Chapter 1: I Wanna Do Real Bad Things With You
Chapter Text
It's 5:00 on a Friday night and the sun is just beginning to set over Blackwater Bay.
This is Arthur's favourite route to work, on the back of his beloved Harley Davidson Sportster named Boudicea, driving through the streets of the little lakeside town. People were just getting off work, pouring out of revolving doors only to make their way down the street to their favourite watering hole, just as the sun began to inch closer and closer to the horizon. The 5:15 ferry from Saint Denis was coming in, ready to bring people home from the big city. Folks were already out on the pier, beginning their weekends with dinner, drink and laughter and the sky, that beautiful orange sky just made the city sing with the spring breeze against his face playing all the right notes.
He may have been on his way to his shift, but this was the part that was nice; calm even. He'd see it again once he clocked out for the night, watching that sun peek back up over Flat Iron Lake once everyone left behind the neon signs and spotlights, all heading home like Cinderella after the ball.
A bit of respite for the inevitable chaos that normally came his way on a Friday night. So long as there were no Laramies or Skinners or god forbid O'Driscolls showing up, it was gonna be an okay night.
It wasn't far now until he pulled up to his destination, seeing the bright Pepto-pink glow of Dutch's Dolls, the biggest and best strip club this side of Flat Iron as he turned the corner.
Normally Friday Night was the biggest night of the week for the Dolls; unique in that male strippers were granted just as much stage space as female dancers, Fridays drew in some of the biggest crowds. With the train station as well as the pier, folks from as far as Annesburg would come down just to catch a glimpse of the beauties on the poles, on the stage and in the VIP rooms once their working week was done and dusted.
Those mining guys sure were an excitable bunch once they were back out in the open, never mind when they were surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women and men. Either way the club was there to cater to every desire a customer might ask for, provided their pants stayed on and their hands were kept to themselves.
And for Arthur Morgan, the head of security at Dutch's Dolls, it meant being on high alert from sunset to sunrise. On paper it should be the best job in the world for someone who was into both men and women. These days however, it was wrangling drunks, breaking up fights, checking IDs, collecting cover charges, grabbing floss for the dancers, reminding punters of what happens if they decide to get handsy.
Funny how one man's dream job was a chore for another.
This called for a smoke before the night really kicked off. Odds are he'd come in and have to touch base with Dutch and Hosea, maybe have a group huddle with Bill and Charles before one of them worked the door, but he'd need just a moment to himself before the action began. Just a moment before he had to get into character as a big, bad bouncer.
He pulled into his space, the car park already littered with cars. Many looked familiar; Dutch's white Maserati GranCabrio was hard to miss, but many weren't. Seems the punters were already securing their spot, trying to be the first in line.
Arthur unclipped his helmet, running his hand through his hair. He already needed a clip at the barber, there was no need to walk in looking like one of the Muppets.
A bus came rolling in, pulling up to the bus stop just out the front of the club. Arthur half expected that a bunch of barely legal schoolboys with fake IDs and no sense would come pouring out.
Instead a young, waifish man with long black hair, dressed in jeans and some band t-shirt covered with a black jacket hopped off. It looked like the man's neckline came down right to the middle of his chest, exposing a little black smattering of chest hair.
In the glimpse he caught of the young man, he'd say he looked kinda cute.
The young man walked towards the door, presumably to line up. Damn, he was keen. The club didn't open for another hour and a half at least.
It was when he reached for the long, vertical handles that alarm bells began going off in Arthur's mind. At best, he was trying to get in without paying the cover. At worst, he could've been some jilted ex boyfriend just ready to stir up trouble with one of the dancers.
Either way, Arthur couldn't have that.
"Whoa feller, openin' ain't until 7, you're gonna have to wait like everyone else."
The young man turned to him, somewhat startled. "Sorry feller, I'm lookin' for Dutch Van Der Linde."
Arthur stepped on his back foot. It seemed everyone this side of the Lannahechee wanted Dutch Van Der Linde, the man with the plan.
Up close, the young man had a few faint scars along his right cheek, made all the more obvious by a five o'clock shadow. His eyes were somewhere between a grey and a brown, either way as deep as the beautiful lake upon which the club overlooked. He couldn't have been more than 24, with a tapered, elven quality to his jaw that made him look slight; delicate even underneath the gritty dress sense.
If he weren't so clouded by suspicion, he'd say the young man was handsome.
"You collectin' a debt?" Arthur asked.
"No sir."
"You O'Driscoll?"
There'd been an uptick of Colm's boys trying to make their way into the Dolls lately; Colm ran Hell's Belles just out of Strawberry in Big Valley. Being that close to one another, what should've been friendly competition between two businesses in the business of adult entertainment had long descended into a bitter rivalry, both fighting over the eyes and wallets of the fine folk of West Elizabeth.
Arthur thought it might have something to do with Colm laying hands on Dutch's second ex wife, Annabelle as ever since, he seemed to make it everyone's problem. Still, he was clear; no O'Driscolls of any kind were to set foot in Dutch's Dolls no matter how many presidents they had in their back pocket.
"No sir....Name's Marston actually." The young man chuckled, running a hand back through his hair. "I'm here 'bout a job. Interview's at 5:30 with a Mr Dutch Van Der Linde."
Arthur felt like a prized idiot. He'd completely forgotten about the interviews. They'd been looking for new talent since Jenny went off to give birth; it was one thing to make good tips as a dancer- there were enough men out there who just loved seeing a pregnant girl on the floor. However, it was another to be in her third trimester and about to drop during Happy Hour.
That left a space to be filled as the customers always hungered for the newest young thing on that stage.
"First thing's first. Arm's up."
Marston held his arms out, making a T shape while Arthur stretched out his fingers. Arthur patted him down, trying to keep his fingers attuned for any concealed blades, guns, anything that could be considered a weapon. All he found was that looks were deceiving; he was thin, yes but he was muscular underneath.
Still, no weapons to be found.
Arthur stood up, not wanting to linger too long lest he give the wrong impression. "You wanna go upstairs and to the left; you're lookin' for a bright pink door. The big man should be up there."
The young man smiled a gentle smile. "Thanks Mister. What's your name?"
"Arthur," he said, tucking his thumbs into the side of his pants. "Security."
"John. Marston. Hopefully I'll be seein' you round."
The young man didn't know it, but the head of security for Dutch's Dolls thought the exact same thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sight of Dutch's Dolls from the inside wasn't anything like what it was when it was in full swing; no lights, no music, no bills being thrown, no drunk patrons being obnoxious. It was just employees, all scuttling about, trying to get the night ready. Lenny, Sadie and Sean were behind the bar, restocking bottles for the night while Abigail and Karen were against it, chatting to them in yoga pants and sweatshirts.
There'd be plenty of time for glitz, glamour, Pleasers and floss later. For now, Arthur just had John in front of him lingering for a moment until Abigail turned, watching her face light up at his presence.
"Hey Arth-Oh my god, biiiiiiitch!" She squealed, running over and wrapping her arms around him, shaking him in a dance of a hug. "You finally made it!!!"
He could hear John chuckle. "Good to see ya Abi....yeah....I need a job."
The young man almost sounded a little nervous as Arthur walked over to the bar. He couldn't blame John for it of course; Dutch was a man whose reputation preceded him from the desert to the wilderness, through the mountains, plains and swamp. Even the fancy-pants muckety-mucks in Saint Denis stood to attention when he was mentioned.
Still, the fact that he was recognised and hugged tightly by one of the star dancers of Dutch's Dolls probably meant that he wasn't any danger.
The head of security leaned against the bar, seeing the blonde hair of Sadie in the corner of his eye.
"Hey there handsome," he chuckled at this term of endearment. "Want your usual?"
"Thank you Miss Adler."
She rolled her eyes. "You are too much, Arthur; c'mon, we've worked for god knows how long now? You can call me Sadie."
Arthur smiled bashfully; despite his surroundings, despite how he paid his bills, he still tried to be a gentleman as much as possible. The customers could become really drunk, loud, obnoxious and entitled when they wanted to be and working behind the bar did not save folks from trying to push the boundaries of those who weren't there to entertain.
The least he could do was be different from all that.
Sadie came back with a Roy Rogers in hand, finished off with a maraschino cherry. He dipped his head, giving her a wordless Thank You before throwing back the drink. He might not have been able to drink on the job, but she thankfully made sobriety a lot more interesting.
Abigail came up with John's hand in hers and a hopeful, bright look in her eye.
"Babe, this is John! This is the one I was telling you about!"
Arthur took note while he savoured his drink; so John knew Abi well enough for Abi to introduce her to her girlfriend.
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss." John responded, almost unable to make eye contact with the blonde behind the bar.
Sadie looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "So, you're the ex who's come back to steal my girl?"
Arthur felt like an innocent bystander to a stick-up or a bar fight. This must've been how the audience felt on Springer back in the day.
John was lost for words. "I mean...it was back in high school, we was kids....."
Abi rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, she is kidding; Sadie is yankin' your chain."
Arthur turned to Sadie, who was now grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Nice to meet you Sugar, I'm Sadie." She held out her hand over the bar, shaking John's. "Abi's told me 'bout you; heard you're looking for a job?"
"Yeah...." John scratched the back of his head. "Got my interview in 'bout 10 minutes."
"You goin' for bar, housekeeping, waitstaff or talent?"
Arthur couldn't help but grumble; he didn't realise that there were so many spots open but none of them for Security. He, Bill and Charles had their work cut out for them most nights; couldn't Dutch or Hosea throw some staff their way?
"Uh, talent. Heard the money ain't too bad and I've got a few moves."
Sean and Lenny's ear's pricked up while Sadie chuckled. They were shaking their heads as they cleaned out glasses. Arthur knew exactly why.
"Ooh, don't let Javier get wind o' that. He's the men's star dancer 'round these parts....He might butt horns with ya, if all goes well." Arthur said, taking another sip of his drink.
"Well I don't wanna step on no one's toes or nothin', I just need some income."
Man, he even sounded cute too. Like a fine whiskey infused with cedar wood smoke, his tones gravelly. His voice shouldn't match this thin frame and young face; he looked like he'd be 120 pounds soaking wet and yet, he felt like he was hiding muscles underneath his worn clothes and nervous demeanour.
He was better looking than Arthur; the years had been kinder than some. While Arthur did cut enough of an intimidating figure to scare off the dregs of the club, he wasn't as shredded as he once was. His affinity for a relaxing beer after a hard day was beginning to show around his mid-section, even if he still had some muscle around his biceps. This guy in front, John....John was gorgeous, with his dark hair and scars. He'd clearly lived a life.
While Arthur had been around enough dancers to barely register the sight of bare flesh under the spotlight, maybe he'd have to take a minute to watch this guy strut his stuff.
"Arthur!" He heard behind him. Hosea was standing on the mezzanine, surveying his castle.
See, Dutch may have been the face and the name of Dutch's Dolls, but the real brains of the operation was the thin silver-haired man standing over the balcony; Hosea Matthews. Businessman, entrepreneur, loving husband to Bessie for over 30 years and the best surrogate father Arthur could ask for. Hosea was smart enough to keep his name off of the front door and the signs, but was every part the steering wheel of this machine as Dutch.
And right now, he was looking flustered.
"Arthur, dear boy; are you able to head on into the showers? We've got a leaking faucet that's about to wash us out into Blackwater Bay and can't get a plumber until tomorrow morning. Susan's gonna raise hell about it if it's not fixed before open."
Another reason to grumble. Due to being the closest thing Hosea had to a son, that also meant that Arthur was the go-to guy for any kind of maintenance issue that they either couldn't or wouldn't pay for. While he was running around playing handyman, errand boy or Big Bad in the Black Shirt, he couldn't tend to what needed tending to; maybe fixing some of the security issues or replacing the cameras that had him running around like a madman.
If he had more staff in his department, maybe it wouldn't be so damn taxing.
"'M on it." He muttered.
Hosea leaned out, his eyes on John, sizing him up. "Who are you son?"
"Oh, I'm John. Marston. I've got an interview at 5:30."
Hosea's demeanour lightened like he'd just caught up on where he was meant to be. "Ah, of course! Head on up and we'll get started."
John straightened himself up, encouraged by Abi whispering Good Luck as he made his way up the stairs. As one foot set in front of the other, Arthur's eyes found the younger man's ass, his hips swaying hypnotically as he moved.
He swallowed. He really was no better than the customers, salivating over the dancers. It was time to sort out that leaking faucet before he became a drooling mess on the dance floor himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The faucet itself was no real issue; just needed some tightening with a wrench, but it was best to stay on the good side of Ms Grimshaw, Dutch's first ex wife. While it would always be lost on him as to why she hung around this place, she seemed to really care about the dancers. Maybe it had something to do with being an ex-dancer herself. Maybe part of her alimony was that she had a job for life at the Dolls. Either way, Ex Wife #1 was a formidable force, even from behind the stage.
He made his way back out to the Main Stage, catching sight of Josiah walking in half dressed with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was in his makeup required for Aunt Joelene; the glittery, high-heeled, big haired emcee and DJ for Dutch's Dolls. However he was only half dressed; the top half him was all Joelene, breastplate and all, only the bottom half was sweatpants and sneakers. His wig wasn't on either.
He looked like he was trying to summon whatever energy he could muster to get into drag for another night behind the booth.
"Ain't no smoking on the floor, even if you are the one spinnin' the tunes. Put it out before Hosea sees you." Arthur chipped.
Josiah sighed, inhaling hard before grabbing a dirty glass to stub it out. "Forgive me dear boy, I simply had the roughest night's sleep! Barely even got my face on before having to head out the door."
Arthur knew exactly why Josiah was tired. "Uh-huh. Grindr or Scruff this time?"
Josiah smirked sheepishly. He wasn't even remotely sorry for rolling up to work in a state. "Can't remember but god, it was such fun!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. Some people had all the damn luck. "Fun or not, you need to get Aunt Joelene on before those lights come up."
Josiah nodded, making his way to the dressing room. For a minute, he looked like another cog in the machine that was well on its way to spinning as it should.
That was until the big pink door of the manager's office swung open with John exiting out onto the mezzanine, followed closely by Hosea and Dutch. It was hard to tell by the look on their faces whether his interview went well or not.
"Arthur! Where's Josiah?" Dutch shouted.
He was a little disheartened, thinking Hello to you too, Boss.
"I'm right here my darling!" Josiah trilled, backtracking back out to the dance floor.
The three men walked down the stairs with Dutch still yelling over the bannister.
"Josiah, we need you on the decks. We've got an audition coming up for...what's your name again, son?"
"Just John." The young man responded, the first one on the floor.
Dutch stood on his back foot, looking down at him. "While you're onstage, think of something a bit better. If this goes well, we'll need somethin' snappier than just Just John to put up."
He nodded, taking in the club namesake's advice.
"Now, up on that stage. Want you doin' a striptease. If you ain't comfortable gettin' your clothes off onstage then this ain't the gig for you. This ain't Hell's Belles, we don't just accept any run-down thing for our main stage."
Arthur chuckled. If he had a nickel for the amount of times Dutch took the opportunity to make a dig at Colm O'Driscoll or Hell's Belles, he wouldn't have to work at the Dolls.
John looked a little skittish; was he really being asked to perform here and now? He'd barely exchanged his details.
"Uh, I ain't got nothin'...sexy on 'neath all this." The young man pulled at his jacket and shirt to emphasise his point.
Hosea was already shaking his head. "Ain't about that son; we can set you up with some floss later. We just need to see how you entertain the audience. If you can do it in your civilian clothes, you'll be able to do it in anything. If you can charm us then we can work on getting you some dance wear."
Arthur had to hand it to Hosea; he'd been in the business long enough to separate who was a true performer from who was just a pretty face or a gorgeous body.
Hosea had already pulled up a seat next to Dutch while the club's namesake just stared at John. "Well don't be shy! This is the job description. We want to see moves. You're here to entertain the patrons, not stand on ceremony! At least you're only auditioning in front of family."
Both managers were seated front and centre from the stage while John stood like a deer in the headlights. Arthur leaned against the wall; this wasn't a good start if he was planning on earning money stripping.
"Uh, ok. "He turned to Josiah. "You got Bad Things by Jace Everett?"
Josiah clicked the keys of his laptop. "I'm sure I can find it in my collection!"
"Ok. I want that one, please."
He walked back out into the middle of the stage, just in front of one of the main poles bolted into it. He took a few deep breaths, most likely trying to calm his nerves before his first dealbreaker dance; the one that would decide if he would become a paid dancer or be kicked to the curb, left to scour the apps for another minimum-wage hustle.
There was a part of Arthur that felt for the kid; it wasn't easy getting a job in this economy. While Arthur himself hadn't struggled with finding gainful employment; being a big, burly guy who wasn't afraid to beat up assholes for money meant he'd found his moneymaking niche until he truly got his shit together, it was hard watching younger people struggle so hard to scrape together the bare minimum.
And now here he was, onstage and looking like he was failing to contain his nerves.
Arthur leaned against the wall next to the front foyer, priming himself for a performance. This was gonna be interesting.
A few more clicks of Josiah's laptop and the guitar-twang of the song's intro reverberated throughout the club. John took one last huff of breath.
Showtime.
The guitars played and with a fierce determination in his eye, John began to shimmy his shoulders, slowly shaking off his leather jacket. It fell around his waist like he was a burlesque dancer, looking up with a doe eyed look that made Arthur hot under the collar of his shirt.
When you came in, the air went out
And every shadow filled up with doubt
John had a little swish to his hips, around and around, getting wider and wider before dropping to the floor, stretching out his legs like he were in a body of water, trying to propel himself through the waves.
I don't know who you think you are
But before the night is through
He crawled towards the edge of the stage, never once taking his eyes off Dutch and Hosea.
I wanna do bad things with you
He threw himself upwards, getting onto his knees before suggestively thrusting his hips into the air. He played with the lower hem of his shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal a set of abs with a neat little trail of black hair leading down between them, tucking in behind the fly of his pants. On his hips just below his bellybutton sat two black paw prints, leading down towards his crotch.
'Where I'm from, they call them cum gutters', Arthur thought to himself before shaking the thought away.
As far as Arthur was concerned, he had nothing to be nervous about; the boy was a natural and looked like he needed a guitar in his hand or something.
Before he knew it, he was back up on his feet and his shirt was off; thrown right into the middle of Dutch and Hosea's seats. Arthur could see the two older men whispering to one another, all the while not taking their eyes off the new prospective performer. In the corner of his eye, Abi was standing outside of the dressing room with all of the nerves of a stage parent at a sporting event.
All the while, John showed off his chest and arms with ease; adorned in a giant wolf sleeve tattoo and different sized scars across his pecs and abs, he looked like a wildman.
John strutted over to the pole, putting his hand on it and circling around it; dropping down low before rising up slowly but surely, teasing everyone in the room.
I'm the kind to sit up in his room
Heart sick and eyes filled up with blue
He did a little shake of his hips before looping his right leg around, swinging around the pole a few times before landing in front of it like it was nothing. Still swinging his hips around in what looked like an infinity symbol, he unbuttoned his fly, slowly shimmying the denim down to reveal a brick-red pair of boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.
If anyone asked, he wouldn't admit it. However the sight of this smoking hot man in barely anything made Arthur's breath hitch in his throat in a way that hadn't happened in quite some time.
I don't know what you've done to me
But I know this much is true
John turned back to the pole, this time wrapping both legs around it, climbing up little by little, using the grip of his thighs to do most of the work. What really took everyone by surprise was how he leaned back down, holding out his hands in midair like a bat before flipping back onto his feet.
I wanna do bad things with you, okay
He was really getting into it now, no longer looking like someone who was simply there to perform a song and collect their bills but someone who was possessed by the music, like each note was pulling at some baser instinct within him to turn him into a complete and utter sexpot. It was hard to not think of just how he would look in the VIP room with a more lax nudity policy.
John made his way off the stage and down to the floor, staring Dutch down not like he was the boss, but like John himself had complete and total control of every inch of hardwood in that building. He planted his knees on the armrests of Dutch's seat, leaning into the man while shaking those slender little hips of his to the rhythm.
When you came in the air went out
And all those shadows there filled up with doubt
John's forearms rested on Dutch's shoulders while he moved, however the man's face locked eyes with Arthur; those deep grey-brown ones pierced right into Arthur's blue ones. He had a look on his face that deep down, Arthur knew was for show; they may have been in a strip club but he had the bedroom eyes of a porn star. He knew he was giving this dance everything he had in order to get this job and like with porn, this was a performance and nothing more.
Despite all rational thought, Arthur could feel his cock swell beneath his black jeans. Thank god that his uniform was dark enough where it wouldn't look too obvious.
I don't know who you think you are
But before the night is through
He angled his body over to Hosea's seat, somehow balancing himself between the two, giving the two bosses a good look at his muscular back, hips and ass. Knowing Hosea as well as he did, the silver-haired man was ticking off a list of desirable performance qualities in his head, keeping a running total of all the right things John did.
When within these walls, Hosea was all business rather than pleasure. That was probably why he was going on 33 years with Bessie and Dutch had two ex-wives under his belt.
I wanna do bad things with you
I wanna do real bad things with you
John rolled off the two men in such a way that would've had them panicking for first aid had he not landed in a position that saw his knees splayed while he whipped his hair around in circles in front of the two men.
I don't know what you've done to me
But I know this much is true
John hopped back up onto the stage backwards, kicking out his feet in time with the music before he was back on his feet.
I wanna do bad things with you
He thumbed at the waistband of his boxers, dragging one side down tantalisingly, slowly revealing his taut ass while keeping a hand on his cock.
I wanna do real bad things with you
The shake of his hips saw him turning around seductively, revealing the entirety of said ass while he moved in time with the end of the song. For Arthur, it was a shame it had to end; he looked even better out of his clothes than in them.
God....he really was pathetic. It had been so long since the Head of Security had actually had sex that he was now salivating over a new dancer, like he was fresh meat in a lion's den. He really needed to get out or something; maybe try a hookup app again to just get it out of his system so he wouldn't act a fool at work towards someone just trying to pay their bills.
He could hear some clapping coming from Abi, Sadie and Karen while John leaned back, sighing while he promptly pulled his boxers back up, turning back around to look out from the stage.
Hosea and Dutch whispered to one another before Dutch stood up.
"Kid, how old are you?"
"I'm 22, sir."
"And you know you'll be dancing for men as well as women here? You'll share the stage with the girls too. We accept all kinds here."
"Yes sir, ain't got no problem with any o' that."
Dutch nodded for a second. "Can you start tonight?"
Chapter 2: Don’t Just Stand There Starin’, Honey
Summary:
John’s just been hired as the newest dancer at Dutch’s Dolls and finds that not everyone is entirely welcoming of the new guy.
Notes:
Hey everyone, here’s the newest chapter! Thank you to all whom have given this little fic a read and an even bigger thank you to all that have left comments; I truly love reading what you guys think!!!
I’m still in the stages of doing a bit of worldbuilding here but don’t worry; Friday night at Dutch’s Dolls will be in full swing soon enough. The title comes from Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter.
Hope you all enjoy this one! I’ve worked hard on it.
Chapter Text
John could barely believe it. He walked into Dutch's Dolls as a hopeful interviewee without two pennies to rub together; getting off the bus entirely unsure of if he'd even have enough money to get home. He could stretch out his last few bucks for food that week, but the bond on his new place completely drained his funds. Maybe he could ask Uncle Leigh for an emergency transfer but still, he didn't want to do that to the man.
Thankfully Uncle Leigh was far enough back in Armadillo that he hopefully wouldn't set foot in this club. John just hoped he ignored Facebook and Instagram enough to slip by without getting found out.
