of his stomach, then looked back up into the water ghoul’s blown out eyes. Swiss wanted to see what kind of face he made when he cupped his dick through his underwear. Rain faltered, expression contorting in one of painful need, and Swiss was glad he didn’t miss a second of it.
“More,” Rain whispered, and Swiss began to move in response. Applied more pressure, dug in his fingers, molded his hand against the hard shape in the other man’s briefs that he could feel try to rise up to meet him.
“More.” Rain’s voice was more assertive now, a desperate snap to it while he rose his hips and pushed up into Swiss’ hand. The dancer gripped his cock better, through the fabric still, stretched it out to wrap his fingers around it, the elastic material letting him see all the sinful outlines of the head, the slit, the mouthwatering shaft. Swiss appraised its shape, then started to jerk off his client, still denying him the satisfaction of skin on skin contact.
“Damnit Swiss, more,” Rain’s voice rumbled in frustration, “pants off!”
And that was what the stripper waited for. He happily peeled the elastic band of Rain’s briefs as soon as he was told to, so eager to obey but only for the right order. He pulled the underwear forward and under, to reveal the water ghoul’s delicious looking, painfully hard cock, and a wet glistening spot on the inside of the fabric. He grabbed him, a firm full hand around his shaft, gave him a long tug, which had Rain throw his head backwards against the wall and melt into moans.
To feel Swiss’ hand on his bare skin, it felt like a bomb went off in their little private booth. Rain didn’t hear the music anymore. Didn’t care. It was like his ears flooded with the rush of his blood, all he could register was his own moans and the stripper’s encouraging hums while he jacked him off, measured strokes, the perfect rhythm - Rain weirdly wondered if Swiss jerked him in time with the music or if he didn’t care either. Swiss’ fingers felt so good, after all this buildup, some satisfaction and pressure release finally after what felt like hours of being teased by all the gorgeous dancers at the club. Rain wanted it faster though, more pressure still, and he did dribble some precum over himself, slit and gland shiny with it under the mood lighting, but it wasn’t enough. It’s not like he’d brought lube, he sure as hell didn’t expect this was where his night was gonna go, and he didn’t know if the club would even keep such an item in their booths if contact between strippers and clients was forbidden-
“Spit on it,” he heard someone say and, oh, wait, that was his voice? Rain was so out of it as this point he babbled anything that came to mind. At least he’d speak out loud confidently this way. No chance to overthink when you didn’t think at all.
“Satan Below,” Swiss huffed in awe, “you really are bold when you want to.”
He did as asked, gathered his saliva, stopped jacking off Rain for a second so he could aim and not ruin his nice dress pants with drool, then let a glob of spit roll from his tongue right onto Rain’s already glistening cock head. He got tunnel vision from it a tad, senses hyper focused on how his saliva spilled over one side of the flushed reddened tip.
“So fucking hot,” he commented, more for himself than anything. He wasn’t even sure Rain heard him over his own moans, low and breathy and steady with the tempo of Swiss’ hand, who had resumed the hand job. The water ghoul was a sight to behold, head still tossed back, a mess of fluffy hair around him, eyes shut, brows furrowed in concentration, so taken aback by the onslaught of sensation. He bucked and fucked up into Swiss’ hand to a chorus of squelchy sounds, hard cock catching on each bump of the stripper’s fingers, squeezing his tip in and out of the closed fist sloppily.
Rain could’ve cum like that easily. He felt the coil in his belly tighten in a way he knew well, and it would’ve been so simple to let it happen. A while more of this and he would be done for. But. He wanted Swiss to get some too. Thank the stripper for the help, for having taken him seriously when Rain sprang the most unusual request on him earlier. Plus the water ghoul couldn’t deny he wanted to see what other reactions he could get out of the man. So eventually he took a deep breath, steeled himself, open his eyes, and sat back up as he could with a stripper still squarely straddling his legs. He grabbed Swiss’ forearm, the arm that jerked him off.
“You too,” he managed breathlessly.
Swiss’ up and down tempo slowed to a crawl.
“Yeah? You want it baby?”
Rain nodded frantically, lightheaded with it.
“Tell me, order me,” the stripper insisted, because they were gonna do this right ‘til the end.
Rain bit his lip with the effort it took for him to find words but he didn’t look away.
“Give me your cock.”
Swiss held his breath. He smiled, nodded, silent encouragements for more, egged him on, began to move his hand again.
So Rain continued. “Give it to me, take it out, I want to see it.” The more commands he spilled the more Swiss leaned in close, jacked him off good while he pulled at his own briefs with his free hand. “Let me feel it. Rub it with mine.”
Swiss shuffled his fake leather briefs down his thighs as much as he could with how he was sat, to free his dick, stretched out material tucked under his balls. Rain made a choked sound because it was unfair, Swiss’ cock was every bit as stunning as he’d expected. Perfect, like the rest of him.
“You like it, love?”
“Uh hu.” Rain could only moan his approval. Then Swiss leaned his forehead on Rain’s, looked down and encircled both their cocks in his long fingers, and there were no more words possible for either of them from that point on.
Swiss jerked them off together in earnest, hips lined up, pressed unbelievably close together, panting and rebreathing each other’s air. Swiss couldn’t blink, didn’t want to miss a second of this, of the striking visual of both their cocks squeezed in his hand, flushed engorged flesh squished together. That was a snapshot he wouldn’t soon forget. And the feel too, the soft skin, the stickiness, the pulses and twitches. Fuck.