It was a relief to be living somewhere new of course, but getting settled after having to start over was never gonna be easy. It's just he didn't expect it to be this hard.
Thank God for Abi. Lovely, wonderful Abi who let him know about this job while he commiserated about his finances over some fries. Who'd put in a good word to get his resume looked at so he didn't have to wait for days, weeks, months for a response that would never come. Who was there to throw her arms around him when he set foot in the club, shattering just how goddamn daunting it all was. She was a real one when he needed a real one.
It was intimidating to just roll up to a strip joint like this, especially since there wasn't anything like this back home. Man...just what was he gonna tell Uncle Leigh? He'd have to tell him he was a topless waiter or something; maybe that could be a bit more digestable than "Hey, I've moved off campus after being at the centre of a massive scandal and I'm paying for it by shaking my naked ass onstage."
It wasn't the work that was the problem. It was that Leigh Johnson was from a small, conservative town in the middle of the desert. He wouldn't understand and had even less chance of accepting it. Hell, even trying to get him to wrap his head around the fact that he liked men as well as women had been a hard-won uphill struggle.
The interview was at least okay; he didn't know that Dutch and Hosea ran it together and felt a little bad that he'd only put Dutch's name on his cover letter. Still, once he set foot into the manager's office, he couldn't get his mind off the burly blonde that he met out the front.
Arthur....More muscles than words. Suspicious and serious. High cheekbones, a furrowed brow, stunning blue eyes. Absolutely sound-the-fire-alarm smoking hot.
He had to have been straight, especially working in a strip joint. John's luck was just not that good with men, no matter which state he was in it seemed. Especially not men that looked that hot. Still, he didn't mind being patted down before being let into the club. He'd spent that pat-down trying to commit those big hands to memory so he could think about them when he had a bit more privacy and a lot less clothes.
John answered Dutch and Hosea's questions and produced his government issued ID; they seemed happy with what they'd read and seen so far, which was mostly a collection of fast-food joints he'd worked in, flipping everything from burgers to fried chicken to just pay his way through school. The thing that stood out to them was Armadillo Highschool Varsity Gymnastics Team, followed shortly by University of West Elizabeth Gymnastics Team, raising their eyebrows approvingly.
"You know how to work a pole, son?" Dutch asked.
"Uh, yeah. Mostly the horizontal bars but it should be pretty straightforward. Ain't scary or nothin'."
Dutch and Hosea looked at one another, seeming to communicate in a series of wordless looks; a silent language that had existed long before John did. They didn't need to know that John was no longer on the gymnastics team at UWE. They definitely didn't need to hear the reasons why the school administration felt that was the best course of action. They didn't know that it wasn't his fault and still he was being punished.
Either way, it all led him here; in this interview room, trying to cobble the money together so he could at least stay in school. This didn't have to be forever, it just needed to get him out of a massive financial jam caused by his idiot fraternity brothers.
His really fucking cruel, idiot frat brothers.....
No. That wasn't happening here. He wasn't thinking of them here.
Dutch put his hands on his knees, standing up out of his chair. "Alright. Guess we better head on down, see what you're made of."
He didn't know that he'd be asked to fucking audition for his new prospective bosses, as well as his friend, her girlfriend, the barmen and that gorgeous security guard.
It was nervewracking, being asked to just dance like that without preparing anything, without even wearing something sexier than his t-shirt and jeans. Even his boxers were boring; not even his best ones. Being in front of Arthur, having to channel sexiness on the fly like that, anyone else would fall apart and freak out, trying to run off stage.
Anyone else but John Marston. Under 18s National Gymnastics champ, three years in a goddamn row. He knew how to perform. He had moves, he had stamina and the core strength and he could pull them all out while that gorgeous man in the black shirt leaned against the wall, staying to watch his performance.
Did he stay just because it was his job or because he was watching?
He chose a song that would get his hips swinging a certain way, requesting it from the half-dressed drag queen with the moustache behind the DJ booth. Something that got him in the mood every damn time, trying to channel anything and everything that made him feel sexy in that moment.
Anything to get his mind off the fact that he was about to show off his scars to multiple people in a room at once.
What really spurred him on was those blue eyes, staring at him while he moved along with the music. He couldn't stare back for too long; he'd out himself when what he needed to prove that he could do this and get paid for it. It wasn't long before all of the noise of the club, of dancing for his potential new bosses, of dancing for bar staff he had barely met all melted away while he pictured Arthur in one of those seats.
In his mind, he was the one paying for a dance.
In his arms, he was the one with his eyes on John's body.
In his fingertips, no one else existed in the room and if they did, they didn't matter.
In his hips, he was the one beneath John, loving every swish and sway to the beat.
In his whole body, it was completely fucking perfect, dancing for this smouldering, sexy man.
He just had to keep moving. Keep moving the blood around to his muscles, lest it travel down to his cock and he pitched a tent onstage.
John got bolder in his moves, going offstage and onto Dutch's seat, planting his knees on the armrests. He couldn't resist looking up at the man who was helping him swish his hips like this.
Sure enough, his blue eyes were not just staring at him, it was like they could see through him. See everything, including the wicked thought that flashed through his mind as he looked back.
Just imagine how it would feel if I was sitting on your cock, Mister. That's all I can think about, right now.
He came back to the chair and the dance and the music; he didn't have much song left to make a good impression. Pulling out all the stops, trying to feel the Southern drawl in his veins like it was a rope being swung around, lassoing Arthur into his grasp.
I wanna do real bad things with you.
When the last notes played out and faded to nothing, he was back in his body; his ass out, his hand on his cock and he was bare, save for his boxer briefs hanging around his thighs. The realisation that he got through it wasn't unlike sticking the landing after an intense competition routine. They were looking at his body and his scars, those ugly mementos embedded in his skin and....People were actually clapping for him. Not just Abi either, but Sadie and Karen. Sadie he'd known for all of five minutes. Karen and him didn't even exchange words. Neither owed him the fuzz off their peaches, not really. Maybe they were being nice...but maybe he didn't do too bad of a job either.
He certainly wasn't expecting Dutch to ask if he could start in an hour's time.
Now he was sat in front of the mirror in the dressing room next to Abi with a few sets of dance wear in front of him, becoming all too aware of why it was called 'floss' around these parts; it certainly didn't leave much to the imagination.
It was all surreal. That morning, the excitement of a job interview had been underpinned with anxiety; if he failed, he was back to square one. If he failed, it was packet noodles in the microwave again. If he failed, he'd head back to Armadillo, a college dropout that dropped the ball on school, no plan, no purpose, no hope.
But he didn't.
More than that, he was getting paid tonight. While there would be a certain level of hustle involved, he could buy food tomorrow. He could pay rent in his new place and had a chance of actually staying. He could pay his tuition for another semester. That realisation that he hadn't failed this time around after a long string of failures made him feel like the warm little centre of the dressing room of Dutch's Dolls.
Abi leaned over, holding out an eyeliner pencil.
"Put this 'round your eyes, it'll make 'em pop."
John took it from her hand. She was now out of her sweats and in some floss of her own, dusting eyeshadow on her eyelids. She looked stunning, in an all blue bikini set with straps that wrapped around her body, diamantés showered all over it. She could've been a superhero, a wrestler or on the cover of Sports Illustrated. She could've been all three at once.
Abi was stunning. He remembered why they were sweethearts back in junior high.
"Why do I gotta to make my eyes pop when it's the rest 'o me they'll be lookin' at?" John half-joked.
Abi just giggled; if they were back home, she might say Bless Your Heart. Granted he only got the job an hour ago but he still had so much to learn.
"It's the little things here; we're not just givin' dances and gettin' titties out. We're creatin' a fantasy and part of it is payin' attention to the minor details that bring it all together."
She had a point. It's why they were all here, packing away their sneakers and sweats into lockers and buckling into their Pleasers and floss. There wasn't much left to the imagination and it was so the customers' thoughts were able to run wild at the sight.
"Plus if someone takes you into VIP or the Whiskey Room and wants a private dance, you're up close n' personal. They can see everything. Jig's up if your face ain't on."
John just nodded, opting to take her advice and start lining his eyes in the mirror. Looking back once he was done, he could see what she meant; it wasn't much, but it made a difference.
He looked over the sets of floss on the table; one red, one blue, one black that looked almost like leather. Just how he was gonna fit his junk in any of them, he didn't know. Maybe he'd be best off changing in one of the stalls, lest he accidentally tie up his balls like a Christmas ham.
"Abigail!!! Abi, goddammit!" A yell pierced through the room.
Abi rolled her eyes. Karen. Using her government name, too.
Sure enough, Karen came out topless in only a set of shimmery teal bottoms and pasties to match. "Girl, you been stealin' my floss again?"
John averted his eyes away from the blonde out of sheer habit; even in a room full of dancers in various states of dress and undress, she was definitely a big personality. Even then, he'd been an exotic dancer for all of an hour and still wasn't used to this level of normalised nudity around him.
"No, I have not. Why would I steal your floss if I'm already dressed? You probably left it in the back of Sean's car."
This was clearly a sore spot. "Girl, do not be testin' me right now! I am about to go apeshit if I don't find it; I need it for my headline!"
John had gathered by now that a Headline was a main stage dance. While there were plenty of poles sequestered to the side with booths and tables wrapped around them for small groups, the main stage was where it was at. Not everyone was picked for a Headline; the amount of money made as a Headliner after dancing to about 10 or so songs rivalled that made in the Whiskey Room.
Paired and group dances on the main stage happened of course and what was swept up off the stage was divided amongst those involved, however it was always the headliner that got the biggest cut.
Most dancers did Sidelines for those smaller groups; could be a party, could be a bunch of workmates letting off some steam, could be someone here for Pearson's lemon pepper wings and a cold one. Private dances happened in the VIP rooms; secluded enough to get away from the chaos of the main stage, but still open so folks like Arthur, Bill and Charles could easily intervene if customers got a little too handsy. The nudity policy was not only more relaxed there, but it was expected; customers were paying top dollar to see tits and ass.
The Whiskey Room was still elusive. John couldn't seem to get a straight answer out of anyone as to what went down there. It seemed that anything you could get away with went down in the Whiskey Room. Deep down, he hoped that he wouldn't be called in on his first night, not knowing the expectations of what went down in there.
"You probably left it somewhere! Or someone else took it!" Abi argued back.
Karen turned to John with her eyebrows arched. "New guy, do not trust this one; she will help herself to your floss and drive you up the damn wall."
Karen was halfway to stomping to the other end of the room when Abi retorted "That was one time and it looked better on me anyhow!"
Abi shook her head, looking down at her nails. John craned his head to try to meet her eye.
"Uh, are you guys good?"
"Yeah, we're ok. She's just been drinking and can't find her shit, blamin' me for it. Love her but she can be a real bitch when she's stressin' out."
John nodded, taking a quick mental note, completely unaware of the hurricane about to burst through the door.
"Just where in the blue hell is Javier??"
She was in a shimmery black suit that rode a fine line between trashy and opulent, like she'd stepped right out of a John Waters movie with a cigarette in her mouth. The scar on her face wasn't unlike his own, suggesting like himself, she'd seen something grisly in her time. Her eyes were lined, her cleavage was situated and she had a white streak going up in her hair, pulled up into a messy bun.
She was a hot older woman and by the looks of things, on a warpath that Satan himself would flinch at.
"Ain't seen him, prolly ain't here." A voice yelled from the back, making the woman pinch the bridge of her nose, scrunching up her face to follow.
"He is lucky he's a fucking headliner....."
She rose her head; John could feel her pupils turn to pinpricks at the sight of him.
"Um, hello? You are?"
Before John could open his mouth, Abi turned to her. "This is John; he's an old friend of mine from New Austin-"
The woman cut Abi off, holding a finger up in front of her. "Ah ah ah, old friends can wait out the damn front like the rest of the customers."
She was clearly someone important, all clipped tones and policy. John felt like he was being scolded when he'd done nothing wrong.
Abi breathed through her nose, long and hard. "....He's also your newest dancer. Dutch and Hosea hired him about an hour ago."
Her eyes were wide. Now she was looking at him. Staring a hole into him more like.
"This true, kid?"
John could only nod. She'd almost scared the words out of him. "John Marston. Nice to meet you, Miss."
She nodded once, her expression refusing to soften. "Grimshaw. Susan." She shook her head down at the floor, muttering. "That goddamn good-for-nothin' ex husband o' mine....You thought of a stage name yet?"
John shook his head. "No Miss."
He could see her jaw clench. "Ok, you got 20 minutes to think of a stage name and to pick out a set o' floss. When I come back, I want you dressed and ready to go. This ain't Hell's Belles."
She barrelled out of the room with a clip-clop of her heels before John could respond, thinking only that Hell's Belles must've been universal shorthand for sloppiness or something. Abi just returned to powdering her eyes like barely anything had happened.
"Who's she?" He asked.
"She's the Talent Manager; think of her like the supervisor for all the dancers. You got any issues, she's the one you talk to."
John dreaded that possibility. "Sounds like I'm best off not havin' issues at all."
"Pay that no mind, she's just pissed off Javier ain't here and that you were hired without her. Give her a minute, she'll calm down."
John looked back at the dance wear in front of him, feeling it was better to just do what she said instead of waiting. He was drawn to the leathery set; the black would go with his hair and maybe the faint shine of it would catch the light well or something.
It felt the sexiest in his hands, so maybe he'd feel sexy with it on.
Looking in the mirror, he studied his face. He couldn't pick any name other than John that suited his face. Jim maybe? Was Jim sexy? James? Perhaps he could descend onto the stage on a giant peach with a name like that. There wasn't much in his mind that didn't either sound completely cheesy or just wasn't a fit. Even thinking back to UWE, flicking through a list of the names of his frat brothers invoked an image of being back in the fraternity, where this entire mess began.
He may as well call himself Rip Van Winkle at this point.
John moved his head to the side looking at his right cheek, his scars shining under the dressing room lights. God...they really did look like giant gashes on his face. He ran his index finger down one; it had smoothed out and healed over but still felt every bit as jagged as when he first got it.
"Shut the fuck up, Marston or you're next!"
He shut his eyes at the memory, pushing it away. They weren't gonna get him here. They couldn't.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, looking back at his scars. What he felt next could only be likened to a multiple movie-theatre lightbulbs going off in his head, all arranged into the name he would go by within these walls. A name that was a giant fuck you to the people that hurt him; he was gonna own these scars, own this face and body and look fucking hot doing it.
The determination flooding his skin made him feel foolish for not thinking of it earlier.
Scarface.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur had moved up to the security console, surveying the camera footage of the club. While it seemed that they had the bar, the main and side stages and most of VIP covered, the middle VIP Room and the Whiskey Room's cameras had been the latest to bite the dust.
Great. Just great. Two of the places where they were needed the most, gone half an hour before open.
They were gonna have to deal with it tonight; if he could park Charles out by VIP, maybe he could float around the main stage. Bill was gonna be out the front all night with cover check so he wasn't really an option. Still, he needed Charles' stupidly good hearing until they were set up with a new camera.
How the music of the club didn't drive that man nuts, he'd never know. Until then, he'd have to relay the feed onto his phone somehow. Multiple eyes in the sky were better than two and if they could get away with a few quick glances at their phones every so often while on the floor, maybe they'd get through another Friday night without anyone pulling any stunts.
As if he had some power to just summon people into existence, the door clicked open revealing Charles, all booted up and ready for another night at the Dolls.
"Hey Arthur."
"Hey Charles."
Charles angled his head around to the monitors. "Damn....another two out?"
"Yeah....Gonna be a pain in the ass, so 'm tryin' to rig up the feed to my phone. If we can do that, maybe we won't be runnin' 'round like headless chickens tonight."
Charles chuckled. "I think that's guaranteed no matter how many cameras are working."
Arthur chuckled back. He liked Charles; he was reliable, polite and didn't take any shit from customers or anyone without being thuggish about it. Bill could be a bit much; if Arthur looked for too long, he'd say the man was itching for a fight so much that he goaded customers just so he could throw them out. Maybe being ex-Army meant that he was left needingsomeone to fight when a few stern words would've suited better.
Still, having Charles in his corner made a world of difference. It was just a shame he only worked part time. Thankfully his nights were the busiest ones out of the week, but good help was damn hard to find, especially in a place like this.
"You seen Bill yet?"
"He's still getting dressed; said he'd be up soon."
They'd have to do their team huddle; Bill wasn't going to be happy with being on the door again, but it was tough luck tonight. The man loved to frisbee his paycheck back into the place on his days off, it's not like he'd go too long without seeing some tits or ass.
That must've weirded out the dancers something ridiculous.
Arthur never quite understood that logic as for him, Dutch's Dolls was work, through and through. He wouldn't be able to relax enough to enjoy a dance for the sake of wondering if folks were ok to stand up at the bar, if the waitresses were able to put plates on tables without getting kneaded like pizza dough or if the dancers weren't getting felt up in the middle of a song. Never mind that he couldn't switch off for long enough to sit through a song and dance....most of the dancers had been around for a while. Long enough for Arthur to few them almost like little brothers or sisters that he had to protect while they made their money. He'd seen them in enough states of undress for it not to even register as anything sexual anymore once their floss came off.
That was, until an hour an a half ago.
John. John Marston. Scars on his face and swish in his hips that was all kinds of trouble. Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't thrilled when Dutch asked if he could start tonight.
He'd also be lying if he said that he wasn't excited by the prospect of seeing John shake his moneymaker, especially if he shook it like that.
In saying that however, it was his first night on the floor. Of course it was exciting that a new dancer was in their midst. Of course Arthur found a handsome man very attractive when his bed had been cold for longer than he'd like to admit to. In a matter of weeks, John would likely become like a little brother that he had to look after rather than a sexy man he'd like to be beneath; that was how it went at the Dolls.
When you saw dancers trading in their floss for sweats and sneakers at the end of the night, exhausted by a night of shaking and dancing and getting pawed at by salivating customers of every description, the urge to hit on them and become another desperate schmo vying for their attention became less and less.
Also, he was 22. What 22 year old would want someone in their 30s with all of the baggage that Arthur had? That on his body was almost the least of his worries, nevermind the reasons he showed up to work. Hell, knowing Arthur's luck, he was probably straight as an arrow. He seemed to have a history with Abi at least.
Still, the older man couldn't deny that John was just plain pretty. A gorgeous person in a place that traded in gorgeous people.
Arthur's train of thought was bought to a screeching halt by the ominous clackclackclack of a recognisable pair of heels making their way up the stairs, too furious in their step to be a set of Pleasers on one of the dancers.
Grimshaw. Oh boy.
"What's gotten into her?" Charles asked, seeing the flash of her sparkly suit bolt past the door.
They could hear the door of the manager's office being swung open violently. "DUTCH!"
A nervous huff of laughter escaped Arthur. "Dutch and Hosea hired new male talent. Grimshaw wasn't there."
Charles' facial expression dropped to somewhere between Oh Shit and I Am Staying As Far Away From That As Possible. Arthur could only nod as a cacophony of escalated, indecipherable sounds came out of both Dutch and Grimshaw as she presumably got to the bottom of why Dutch and Hosea decided to go ahead and hire a new dancer without any consultation from her.
He couldn't blame her. Dutch and Hosea owned the club yes, but Susan was the talent manager. Dancers were under her banner, well and truly; while everyone else knew that John had the skills to tear up that stage, her ego would've taken a hit from him being hired right under her.
A clear reminder of where she stood in the ecosystem of the club.
The pettier part of his mind began to growl something he wouldn't dare breathe out to her; at least you have your pick of staff instead of having to spread the scraps out as far as they'll go.
Arthur turned back to the monitors. There was still some time before open and already, it was gonna be a long night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Javier Escuella went by the name El Jefe onstage, the Chapo of Chuparosa. He was the star male talent of Dutch's Dolls and always drove the patrons wild when he headlined. His tanned Mexican skin and long jet black hair was always a drawcard for the men and women of Blackwater and beyond and he knew it. Not only knew it, but revelled in it.
And now, he was walking into the change room in sunglasses with an iced coffee, neck decorated in hickeys from his latest conquest. Conquests. The night got a little wilder than he'd anticipated, but he had no regrets.
It wasn't the most put-together anyone has ever been before starting their shift at the Dolls but who cared really? He was a damn star and stars were allowed more breaks than the average pleb.
Karen was the first to catch sight of him, looking up from tying her recently-found floss around her chest and midriff. "The fuck you been?"
"That any way to greet a headliner, Karen?" He drawled, taking off his sunglasses.
She rolled her eyes. He was a vain shit at the best of times, but this vain shit had the added bonus of eye-bags that suggested more partying than sleep and a neck full of hickeys.
"You ain't the only damn headliner in this room or even this conversation, Javi. Now get your ass dressed and get that-" she pointed around her neck "Covered up before Grimshaw sees!"
Javier blew through his mouth mockingly, slowly making his way to his locker. Grimshaw wasn't a threat. He was the only male headliner in the place; he was making bank from that stage and Dutch not Hosea could afford to lose him. A little foundation before Lights Up and he'd be fine.
He put his civilian clothes in his locker, pulling off his shirt and beginning to make short work of his belt. A brief look in the mirror made him recoil; maybe he was looking a little worse for wear than he'd given himself credit for.
That's when John walked out of the change cubicle, clad in some leather chaps and a vest to match, locking eyes with Javier.
"Uh, who are you?"
And why the fuck was he in his chaps and vest???
"I'm John, I'm new." He said, tucking his hair behind his ear.
"I can see that....You best be brand new or there wouldn't be much excuse for you wearing my shit."
Inside, John winced. He didn't realise these clothes were spoken for after just being told "Hey, just pick from the rack."
The stare coming from Javier was so intense that neither man noticed Susan coming back through the door.
"Maybe if you arrived on time you'd have your pick of the costumes, Javier." She clipped.
John could see that this Javier guy wasn't so tough around Susan. Maybe she just had a way of instilling fear into all of her dancers.
She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her neck to the side. "The hell are those?"
Javier was busted. It wasn't like the hickeys were hard to miss, but he thought he'd at least have some time to find some coverup.
"Uh, I think those ones were from Astrid and these were from Amanda." He chuckled.
John stifled a giggle. The guy was funny, even if he was a bit of a dick.
"Don't get smart with me! You're a goddamn mess, Javi; we open in 10 minutes. I can't have you out on stage looking like this!"
Javier waved her off. "Ay Mami, it's cool; when have I ever let you down?"
Susan shot him a look that said Do you really want me to be honest with you there?
She turned to John, her expression softening. "Alright New Kid, you don't look half bad. You thought of a name yet?"
John smiled. "Yeah; I wanna go by Scarface onstage."
Susan nodded approvingly, like she was rolling around the thought in her mind. Unfortunately this tiny hint of approval from this woman was cut short by a guffaw from Javier.
"Scarface? What, so the customers can say hello to your little friend?" Javier grabbed at his crotch, punctuating his words.
Just what the hell was this guy's problem? He'd barely known him for 10 minutes and was giving him a hard time for no reason.
"It's a wonder you get any dances with your little friend there." John could hear himself saying before he could bite it back.
This clearly hit a nerve in Javier. While John's ego patted him on the back for a comeback well thrown, this probably wasn't the best way to introduce oneself in the club. Still, didn't mean that the guy didn't deserve it. He could've done without Javier storming towards him however.
Thankfully he was stopped by Grimshaw. "Hey! Rein it in, both of you. You, get dressed and cover up those," she said to Javier before turning back to John. "You...It's not a bad name. Where ya from?"
"Armadillo, Miss."
Susan thought for a minute, looking him up and down.
"Scarface....The Wolf of New Austin." She held out her hands as she spoke, wiping them against the air like she was putting up a poster. "Yeah...Yeah, that works. Ok, we've got 10 minutes before Lights Up everybody!!"
Javier stood with an incredulous look on his face. "Uh, what the hell am I meant to do when he's wearing my gear?"
Susan turned back to him. "Last I checked, that gear didn't come outta your paycheque; he got it first, he can wear it. You can find somethin' else; why not the suit?"
Javier shook his head down at his feet. "Don't know why a new guy is getting preference over a headliner...."
The Talent Manager's ears pricked up; John could see she had a wild, incredulous, infuriated look in her eye. "Keep going, Javi! Keep going and he'll be a damn headliner and you can work the floor! I dare ya, you do not want to test my patience today."
Javier looked over at John. "He's been here two damn minutes and already he's running the place? The fuck, Susan? What happened to status? Does that mean nothing these days?"
"That is iiiit," She pinched the bridge of her nose, before looking up at John. "Kid, how would you like to spend your first night at as a headliner? Think you're up to it?"
John felt like he'd been slapped in the face. Headlining? He hadn't even had his first dance and already, he was going to be the star of the show?
It was confusing, it was intimidating, it sent ice through his veins that spread out to his nerves....but he couldn't deny that seeing the shock on that entitled dick's face made it all the more worth it.
"Yeah, think I can give it a red hot whirl."
Susan nodded once, marking her understanding. "Go tell Josiah what songs you want to dance to. You get about 10 for a set. Pick 'em quick and you can go on after Abi."
John nodded, pulling out his phone to flick through his playlists. It was going to be tough but he had to rise to this challenge; he was here for a reason. He needed the cash and he needed to prove he was worthy of staying. Headliners got the biggest cut of the cash on the main stage; who knows what he could walk away with at the end of the night? How often did a chance like this come around even?
He knew he had the skills and the stamina to hold his own on that pole. Now he just had to show it for real. He proved it to the managers and now the training wheels were coming off.
For Grimshaw, her reasoning dug deeper than money. If Dutch and Hosea were going to treat her like an underling and not bother to so much as text her when they were hiring new talent, if Javier was going to be a disrespectful little shit and roll up to work looking like he'd been rode hard and put out wet, well....she'd just have to see what the new kid was made of. See if he really had the skills worthy of that stage. After all if he tripped and fell on his arse, Dutch and Hosea would look like fools for failing to seek her input when hiring. For now though, that little entitled shit Javier could be put in his place for daring think that he ran things around here.
"My dear ex-wife....I own this club. You manage the dancers and you do a tremendous job doing so, but I sign the paycheques. If I want to hire new talent, I truly do not need consult from you. You weren't here and I made an executive decision. It's my name on the sign, not yours."
Her exchange with her ex-husband still left a sour taste in her mouth. How dare he pull rank on her like that? Shit like this reminded her of why they divorced to begin with.
It was five minutes until open. Soon those lights would be up and the customers would be pouring in, expecting not just a show but an erotic extravaganza worthy of the last days of Rome. They all owed it to them to bring their A game.
Showtime.
Chapter 3: Give Me One Last Dance Before We Hit The Ground
Summary:
The doors have opened at Dutch’s Dolls and already for John and Arthur, the night is kicking off spectacularly in anticipation for John’s first dance.
Notes:
Hello everyone, here’s chapter 3! I hope you all like it; fair warning, the perspective does change around a bit but hey, it’s a busy night in a busy club so there’s a lot of people to consider. If you’re liking the work, please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts on it as I love to read comments and they keep me going!
Also goddamn, this chapter turned out loooooong. Oh well, plenty more for you to sink your teeth into.
The title and lyrics come from One Last Dance by Tom Morello, Roman Morello and Grandson. Enjoy 😁
Chapter Text
"GOOD EVENING BLACKWATER!!!!"
The clock had struck 7. The doors were open, the lights were on and Aunt Joelene had taken centre stage in front of a crowd of customers that were just about frothing at the mouth. It was just Aunt Joelene under the spotlight in full drag glamour, save for their trademark moustache. The shine of the light off of the jewels of their gown were almost blinding for both Arthur and John; Arthur stood in front of the bar with the tables on either side of him, right in the centre of the action while John was waiting backstage, wracked with nerves.
"I am your gracious host Aunt Joelene and I welcome all you ladies, gentlemen and all of the fine, sexy inbetweeners to our den of debauchery, our palace of pussy, our cathedral of cock....Dutch's Dolls!"
A feral cheer came from the crowd. They were utterly ravenous for the evening's entertainment; the lineup was to be Abi, John, Karen and Javier- four headliners before group dances and multis. Anyone not on the main stage was to work the crowd, solicit side stage dances or even better, VIP or Whiskey Room dances. The main difference was that John was slotted in in the last 15 minutes as the second act of the night when outside of his audition, he hadn't had his first real dance yet.
It made his song choice all the more apt.
He thought back over Grimshaw's words just before open.
"Alright, it's gonna be Abi first, John second, we're gonna have Joelene doin' her thing, then it's Karen then Javier. Group and Paired dances after. I know most of y'all know this already but for the newbies in the room," She looked right at John as she said this. "No pussy, no dick, no ass, no tits on the main stage. You don't need to get it all off up there; make 'em pay for a private dance if they want all that. Keep the goods expensive and we'll all have a good night."
That was a relief. John wasn't sure how he'd go with revealing his whole body to a room full to the brim of people just yet. Not to mention from how his audition went, he'd assumed that stripteases were the norm all over the club.
Still, Grimshaw held a level of command over the dancers like a general addressing the army.
"If you wanna do anything besides dance up in the Whiskey Room...then walk your triflin' ass over to Hell's Belles and don't look back because we do not pull that shit here!"
He wasn't sure if the threat was more terrifying or Susan was. Still, it was good to know that anything beyond dancing wasn't permitted, even in the Whiskey Room. It was one thing to get naked onstage but for John, selling sex was a step too far.
Hell, even regular sex that wasn't bought and paid for was an altogether nervewracking prospect, given his newly acquired scars.
"Now we've got that outta the way, go on out there and give those customers the finest performance only Dutch's Dolls can give!"
Abi stood in front with all of the determination of a competition gymnast; her days of competing in State alongside John were not that far behind her, but these days she had far more experience with Headlining than John did.
She could feel his nerves buzzing behind her.
"Hey...." She whispered, trying to pull John out of his trance of watching Josiah work the crowd. "Just remember, this is just....advertising for a private dance. We're givin' 'em a show, just like those judges way back when. Ain't need to be a big deal."
Josiah could still be heard, even in the patchy darkness of backstage. "Our first headliner is a wild one, folks. Prepare to be soaked, hard and mesmerised by this lil' hurricane formed right out here on Lake Flat Iron!"
Advertising....that was one way to look at it. The more he mulled it over however, the more it made sense. While being a Headliner was a coveted position without a doubt, most of the dancers at Dutch's Dolls made their money in VIP and the Whiskey Room; privacy and flesh were bought at a premium.
"The most important part though....You got this. You got skills, John. Ain't no different from State qualifying."
"She's got beauty, she's got brains, she's got the double D's to make you scream!"
John smiled to the side; trust Abi to bring his nerves down to something that was more familiar to him. She was really looking out for him and in this moment, it was overwhelming just how kind she was.
He pulled her in for a small hug. "Thank you."
She kissed his cheek. "You got this."
"Keep your wallets open and put your hands together for Raven, the Belle of Blackwater!!!!"
Abi strutted out with the same precision as a panther hunting down prey to the opening horns of Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter, planting herself centre stage while the crowd went wild.
All John could do was take a few breaths while he studied her moves; she was something more than human while she stared down the patrons, crawling across the stage, seductively taking their money before flipping onto her feet and moving towards the pole. Absolutely superhuman, commanding the attention of the whole room, getting showered with dollars doing so.
He began to piece together an idea of what he could do; while he didn't have Abi's experience, he did have a few tricks up his sleeve as to how he could work that stage. Give or take 20 minutes to half an hour to think of a routine....
John had championship medals in boxes back in his place, won on the back of routines cobbled together in less time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With Abi onstage, the customers were captivated for long enough to not really start any trouble, so Arthur decided to do a lap of the sides. He could see a bunch of what looked like finance bros at one table, mesmerised by the girl working the pole while they nursed beers, whiskeys and the like.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, activating the screen. It was a Messenger chat bubble. The name alone pulled at his nerves in a combination of pain and pleasure, filling him with excitement and complete dread.
"Hey, u up? xx 😉"
Mary Gillis-Linton. His ex. The sore on the roof of his mouth he couldn't stop tonguing. The bruise he couldn't stop prodding. The scar on his sternum surrounding his heart he couldn't stop picking at.
Or rather, wouldn't stop picking at him.
God...it had been months since she last contacted him and even then, that was messy. For one, she was still damn well married to that Barry guy; Barry who lived in Lakeside Bluffs. Barry who worked in Finance. Barry who earned 300k a year and god knows how much else off the books....and yet, she would still darken Arthur's doorstep whenever she needed attention, affection, a warm body to curl up to.
If Barry was so goddamn great then why was she still in his DMs??
For a minute, it'd be nice. Like old times where he could pretend there was still something there, some feeling she still had for him. That was, until she left before dawn and kept leaving his messages on Seen until the next time she felt that particular itch for him return.
It drove him up the wall the way she would keep in on the hook just enough to keep him longing for more. She made it abundantly clear that she wouldn't marry him; he didn't earn enough money and she 'couldn't have him around her friends' apparently. And yet, she still kept coming back, treating him like a shameful secret that couldn't see the light of day.
Remembering that made his heart hurt with a dull ache. Most days he could live with it, it was just when she reminded him of her existence, the realisation that he'd never be good enough for her reared its ugly head.
And yet, as if his fingers were controlled by an entity separate from his brain and heart, he just typed back "Working, you?"
He shoved his phone back in his pocket, partly so he wouldn't look like he was dawdling on it but mostly out of being ashamed that despite everything, she had him on a leash he couldn't seem to break free of.
"I just don't see why Dutch ain't stocking Wild Turkey no more!" A familiar voice grated behind him from the bar.
He'd returned like a bad smell.
"It's because we have Woodford Reserve! Don't know what're you're complainin' 'bout, it's a nicer bourbon anyhow!" Sadie responded.
Sadie had her hands on her hips, staring down a patron that went by the name of Uncle. Just Uncle. A regular fixture at the Dolls who never went beyond the bar; he ordered food on occasion but mostly, he was more interested in the drinks than the dancers. No one knew whose Uncle he was, just that he seemed determined to drink them dry whenever he came in.
Serial Pest didn't begin to describe it, but as long as he was forking over money for drinks, there wasn't much Arthur, Bill, Charles or anyone could do to turf him out of the club. He might've been annoying, but he was rather harmless.
"Maybe ya could talk to Dutch, see if he might put some more affordable options behind your bar?"
Sadie rolled her eyes. She went through this same song and dance with him every night as if she were the one that set the prices at the bar.
"Maybe you could buy a damn dance every once in a while, how 'bout that?"
Arthur chuckled at Uncle's speechlessness. She had a point.
"Uncle...." Arthur slid up next to the old man. "To what do we owe the displeasure?"
He actually had the audacity to look incredulous. "Is that any way of talking to a paying customer?"
Sadie had a small smirk tugging at her mouth before her face changed, like she'd remembered something a bit more serious. "Think I saw an O'Driscoll earlier; saw him dart over to one of the booths on the left."
Arthur nodded once, turning back and scanning through the crowd.
For just before open, there were enough people in that were a sloppy, drunk mess; you couldn't fight people pregaming before coming into the club. Mary Beth and Tilly were already at the tables taking orders for food in their cute little waitress outfits; sparkly black bikinis and miniskirts with a white collar and black bow tie to match. He had to keep an eye on them as well throughout the chaos; there were plenty of customers who felt that it was their right to get fresh with them while they were taking orders.
Thankfully tonight, the girls seemed to just be scrawling down on their notepads, ready to head back to Pearson without much fuss. Good; more people eating means less people drinking on empty stomachs means less drunk idiots Arthur would be wrestling out of the club if they put their hands where they weren't meant to go.
In making eye contact with both of them, he shot them a nod, greeting them without words while the music blasted over them. At this point, Abigail was onto her second or third song; SOS by Rihanna by the sound of things- the energy in her routine had pumped up a little more than the last. While there were plenty of dollar bills being thrown her way, the distraction of a main stage routine wasn't always enough to keep all of the customers behaving themselves.
He saw a familiar brown glint of a bottle on the stage.
"No bottles onstage." Arthur clipped to a bunch of guys in the throws of a story. It took a minute for them to register his presence, only to give him a few variations of "Sorry, man!" before removing it.
Arthur pressed his lips together, nodding in acknowledgement. One misaligned death drop with one of those on the stage and that could end up in a dancer's arm or shoulder or head. Arthur didn't want to have to call a paramedic on top of everything else he had to deal with, nor were Dutch and Hosea big fans of having their dancers looking banged up and battered onstage.
Once was a mistake. Twice and they're out. There's no third time, not without broken teeth, black eyes and bruised egos.
He looked out over the side booths; a few with occupied with some groups. One was all guys in suits, no doubt having just clocked off work and looking to let loose. There was another with a couple on it, all dolled up to the nines, mostly looking like they wanted to fuck eachother more than anything; the girl dancing on their table must've been foreplay for them.
Bingo. The last booth. Three rat-faced kids, one of which bore the unmistakable visage of Connor O'Driscoll, Colm's nephew. All nursing beers, laughing, not a care in the world.
Almost like they'd only just gotten away with it.
"Gentlemen...." He drawled, walking up to their table. "How're ya doin' this fine evenin'?"
Their faces dropped to something more sour, annoyed even. "Fine, thanks."
Already they were copping an attitude. "Mind if I see your IDs there? Just gotta check a little somethin...."
The one on the end rolled his eyes. "Your friend out the front checked them out front, that should be enough."
The goddamn nerve. "Well it ain't. IDs please, or my friend," Arthur put his hand on the pistol in his holster. "Will be showing up reallll soon."
Normally he wouldn't threaten patrons like this, rat-faced or not. However an O'Driscoll was an O'Driscoll and Dutch was very clear that no O'Driscolls were allowed in the confines of the club under any circumstances.
The kid's two cohorts folded like a deck of cards, handing over their IDs without any fuss. The kid himself however had a defiant stare like he'd just been caught smoking behind the school gym and didn't quite want to give up his pack of smokes.
"You too, feller."
Connor sighed, rolling his eyes as he reached into his back pocket. Once the ID was in Arthur's hands, the security guard couldn't help but chuckle.
Connor Reed
Sex: M
123 Ginger Avenue, Stroberry
Date of Birth: 12/6/1978
All the IDs had Reed as the surname. Seems that he'd paid a bargain rate for a even cheaper fake ID.
"R-E-E-D....Pretty funny way to spell 'O'Driscoll' ain't it? That is your name, right?"
Connor's face was transfixed into a scowl. "If y'know that, then you'll know who my uncle is."
Smart-mouthed little shit.
"I can do this the big ol' embarrassin' way or let ya leave with a bit o' yer dignity. Either way, y'ain't welcome. C'mon."
Arthur curled his index and middle fingers quickly, beckoning the young men to stand up and walk out of the building. While his two friends had no problem with following Arthur's command, the kid downed his drink as fast as he possibly could before sliding out, taking his time.
As soon as he stood up, Arthur had hooked his arm underneath the kid's armpit, spun him around and had him in a headlock.
"Hey, what the fuck man?"
"You chose the embarrassin' way out, feller. They ain't none too smart in Stroberry it seems." Arthur looked the other two dead in the eye. "You two, don't do nothin' stupid."
Connor's two friends just nodded, turning heel towards the door. Everyone was a badass until one of them was in a headlock.
Wrestling the kid was easy enough; he was thin and stood about a head shorter than Arthur. It was his wriggling like a cat in a bag while Arthur tried to weave him through the crowd that was annoying.
"Just wait until my uncle Colm hears about this! Then you'll be sorry!"
Arthur scoffed. "I'm sure I will kid...especially when you explain to him why you're pouring money into Dutch's pockets rather than his!"
He wrangled the three dropkicks out the door, past Bill and the line waiting to get into the club. Upon letting go of Connor O'Driscoll, the kid stumbled forwards before looking back like a rattlesnake looking to strike.
"I'll be keepin' these ones...." Arthur held up the fake IDs. "They're not much use to ya, not if they can't even spell Strawberry right."
Connor went to yell something back, only to be grabbed by the arm by one of his friends, turning him away from the Dolls.
"C'mon Con, it's over. Let's just go home....."
Arthur felt contented as the kid straightened up his shirt and walked away. While it wasn't much, it was a small win that he got rid of an O'Driscoll as quickly as possible. However now came time to find out exactly how said O'Driscoll came to be in the club to begin with.
Bill was still standing on the door. He would've been the one to let them in; Charles at least had half a brain.
Arthur flicked the IDs up in front of him. "What's wrong with this picture, Bill?"
The bearded, balding man squinted at the small piece of plastic in front of him. "Looks fine to me."
The blonde rolled his eyes. How this man survived a stint in the army while being this dimwitted, he'd never know. He looked at the picture on Connor's ID. "That kid look 47 to you?"
What Arthur received in return was the blankest stare he'd ever seen on a man, like the words he'd said to Bill just slid right off his frontal lobe.
This shit was exactly why Dutch and Hosea needed to hire more security guards instead of worrying about every area besides.
Not even the first hour in and already, three people thrown out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Abi had polished off her set by blowing a small kiss to the audience; something that had become her trademark at this point. The crowd was going wild while Aunt Joelene moved to the centre of the stage, bookended by a couple of janitors armed with brooms to sweep up all the cash that had been thrown. There was still money being thrown towards Joelene while they brought the mic up to their face.
"Her name might be Raven but I think we can all agree that that set was white hot!"
She strutted offstage, wiping the sweat off her brow, riding both an adrenaline high and the relief of having finished her set. Aunt Joelene went back to hamming it up for the crowd while Abi sought out a bottle of water.
She'd made it all look so easy and effortless.
"You were on fire, Abi!!" John gushed.
"Thanks! God, the crowd's wild tonight....But hey, plenty out there with money to burn!!!" She responded encouragingly.
It did nothing to quell John's nerves. While it wasn't his first time in front of a crowd or even his first on a pole, it was the first time he had to look sexy for an audience instead of just showing off his athletic prowess.
What if they didn't like him? What if they didn't like his scars and thought he was too ugly? Actually getting up on the pole and pulling out some stunts would've been fine but having to weave a fantasy out of nothing....To pull confidence out of nowhere and to feel like it was true so the audience didn't catch on that he was nervous as all hell....
That was so much harder.
"You're gonna do great. Everyone's nervous the first time." Abi said, as if she'd read all his thoughts in real time.
God, was he that obvious?
"We've got a real treat for all you fine folks tonight....He's a new one."
Arthur had just made it back into the main stage after chewing out Bill, exhaling that he had to do that at all. Man, his entire job for the night was to check IDs. While he couldn't blame the man for not knowing what each member of the O'Driscoll clan looked like, not marrying up that almost-pubescent kid was in fact, not likely born in 1978 was such rookie shit that Arthur did not have time to deal with. Not with a couple of cameras out in VIP and only Charles as the other security guard on the floor.
As he leaned against the wall, his ears pricked up from what Aunt Joelene had said- new one....John was gonna be onstage in a minute.
From his position against the door, keeping his eyes on not just the stage but the bar itself, watching the stools start to disappear as people reached over, trying to grab drinks before the next set....yeah, he could stay here and justify that he was keeping eyes on everyone.
Perhaps if he focussed on the sides, the groups, the people who didn't seem to get the memo that no beer bottles were allowed onstage, that would distract him from the warmth creeping up from his chest up his neck at the thought of John taking the stage again.
He was just another dancer. This was just another dance. In a matter of days, these would all blend together and John would be just another guy he worked with.
"Blown into Blackwater from the Wild West, he is wild, dangerous and downright delicious."
John took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. This was it. D-Day. D-Night more like. He hoped he looked presentable. His boots had a heel on them; nowhere near as sky-high or thin as Abi's or Karen's but enough to feel like stilts. It had been a little while since he was having to engage the muscles necessary to stay balanced.
Still, a quick glance back in the mirror showed that nerves or not, he actually looked kinda good in the heels. Considering he spent most of his days in a worn-out pair of Chucks, it was actually a nice change to see his legs looking more sculpted.
He might just pull this off after all.
"Break a leg out there, hon!" Abi said warmly.
He looked over to her, smiling to one side but saying nothing. One more deep breath to take the edge off.
"Rumour has it, he's caused an uprising in the Southern regions. Well, from the way he moves, he's gonna fixing to cause an uprising in yours as well. Give it up for Scarface, the Wolf of New Austin!"
Aunt Joelene clapped, moving back behind the DJ booth while the crowd cheered.
Now or never.
Give me one last dance before we hit the ground
From where Arthur was standing, John looked like a complete and total rockstar. He was almost stomping down that stage like it was a runway, his face smouldering with just pure sexiness as he neared the edge.
Rockstar, model, it was hard to think of what he fit into best. Stunning fucking god of the stage perhaps?
Arthur needed to still his beating heart and the butterflies going down his sternum into his stomach. He gritted his jaw to make sure it wasn't hanging upon like some brain dead zombie.
GodFUCKINGdamn, John was hot. Not just in his appearance; the leather chaps and vest definitely made him look like a bad boy outlaw ready to pull a gun and hogtie a man before having his way with him, but in how he carried himself. He didn't just belong up there. He owned the whole stage. It was his world and everyone else in that room, Arthur included, was just living in it.
Push me into overdrive
What a lovely way to die
If you're with me by my side
I'm in for the ride, uh
John dropped to his knees in a way that made Arthur wonder how he hadn't managed to kneecap himself; that was until he saw John crawling towards a patron, never taking his eyes off them before grabbing a hold of their tie, pulling it gently while leaning back.
Man, what the older man wouldn't give to be transfixed in that gaze, to be the focus of those gorgeous eyes again. He probably couldn't even see Arthur from this far. In part, that was ok; John also wouldn't see just how heavy and hot Arthur's cheeks had become with lust. Hopefully neither Bill nor Charles would need nor ask for anything; he didn't possess the words nor the brain capacity to focus on much else.
John had let go of the tie, laying on his back with his hips in the air, giving one, two, three thrusts in the air, making the audience scream for more.
It was hard to not think of what it would feel to be on top of him, feeling each thrust.
Something black and self deprecating slithered up Arthur's spine. It's been too damn long, Morgan. You're getting desperate and salivating over someone you barely know, now. A 22 year old someone you barely know. Pathetic.
There's no run and no escape
All the venom never waits
Once you feel it hit your veins
It's too late, you're gone
John had lifted up his legs high above into the air, almost in a pose reminiscent of yoga; first pointed straight up before moving them into a Y shape. Once the beat had dropped, they were back behind his head and he was right side up again, rising up onto his knees while they were spread out, thrusting those hips in time once again.
Just how he managed all of this in a heel, Arthur would never know. How any of the dancers managed in heels, he'd never know. Arthur himself had two left feet at the best of times.
His vest had fallen open, revealing a lithe but muscular torso underneath; he wasn't as hairy as Arthur was but he had enough spread across his chest to be seen from where the security head was standing.
Those abs...Arthur's fingers tingled at the sight of them, wanting to run his hands down against the ridges and valleys. While they weren't super pronounced like some comic-book superhero power fantasy, it was like he'd come to the club carved out of a fine marble.
Breathe, Morgan. Breathe or you'll choke.