Rain looked at Swiss who looked down, captivated by the details of his face up close, the strange multicolored glow behind his eyes, his blown out pupils, the way sweat beaded at the edge of his hairline and at his temples. So beautiful. A captivating creature. All for Rain in this moment, in their bubble, because he made it happen. Because he dared. Pride and awe and affection mixed in with the overwhelming pleasure of his cock being rubbed on Swiss’ and he gave in to the tide. He gripped the stripper’s naked shoulders as a warning, and came with a strung out moan; Swiss’ eyes flicked back up to his, and he was on him in an instant, kissing him through his orgasm, claiming every last moan for himself.
He broke the kiss when Rain didn’t have a drop left to give, every last hint of cum diligently squeezed out of him with a thumb drawn up the underside of his dick. The water ghoul panted, sagged back into the bench, to watch the rest of the show, as Swiss wasn’t done himself. He braced a hand against Rain’s chest and jacked off using Rain’s cum as lube. The sounds were unreal, sticky and slick and slippery, beyond indecency, and Swiss’ velvety moans on top of it all, unrestrained and unbridled, just made the entire tableau all the more sinful. Whatever sin the strip club thought it peddled on the first floor, this right here, this was the real deal. The power, the magic of people caving in to their carnal sin, it was here, in how the booth’s air was saturated with the smell of sex, in the image of the white sticky strings of cum that linked Swiss’ hand to his dick and stretched from it with each pump of his fist, in the noises that spilled out of this gorgeous man like a faucet. Rain felt his skin crackle with static and tension, reverential at the display before him, and then Swiss came, and for all his attempt earlier to save Rain’s pressed pants, he ruined them now, covered them in droplets of cum as he shakily wrung out his pleasure and tried to suck a breath in.
For a few long seconds, they both just, caught their breaths. Looked at each other. Mirrored each other’s smiles. The music flooded back in, as if once the rabid pounding of their hearts faded, the sound blur lifted, and they were on an entirely different playlist that Swiss didn’t recognize.
“If you don’t get that promotion Imma be mad,” Swiss laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a sore groan when he peeled himself off of Rain and his groin let him know he’d straddled someone for way too fucking long.
Rain chuckled at the joke, mostly in disbelief of how he’d made all of this happen, but also because the other ghoul’s warmth was so infectious. He couldn’t help it. He reached up to help but Swiss waved him off. The dancer stood on wobbly legs, steps and stance a tad uncomfortable for a minute, but he’d killed his legs more than that before on the pole, he’d be fine. He gathered some tissues so they could clean up. Swiss could just go to the basement to change, he had to anyway before his next show, but Rain would have to walk out with cum stains on his pants. Turn it into a power move, the stripper jokingly suggested, and Rain was inclined to agree.
Once dressed and semi presentable again, they stepped outside the booth. Swiss lead him on the balcony space where they settled, close but not too much, just enough to sneak in a passing touch occasionally. They floated in their post-orgasmic bubble, levitated above the rest of the club, separated yet part of things. They popped the champagne - the stripper forbade his client from leaving without having tasted this, because, in his words, “this was probably the only time in his life Rain was gonna be able to afford this, unless that promotion he got was insane”. Rain didn’t want to ask about the price tag. He just agreed, shut up and enjoyed. It was quite good, he had to admit. Somehow he’d leave the club having acquired a preference for rosé. Who’d have thought. They kept the chat light, Swiss tossing in some more tips and tricks to boost self-confidence, Rain doing his best to register what he said and ignore how, whenever Swiss smiled, his heart skipped a beat.
On the first floor below, Cumulus was back on stage, indeed with her body double routine. She wore a pastel outfit this time, lilacs and baby pinks, flowy gauze washed over her lascivious curves. She was talented alright. Sunshine was cruising in her sky blue lingerie; Cirrus was nowhere to be seen so she must’ve found herself a prey for the evening. Mountain was still moving to the beat behind his console. Dewdrop was back behind the bar; he not only spotted Swiss and Rain upstairs, but zeroed in on the bottle of champagne, and tipped them the glass he was cleaning. Aether wasn’t inside, so he probably surveyed the line on the street still. Everything felt normal. Like a high end stripper hadn’t just hooked up with a client in a VIP booth. Swiss and Rain shared a look. It made them giggle. Or maybe the drinks did, this champagne was quite treacherous, at 12.5% alcohol content but such a light fruity taste. Either way. These was a unique bliss to this, this reprieve, this repose, and they weren’t in a hurry to end it.
Invariably though, it was time for Swiss to go back on the floor at some point. Rain took it at his hint to leave. The stripper walked him down to the hall.
“You could stay for my next show. I’ll go up next.”
“I know,” Rain gave the dancer these soft doe eyes of his, and Swiss had to hold back hard to not kiss him again right here. “Don’t think I can learn anything else tonight. Gotta sleep on the teachings.”
“Well, you did learn a lot.”
Swiss winked. Rain offered a soft smile.
“You’ll come back? You have to tell me what your new job is gonna be.”
Not if he got a new job. What it would be. Rain liked that. Swiss’ belief in him. The thought of having someone on his corner. It felt warm in his chest.
“Yeah. Yeah I will.”
“Alright love. Safe trip home?”
Rain nodded. Walked outside.
Just before the immense gilded cathedral doors closed behind him, he caught the bartender’s boisterous cackling of “Someone’s got a crush!!” and Swiss barking back “Shut up Dewdrop!” before the doors sealed shut.
Aether was right by the doors, and they exchanged a look. A very knowing look, that had Rain convinced the doorman knew everything that had happened in the club that night. Rain had the reflex to pull at his sleeves again, but he stopped, and let them go. He tipped his head at the quintessence ghoul instead who waved at him, then he walked into the inky darkness of night, already counting days in his head until he could schedule his next leave from the abbey.