And there's no stopping what's going down
Give me one last dance before we hit the ground
Before we hit the ground
John was now back on his feet, headed towards the pole, grabbing it with both hands before throwing his leg around it, spinning while arched back. He must've gotten a good five spins in before leaning back, holding himself on the pole only by his legs. His hands connected with the floor, flipping his legs off the pole with all of the grace of a gazelle, somehow landing on his feet in a way that was perfectly feline.
He catwalked the length of the stage with a stomp that meant business and a stare that went right through Arthur, as if he were the only one in the room, parting the sea of screaming customers nursing drinks and throwing bills. It was like time had stopped, hanging in the air for what felt like forever while John's eyes didn't blink, a cocky smirk tugging at his cheek.
Was he actually looking at Arthur?
Before the older man could think, John had dropped to the floor in a split, pounding up and down like his life depended on it. Arthur had to blink to return to where he was; against the wall of the Dolls, behind all of the patrons, next to the bar, the cacophony of music and cheering and screaming blending together into an indecipherable soup, making the air thick.
Push me up against the wall
It's the final curtain call
'Bout to be a ballroom brawl
Oh, come on
John slid up from his split against the pole, grinding against it in a way that made Arthur think of how he'd feel if he grinded up against him like that. How his full, muscular ass would feel moving against his cock...Hell, even up and down his cock was a delicious thought.
No, Morgan. Stop it. He's up there doing a job, not wantin' you to drool over him like a damn dog. Once you're done here you're gonna go home, go on PornHub like everyone else, rub one out and get it out of your system so you can be normal at work.
His movements were powerful without being violent; a thrash that had a certain grace to it, like he was equal parts wild and beautiful. Something untamed and yet still stunning; a beauty that couldn't be bought or paid for, like you had to see it to believe it.
Just where did this kid blow in from? It was like he'd been carried in by the wind without rhyme or reason, carrying the same kind of mystery as one of those myths that old Southern ladies around town held dear.
A ballroom brawl was right. It seemed that the patrons felt the same as Arthur did, crowded around the stage hanging onto John's every move. You almost couldn't see him from the amount of green bills being thrown in the air, raining down on him like confetti.
And there's no stopping what's going down
There won't be a next time now
But I'll be fine if you're around
Give me one last dance before we hit the ground
John hooked his legs around the pole, curving his body around it while he spun upright. He looked ethereal, his long hair whooshing along with the rest of him before he flipped out, curving back and stopping completely still. He reached his legs out away from the pole, spreading them apart into a wide V shape before bringing his heels together with a giant CLACK that reverberated through the Dolls.
There's no way this was his first time dancing. Maybe there was some club out west where he worked the poles. Kid was a damn natural at this.
Before we hit the ground
Before we hit the ground
Before we hit the, before we hit the, before we hit the ground
He wrapped his legs back around the pole; climbing up with a determined ferocity, every so often throwing out a spin or a split or posing in a way that accentuated those long, beautiful legs of his. He made it to the top of the pole before flipping himself up vertically, then planting his feet to the ceiling.
Arthur felt a jolt in his chest. That distance from stage to ceiling was nothing to snuff at; like 20, 30 feet? Two storeys and then some. Most dancers didn't scale the entire length of the pole and for good reason; there was a mighty drop if something went wrong. Forget calling a paramedic, a cracked skull or spine would have them calling a hearse.
There's no stopping what's going down
There won't be a next time now
He was still, save for a small, measured swish of his hips to the music. All Arthur could really think of was how the hell he had the arm strength to keep himself that far out for that high up for that long.
But I'll be fine if you're around
John wrapped his legs back around the pole, hooking it between his thigh before he held his hands out.
Give me one last dance before we hit the.....
He slid down headfirst towards the stage at a rate that had the customers shocked; their cheers had turned to yelps as he hurtled towards the stage.
It was a split second, but it was a split second that made Arthur's blood run cold; he was going to die if he hit that stage. Even if he were the right way up, he'd break his leg at a minimum. Upside down, he'd snap his neck and Arthur would be picking up a body off the floor, right in front of a cast of hundreds.
He launched himself off the wall to do something, anything to stop that from happening.
Ground!!!
It was the cheers that Arthur heard first.
Then it hit him; he heard cheers, not horrified screams.
John's legs were still upright while he whipped his hair around, pumping his fists to the music. Little black flickers of hair could be spotted behind the raining dollar bills. Even the customers' eyes were as wide as the plates the food from Pearson's kitchen were served on.
Arthur didn't know whether he should be amazed or chew the kid out for giving him a heart attack like that. Somehow he knew management wouldn't have much to discipline him for once they saw the sheer amount of money falling down on that stage.
"OH MY GOD!!!" Aunt Joelene yelled from behind the DJ booth, their face plastered in absolute astonishment.
Before we hit the ground
Before we hit the,
before we hit the,
John brought his legs and arms in, flipping his body back out from the pole, curving it around.
before we hit the
ground
John landed in a split, holding his hands up triumphantly.
In amidst the white noise of the customers going completely ballistic for John, Arthur knew that this wild kid from God knows where was gonna be the kind of trouble that he had a weakness for.
This was not his last dance. Not by a mile. He had arrived and he was here to damn well stay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10 songs. 10 songs in a row was nothing to scoff at, even for an experienced headliner. Just where the hell was this kid from anyway? Surely he had to have danced elsewhere; he was 22, that was old enough to bounce around to a few clubs.
Either way, Susan was expecting a tumble. She was expecting him to trip and fall flat on his ass, proving to Dutch that no, first impressions are not everything when it comes to dancers and to leave the hiring of talent to her. It would serve that good-for-nothin' ex-husband of hers right if his newest hire turned out to be a dud.
But he didn't tumble. He didn't stumble. There wasn't a step out of place in any of the songs. On the contrary, that little stunt he pulled from the ceiling to the floor during the first damn song no less was....heartstopping. Brilliant, in such a way that made Grimshaw grit her back jaw. He'd raised the bar for all the talent heading out onto that stage in a single song, much less the other nine that followed.
Hell, he'd pulled out some acrobatics that hadn't been seen before at the Dolls.
If she were a gambling woman, if her game was poker, she would've lost the main pot of proving Dutch wrong. That pompous shit was probably looking so damn smug up in his little office, if he wasn't too busy with his cock in Molly O'Shea's mouth of course. However she at least had the side pot of showing up Javier, that obnoxious, sloppy little shit.
"Now was that hot or was that HOT??? You could fry an egg on that stage from that set and still have enough heat for bacon and pancakes, goddamn!" Aunt Joelene gushed.
John stood with his hands on his hips while Joelene did her thing, holding her hand out to present him to the crowd.
"Give it up once again for Scarface!!! Hope your cherry-popping was as good for you as it was for us, Sugar!"
John took a bow before running offstage, crossing paths with the janitors and their brooms to sweep up the cash. He couldn't even think of the amount of money on that stage; it was impossible to even see the black of the stage in amidst all of those notes.
More than that however, he was back out in front of a crowd again. He performed for an audience. Granted he was less clothed than he had been in the past for competitions and championships, but he still had it whether he was on UWE's gymnastics team or not. He didn't need the team to affirm that he had skills; those cheers warmed his blood and tired body in a way that he hadn't felt since it all came tumbling down.
Grimshaw was standing with her hands on her hips. Her stare, like she was sizing him up, was the only thing that made him aware of just how cold the sweat on his body became.
"John, right?" She asked.
John nodded. "Yeah Miss. John Marston."
She nodded, her mouth slowly forming into a close-lipped smile that John wasn't sure adorned her face all that often. Almost like she respected him.
"Welcome to the Dollhouse, John. You've earned yourself a break, honey. Be back on the floor in half an hour."
Chapter 4: Lipgloss, High Heels, I’m Losin’ My Mind
Summary:
Arthur and John are both due for a smoke break, slowly getting to know one another. However, the chaos of the club waits for no one.
Notes:
Hey everyone; here’s Chapter 4!!! A big thank you to everyone who’s been kind enough to give my little fic a read and those whom have left lovely comments; I really love hearing what y’all think of my story so far 😁 We’re slowly making our way thorough John’s first night; for those whom have been hanging out for some john and Arthur time, I’m glad to say that hopefully this chapter delivers on it, even just a little bit.
The chapter title comes from Blonde, Bad and Beautiful by Airbourne, which would absolutely be a song that Karen would dance to…but also describes our rugged outlaw/bouncer quite well too 😉 The line itself however is John’s ‘Scarface’ wear all over too.
Hope you guys like this one. The burn is slow but I’m working my heart out on this.
Chapter Text
The time was now 9:30 and Aunt Joelene was right in the middle of hamming it up for a voracious crowd; normally she rotated between doing some stand up comedy, some lip syncing, perhaps a few games involving a few daring or drunk patrons. For the most part, they were shoved up their by their friends, wanting to see their buddy become the centre of attention. Depending on how many drinks Aunt Joelene had in her system, she could either turn the patrons into a star for a few minutes or a punchline; either way, she was as much a part of that stage as any dancer.
The club itself was filled out with more people now, making it a little harder to move around. It meant more wallets with cash to be thrown, but it also made keeping an eye on people all the more difficult.
It was gonna have to wait. Arthur needed a cigarette, badly.
He walked over to Charles, standing at the edge of the corridor leading to VIP. The man acknowledged him with a nod as he wandered over.
"Imma take my break, you good to keep an eye on things out here?"
"Yeah, I should be alright."
He always was. It seemed like nothing phased Charles Smith, even on a bad night. Made him a good man to have around, able to jump into action without breaking a sweat.
"Any trouble, get me on the radio."
Arthur turned away, weaving through the crowd to get to the back. Just for half an hour, he hoped that folks would behave themselves enough to find some semblance of peace in amidst the lights and the chaos.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He made it out past the bathrooms, the doors leading to the kitchen and the entry to backstage, finding salvation- a small door leading to Out Back.
Out Back was where he preferred to spend his breaks; first it was outside, away from the smell of spilled drinks, aftershave and dancer sweat that seemed to impregnate the carpet. While it was technically a loading dock, all deliveries went down before the doors opened, so during a shift there was was little to no risk of some truck driver rolling up while Arthur was lighting up. The sound from the music and the crowd seem to get pushed all the way to the back row while he was out there, but it wasn't so silent that he was unaware if any shit was going down; just enough where he could collect his thoughts, breathe, recalibrate a little.
The best thing about it? No customers. If one ended up out here, they would have had to taken many, many wrong turns.
It definitely didn't hurt that the air was clearer out there. There wasn't any awkward obligation to make idle conversation like there was in the break room, nor did he have drunk patrons in his face trying to give him a hard time. Plus the wifi signal reached far enough out here.
He took a moment to feel the cool wind on his face before leaning up against the wall, pulling out his phone. Mary's chat bubble was still up; she'd seen his response, but hadn't responded to it. He flicked through a list of reasons as to why she wouldn't have responded; maybe she fell asleep or was busy or something. However the more he thought about it, the more the obvious answer glared back like an offensive neon sign: she looked at his answer and didn't respond because once again, she had him on a tight leash that ensured he'd be at her beck and call, every single time.
Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Hadn't she caused enough damage? Enough heartache? What Arthur wanted, she couldn't give and she'd made that abundantly clear many times....so why was she still pretending like they still had something? Why couldn't she just cut him off clean and let him heal? Why did she have to come back every time he had a fighting chance of thinking about her a little less?
More to the point, why was there a small part of him that thought that this text, this small glimmer of attention from her would be the moment where she finally saw the light and chose him?
These questions pulled at him with the same level of comfort like a hard yank to the hair. He leaned against the wall, putting his phone back in his pocket, feeling out for his pack of smokes.
Flick....flick....flick.....
"Goddammit...."
A husky voice made Arthur's ears prick up.
John was in a squat against the wall a few metres up, trying to light up with a lighter that clearly didn't want to play. He probably didn't even hear Arthur come out, he was just focussed on his smoke. Maybe the blare of the music deafened him a little; first timers generally aren't aware of just how damn loud it got on the main stage.
However, he could've also just been wanting to enjoy a smoke so bad that nothing else around him mattered.
His vest was open. There was a faint sheen of sweat on this biceps as his arms curled around, one hand shielding the wind away to give his lighter a fighting chance. The faint light of an overhead spotlight at the end of the building gave him an otherworldly glow, gently illuminating the wolf sleeve tattoo on his right arm.
The piece itself was striking, not unlike its canvas.
Before Arthur could think, John's head turned towards him. "Hey....got a light? Mine's kinda fucked."
Arthur said nothing, instead just lumbering over while reaching in his back pocket for his Zippo. John stood up, a faint hint of cheer on his face at the sight of the flame. He leaned in as Arthur held the flame still, watching the end of John's smoke glow red in the night.
He couldn't put his finger on it, but this felt intimate somehow.
"Thanks...." He said out the side of his mouth before taking a drag. "Needed this one."
Arthur nodded. "Yeah, I can see why," He dug around for his own pack of smokes, pulling one out and putting it to his lips. "Helluva headline by the way."
The young man smiled warmly; it was genuine. "Thanks. Hopefully wasn't too bad for my first try."
Arthur took a drag on his own smoke. "First night's always the hardest; you've probably felt it in other clubs."
The kid had to have danced elsewhere. At 22, he was old enough to have at least another club under his belt , especially seeing as a stripper's retirement age was usually around 25, 26, 27 at a stretch and if they were knockout stunning. He probably cut his teeth in some little backwoods shake joint in the desert if he could work a pole like that.
John's eyes went a little wide while I looked at the ground. "Actually I haven't. That was my first dance. This is my first dancin' job."
Arthur tasted the night air before he realised his mouth was hanging open. "You're shittin' me?"
The younger man chuckled. "No shit detected, Mister."
John wouldn't admit it out loud, but it did feel nice to have this tall, muscly, handsome man's eyes on him.
"Goddamn.....you've got some moves, kid. Ain't no first timers look like that on their first night, let alone their first dance."
John tucked his hair behind his ear, trying not to smile too hard. So he was watching. He watched and he liked it.
"Well thank you. I tried my best. Wanna do a good job."
Both men took contended drags of their cigarettes, looking out into the night. For John, the attention from the older man was far too nice to let the wheels of it stop rolling. He wanted to know about him, what he was about, whether he would be interested in being beneath him sometime. Just something, anything that told him a little more about this gorgeous man.
"So, how long you worked here?"
Arthur flicked the butt of his smoke, letting the ash fall to the ground.
"'Bout eight years, give or take."
John's eyes widen at the admission. Eight years. Was definitely no small stretch by any measure; the only thing John could really compare it with in his own life was doing gymnastics and by now, it felt like he'd been doing it forever.
"Damn....you like working security?"
The younger man didn't realise it, but he'd asked a rather loaded question. Truthfully, it had never been Arthur's dream to get past 30 and still be working what was meant to be a temporary gig at Dutch's. Truthfully, Arthur didn't even really know what he wanted to do or be anymore; all there was was living from one month to the next, trying to keep himself and his responsibilities above water. That didn't allow much time or energy or space for dreams.
"Pays the bills."
John nodded smoothly, taking in the few words he received. "Well, looks like we'll be seein' a bit more of one'nother."
Arthur couldn't let on to just how happy those words made him, nor that there was now a warmth spreading throughout his chest at that prospect.
"Looks like it....Where in New Austin are ya from?"
There was something within John that brightened up at the question; the older man, who'd first greeted him all stiff and stoic was actually interested in where he came from.
"Home's Armadillo. What about you?"
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Armadillo, damn....Long way from home. What brings ya lakeside?"
John swallowed. He couldn't blame the man for not knowing but still, he was inching towards uncomfortable, raw territory and didn't even realise. "Came here for college. I go to UWE."
"Oh, you're a Wildcat?" For some reason, John was surprised that he was familiar with the university's mascot. He didn't seem the type to follow college sports. Hopefully he hadn't followed gymnastics all that closely....
"Whatcha studying?" Arthur asked, popping the growing bubble of John's anxiety.
"Uh, Agricultural Science. Wanna be a rancher one day but my Uncle wanted me to get an education first."
So he's pretty, sexy AND educated....Damn.
Arthur nodded once before taking another drag of his cigarette. "Smart man."
John wasn't sure if he meant his Uncle Leigh or him, but he relished the compliment nonetheless. "What 'bout you? You study?"
"Long time ago...Know I don't look it, but I did a bit of Fine Art way back when."
John took in the sight before him; Arthur was muscular, solid, looked like he could easily pick him up and carry him over his head without so much as breaking a sweat. Even with the faint, stubbly beginning of a beard he had coming in, he looked every part the tough guy you'd expect to be running security. Still, the younger man couldn't deny that knowing that the man that stood before him was an artist filled him with something light, joyful....like this was something he didn't tell many people.
"No way! That's really cool!" John beamed. "Do you do art? What do you make?"
Arthur wasn't used to anyone taking this much interest in what he did outside of throwing drunk assholes out of the club; it felt strange, but Arthur felt like he could talk about it without being judged too harshly.
"I like to draw....Still do a lil bit, when I can."
John nodded. "I can't draw so much as a stick figure. I'd like to see your work if you have some to show."
Goddamn....he wasn't just a pretty face. He was pretty damn sweet too.
"Might have to bring some in for ya."
It was baby steps, but John took a contented drag of his cigarette, blowing out a long puff of smoke. Seemed that the older man wasn't completely closed off and unfriendly as he first made out to be. This was a job and he seemed to do it well but there was clearly more to the man than met the eye; and what had met the eye so far was very, very alluring indeed.
"Y'know, you never said where you were from."
The kid really seemed to hang onto his words; another thing he wasn't used to from people. "Been from 'round here for a long while....Before then, moved around a lot."
John could see a sadness in Arthur's eyes, like he'd unintentionally prodded a bruise or a cut that hadn't healed over just yet. John knew what that was like. He had plenty of bruises that couldn't be seen, even if they didn't show up in his skin.
"I get that. Moved around a lot myself when I was a kid."
He took that as a mutual understanding between himself and the young man; there's a certain look one gets when their past is marred by some sort of abandonment or trauma. While Arthur was forever grateful to Hosea and Bessie for taking him in as a child, it still didn't erase the pain inflicted on him by Lyle Morgan, his piece-of-shit sperm-donor of a father. Arthur didn't know where he was these days and really didn't care; hopefully the son of a bitch was long dead after leaving him and his mother and all the chaos he'd caused leading up to it.
Arthur ashed his smoke. This wasn't the time to dredge up past hurt, especially to someone who wasn't asking for it. Seeing that look in John's eye, he wasn't about to go poking where he didn't belong either. Maybe if they talked a bit more, got a little closer, there'd come a time where he'd be comfortable sharing that information. A few hours into knowing someone however? Not a chance.
"So....Bad Things? You a True Blood fan?" Arthur asked, breaking the tension and the silence.
John's face brightened up. "Hell yeah! Where else are ya gonna find vampires in the South? It's addictive."
Arthur smiled a close-lipped smile. He understood completely; it was a guilty pleasure to say the least. "Can't disagree with ya there."
John looked stunned. "You're into it too?"
He was comforted by the older man nodding before taking a drag. Something they could talk about! A shared interest.
"Ya Team Bill or Team Eric?" John asked excitedly.
Arthur blew out smoke. If he had the capacity to read into subtext, he'd wonder if this as John's way of finding out if Arthur liked men or not. However if there was anything Arthur could count on, it was that the self-deprecating centre of his brain would break through steel if he'd let it.
He's talking about a show, idiot, not you. You barely know eachother, he ain't hittin' on you when he's exhausted, at work and havin' a damn smoke.
"Team Sam. Bill was a bit much f'me. Eric was alright, but Sam....Sam's decent. Tryin' to run a business. Just got dealt a hand."
Sam also had long hair, a bit of scruff on the chin, was wild as a shifter, lean, lithe.....Much like the young man before him.
Also didn't hurt that he was unlucky in love, much like Arthur.
"Yeah, you can say that again....I like Eric myself."
Arthur cocked his eyebrow. "Eric, really?" Not whom he would've guessed.
John shrugged his shoulders before looking up at Arthur with a stare that bored right through him. "What can I say....got a thing for blondes."
That admission nearly made Arthur's heart stop. Did that mean that John liked guys? Did that mean that John thought Arthur was attractive? Was this John letting him know that his feelings were returned?
There was no way he could know.
Before Arthur could properly gather his thoughts, the door swung open, revealing Abi. "There you are! Grimshaw wants me to show you how to work the floor."
John asked his cigarette on the tarmac beneath them before sucking back the last remaining dregs of tobacco before dropping it, stubbing it out with his heel.
"Gotta head back in...." John said sheepishly. "Hopefully we can....share another smoke break?"
Arthur dipped his head. "Sure thing."
If Arthur blinked twice, John almost looked gleeful at the prospect of talking to him again before he darted off back into the club. While he was disappointed for their conversation being cut short by duty calling and the swing of the door, somehow he felt....lighter. Like this night wasn't just another exhausting chore that he was counting down the minutes until it finished.
Arthur might have only known him for a few hours, but he seemed rather sweet underneath all those smouldering good looks.
He leaned back against the wall, finishing off the last of his cigarette with a contented sigh, watching the smoke exit his lungs into the night air. John wasn't just a pretty face; seemed he was actually kind of a nice kid too.
Emphasis on 'kid', Morgan. He's in college; he ain't gonna be interested in someone on the wrong end of 30 like you.
"Unnnh.....fuck....."
A voice interrupted his thoughts. Who the hell was back here?
He threw his cigarette butt to the ground, stubbing it out with his boot. It sounded like it came from around the corner.
"Fuckin'....Just like that, yeah...."
He could hear breathing. Heavy breathing. Someone was definitely getting up to something where they shouldn't have.
What he didn't expect was to see Javier, up against the wall with both of his fists in what remained of Bill's hair while Bill had the whole length of Javier's cock in his mouth.
"Goddammit....." Arthur shook his head, causing the two men to jolt.
"Arthur! Ain't what it looks....." Bill panicked, trying to stand up while Javier zipped up.
Javier's expression was a little stunned, but not embarrassed. While Bill had a hard time looking Arthur in the eye, Javier wasn't trying to defend himself or even pretend that he hadn't been caught in a compromising position.
Was he drunk? High even? Or just secure in the knowledge that he was hard to get rid of, as one of the headliners of the Dolls?
Either way, Arthur couldn't afford to lose another member of security and Javier's position as a prime moneymaker meant that bad behaviour from the headliner was mostly swept under the rug. Either way, his hands were tied.
"Ain't got time to deal with this...." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a breath. "Just don't do it again. Bill, get back out the front."
Bill nodded, wiping his lip with his thumb before making a break for the door. Javier on the other hand tilted his head back, looking down his nose.
"Hey...it's only business." He held his hands out, nonchalant and cocky.
Arthur shook his head, turning back around to head back inside. He wasn't in any mood to read into what was said, lest it turn out he was violating Dutch and Hosea's 'No Whoring In The Club' policy. Hell, he wasn't in any mood to discipline Javier Escuella on any night before discovering him being blown by one of his guys who should've been on the damn door, checking IDs.
No wonder Bill had let in a few O'Driscoll kids with shitty fakes that could've been printed off at the school library for all they knew. He was probably thinking of when he could get a moment to sneak off with Javier. There was an added layer of Sad to the situation in that even Bill Williamson, a man who was far away from being the sharpest tool in the shed was currently seeing more action than Arthur.
The last half hour had gone so well too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Now, our next act is puts the 'fire' in firecracker...."
Aunt Joelene was back up onstage, all lights on her while she commanded the microphone. Her games with the patrons had wrapped up and now it was time for another headliner; it was Karen's turn to take the stage.
"She is hotter than a barbecued Scotch Bonnett under the Lemoyne sun and kicks harder than a mule full 'o whiskey!"
Abigail and John leaned against the bar, throwing back a couple of big glasses of ice water. In the heat of the club and sweating it out onstage, there was nothing better than a big glass of cold water to cool down.
"Make it rain for Krystal, the Honey of the Heartlands!!!!"
Abi finished off her glass, leaning her head back and savouring it before putting the empty vessel back on the bar. By then, Karen had come out to Blonde, Bad and Beautiful by Airbourne, stomping and shaking like she meant business.
"Alright, this right here is where you're likely gonna make the most money of a night. Headline dances are great, but private dances....those are where you really rake it in."
John nodded intently; somehow he was a little more nervous about a private dance than he was a headline. Performing for a crowd was one thing, he'd already had years and years of experience of performing countless routines at championships and qualifiers that he barely even thought about the people in the stands anymore. It was one on one that was all the more nervewracking; it was more intimate. They were up close, able to see his flaws and stumbles more closely.
Able to see those scars of his.
While he was trying to take ownership of his body and the scars that now adorned it, he hadn't had someone up close and personal to his body since semester finished, right after all that horrible business went down. Even then, that hadn't gone well.
"Oh jeez....those are nasty....You really should update your photos. Feel like I've been catfished here."
He swallowed at the memory, trying to ignore its barbed sting. He wasn't gonna think about that asshole. Not when he had a whole room full of people cheering for him. Not when he had Arthur's gorgeous blue eyes on him, looking him like he wasn't a disfigured mess.
Man, this would be so much easier if it were Arthur buying a private dance. What he wouldn't do up in the Whiskey Room...he hadn't been in there yet, but the impression he had was that anything went so long as you didn't get caught. Maybe he'd have to brush his fingers against those big muscles of his or thread his fingers through that beautiful dirty-blonde hair....Had he even picked up on "I've got a thing for blondes"?
Don't be too thirsty, Marston. You've had ONE conversation with him and even then, he could be straight. You could be hitting on a very, very straight man who ain't picked up on none of what you've put down because he's so blinded by pussy. All you've done is have one smoke break together, that's it.
Although....liking Sam from True Blood? Was that a sign? Was there hope?
"John, ya listening?"
He shook his head, coming back down to Earth and out of his thoughts of Arthur. "Sorry, was miles away."
Abi rolled her eyes. "Pay attention, I'm giving you a dancer's crash course here. Now, there's a trick to findin' out who's got money to spend and who just wants some ass at a bargain bin rate. If you're a headliner, you can afford to be a little bit pricier and pickier but too much and ain't no one gonna buy a dance with you, so be reasonable."
She began to walk out onto the floor, past a few folks eating wings, others drinking, others staring up at the stage. John took note of all of the pairs of eyes that followed her, like she had a magnet that attracted the stares of men and women alike. She didn't need to ask John to follow her; he did so without question, wanting to learn what he could off his best friend.
"Look over there; see that guy- grey suit, black loafers?" Abi said, leaning back.
The guy was leaning up against the booth, nursing a beer. Under the flash of the lights, he looked kinda easy on the eyes.
"D'ya reckon he has money?" John said, his voice dipped in curiosity.
Abi scoffed. "Fool ain't even popped his tags; he's got that shirt, wearin' it out, tryin' to look like a somebody and will be returnin' that suit on Monday. Boy's only looking like he's got money but all of it went on buying that suit. Nah....hold out for better."
Sure enough, John could see a small hint of cardboard poking out behind the guy's neck; the unmistakable hallmark of a price tag.
Abi was not just sharp, but razor sharp. This was a skill set in and of itself.
She moved on, walking a few more metres. "See that guy nursing the whiskey?"
The guy in question was just in a button-up shirt and dress pants. Really, he wasn't all that distinguishable from about fifty of the other dudes in the place.
"How am I meant to tell if he's bought a nice whiskey or not?" John asked. Maybe that was the indicator of wealth.
Abi leaned a little closer into his ear. "Ain't about the whiskey but rather, what's not in it. You see any ice in that glass?"
The drink was neat; no ice to be found.
"We don't serve nothin' neat, least not to customers. He's been holdin' onto that one for a while. If he was on some sorta sobriety journey, he'd have a Coke. He's held onto that one long enough for the ice to melt, meanin' he ain't spendin' money. If he ain't buyin' a drink, he ain't buyin' a dance. Don't waste your time."
John didn't have a second to take in just how valuable Abi's tutelage was when a group of three women came trotting up to them.
"Scarfaaaace!!!!!"
They were all in different versions of the same pink dress, all wearing white sashes with 'Bridesmaid', save for the one in the middle who had 'Maid of Honour' on hers. Their hair had been done earlier in the night and was now falling out in flyaways and stray curls. There were a few telltale makeup smears across eyes and mouths, illuminating big white eyes and teeth.
"Hey ladies!" John said, putting his hands on his hips. Even without his heels, he would've towered over them easily.
"We've been looking everywhere for youuuu!!!!" The Maid of Honour cried.
Oh yeah, they were hammered-ass drunk.
"Sorry ladies, had to freshen up!" He responded.
He looked over towards Abi for some kind of cue that he was saying and doing the right things; was it normal for customers to be waiting around for a dance?
She nodded in a way that said 'Keep talking to them!'
"You looked soooo good on that stage!! Was that realllly your first dance?" The Bridemaid asked.
John scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, was my first one! It's my first night here!"
They didn't seem creepy. A group of women together? While he didn't rule out that a gaggle of women in a strip club would get up to all the mischief they couldn't at home, maybe he'd be in safer hands with women in VIP rather than men.
"Oh my god, he's a virgin!!!" Bridesmaid #2 squealed, making her friends giggle.
"We wanna pop your Whiskey Room cherry, Scarface! How does $1500 for an hour sound?" The Maid of Honour asked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur had finished his smoke, coming back into the club with a grit in his jaw that wasn't there before he discovered Javier with his full length in Bill's mouth. If Grimshaw caught them, she'd no doubt raise absolute hell with Dutch and Hosea, but was that really a mess that he himself could afford to make?
Javier said "It's only business"....Did he take money for that? Guys like Javier usually didn't give guys like Bill a second look unless there was money involved.
Bill was an idiot but Arthur didn't exactly have his pick of the staff; Dutch and Hosea's policy was there but it wasn't like it was the first or last time a dancer would cross a line. Not to mention with Javier being not just a headliner but THE prime headliner for male talent....He didn't think either of the elder statesmen of the club would be rushing to give the Chapo of Chuparosa his marching orders, especially when he could march right on over to Hell's Belles.
Also, they were against the wall Out Back....technically that wasn't in the club. Was this Arthur's circus at all? Were these his monkeys he needed to round up or tame?
His train of thought came to a sudden halt with the sight of a familiar reverend's voice in his ear. "Mister Morg'n!"
Goddammit.....Another serial pest.
In the corner of his eye was the familiar red hair and scratchy voice of Reverend Orville Swanson, another barfly that did little more than occupy stools at the bar. While Arthur could've dismissed him as a regular old drunk like Uncle, the difference was that the good ol' Reverend was a practising preacher down at Blackwater First Methodist. Maybe Dutch and Hosea played nice with him so he wouldn't actively condemn the place to his congregation.
While he was a strict adherent to Sunday being the holiest of days....apparently God turned a blind eye to him partying of a Friday and Saturday night at Dutch's Dolls.
If it weren't for Dutch and Hosea seemingly having a soft spot for the man, Arthur wouldn't bother with his nonsense. The man clearly had an issue with juggling his vices that stretched beyond the pulpit but at least he wasn't belligerent. Self-hating, maybe, but never unkind.
"Mister Morg'n, I fear I have made a mess o' myself again...."
He'd clearly had a bit too much to drink, even for a regular lush like himself. How First Methodist even kept a supply of communion wine, he didn't know. Still, it was hard to see the man wracked with embarrassment.
"As long as you ain't laid a hand on any of the dancers, yer fine." Arthur responded.
"I think I need t' get home, Arthur...."
Arthur rolled his eyes. The man was a little pathetic and this wouldn't be the last time they'd go through this little routine, but he was at least nice enough to not cause too much trouble whenever he visited.
It was hard to tell under the flash of the lights, but he didn't look or smell like he'd pissed himself or anything; Swanson wasn't known for making a literal mess. He probably just had a little too much to drink and was feeling a bit sorry for himself.
"Allow the man a bit of discretion, Arthur," Dutch's voice rang out in his head. "Man's a pillar of the community, we can extend a bit of grace to such a loyal patron."
Arthur sighed before looking back at Swanson. "Ok, you sit here, have some water. I'm gonna get'chu a ride home."
Swanson nodded, going "Thank you Arthur...." before sitting down at an empty booth.
Arthur made his way through the club, heading towards VIP. He could see a very pink group of women standing and talking to John with Abi hovering closeby; the young man briefly looked up, smiling to the side once their eyes locked onto one another. Man....what he wouldn't have given to be back Out Back, sharing a smoke and making idle chatter again. It sure beat the hell out of being a cab service for clergymen who couldn't hold their liquor.
If anyone asked then he wouldn't admit it, but it felt really nice getting to know John, even just for a little while. They'd said enough for him to want to know more; he was going to college, he wanted to be a rancher, he liked the same silly vampire show Arthur did....He wanted to see Arthur's art. That part on its own made Arthur's heart beat like a drum; the kid had taken an interest in what he was interested in instead of only needed him when he wanted something.
Didn't hurt either that he was very easy on the eyes, whether he was up close or on the stage.
He turned heel around the corner to the VIP area; Charles was standing in the hall between rooms 1 and 3, just a little ways down from the open door of the Whiskey Room. It didn't look super busy; just one dancer in Room 1 that looked like they were wrapping up, but otherwise pretty manageable.
"Charles...how're ya holding up?"
"I'm ok; you need me somewhere else?"
The man was making it easier than the situation honestly deserved. "Yeah...Need ya to do me a favour. Swanson needs runnin' home...the sooner ya can do it, the better. I know you're due for a break-"
Charles held his hand up. "I'm on it, Arthur. I'll take my break when I get back."
"'Preciate it." Arthur sighed. He felt bad having to ask this of Charles, but he needed someone he could trust to just get in, get it done and come back without issue. Bill couldn't even stay on the door for too long without straying towards Javier it seemed.
"Don't sweat it...You gonna be alright in the meantime?"
It was a valid question; Charles out of the building meant that it was now on Arthur to look after the entire floor- not just the VIP area and the Whiskey Room that still had a camera out in each, but the entire main stage. It was now after 10 and folks were liquored up and antsy enough to start pulling a few more stunts, especially while Karen was onstage. He had the camera feed on his phone but still, being one guy amongst a cast of hundreds, having to look after multiple areas at once?
"I'm gonna have to be." He said with an air of defeat in his voice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I-uh..." John stammered. 1500 dollars? 1500 whole dollars for an hour? For one dance???
He hadn't made that amount of money in a week, let alone in a single hour in all of his working life and now these three drunk women were offering that for one hour of his time in the Whiskey Room.
He'd have to be a fool to turn that down.
"Yeah, sure!" He responded, trying to seize the moment before they went sniffing after that Javier guy. "You wanna dance now or grab some drinks first?"
He wasn't sure if he suggested that in order to be hospitable or because he himself needed a drink to calm his nerves. John wasn't expecting to get approached for a Whiskey Room dance, but then again John didn't walk into Dutch's Dolls expecting a job, much less a headline dance on his first night either. It seemed that it was the kind of place where anything and everything could happen and getting offered that amount of money for an hour?
Still...the way folks seemed to talk about the Whiskey Room made it seem a little sketchy, like the expectations within its walls changed with each customer. While he expected to show his body, while he knew that Dutch's Doll's wasn't the place to be selling sex...Just why did customers pay such high amounts for just a dance? Why not just go into VIP?
"Nah, we'll just head on over. Oh man, she's gonna flip!!" The Maid of Honour responded.
She turned around, heading towards the booths. One of the Bridesmaids took his hand, practically dragging him over. He looked around for Abi, who was now leaning against the bar, mouthing 'Good Luck!' at him.
It was all moving along so damn fast.
However the one thing he wasn't was a quitter. He was on a roll tonight and was set to not only make a couple of months' rent in one hour but to have enough to stash away. He could make a serious dent in his bills with this kind of cash and he wasn't about to blow it all by wussing out now.
They were getting closer to the booth. The customers surrounding them began to melt away as they approached the table. There were a few women seated around, all flanking one blonde lady in the middle, all dressed in white with a big gold sash. She was involved in what looked like quite a conversation, laughing it up, looking like she was having a great time. She must've been the Bride.
"Giiiirl!!! We got you another gift! Time to celebrate your last days as a free woman!" The Maid of Honour screamed over the music.
The blonde woman turned her head. Time slowed to a grinding halt as the gold of the sash caught the light, almost blinding John. Those freckles, that hair....He knew those freckles and that hair and they knew him right back.
Bonnie MacFarlane.
Bonnie fucking MacFarlane.
One of the women he was about to dance for was Bonnie MacFarlane, the same Bonnie MacFarlane from back home.
Chapter 5: I Think I’ll Take My Whiskey Neat
Summary:
John goes in for his first dance in the Whiskey Room with an old friend, only to find that it’s another person’s gaze that’s gotten him all hot and bothered.
Notes:
Hey everyone, here’s Chapter 5! I won’t lie, this sucker is becoming a bit longer than I initially planned but oh well, just means there’s gonna be some more story for you to enjoy. The title and lyrics come from Too Sweet by Hozier, which I think was all too fitting for John’s first dance with Bonnie under the watchful eye of Arthur 😁 If you’re liking the story so far, please feel free to drop a comment as I love hearing what you all think. For those that are still sticking around, thank you and I hope you enjoy this one 💜
Chapter Text
Arthur parked himself at the edge of the VIP area, just enough to keep an eye out on the floor. Charles was likely halfway to Swanson's by now; thankfully the good reverend didn't live too far away but still, peace was never guaranteed in a place that traded in drink and fantasies of the flesh. Now he had to keep eyes on all of VIP and the stage until Charles made it back.
Getting to know John a little while having a smoke out back was nice....the kind of nice that Arthur wasn't all that used to. At work, most only really talked to him when they needed something and even outside, his inner circle was pretty small and tight. He kept it that way by choice; the less people that knew his business, the better but still...It had been a while since he'd talked to anyone new and come out of it feeling warmer on the inside than when he went in.
He wouldn't have picked it from the way he danced; when John was onstage, he danced like the kind of guy that would have no problems throwing a guy up against the wall, kissing him with the force that said 'I'm in charge here' while making short work of their belt....
Pull yourself together Morgan, you thirsty bastard.
He shook the thought away, thinking back to Out Back. Hidden behind those razor-sharp cheekbones and gravelly voice was someone who was actually rather sweet; unexpectedly so. If they were anywhere else, if Arthur had just met him on the street rather than trying to get into the doors of the Dolls, he would've thought that John was standoffish, serious...like he wouldn't give someone like Arthur the time of day because he was so damn pretty. At 22 as well, he would have had his pick of anyone at any bar anywhere at any time.
Instead what he got was a nice, gentle kid who hung onto his words and wanted to see what he was about.
He even wanted to see his art. He was friendly enough to talk to about his art to begin with without offering him ridicule in return. Even seemed excited about it.
He had to shake the thoughts away; he'd just met him. It was his first night and he was probably being friendly so Arthur would go fetch him drinks or floss or something to make the nights go a little easier. That's usually how it went; people took what they could get and left it there. They were never too interested in connection; Mary wasn't, so why would anyone else be?
'Got a thing for blondes.'
Just what did he mean by that? Arthur's hair might've been blonde once upon a time, but now it was more a blonde that fell in the mud.
"GET IT GIRRRRLLLLL!!!!!"
His thoughts were pierced by the telltale squeal of a woman. If Arthur had to pick, she would've been in her early to mid 20s and quite a few gin and tonics deep.
He could see a small gaggle of women crowding around one of the booths; it wasn't long before he saw John come out, followed by a blonde woman in a big 'Bride' sash.
They both looked like they'd seen a ghost.
"FROM US TO YOU, ENJOY THE LAST DICK YOU'LL SEE BEFORE YOUR WEDDING NIGHT!!!!" Another of the women yelled; must've been a bridesmaid from the sash she wore.
"AND DON'T BRING HER OUT UNTIL SHE'S THOROUGHLY SATISFIED! WE'RE PAYIN' YOU GOOD MONEY!"
The various sash-wearing women turned backs around while John walked up to Arthur; it looked like they'd run off to the bar. This was not the same smiling, jovial guy he'd shared a smoke with.
"Hey, uh....where's the Whiskey Room?"
Shit....a Whiskey dance.
"Up the end there....you alright?"
John huffed, not like a giggle but hopelessly, like he'd found himself over a barrel. "Yeah....just nervous is all...." He looked up at Arthur earnestly. "Do you keep watch over the Whiskey Room?"
"Gotta keep watch over everywhere."
He saw the younger man's expression soften with what looked like relief. "Alright...Feel a bit better knowin' that."
Arthur mulled over the obstacles ahead of him; customers could close the door at any point in the Whiskey Room as the main appeal for buying a Whiskey dance to begin with was discretion and nudity. While there were dancers that got up to much worse in there, it never usually happened while Arthur was outside the door for fear that it would go straight back up to Dutch and Hosea.
Still, there was a camera out. Arthur wouldn't be able to see what was happening inside, even with his little phone setup. The kid was clearly nervous not knowing what to expect from this blonde lady and her friends.
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Look....if you're worried, crack the door so I can see in. Anything happens that ain't cool, you just cut the dance short there- you ain't gonna lose out on money or nothin' if they can't behave 'emselves. Anything else happens that really ain't cool, you call for me and I'll sort it out. It's my job to be the bad guy when folks ain't know their place here."
John breathed one deep breath; one of ease. "Thank you, Arthur."
He turned heel up towards the Whiskey Room, following the blonde woman. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd say that she looked just as nervous as John was.
Still, this was gonna happen sooner or later; there were always customers who were looking for a little more than what dancers could show onstage. That was the point; this was the fantasy that people forked out thousands for every night. Not to mention as a brand new headliner, of course John was going to get this kind of attention from patrons wanting to be the first to see the newest Doll's flesh.
Deep down however, he hoped that John wasn't scared or uncomfortable or that anything happened that made him run a mile from the place. Deep down, he wanted John to stay. To have more smoke breaks with, to find out more about him, to compare notes about pulpy vampire dramas...to have someone to talk to without it all feeling transactional.
As the younger man walked further away from Arthur, John could feel his heart jackhammering against his chest. It wasn't just that he was about to give a dance in the one room in the place that seemed to be where anything that couldn't be caught went. It wasn't just that he was giving this dance to Bonnie, who presumably still had enough ties back home to tell anyone and everyone who mattered where he now worked before he had a chance to explain himself to Uncle Leigh, never mind warming up to the idea. It wasn't just that this was his first one-on-one dance where he'd be expected to bare his body and his scars....scars that he was still trying to reconcile as being beautiful and not awful heirlooms of trauma.
At this point, he'd settle for tolerable.
It was that Arthur wasn't going to be the one who would be sitting and receiving that dance. Lord how he wanted that man beneath his lap, with those big hands on his flanks, moving along with each shake of his hips. How he wanted him to look up like he was something special, something sexy even....He could feel his insides flutter at the thought.
Well, at least his eyes would be on him. Keeping him safe, all business; that was his job, after all. Still, it was a fun thought that he'd want to watch one of John's dances for fun instead of just being paid to be there.
The lights of the Whiskey Room were the same Pepto Pink as the neon surrounding the main stage and the rest of the building, only seeming far brighter due to the mirrors that lined the walls. The only indicator that the Whiskey Room was there was from a painted bottle on the door, bearing the Dutch's Dolls logo; it looked like an old timey ad from the 50s or earlier.
Here goes nothin'.
Bonnie entered the room first, taking a minute to just stare at the surrounds. There was a small platform of a stage in the centre with one pole mounted to the floor while the other stopped just shy of it; that one must've moved or something. The stage was surrounded by velvet chaises; the kind with the big old button studs in them, like they came from some fancy stately home. Between each chaise was a table, presumably to both rest drinks and to add another surface to dance on. A little sound system sat in one corner while a minibar sat in another; a complimentary setup where most of the bottles seemed to be of the room's namesake.
So this was it. The mysterious Whiskey Room. For something so pink and neon, John didn't expect this place to be shrouded in such mystery.
John closed the door mostly behind him, leaving a small gap where Arthur could hopefully see him. With his hand on the doorknob, he could certainly see Arthur with his back flat against the wall, but in the pit of his stomach he hoped that once he was up and dancing, that would still be the case.
C'mon John, earn your money.
He turned around to Bonnie whose white dress and sash were bathed in pink under the lights. It was like she hadn't aged a day. Maybe she wouldn't recognise him, what with the long streaks of scar tissue now stretched along his right cheek and over his lip.
"Hey there John...Good to see ya."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bonnie MacFarlane. Student Body President and Homecoming Queen of Armadillo High School. From what he could remember, she was nice enough; very proper, most likely due to her father being one of the more successful ranchers in Hennigan's Stead- MacFarlane was a name that carried weight and reputation with it. He didn't see her at many of the parties or the raves, nor did he see her getting up to no good around the bends of Pike's Basin. She was a straight-laced good girl and it made her presence here all the more baffling.
He hadn't seen her in four years and people could change a lot during that time. However from what he remembered, she was alright. Hopefully she was still alright.
"Hey Bonnie...Welcome to Dutch's Dolls." John responded nervously.
"Thanks! Ain't too bad for a shake joint, although to be fair this is the first shake joint I've ever been to."
John scratched the back of his neck. "Incident'ly, mine too."
She cocked her eyebrow. "The place so nice you end up working here?"
John nodded, chuckling. "Believe it or not, it's my first day."
"Well, you did look mighty fine on that stage; my friends all thought so!"
This brought a smile to John's face. "Why thank you; congratulations on getting married!" He pointed across his chest, making Bonnie look down at her sash.
"Oh that! Yeah...gettin' married in a few weeks."
John could see that her demeanour dropped a little, like she was worried about something. Even way back when, she didn't seem like the type that would be worried about anything, like she had it made before she'd even stepped out of the gate. It was disconcerting to see. The Bonnie he knew had the world by the balls.
"Well, you've got an hour of my time and I'm under strict instructions from your bridesmaids to show you a good time. Which song d'ya like?"
She rolled her bottom lip around in her mouth, thinking of something.
"Maybe a slow one; you got Too Sweet by Hozier?"
"I'm sure I can find it....you need a drink before I start?"
She was quiet for a moment. If John didn't know better, he'd say that there was a furious blush to her cheeks that nearly matched the lights around them.
"Think we both might need a drink here, John."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur kept his back against the wall; the VIP rooms were now vacant and so far, the floor looked reasonably well behaved. He could hear the scream of Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard; one of Karen's favourites on the stage.
It was interesting hearing which each headliner picked for their sets. Abigail was all pop princesses and Top 40; all stuff she could dance to as if she were in a nightclub. It worked of course; she drew the attention of men and women across the club who loved seeing her shake it to her little sexpot pop tunes. Karen loved her 80s hair bands or anything close to it, like she was a groupie for one of those bands that'd have hair as high as hers. Javier favoured hip hop, anything he could swing those hips and that long black hair to. And now John....John seemed to be a fan of guitars and that struck all the right chords with Arthur.
People out on the floor at least looked like they were behaving themselves, as much as a bunch of horny, salivating drunks can. Maybe he'd do a lap on the floor between songs; he'd given the kid his word that he'd stay and keep watch and with a camera out of action, he needed to stick to it. It was just he was already stretched thin before Swanson drank himself into a shameful stupor; how many more nights of this did he have to go through before Dutch and Hosea would get it that they needed more security?
He heard the opening bass notes to Too Sweet. John must've started already. He took a few steps towards the Whiskey Room door, planting himself where he could see the gentle sway of John's hips as he turned away from the speakers.
It can't be said I'm an early bird
It's ten o'clock before I say a word
Baby, I can never tell
How do you sleep so well?
The young man's hips were moving slowly as his head was arched back, eyes closed like he was feeling the rhythm of the music all down his spine. His vest was open just enough to see the entire expanse of his chest, right down to his belt; Arthur could see the ridges of his muscles from where he was standing. The way in which he was moving, it was like a well-made martini using the finest gin; all delicate flavours that drew you in until you'd had so much you couldn't see straight anymore.
You keep telling me to live right
To go to bed before the daylight
But then you wake up for the sunrise
You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then
John opened his eyes, looking down at Bonnie. She wasn't looking at him; her head was up, but it was like her eyes were darting all over the room; at the ceiling corner, over towards the speakers, to the pole, everywhere but at John. Sure her eyes would skip over him occasionally, but it was like she was trying to focus on anything but the dance her friends bought and paid for. Why was that? Did she not like him?
Still, if he was gonna be a professional about this, he needed to get it together and focus. Give her something to look at, which meant pulling from whatever he had to make it good; if he felt good, maybe it would bleed across the floor and reach her.
He could see Arthur's reflection in the mirror as he moved, those eyes refusing to leave him. He'd asked him to keep watch, yes but god it felt good to have those stunning blue eyes on him. John felt safe with him around, like the man took his job seriously enough to not just abandon him in there for no reason. With those eyes on him, it made it all the easier to retreat back into that space in his mind that made all of this easier. He stretched his arms up, thinking of that burly man behind him, threading his fingers through that blonde hair while those hands tentatively felt along his sides, reaching gently over his abs, savouring the feeling beneath his fingertips.
Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake?
Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?
If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great
But while in this world
John grabbed onto the pole mounted to the floor, hooking his leg behind it, curling around as he spun. Did this man even realise just how damn smooth he looked? His hair swishing in the air, spinning like some stained glass trinket hanging in the wind; the kind that catches the sunset just right and you just can't help but me mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it.
Arthur could feel his chest becoming hot with the heat crawling up his neck and ears. He'd seen enough dancers in his time to not so much as blink at the splits or a death drop while they were nigh on naked, but this one....All he could think of was that man's beautiful, delicate body up against him, those hips moving against his, looking back at him with a seductive haze in his eye that beckoned him to come closer, do more, touch me Arthur, you know you want to.
Calm the fuck down, Morgan.
I think I'll take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me
He hung upside down, spinning like he'd suspended time and slowed it right down. Goddamn, his legs were long. Long and lean; the leather chaps only served to highlight this, what with the light bouncing off them. It was like they were moulded to him. He hung down like he had no cares in the world whatsoever, unbothered by all of the responsibilities that waited outside of the doors.
Arthur wished he could be that carefree. Most days, he felt like he hauled the weight of the world around on his shoulders. There was no way this kid could be interested in that, in this man who had so much baggage that it almost slowed him down to a grinding halt.
And yet, for a moment there...it felt like with John up against him, he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all.
I take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me
He flipped down off the pole with feline grace, swishing his hips down low, taking his legs down with him before whirling back up. It was simple, but it was enough to keep to the beat of the song. Bonnie had her mouth firmly mounted around the rim of the glass, downing it like it was her job. Damn....he surely couldn't have been so bad that she had to neck her drink at light speed, surely?
Still, Arthur's eyes hadn't left him. On the contrary, they were almost burning into him- it wasn't unpleasant by any measure, it was hot. So much that John swayed his hips and body to a rhythm befitting of being backed up against the older man.
Goddamn, if he could only take him by the hips up against one of these walls....He'd spread his legs out, allowing the man full access to wherever the hell he wanted to feel. He wanted those big hands, those artist's hands against his chest, his abs, his thighs....Any customer in here, he wouldn't be cool with them pawing all over him. However for Arthur, he'd absolutely make an exception.
Don't pitch a damn tent in front of Bonnie for Chrissakes. She's already havin' a hard time watchin' you. It's probably because of those damn scars.
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
John gently slid his vest off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He walked forwards slowly, planting his knees on the table in front of Bonnie, watching her flinch a little at their closer proximity. It wasn't a good feeling, that this girl he'd gone to school with now couldn't stand the sight of him when it was now his literal job to be a sex object, even if just for a few songs.
He backed up a little, sitting on his heels while he shook his hips; maybe a little distance between them wouldn't be so bad. His torso undulated like waves were going through him, rolling on the bank of his thighs before moving back up to his head. Nothing too intense, but enough to get a little closer.
All he could think of was Arthur with his notebook, sitting in one of those chaises, studying him and working flat out to capture all of his lines and angles. To depict him and something beautiful so that maybe one day, he'd be able to see himself that way.
I aim low
I aim true, and the ground's where I go
I work late, where I'm free from the phone
And the job gets done, but you worry some, I know
"Uh, you alright Bonnie?" John asked.
"Yeah, 'm fine....jus' gimme a sec. This is a lot." She responded without looking at him.
She almost looked....embarrassed. Shrinking into her seat, unable to look at him.
"I can do whatever you want, within reason. What happens in the Whiskey Room stays in the Whiskey Room," At this point, it was better to cross that threshold with someone he knew rather than a creep he didn't. "Want me to take somethin' off?"
Deep down, this wasn't for Bonnie. Deep down, if she wasn't directly in front of him then he wouldn't have known she was there. Deep down, he wanted Arthur to see his body. He wanted to see the look on that man's face at the sight of him naked, to see if he'd flinch or if he wanted to touch him as badly as John wanted him to.
She shook her head. "No. What you're in is fine. This is already so much."
She was a good girl. She didn't attend the parties, she didn't go to the raves, she didn't get up to mischief in the back of cars in Pike's Basin, there wasn't so much as a peep about her getting into any kind of trouble. She wasn't the kind of gal who would even be found salivating over a boy, let alone in a place like this. Maybe she hadn't changed all that much in 4 years.
He'd have to keep dancing to give her her money's worth and to collect on the $1500. However if he could do it from a bit of a distance, maybe it might be easier on both her and him.
But who wants to live forever, babe?
You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate
The rest of you like you're the TSA
I wish I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong
John had stood back up from the coffee table with his chest bared and those hips at work, although moving with a lot more intention than before; he was less delicate now and more harder with his moves, like he was jerking in a way that sent a pull to Arthur's gut. He knew he had to head back out to the main stage to see if there were any drunks who couldn't kept their hands to themselves and wanted to sample good they hadn't paid for, but those goddamn eyes of John's...that stare of his while those hips and muscles moved up and down.
Had he caught Arthur looking? He was facing away now, but from the look that he caught in the mirror, it was more like John had caught him with the little knowing smirk that now adorned his face, sending a jolt through him like he'd been found getting up to mischief behind the schoolhouse.
Made ya look, Big Guy.
You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain
Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape
If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait
Until that day
If John didn't know better, if he didn't know that Arthur had eight years of working security under his belt, if he didn't know that he must've seen hundreds of dancers and thousands of dances in his time, he'd probably guess that Arthur was hot and bothered against that wall, watching him dance. There's no way he could've been; he'd surely be numb to it all by now with this being work and not play. Hell, John probably just looked like a mass of shapes shaking under gaudy pink lights.
And yet. And yet....The thought that Arthur was into this dance far more than the paying customer in front of him was? He didn't hate that thought. On the contrary, John wished he could tie a lasso in his mind and pull the larger man in, shutting the door behind him, planting him down on the chaise and start shaking his moneymaker as if to say 'This is how I want to ride your dick by the end of this song.'
I'd rather take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me
Arthur couldn't help but think of what he'd do if he were in that seat instead of that woman. As a rule, Arthur didn't like to frisbee his paycheques back into the club, but watching John...he knew which bottles were stocked in the Whiskey Room. He'd take a big old bottle of Blanton's, keeping it near while John planted himself on Arthur's lap, grinding into him. With those sharp abs so close, he'd pour the bourbon down his collarbone, watching the amber liquid run in trails down his muscles. It wouldn't be long before he'd want to lick each trail off his skin, feeling the younger man shiver with each swipe of his tongue.
Would John want to drink it from his mouth? He'd want John to drink it from his mouth, kissing him ferociously while he grabbed a fistful of that dark hair, pulling him in closer.
Morgan, you'd get slapped if you did that. Not only that but you wouldn't put up with that shit if any customer tried to pull that kinda bullshit. Get it the fuck together.
Goddamn his brain not being able to let him have just that one fantasy for a few seconds without smacking it away.
I take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me
John was back up on the pole; the unmounted one this time. There was a flash of shock in his eyes when he realised that it moved around before he threw his legs around it, whirling around.
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
The sound of the music was nice as he spun around; it wasn't often that he'd been on anything that wasn't mounted steady on both ends, but there was something freeing about it like he was Tarzan, swinging on a vine. It was the kind of feeling he chased whenever he trained for a competition, to forget routine and ranking altogether and to just fall into the moment, enjoying the movements for what they were without a thought in his mind.
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
Whoa, oh
John finished his spins with a clack of his heels before landing on his knees; how he could manage to do that a few times in one night without breaking one, Arthur wouldn't ever know. Still, the sight of his crawling up to the table again before leaning up against it, stretching out his legs like a split, moving his body with surgical precision against the timber grain before standing up, swinging his hips was an image that Arthur would file away for when he was alone and had far more privacy.
I take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You're too sweet for me
You're too sweet for me
The song ended. He got through it, crossing that threshold that seemed so high and unattainable half an hour ago. He did it and in front of Bonnie MacFarlane of all people. He did it without exploding into flames or being tarred, feathered and run out of town.
He shook a little, letting the blood flow back into his feet, legs, arms, everything. Bonnie clutched her glass like it would take an army to rip it from her.
"Hope you enjoyed that; what song d'ya want on next?"
"Yeah, it was nice...." She had a smile on her face like she was trying to be polite, but something was gnawing at her. "Sorry, do you mind if I take a break for a bit?"
Well....that was entirely unexpected.
"Yeah, sure; it's your time after all. You alright?" John asked, dipping his head a little to meet her gaze.
She sunk her head down, staring at her knees. "I'm sorry John...it ain't you. Your dance was amazing....I just got a lot on my mind."
She looked back up with a glaze over her eyes like she was trying to stop herself from crying. Something had clearly gone awry in the few minutes of the song.
"Hey...I'm sorry if I did somethin' wrong; I didn't mean to overstep. Can I sit with you?" John asked.
The drop in John's facial expression showed clearly that something was wrong. Maybe the lady sitting in the seat had said something inappropriate or made him an uncomfortable proposition. He moved up to the crack in the door, hoping that John would look up and give him some kind of signal to indicate that he was alright.
Seeing John mouth "I'm ok" was enough to stop him from going in and having a few stern words with the woman, but there was clearly something tense happening on that chaise.
John looked at Bonnie; a tear was sliding down her face. "God, I feel like such an idiot..." she wiped it away like she didn't want him to see. "I'm sorry John. You ain't done nothin' wrong."
"Neither have you, Bonnie...What's on your mind? I can listen as well as dance."
She giggled one of those hopeless giggles through tears. "I'm just...I ain't used to this. You know me...This ain't my scene. My friends picked this place out for me because they wanted to see some strippin'. It's all a bit overwhelmin' for me if I'm honest."
John felt his insides sink. This was the same girl he went to highschool with. She was innocent, perhaps to a fault. Her friends weren't however and hadn't considered her feelings throughout all this.
"Hey, I'm sorry if anything I did contributed to that; I didn't know. Your friends just paid me to show you a good time is all."
She started to shake her head. "No, no, no...You did great. It's me. I just feel like I don't belong somehow, like this place....a certain kind of....confident....person likes these places and I'm just not one of 'em."
John was taken aback by this. This girl had organised pep rallies and led the charge in drumming up school spirit whenever needed. She knew how to make people shut up and listen. How was it that she didn't feel confident here in a small room with him? Who made her not feel confident within herself?
"You're just about one of the most confident people I know, Bonnie."
The smile she had was a defeated one. "You don't know all of it, John...There's still some things I ain't confident with."
The way she looked at him made John feel sad somehow, like she'd pulled on one of his heartstrings without even realising. "Well hey, as you can see, I ain't in a position to judge no one for nothin'," He gestured down his body. "Your friends paid for an hour; if you wanna talk about what's on your mind, then I'm happy to listen."
Even over the roar of the music and the crowd out by the main stage, Arthur could still hear what was being said between John and this Bonnie woman. Did he know her? He used her last name...that was probably why he was looking as stunned as he was, walking down the hallway to the Whiskey Room. Moreover, was he now comforting this woman while she was struggling?
Sweet didn't begin to describe it. John was something else entirely and it tugged a smile out from the corner of Arthur's mouth.
Bonnie wiped her tears, wiping some mascara along her cheek with it. "The guy I'm marrying, Charlie...he's a great guy. I love him so much....but I'm so worried."
"Whatchu got to be worried about?"
She breathed for a second. "You remember how I was in school? Miss Goody Two Shoes?"
John didn't want to say it, but he remembered, clear as if it were yesterday.
"I ain't....been....with anyone. I've been waiting for marriage; I made that choice an' I stuck by it. But now it's getting closer and I love him so much....I'm afraid I'll be a disappointment. And the fact I can't come here and just relax and enjoy some sexy dancin' like everyone else....I don't know how I'll go on my wedding night and I am so scared, I just-"
She was agitated and the tears were pouring out while she spoke. This had clearly been eating her up for a while now. By the sounds of her friends in sashes out by the booths outside, this wasn't something she could talk about with any of them. This sounded like something she hadn't shared with anyone, really.
"Bonnie, I'm gonna come in for a hug, ok? Tell me to stop if you don't want it." John said before leaning in.
Once he'd wrapped his arms around her, he could feel her body hitching as she cried into his shoulder. He stroked between her shoulder blades, calming her down before looking up at Arthur; he was still staring at him like he was ready to jump in and intervene at any time.
He caught his gaze, giving him a thumbs up, hoping that would translate to 'I'm alright, we're alright, just leave us be, you don't need to throw her out or anything for touching me.'
The older man would never tell him, but the sight of John comforting that young woman brought a thaw that had built up within Arthur over the years. He was used to dealing with all manner of ugliness that drinking and high tension, sexual and otherwise, surfaced within the club. It was disarming to see someone actually being kind for once.
Bonnie pulled away, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry for dumpin' all this on you...You didn't ask for any of it."
"You ain't dumped nothin' on me, it's okay," John responded with a warm smile. "Look, I ain't met this Charlie feller, but I am a guy and I’d like to think I know how guys think. If this man loves you and it sounds like he does...you ain't got nothin' to worry about."
"That's just it...what if I get there and I'm just not good? I dunno what guys like in that area and I don't wanna do nothin' that's like porn...."
She was running around in circles; maybe not physically, but mentally, she was heading down an anxiety spiral that hurt John to see.
"Most fellers don't want porn. They want someone who loves 'em right back, who wants to be with 'em...You may not have experience, but if you go in with as much enthusiasm as he has, I can guarantee that he'll go crazy. You don't need to put so much pressure on yourself; everyone's nervous the first time. You love him, he loves you, this is something you'll both learn over time and ain't no one else's business how fast or slow or experienced y'are. Seriously, all his thoughts are probably gonna go out the window once he sees you naked for the first time."
Bonnie giggled through her tears, making John all the more grateful to see her smiling finally. For Arthur and John however, his words came out stained with a hint of melancholy that neither knew existed within the other, but both were acquainted with quite well.
Arthur didn't have anyone who loved him back and it stung whenever Mary decided to return or acknowledge him. It was like she couldn't stand him in the harsh light of day when once upon a time, she may as well have hung the sun. John had tried to put himself out there, scar tissue and all, after his accident and that had gone awfully wrong. While the young woman before them may have been feeling a little better about her circumstances, the truth was that the men in close proximity to her were used to a certain kind of loneliness that was easier to throw into a corner with their keys and boots at the end of the day; always present even if it wasn't always at the forefront.
Bonnie came in for a hug, holding him close for a minute. "Thank you, John. Really."
John patted her shoulders, feeling relieved. "You're all good, Bonnie MacFarlane. Your new husband's gonna love you so much."
"You really think so?" She asked upon pulling away.
"If he don't, send him over here and I'll have something to damn well say about it."
She smiled, earnestly like it was the first time she'd relaxed all night. She leaned back into the chaise, exhaling. "I hope you don't mind...I know my friends paid you some money to dance for me, but do you mind if we just stay and talk? I kinda miss talkin' with you."
John relaxed into the chaise, following her. "It's your money and you still got 45 minutes. We can talk about whatever you want, darlin'."
Chapter 6: Sleep Well And Let The Good Times Roll
Summary:
John’s first night at Dutch’s Dolls comes to an end and the early morning light peeks over the horizon.
Notes:
Hello everyone! Here’s the new chapter! Thank you all so much for reading; I will get around to responding to comments soon, I’ve just been busy as all shit (14th anniversary with my love and our good friends’ wedding all in the same weekend, whaaaaaat 😜) and have only just sat still now; I’m due to go to work soon but my heart longs to write instead 🙃 Nonetheless if you’re new to this fic then welcome; please drop a comment if you’re enjoying it as I love reading them.
I have no idea how strip club fees work but from what I’ve gathered, it varies from club to club. Either way, we’re gonna see some new characters in this one.
The title comes from Action Replay by the Fratellis, which is exactly the kind of song that would be playing at Dutch’s Dolls while customers were being ushered out the door and the cleaning staff began to come out with their mops and buckets.
Hope you all like this one 😁
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Well my darlings, it's that time of the night. The last drinks have been poured, the lights are going down, it is indeed our final curtain call. Our stunning dancers need their beauty sleep, our libations need refilling. You don't have to go home but unfortunately, you cannot stay here. All I ask is that you make good choices and if you should make bad ones....then be sure to tell your Aunt Joelene alllll about it. We have so enjoyed your company here at Dutch's Dolls and we shall be back once the sun goes down but for now, goodnight my dears and until next time!!"
Aunt Joelene had left the stage, the last patron had walked out the front doors. There was a sheen of sweat, glitter, drinks of various concoctions and combinations and god knows what else on the floorboards and in the carpet. The music had stopped and once that last customer was gone, all the staff could breathe a sigh of relief.
John had taken a seat, taking care to not lose Bonnie's number from his pocket. He didn't expect to ever see her on his first night at the Dolls, but after their talk he was glad they reconnected. They'd spent the hour her friends bought and paid for catching up, sharing details of their lives after the glory days of Armadillo High; she was based out of Saint Denis in the midst of a Business degree, gearing up to eventually run MacFarlane Holdings one of these days. The guy she was marrying, Charlie Andersen, was a lawyer and they'd just put a down payment on a house out by Quaker's Cove.
Of course she'd asked about John's gymnastics career, how could she not? When John responded with a "That's kinda sorta up in the air right now, Bonnie....", she slipped her number to him with the promise of catching up whenever he needed.
"John, you came through for me when you didn't owe me nothin' and listened to me when I needed, no questions asked. I wanna do the same for you when you need."
She'd slipped him an extra couple of hundreds once her hour was up, trying to sneak them into his pocket with her number while they hugged.
"Y'don't need to pay me, your friends already took care of it...." He said, ready to hand back her bills.
"Oh I know. This is me showin' my appreciation for your first night at work. You made my night a lot better than I thought it was gonna be, so I'm sayin' thanks. You did well, Scarface ." She said with a cheeky inflection on 'Scarface.'
She still had a kind heart. The bright lights of Saint Denis and the cutthroat business world hadn't ruined her.
"Thank you Bonnie; it weren't no thing..." He scratched the back of his neck, feeling it heat up from nervousness. "Hey, do you might not tellin' too many people I work here? Folks back home...they wouldn't understand...."
"What happens in the Whiskey Room stays in the Whiskey Room, right?" she winked before heading back out the door to her friends.
She didn't realise it but those few words put John more at ease than he could ever properly convey in the few seconds he held her gaze before she ducked out into the hallway.
Bonnie wasn't going to turn John's life into even more gossip fodder. She wasn't going to ridicule him further than he already had been, nor was what he had done going to get back to Uncle Leigh in Armadillo. On the contrary, she offered him a line to reconnect like old times.
The only thing he regretted was not thanking her for being his first Whiskey Room dance instead of some creep who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. With her number in his pocket however, maybe he'd be able to thank her over coffee.
If he stood still for a second, it almost looked like his luck was turning. First a new place, then a new job and reconnecting with an old friend. He needed this badly, especially after everything had gone so wrong so quick.
He held up the money from Bonnie and her friends, quickly flicking through the bills. $1800, easily with Bonnie's tip on top of what he'd been paid by the maid of honour. John hadn't seen this amount of money in his hands before. It was hard to not get excited about the prospect of keeping ahold of this life he'd cobbled together.
He tucked it away, making his way out the door, surprised to see Arthur still against the wall. It wasn't an unpleasant sight by any measure, but the fact that he hung around until the very end made the younger ma want to melt right on the spot.
"Hey, you alright?" He asked.
"Yeah....turned out a lot better than I thought it would...." John began, one burning question eating away at the back of his mind. "Hey, if I didn't dance....that don't mean I've gotta give the money back, do I?"
Arthur was already shaking his head. "They bought your time. Not your body, not your energy, not your patience, certainly not the right to touch without askin'. If a customer wants to talk then that's ok; you'd be surprised how many come here just lookin' for a friendly face. Only thing that ain't alright is fuckin' behind those doors because this ain't that kinda establishment."
Arthur left out the part where there had been many occasions where dancers had been caught giving extra off-the-books services behind closed doors. He also left out the part where it was only a little over an hour beforehand when folks were taking these sorts of liberties against the walls of Dutch's Dolls. That wasn't how they did things and he didn't want John to think that was an expectation of the job.
The younger man was still rather innocent in a lot of respects and instead of thinking him to be foolish, something kicked Arthur into wanting to maintain that innocence. Just give him some time before becoming completely jaded. Hopefully he'd be able to instill in him that it was ok to say no.
Still, if he could pick apart John's brain at that point, he'd see that the younger man wouldn't have an issue with a blonde security guard propositioning him for a few forbidden acts against the walls and those chaises in the Whiskey Room. If he dug a little deeper, he'd see that John was captivated by the man's jawline, fierce blue eyes and those muscles that didn't seem to quit.
He had butterflies looking at the man. The last time that happened, he would've been a teenager.
"Besides....I ain't in the business of givin' money back to customers who've handed it over. A group o'women like that, all full o' drink and in a place like this? They'd eat me alive." Arthur joked.
John chuckled. He had a point; Bonnie's friends did not come to play.
Seated up against the wall in the dressing room now, he took the number out, punching it into his phone while feeling all the blood rush back into his feet. He hadn't known his feet to ache this bad in a long time; standing on the heels wasn't the problem, balancing on slender and narrow supports was what he did best. Everything from his toes to his arches to his heels just throbbed with a first-timer ache.
He leaned down, unzipping his boot, slowly peeling it off his foot. With the slide of the leather and the lining, it felt like he'd developed some blisters as well. He was hoping he still had some tape in one of the boxes at home; maybe he'd tape his feet up before he worked next time around.
No good deed went unpunished, but overall he had a pretty good first night. From headlining to his first Whiskey Room dance being with a friend to reconnecting with them and walking home with a few stacks of cash?
It might not have been the kind of work he could tell Uncle Leigh about just yet, but he'd made way more money than he ever would've flipping burgers and was treated a little better by the customers too.
Abi came up toting a clear bag full of bills over her shoulder. "You gonna get your headline money? You earned it, Scarface."
From the smile on her face, he felt like he'd impressed her with how he'd handled himself on his first night.
"Waitin' for the feelin' to come back in my toes first."
"Ok, well once you get dressed, get your bag. We gotta go see Strauss."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a night of glitter, floss, heels and makeup, it was strange to see everyone back in their civilian clothes, but completely understandable. John had never been more grateful for his Chuck Taylors, all broken in and moulded to the contours of his feet. Hell, John felt more like John again, in his own clothes rather than a costume.
While leaning into his new Scarface persona was something that was definitely fun and allowed him to not stay in his head so much over his own body image, it did feel good to take off his floss and be back in his t shirt and jeans.
Walking out, there was still a fair amount of staff out on the floor. Arthur was zipping up his leather jacket, talking to a guy John later learned was named Charles while Sadie, Sean and Lenny cleaned down the bar. There were still a few janitors mopping up the floors and wiping down tables, all trying to remove the residue of spilled drinks and god knows what else.
The other dancers, Abi, Karen and Javier included, all stood out around the stage with Dutch, Grimshaw and a thin, pale man with a small, round set of glasses next to a boxy looking machine making a BRRRRRRR noise while it flipped through a stack of bills.
By the looks of things, the thin man was the man Abi called Strauss.
Strauss took the stack from the machine once it stopped whirring, rifling through a few bills before taking a few, handing the rest of the stack back to the dancer with few words exchanged.
John furrowed his eyebrows, leaning over towards Abi.
"What's he doing?" He whispered.
Abi leaned back towards him. "Dancers' fees. 15% of all dances, excluding tips; those ones you keep. Keeps everyone paid, keeps the club makin' money."
It was a little disappointing to hear, but it made sense; while Dutch's Dolls also served food and drink, it didn't bill itself as a restaurant and not everyone there was a dancer.
Plus for the whole hour that Arthur spent outside the Whiskey Room door making sure that he was safe...yeah, that 15% was a small price to pay.
"You get a 5% cut off the door though if you're a headliner." Abi continued.
John nodded. He'd have to keep track of what was a tip and what wasn't every night.
One dancer after the other, he watched them go up, get their money counted and walk out the door once Strauss had taken a cut. Before long, it was just him and Javier and Javier was already striding up to the stage, bag in hand.
Strauss took the bag with a flat look on his face; he gave the impression of someone who already didn't smile all that often, but from the sight of the man digging his hands into the bag, pulling out crumpled bills and stretching them flat, his patience was wearing very thin.
The process prompted John to try to dig around, flattening as many crinkled bills as he could. He could see Grimshaw on her back foot, staring Javier down with a look that could melt through steel.
"Put a goddamn bag o'peas on those before tonight." Grimshaw said while pointing to her neck.
"Of course Mami, I'm all good."
"I mean it Javi. I won't have you going up there all sloppy."
She was exasperated with him. This clearly wasn't the first night that he turned up in a state.
"Ay, but how will you get my delicious 15% Mamacita?" He said, shaking a few bills in front of his face.
"That's enough, son. You may make a lotta money but I don't take kindly to stunts bein' pulled." Dutch drawled as he lit up a cigar.
She handed him his cut off the door, trying to get him out of her face as quick as she could, presumably so she didn't say something she regretted. In return, Javier walked away with a fat stack of cash, slowly thumbing through the bills on his way out.
"Alright new kid, your turn." Susan said, her demeanour calming down.
John stepped up, presenting his bag. "I'm sorry, I flattened out what I could...."
Dutch smiled around his cigar so all his teeth could be seen. "Helluva take for a first night, son! Well done!"
Having the seal of approval from the man whose name was on the sign was comforting, however Strauss's mouth twisted into something that was clearly annoyed. It probably didn't help that they were fast approaching 5am and daylight was slowly creeping in through the blue shining through the windows.
"Next time, if you're on break, try to collect these as together as you can. Makes this process a lot quicker. Now, how much did you make in tips?"
There were small bills here and there, but his tips were heavily bolstered by Bonnie's contribution. "About 450? Give or take."
Strauss peered over his glasses. "There's no 'give or take' here. Let's say it's 450, but next time...."
While he spoke, the Austrian man picked through a few bills, handing them back to John before placing the rest in the money counter.
"Yes, of course."
"Leopold, it's his first night. Ease up a bit." Dutch clipped. It seemed Strauss wasn't as terse around the boss.
Susan turned around, grabbing a stack of bills and handing it to John. "5% off the door charge, standard for all headliners."
The young man's eyes widened. There was at least a few hundred dollars there. "Thank you Miss."
"You can call me Susan, honey. Oh, make a trip out to Thieves' Landing as soon as you can; there's a place there called Lucille's you wanna get to. Tell 'em I sent you; they'll set you up with some floss and costumes. Customers like a lil variety and it means you won't butt heads with anyone over what's on our rack."
John smiled widely at her; for a woman who was about as warm and welcoming as a diamondback rattlesnake wrapped around a New Austin cactus when he first met her, it was nice to see her soften a little towards him. It was going to be interesting trekking it out to Thieves' Landing when it didn't have a train line that went through it, but hopefully there would be a bus that made the process easier.
If only he could get behind the wheel again, that'd make this so much easier....
"Thank you, Susan." John responded, trying to not invite those thoughts back into his head.
The twitch of her lips was probably the closest thing she cracked to a smile. The money counter whirred to a stop, prompting Strauss to peer at the reading over the edge of his glasses before taking the wad of cash from the machine.
"Rather impressive.....$4850. So with the club fee, that leaves you with $4122, give or take."
John's eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his skull at the sight of the money being handed back to him. Over four grand in a single shift of work? On his first day? Goddamn.
"Can't promise ya that every night's gonna be like this son, but you did good. You keep bringing us moves like that every night, we're all gonna be rolling in cash." Dutch said with a smile.
John could only nod eagerly; even if no one asked him for a dance for the rest of the month, he would be all set. What he needed to do was get to Thieves' Landing to Lucille's so he could get more costumes and figure out some more routines for the stage.
"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Mr Van Der Linde." John responded emphatically.
"Please...Mr Van Der Linde was my father. Call me Dutch, that's the name out front."
The man was slicker than an oil spill and didn't mind who knew it. Still, John was grateful.
"Thank you, Dutch."
Dutch patted his shoulder. "Rest up. Got 12 hours until we open for another night and I'm hopin' to see you back out on that stage!"
John nodded. "See you then!"
He headed towards the door, listening to the chatter that remained alongside the stage between Dutch and Susan.
"What did I tell ya, Susan? Boy's a damn natural; y'know you really oughta have some damn faith...."
"You and your goddamn faith, Dutch....Shoulda been a preacher the way you carry on...."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John walked out the front door, taking in the pale blue and purple hues of the first light of dawn. He didn't really take in too much of the scenery when he'd first rode into Dutch's Dolls; he was too busy trying to think of what he'd be asked during his interview. From where it was perched, it had a stunning view of Flat Iron Lake and the patches of green that poked out through the waterfront McMansions that sat along it. It felt for a moment that the world was only just waking up when John was ready to hit the hay and eat like a horse.
At this point, he'd take whatever came first.
Arthur stood over by his bike, clipping on his helmet. If the man looked that good in a plain black T-shirt then he was smoking hot in a leather jacket and pants.
Blue eyes met brown and it felt like John had been caught without his makeup on. Here they were again, back in plain clothes just as he'd met the man 12 hours earlier. At least now he was being viewed with a look that was a lot friendlier than when they first spoke to one another.
The sight of one another in the early morning light wasn't an unwelcome one. On the contrary, things felt calm now, like they were back Out Back, sharing a smoke, just making gentle small talk.
Maybe Arthur could hang back, see if he was one for a post-work cigarette.
"Scarface!!!!" The inimitable trill of Trelawney's voice rung out across the car park.
He was wearing a fur-trimmed coat, still in his makeup, false eyelashes and all, only without his wig, padding or any of Aunt Joelene's sparkle. He was however nursing a cigarette and a swagger from the heels that had now been replaced with sneakers.
"Aunt Joelene!" John beckoned, returning the man's energy.
"You may call me Josiah if you wish but I will happily answer to Joelene! I mean honey, as long as you call me!"
John smiled. "In that case, you may call me John. I'm still getting used to being Scarface."
Arthur chuckled to himself. Josiah had the charm turned up to 11.
"I must say dear boy, that was an outstanding performance! Not many dancers turn out a show quite like that, especially not on a first night!"
Josiah's words made something uncomfortable churn in the pit of Arthur's stomach. Of course Josiah would've seen John at work, as would a few hundred other people....John had an amazing first night, even by the standards of someone who had been around strippers every night for the past 8 years. Capturing the attention and the money from everyone around them was the entire point.
So why did it feel like Josiah was stepping somewhere he didn't belong? He was so damn charming and what was Arthur? Oh yeah, a man of so few words that folks overlooked him or just didn't bother.
"Well thank you. You were a brilliant emcee, Miss Joelene."
Josiah laughed, holding out his hand. Without hesitation, John took it and kissed it.
"And such a gentleman too!"
"Well, I was raised to show my manners, especially to a lady." John responded.
Josiah couldn't help but giggle like an 18th century dandy. For Arthur, a chuckle escaped him as he straightened up his jacket and helmet. From what he could tell, John was dialing up the charm to match Josiah's; it didn't feel like there was real attraction from the young man towards the drag queen, just that he was being friendly and rather charming himself.
The doors opened once again, this time revealing Abi and Sadie, both out of their respective floss and bartender garb. They both brightened up upon seeing John.
"Biiiiitch!!! You absolutely killed it there!!!!" Abi squealed, pulling him in for a hug that he wasn't prepared for.
With her arms wrapped around him, John still looked Arthur's way. Under that stare, the older man couldn't help but give him a small wave.
"Where's your car??" Abi asked upon pulling away.
"Uh, I didn't drive here; I took the bus." John responded.
Sadie stepped forward. "Well, Abi and I were gonna head over to Betty's Diner for some pancakes and bacon and eggs. Wanna join us?"
"Yeah! Celebrate your first night at the Dolls, Scarface!!!" Abi followed excitedly.
That was music to John's ears. Dancing from sunset to sunrise had taken it out of him; despite his lean frame, he could eat a whole pig and an entire henhouse from the hunger brewing within him.
"Yeah, that sounds awesome!" John responded.
"Alrighty, my girl's right over here!" Sadie gestured towards her car; a yellow Chevy Camaro that looked like it was from the 70s.
"Aw, I thought I was your girl...." Abi whined, only to be pulled in for a peck on the cheek by Sadie.
John stood for a minute, staring back out at Arthur. He waved back at the older man, smiling all close-lipped and lopsided before following the two women.
For a split second, if Arthur really wanted to read into it...it almost looked like John was disappointed to leave the car park.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the early morning breeze blew over Arthur's shoulders while the first rays of the sun began to peek over Flat Iron Lake, he thought over the remainder of the night, which he could still feel in his muscles and bones. He was back on Boudicea, riding down through Blackwater as morning began to show itself over the horizon.
Charles came back, an island of sanity in a sea of the chaos that was the club. Swanson was apparently no trouble, but considering the process of driving Swanson home also involved fishing out the man's keys and making sure he made it to bed without the man wandering or playing his records at full volume or god forbid pouring another drink, Arthur was forever grateful and ended up forking over a small bonus as a thank you. Bill was terrified of making eye contact with Arthur at all, but the bright side of that was that he didn't stray too far off the door for the rest of the night.
He wasn't going to crucify Bill for what he'd done, but he wasn't going to deny that Bill staying on the straight and narrow was more of a relief than he'd like to admit. The more nights he didn't have to babysit the man into doing the bare minimum, the better.
There was Javier's set, which brought in a lot of money and a lot of drunk, unruly customers. While most were harmless, there were a few whose nights had to be cut short when they went grabbing after a few dancers without permission. From what he remembered, there were about 6 patrons that were shown the door.
No matter how much he tried to dredge up the details about the remainder of the evening, his mind wouldn't move off of The Dollhouse's newest dancer.
John Marston. The kid who blew in from the West like a hurricane and turned Dutch's Dolls upside down overnight. Hell, the kid who had himself turned upside down on that pole at several points in the evening. Not just a pretty face and lithe, athletic body but a sweet kid whom had given Arthur his first real conversation that he'd had in a long time.
He wasn't just friendly but he was sweet as well. It wasn't just in how he had carried himself around Arthur but how he treated that woman in the Whiskey Room as well; the elder security guard had been around enough customers in his time to know that once they entered that charged environment, not everyone took to it like a duck to water.
Still, it counted for something that he took the time to sit with her and talk through whatever was happening.
Was it weird that he really enjoyed their conversation Out Back? He barely knew the kid and yet that half-hour break that he shared with him left him feeling lighter in the shoulders, like he wasn't just in for another exhausting shitpile of a night.
He's special. He's got something about him and it ain't just the fact that he's a tall, handsome drink of water.
Even in the Whiskey Room from the little dancing he did, he kept on sneaking glances that felt like he could see every filthy thought that Arthur had ever had and just seemed to sway his hips with a harder force with each moment he kept his eyes on him. Was he really looking at him? Was he just looking at him because he was there? There was no real way to tell but man, the way in which he moved while looking at him filled Arthur's head with all kinds of debaucherous imagery and he hadn't even seen the man fully naked yet.
Goddamn was he handsome....like he stood at the intersection between rugged and elven, a fine marble beauty that had been carved from the red dust and hot sun of New Austin. A rough diamond in all of the best ways. Just thinking of that waist of his especially made Arthur's fingertips tingle; how did it feel? Was his skin as soft as it looked? How would that hair feel, threaded between his fingers?
Just how would that gorgeous ass of his feel if he'd buried his cock inside it?
He had to swallow that thought down; the odds that the young man was interested in men at all were slim and the odds that he'd be interested in Arthur were slimmer. He was onstage because he was doing his damn job, nothing more. He was nice to him because it was his first damn night as a dancer. Aside from busting out a few decent moves on that stage and on the poles, part of the gig was charming people into forking over their hard-earned by the hundreds. He was no better than those shmoes in the booths and in the pit, salivating over the latest pretty young thing to come out of that dressing room.
It was pathetic, just how hot under the collar he was for someone he'd only just met. Maybe he did need to get back out there, try dating again....Although the prospect of combing through another app or a bar and weeding through those who just wanted a quick fuck was more exhausting than anything.
Buckskin Lane. He was getting close.
Also who would want him really? Mary was the only one who showed any interest and even then, he felt like garbage whenever he'd cave and see her. She never seemed interested in just being still with him, always coming over whenever she needed something, never just because she wanted to see him.
And like a dog that forgets its shitty owner, he sat, begged, whatever she wanted whenever she gave him the slightest bit of attention.
Even beyond that, he had his responsibilities; responsibilities that didn't exactly make him the most eligible bachelor in West Elizabeth. While there was nothing he would change about them or trade them in, there was no way of fully summarising the reason he went to work or lived his life as he did in the small section of a Tinder bio.
He pulled up in front of a small, single-storey brick house while the sun hung low and bright. He could see one of his responsibilities through the window, wearing a set of blue Paw Patrol pyjamas. The look on their face brightening up at the sight of Arthur made all of the chaos of last night all the more worth it.
"Daddy!!!" He heard him yell on the other side of the glass before he disappeared for the door.
The sight of him would melt any iceberg from just how warm he felt from hearing his voice and seeing the joy in his eyes. He smiled, watching him move from the living room window to the front door, stopping behind the fly screen, unable to contain his excitement.
His responsibility. His entire world. His reason for living and keeping on his feet. His baby boy. Isaac.
Notes:
Who wants to see Arthur on Dad duty? 😁
Chapter 7: If Fever’s a Goal, It’s a Breeze
Summary:
Arthur spends some time with Isaac and Eliza before heading over to Hosea and Bessie’s for some post-shift breakfast, mulling over not only his night at work but that message from Mary.
Notes:
Hey there everyone, here’s Chapter 7! You wanted Dad Arthur, you’re getting Dad Arthur! Thank you again for all the support you’ve been giving through reading this fic; I basically powered through this chapter in one day because of it. Also hey, if it’s riddled with typos, that’s why 😜
As always if you’re liking the fic, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment as I love to read them!
The title comes from ICFTYDLM by Kingswood, which not only has a slow, sensual vibe befitting the Whiskey Room, but also fits Arthur and Mary’s tumultuous relationship to a tee.
With all that out of the way, on with the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Arthur swung his leg over the body of Boudicea, unclipping his helmet. His heart lept at the sight of Isaac at the door, the little boy's face awash with happiness. How he could be this awake when night had only just disappeared, Arthur would never know but this kid, this four year old hurricane that inherited all the best parts of him and his mother....he was his sunshine, no matter what time of day it was, no matter how awful the weather was.
His toothy grin and golden curls were something he'd never tire of seeing. It seemed like only yesterday he was just a tiny baby in Arthur's arms.
He ruffled his hair back into place while he walked up the path to the house's steps. Before long, the mother of his child appeared behind the young boy, wearing a weary smile at the sight of him.
If he wasn't so worn out, he'd say that she looked nice; dressed far better than for early morning chores and wrangling their son.
"Mornin' Arthur...how're ya doin'?"
Arthur walked up the front steps. "All the better for seein' you two."
Eliza chuckled. "That good, huh?"
He nodded before opening the door, immediately bending down to pick Isaac up in a big bear hug, kissing the crown of his head. His arms were so little around him, but the warmth that went into it was the best part of his day.
"How're you doin', Monkey? Ya sleep well?"
Isaac nodded his head. "I had a dream about a massive elephant!" The boy threw his arms up, animating his story.
Hosea would be proud of his gestures, like a little showman in the making.
"An elephant huh? What was this elephant doin'?"
"He was big and grey and I was riding on his head and it was so cool!" the little boy relayed excitedly.
Eliza nodded. "He saw one of them nature documentaries on Netflix, been obsessed ever since."
"Ah, is that so?" Arthur looked back at Isaac, leaning his head against the boy's, making him giggle. "You're gonna have to tell Gran'ma and Gran'pa when we get breakfast with 'em."
Eliza rolled her eyes. "That's just the thing, our little man here is refusin' to get outta those pyjamas. Ain't no reasoning with him this mornin'."
Her words had the drawl of an exasperated mother who'd likely been up for a while now, trying to goad her child into getting dressed for the day. From the look of things, she'd been largely unsuccessful with their progeny.
Seems that Isaac got his stubbornness from Arthur's side.
"Is that so? You don't wanna take your PJs off to see Gran'ma and Gran'pa?"
Isaac shook his head, still wearing that adorable, mischievous smile.
"What about that Paw Patrol shirt they got'chu? Don't you wanna wear that one? It's a nice shirt."
The boy still shook his head. "I like these!"
Arthur looked at Eliza, sharing a look with her that both understood; she'd exhausted her options and the kid wasn't budging. Thankfully the elder Morgan had an ace up his sleeve.
"Alright..." he strained, putting Isaac back down on his feet. "Scissors, paper, rock. I win, you get out'cha jammies and into the Paw Patrol shirt. You win, we get yer shoes on and head over to Gran'ma and Gran'pa's. Deal?"
Isaac nodded while Arthur crouched down, holding out his fist.
"Ready? Scissors...paper....rock." That fists pounded up and down in the air until they didn't.
Arthur held his hand flat. Isaac's little fist was still clenched in a fist.
The father closed his hand gently around his son's, kissing his forehead. "Time to get dressed buddy, deal's a deal."
Isaac threw his head back, sighing loudly before turning around, making a trudging beeline for his bedroom. Even when he was digging in his heels, he could be a really funny kid.
Arthur stood up, satisfied with the outcome. The expression on Eliza's face barely hid that she had something to say.
"Y'know, when he's old enough for a learner's permit, he's gonna wanna Scissors Paper Rock his way to a whole damn car." She said, almost with an inflection of an 'I told you so'.
"Hell, he might Scissors Paper Rock his way all through college, the way I'm gettin' him started. Could have a PhD in it one day, the first Doctor of Scissors Paper Rock."
She chuckled, prompting him to lean in for a hug, planting a small peck on her cheek.
"Morning' to ya." He muttered upon pulling away.
"Good morning, finally. Hey, thanks for taking him. You want some coffee before you head out?"
Arthur smiled warmly at her. "You honestly never need to thank me for spending time with our boy, I'm his pa; it's what I'm here for. I will take ya up on that coffee though."
Eliza turned heel towards the kitchen and Arthur followed, reflecting on the scene before him. This was not his home, but he felt comforted by it nonetheless. Nearly five years ago, Eliza was a waitress at the Dolls, Arthur was still working to keep law and order within. They'd had one too many drinks, shared some laughs and musings on life, one thing led to tumbling into bed together and nine months later, his life was changed forever in the form of Isaac.
They'd tried to be a couple, tried to be a family unit for the sake of stability for their boy before it became evident that the love and deep, abiding respect they shared was that of two good friends rather than lovers. Still, sharing a child together meant that they always shared a bond and Eliza was one of the few people in Arthur's life that he could truly trust.
These days, her Dutch's Dolls days were behind her. She was still a waitress, but she was studying at community college, trying to earn her ticket into some sort of hospital admin gig. Something better for her boy and herself, away from the long nights at the club.
Eliza walked over to her coffee machine, pushing a button that emitted a whir as it ground some coffee beans. Arthur in turn leaned up against the kitchen counter.
"Y'know you never told me why you're headin' out this early." Arthur mused over the hum of the machine.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she turned around, nursing a coffee cup and taking a deep breath. It was like she was sitting on something big.
"Arthur, I've started seein' someone...He's takin' me out for breakfast."
Arthur raised his eyebrows. Not the news he was expecting. Not unwelcome, just unexpected.
"That so? Wow....How long?" He asked.
"A few weeks. Met him in the hall at school."
The way she shifted her weight around on her feet like she was unsure of how Arthur would react to her news.
"What's his name?"
"Peter....He's real nice, Arthur. I really like him."
Arthur walked over, putting his hand on her shoulder. "As long as he treats you and our boy right, I'll like him too."
He kissed her forehead, pulling her in for a hug. He could feel her body ease after holding onto the tension of how he would react for so long.
"Oh Arthur....thank you. I wasn't sure how you'd take it."
"You don't need to worry. So long as I can keep spendin' time with our little guy, I'm golden. I meant what I said too...you know I can hurt him if he hurts you or Isaac."
She smiled a close-lipped smile before kissing him on the cheek. "I do know but still, thank you."
"Speakin' of, has he met Isaac yet?"
"Not yet. I'd like him to meet you too. It's early days, but I want him to meet my family."
The words set his heart alight. Family. They were a little family. An unconventional one, but one nonetheless. Hell, Arthur had never had a conventional family dynamic ever since his mother died and yet, he stayed tethered because of his unconventional family.
"Just say when and where and I'll be there."
She nodded, smiling contentedly before they were interrupted by a loud BING from the coffee machine.
"How was your night anyhow? How's the Dolls?"
She loved little updates on her former workplace, like she still lived vicariously through Arthur's tales from the dance floor.
"Oh y'know....complete goddamn chaos." He let out a defeated chuckle. "We got a new dancer though. Name's John....he's a friend of Abi's."
She raised her eyebrows. "Damn, small world...how is he? Any good?"
Arthur started nodding, looking down at the floor, trying to will away the thoughts brewing of the previous night. The spins and flips on the pole, those hips....the abs, the tattoos, the look in his eye that was all kinds of trouble. Hell, all the looks they exchanged on and off the stage. Not only that, but just how sweet the kid was in his conversation and his behaviour.
Oh yeah, he was good.
"Yeah, pretty good. Was throwin' some serious acrobatics onstage...Dutch was impressed."
Eliza squinted her eyes suspiciously. "I know that look, Arthur. You've got that look on your face that you get when you're crushin' on someone."
He sighed against the cabinet, looking down at his shoes. There wasn't much he could hide from her. "Am I really that obvious?"
She smiled, nice and wide and bright. "Well is he cute?"
Arthur nodded. "Yeah....Yeah he is."
"You gonna ask him out?"
That was out of the question. "El, he's been there one day. Literally interviewed and got the job yesterday; last night was his first dance up in any club. I can't be pawin' all over him when he ain't had a chance to breathe yet."
Eliza placed a mug beneath the spout of the coffee machine, letting it fill up. "What've you got to lose really? You're a catch, Arthur Morgan; I don't just let any old fool put a child in me."
He smiled at her from one side, all lopsided. That girl and her rose-coloured glasses, believing in him when he didn't believe in himself; maybe one day he'd catch up to it, but this morning wasn't it.
"Still, I ain't even know if he likes men. I think he used to date Abi from what I saw."
She turned to him with her eyebrow cocked. "And he can't like women AND men? What're you doin' then, aside from stayin' in your shell?"
The woman wasn't buying what Arthur was selling. Yes it was possible that John was bisexual like Arthur, however those odds were slim and he hadn't had the opportunity to ask. When was he meant to ask even? When the kid was upside down on the pole or half-naked in the Whiskey Room?"
He breathed through his nose. "It was his first night. I ain't gonna pounce on 'im when he's only just learnin' the job. Besides...." What was about to come out was not something she was going to like, but it was itching at him like an infected cut. "Mary messaged me last night."
Eliza's face dropped somewhere between annoyance and anger. The name Mary Gillis-Linton may as well have been a curse around these parts.
"Arthur, no. No. Block, delete, never again. God, what does she even want??"
She was well aware of Arthur's history with Mary; his broken proposal and how she couldn't seem to leave him alone, even after she'd tied the knot with someone else. It was a pain he'd hauled around for years, even before Isaac came to be. For someone who made it clear she did not want anything public with Arthur, Mary had done an excellent job of being a ball and chain to him.
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno, just asked if I was up, that's all."
Eliza sighed. "You need to cut her off, for real. If that came from a guy, I'd call 'em a fuckboy. She's a toxic asshole."
Mentally he scrambled for reasons to justify why his ex would be reaching out now. "Maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe she really does need something."
Eliza pinched the bridge of her nose. "When's it ever been better, Arthur? When's she ever done anything different?"
Her words hit like a gut punch, mostly because they were true. Mary had a unique talent in getting Arthur's hopes up then dashing them as soon as the morning light reared its head, keeping him on the hook just enough for him to stand at attention whenever she needed.
There was no talking himself out of it. He knew he should block, delete and move on but still, there'd been no one in his life that had made him able to quit her for good.
"Well you got me there." He responded in defeat.
Eliza walked over with his coffee, softening as she handed it to him. "I ain't sayin' this to be mean; you deserve so much better. Maybe you need to put yourself out there, start datin' again."
Even just the suggestion exhausted Arthur. It was no longer as simple as walking into a bar and chatting up the cutest one, seeing if they'd accept a drink and conversation. Meeting new people had become way, way more complicated and with Arthur's life and work, it was just another layer of complicated on top of what was already there.
He scratched the back of his neck. "I dunno Eliza, it all just seems too damn much right now...."
"Why not get back on the apps? Go back on Tinder?"
Arthur scrunched his nose. "Half of 'em are bots and I ain't got time to sift through 'em all....plus I heard men gotta pay to match with people now."
She wasn't going to give up. "What about Grindr then?"
She didn't know it, but she somehow managed to pick a worse option; if he had the time, energy or patience to pursue dating again, he wanted a partner, not a cheap hookup or his time wasted.
"God no."
A little voice gave them a small fright. "Mama, what's Grindr?"
Neither of them so much as heard Isaac during their discussion; he was standing in the doorway with his Paw Patrol t shirt on in a pair of unbuttoned jeans.
Arthur laughed awkwardly. Maybe with some time, this would become hilarious.
"A grinder is what'chu put pepper in, monkey. Makes some food nice n' tasty. You alright with your button?"
He'd already started kneeling down, pulling up the boy's pants and doing up his button. "There y'are...lookin' sharp little man. You ready to see Gran'ma n' Gran'pa?"
Isaac nodded excitedly with a wide, toothy grin, making Arthur chuckle.
"Alright then; just let Daddy finish his coffee and we're good to go."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur and Isaac bid their farewells to Eliza, opting to walk to their destination. During the short journey, Isaac regaled Arthur with not only the details of his dream but all of the facts he'd gleaned from the nature documentary that captured his attention and his imagination, all while the sun rose a little higher over their heads.
It was nice, walking and talking with his little boy like this. However after a night at the Dolls, he needed carbs and he needed them fast.
Thankfully Hosea and Bessie's home was only a few small blocks down from Eliza's; a two-storey Colonial-style home, the sight of it from the lawn made Isaac's face light up with joy. While Arthur's expression was a little less obvious, it was a sight for sore eyes.
They walked across the lawn, stopping at the bright red door in their way.
"Wanna ring the bell, Monkey?"
He knew Isaac couldn't resist pressing a button when presented with the opportunity.
He picked the boy up to face away from him, hovering him in front of the doorbell, listening out for the biiiing bonnnngggg radiating throughout the house, followed by Bessie's voice.
"Coming!!!" They heard her through the windows.
It wasn't long before the door opened to the bright face of Bessie, affectionately known to Isaac as Gran'ma.
"There's my boys!!!!" She wrapped her arms around Isaac first, taking him from Arthur's arms, planting kisses on the side of his head that reminded Arthur of a woodpecker against a tree. "How are you my darling?"
"I'm good!! I had a dream about an elephant!"
Bessie's face was animated. "Did you?? You're gonna have to tell me and Gran'pa all about it; he's in the kitchen!"
She set the boy back onto his feet; he'd barely hit the floor before he was running through the house, eager to see Hosea.
"Isaac, don't run! You'll break somethin'!" Arthur barked after him.
"Oh he's fine, it's only stuff! How are you anyway, honey?" She pulled him in for a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Tired. Big night. Better for seein' you, my lady."
She held the side of his face. "Look at this, you're wastin' away in front of my eyes! Come on in, we're got French toast about to go in the pan."
Walking through Bessie and Hosea's was him walking through his old home. Ever since his mother Beatrice passed away when he was 11 and his father Lyle was well and truly in the wind, Bessie and Hosea took up the helm of being Arthur's guardians. Before they were just friends of his mother's, with Hosea showing him magic tricks and Bessie helping him with his maths homework while Beatrice was trying to make ends meet.
It wasn't long before they'd adopted Arthur as a son and their home bore all of the markings of his teenage years; junior baseball photos, senior wrestling trophies, paintings and drawings all across canvases and in frames. Pictures all along the walls from Arthur's youth as well as Hosea and Bessie from when they were kids themselves. The couch he'd spent many nights on with Hosea, watching everything from the football to the ponies, learning how to place a good bet. The bannister he used to try to slide down, drawing the panic and ire of Bessie out of fear he'd break his back. Every room had memories and coming back home allowed him to exhale.
They'd reached the kitchen, meeting the sight of Hosea in a frilly cooking apron, angled over a pan with some slices of French toast inside with Isaac watching intently.
"Now don't get your fingers too close to the pan or you might burn yourself, dear boy, but we soak the bread in the egg, milk and sugar mix and put it in the pan."
"Then what happens?"
Hosea leaned over toward Isaac like he was telling him a secret. "Magic, my dear. Magic."
The older man looked up at Arthur, smiling. "There's my other dear boy!" He twisted around, giving him a one-armed hug "How'd you get on last night?"
Arthur pressed his lips together, his mouth tugging in the corner. "We've got a few cameras outta action. With the guys we've got on now, ain't nowhere near enough to keep everywhere covered."
"Damn...." Hosea's face dropped. "That's another expense we didn't need. Where are they?"
"Whiskey Room and VIP #2. Still, I need more guys. It ain't fair that everywhere but Security's gettin' more staff. We were spread thin as is before we were down those cameras..."
Hosea was nodding with his eyes closed gently. "I'll talk to Dutch. Right now, we all need food."
Bessie came up behind them. "Right now, you need your pills, Mister. Doctor's orders."
Hosea rolled his eyes, sighing in frustration. "If it were not for this body, I would live forever."
Isaac looked up with a worried expression. "What'chu mean, Gran'pa?"
The older man knew he'd said the wrong thing, immediately bending down to hug his adoptive grandson. "Oh sweetheart....I've gotta take my medicine to stay big and strong. I ain't going anywhere, don't you worry," he pulled away, looking him in the eye. "But you...you've gotta eat your greens and take your naps so you grow up to be big and strong like your Daddy here."
The young boy was satisfied with this, smiling at the old man and his father.
"Good save." Arthur muttered.
"Youth really is wasted on the young; the older you get, the more you just want a good nap." Hosea chuckled.
There was a melancholy in his words; it was a rarity these days that he'd stay past 2am at the Dolls under doctor's orders. He'd had a few health scares in recent years and was under strict instruction to get home and get to sleep at a decent hour instead of burning the midnight oil like he used to.
He was a man who was not a fan of getting older by any measure, but had lived a long and colourful life in the nightclub scene all over the Lannahechee and had the house, complete with all of the framed photos to show for it.
"Where's Eliza off to this mornin'? She's always welcome here." Bessie inquired.
"She knows that....she's off on a little breakfast date of her own." Arthur muttered.
Bessie's eyes widened. "A date date?"
The man nodded in return. "Feller named Peter. Seems they're gettin' kinda serious."
Hosea turned around from the pan. "What do we know about this Peter?"
"Not much; ain't even met 'im myself just yet. She seems happy though."
"Ok, but you tell her she's always welcome here. She's the mama of our grandbaby and our door's always open. And if she needs any help at all...." Hosea began, making Arthur nod dismissively.
"I know. She does too, don't worry."
"The same goes for you, Arthur. If you need any help with rent, Catherine Braithwaite is only a phone call away."
Arthur chuckled. It was no coincidence that Arthur's landlady was Catherine Braithwaite, heiress to the Braithwaite Liquor Company; Hosea had struck up a friendship with her back when he had a club in Saint Denis and needed local liquor, not yet having the budget for more cosmopolitan brands. Their relationship had begun as a mutually beneficial one; Hosea kept customers buying her drinks while Catherine kept her prices down and it was why she was one of the main liquor suppliers of Dutch's Dolls to this day. However over the years, she'd accumulated quite a real estate portfolio and when it came time for Arthur to move into a place of his own, Hosea used his connections to help out.
He may not have been his father, but he was more of a dad to him than Lyle Morgan ever was.
"I'm alright, 'Sea. Rent's fine, place is fine, I'm all good." He patted the older man's shoulder before he turned to the pan.
This here, huddled around the oven making French toast with Hosea and his son was a warm blanket after a chaotic night. That's just how Hosea and Bessie were, always keeping their door open for the ones they loved. It might've had something to do with the fact they couldn't have kids of their own but really, they were kind, generous people who had a lot of love to give and Arthur felt it whenever he walked through the door.
"Looks like our French toast is almost done; let's eat!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Gran'ma? Why do they call it French toast?" Isaac asked through a mouthful of raspberries that were more on his face than in his mouth.
"Comes from France, baby. Y'know they've got a big ol' tower over there; so high up, you can see right across the city from it! Called the Eiffel Tower." Bessie answered.
The little boy looked like he was filled with more questions than answers. "Why don't they got toasters though? They gotta cook their toast in the pan."
Bessie and Hosea chuckled. Their grandson was a funny kid.
"Well I'm not quite sure, dear boy. I just know that over in Saint Denis and the Frenchies over there, this is how they make it. It's the real deal." Hosea responded.
"It's nice though, ain't it Monkey?" Arthur asked the child.
"Yeah...I like it!" He responded, popping another piece into his mouth.
"You say thank you to Gran'ma and Gran'pa for makin' this nice breakfast." Arthur was still trying to teach the kid whenever he could. He was still young and whip smart, but seeing the young men at the Dolls who salivated over the dancers or couldn't keep their hands to themselves made him worry for what would happen when Isaac reached that age. He wanted to prevent him from becoming a dropkick and keep him as his sweet, beautiful boy for as long as he could.
"Thannnyouuuu." Isaac said with his mouth full.
Bessie rested her chin on her knuckles, watching Isaac eat dreamily. "Our pleasure, beautiful boy."
"Maybe we should put pepper on it! You got a grinder?"
Arthur's eyes turned to pinpricks.
"Daddy says pepper makes food all nice and yummy when he and Mama were talkin' about a Grindr." Isaac prattled off without a care in the world.
Arthur could feel himself turning beet red. Hosea and Bessie bit their tongues, folding their lips in on themselves as if they were trying not to laugh at one of the funniest things they'd ever heard come out of their grandson.
Hosea composed himself. "I believe the authentic way they have French toast is with sweets, dear boy; pepper might not go well with the fruit."
This was so embarrassing. The kid was like a sponge, picking up anything and everything within earshot. While Arthur was so lucky to have two parents that supported him being queer, they really did not need to know about Arthur's lack of success with a gay hookup app.
He may as well have been 17 again, getting caught with a stash of porn on the family PC.
"Oh....ok!" Isaac responded, resuming his meal as if he didn't just embarrass the hell out of his father without realising.
There was no need to continue that line of inquiry. Maybe this would become a hilarious story they'd tell in the speeches on Isaac's 21st birthday.
Bessie took a couple of seconds to breathe, calming herself down before straightening up, turning towards Arthur. "So, you never said how the rest of your night went. 'Sea told me there's a new dancer in the Dollhouse?"
"John...Yeah, kid's really somethin'. Headlined and everything, pulled out moves I ain't never seen before."
Arthur was hyper aware of his facial expressions, trying to not have the same look on his face that Eliza spotted from a mile off.
"Not surprised by that; kid was a gymnastics champ apparently. Was at a collegiate level even; we would've been foolish not to hire him. Susan wasn't happy but she'll come around." Hosea mused.
He wouldn't let on but Arthur was excited by this information; this college boy was a gymnast. A college level gymnast. A champion...that explained the whirling and twirling he did with expert-level ease when it was his first time on a pole. Still, might be something he could talk with him about on his next smoke break.
His mind wandered over to how flexible the young man might be if he were less clothed and spread out across Arthur's bed.
Reign it in, ya goddamn filthbag.
"Still, you shoulda seen him. Just incredible; he climbed right up to the top of the main stage pole and slid upside down, nearly landing on his head. Thought I was gonna have a broken neck on my hands but guy's got skills." Arthur said.
Bessie's eyes widened. "Well damn...that ain't no easy feat."
Hosea held out his hand, shaking it in front of him. "Now now, he's got a long way to go before he's another Atom Bomb Baby, best dancer this side of the Lannahechee!"
Bessie smiled warmly back at her husband, recognising the name. Back in her heyday she was Atom Bomb Baby, dancing her way through the burlesque clubs in Saint Denis, where she met Hosea.
"Don't you worry dear husband, I've still got some moves."
Hosea cradled her face with his hand, pulling her in for a passionate kiss on the cheek. 33 years together and they still loved once another as if they had just met amongst the red velvet of that burlesque club way back when.
It was what Arthur had once wanted for him and Mary, to grow old together and still be happy and in love.
"Still, he's a nice kid. Think he'll do pretty well."
Arthur hoped he'd do well. Arthur hoped he'd stay and they'd talk some more, get to know eachother so he could first gauge if he was interested in men at all. Maybe pluck up the courage to ask him out for a beer or something.
"Now, you said Eliza was out on a breakfast date? What about you my darling? Any suitors or suitresses on your radar?" Bessie asked.
Arthur knew this question was coming. "No one on my radar. Most I've gotten is a message from Mary."
As soon as it came out, he knew he'd made a mistake from the way Bessie and Hosea's knives and forks clattered against their plates and they looked up at him in stunned silence.
"Dear boy, I love you....but that girl is not to set foot up in my house ever again, do you understand me? What's she doin' messaging you?" Bessie asked, her tone far more somber than it had been.
"It ain't no thing, she was just checkin' in...." Arthur tried to defuse.
"I know I ain't give birth to ya, but you're my boy and she's hurt my boy, little uppity puss she is....She made her damn bed and now she's gotta lie in it and give you some peace. Give ya peace and count herself lucky her house ain't burned down yet."
If there were two things Arthur could count on from Bessie, it was her fierce loyalty and her lax attitude towards committing a crime when her loved ones were threatened.
Arthur looked over to Hosea, silently begging him for some kind of assistance. The older man would not have it.
"I agree. We're pretty welcoming folk but the line's gotta be drawn somewhere. She needs to leave you alone. Lord knows her father is straight-up alkie trash. Goddamn thinkin' they're better than us....."
Arthur couldn't disagree with his surrogate father; Don Gillis was a hard man to love and he didn't care who knew it, not even his own daughter. While he was wealthy once upon a time, he had no qualms about pissing away the family fortune at every bar, dog track and strip joint that would have him. Ever the prized hypocrite, he looked down his nose at Hosea and Bessie. Naturally after Mary rejected Arthur's engagement, Don Gillis became persona non grata at Dutch's Dolls.
"Look, it ain't no thing. She sent one message, that's it." Arthur said.
"Mmmhmmm, keep it that way. She ain't good enough for you, not anymore." Bessie clipped before softening a little. "You deserve so much more than what you allow yourself to have."
She ran her thumb against Arthur's jaw, holding it. While he wouldn't say it, it did feel nice to have her defending his honour like that. He also wouldn't say that her words had poked at his soft underbelly, the one he barely acknowledged the existence of, let alone showed to others. He wanted to believe that he deserved better than Mary and her flakiness, but when routine set in and there wasn't much opportunity to meet others, much less be proposititioned for a drink or a date, it was hard for his world to not get smaller and smaller with each passing day.
The attention from Mary felt nice for the split second it lasted and for a moment, it was enough. It was worth feeling like shit afterwards.
"There's always other people, Arthur. Get on out there, have some fun; you're still young, may as well enjoy it." Hosea said.
"Problem is that while most folks are out having fun, I'm in the club workin'. Ain't no one goin' out on dates in the middle of the day." Arthur grumbled.
"Ain't Eliza on one now?" Bessie asked.
Arthur rolled his eyes back into his head, he almost saw his skull. They may have been getting older, but Hosea and Bessie were still sharp as tacks. They had him on that one.
"Also don't blame the club....We found one another in the club and we're still together." Hosea said matter-of-factly.
Bessie giggled. "Lord, he weren't even dressed as a man when I first saw him!"
Arthur had heard this story a thousand times. Bessie locked eyes with a stunning woman by the name of Holly Doolittle at the LaMarques Cabaret and Burlesque Club in the middle of Saint Denis, only to find at the end of the night that Holly Doolittle was really Hosea Matthews, dolled up in drag and named after his two favourite Audrey Hepburn characters.
"Were you dressed as a lady, Gran'pa?" Isaac asked.
Hosea chuckled. "Oh yes, sweetheart. And what a damn fine lady I made!"
He finished his sentence with a flourish of his hands, making his grandson giggle.
Ever the showman, even over breakfast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The French toast at Hosea and Bessie's had long been eaten and the rest of Isaac and Arthur's visit had gone swimmingly, with Hosea flipping through old photo albums to show what remained of Holly Doolittle and Atom Bomb Baby back in their heyday. They'd bid their goodbyes, heading back home to Eliza; her breakfast date had left her with a dreamy look on her face that Arthur was glad to see in her. This Peter guy made her happy, now all that was left was for Arthur himself to make an assessment when she was ready for them to meet.
He kissed the crown of his baby boy's head, already feeling the night catch up with him. He needed his bed and some sleep before he was due to head back to Dutch's Dolls once again for a Saturday night shift.
The drive over to Beecher's Hope wasn't a particularly long one, but it was nice; while a little less scenic than Blackwater Bay, feeling the wind against his arms as he rode on the back of Bo was calming. Revealing that Mary had messaged him hadn't exactly gone to plan with Eliza or Hosea or Bessie, but it was still a decent morning with all of them nonetheless.
Isaac had no idea of Mary and all the same, Mary had no idea of Isaac. Despite their various hookups in the years following their broken engagement, Arthur just didn't feel right revealing her to his son when she'd go months without so much as a word. At every single turn, there was an obstacle with Mary and it didn't feel like some romantic love-conquers-all Hollywood production. It was just frustrating a lot of the time.
Relief washed over him when he saw the sign for Antler Avenue. Home was less than a few minutes away.
He saw his blue Mustang pickup sitting out the front, slowing down on Bo before pulling into his driveway, clicking the garage door button on his keys. His body felt like it was weighed down with lead from how tired he was.
As he rode in, he saw the real estate sign up out the front of the place next door, only now it was adorned with a giant sticker saying 'LEASED' on it in bright red letters.
God, how long had that been there? He must've been in such an autopilot mode leaving for work and coming home that he didn't notice it until now.
He pulled Boudicea up into the garage, closing it behind him before taking off his helmet, making his way inside.
Home Sweet Home.
Soon he shed his jacket, draping it over the arm of his couch before kicking off his boots and removing his pants and shirt, banishing them to a laundry hamper once he reached his room. He was sure to remove his phone, throwing it on the bed. His steps felt heavier and heavier once he approached the bed, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He flopped down, leaning into the softness of his duvet, staring up at the ceiling.
What a night. It wasn't unusual to have craziness erupt at any point at the Dolls, but nothing had blown him away quite like John's grand entrance.
Still, the words spoken to him by Eliza, Bessie and Hosea about Mary rang around in his mind. He shouldn't have told them about the message, but deep down, he knew they were right. He hated how he was still on her leash after so long He hated how his heart both stung and skipped a beat whenever she messaged him. He hated how his fingers would type away at a response before he could even control himself, unable to leave her on read as she had done many, many times before.
Even scrolling Instagram was a hazard, but it was one he was now engaging in as his thumbs tapped the icon on his phone.
"What's up you guys! I am Mary Gillis-Linton and I must say, you all are looking fabulous today!!" The video on his phone rung out.
He knew it was weak and he didn't feel good about it, but it was hard to avoid her on any kind of social media now that she was an influencer; with that husband of hers bankrolling their life, she'd styled herself as some sort of lifestyle/wellness/beauty/fitness guru, becoming a celebrity in her own right. She was always only a click away, showing off the affluent lifestyle that she'd always wanted that Arthur could never give her and this video was no exception.
He opened up the chat bubble from her. Still on Seen.
Closing it again, he got back to the video, turning off the sound and watching her hold up a packet of some sort to the camera; was probably paid to endorse it or something.
God she looked damn good.
A familiar, shameful swell in his cock was stirring. Maybe sleep would come easier to him if he just rubbed one out and was done with it. He could leave the guilt and disgust in himself for when he woke up.
He slipped his hands down his waistband, keeping his eye on the video, fondling his hardening length. She was wearing a black top, showing just the right amount of cleavage to keep people pressing 'like' while she peddled the newest, latest thing for her followers to spend money on.
The amount of times he'd had his mouth on those tits. How delicious her skin tasted, as if it were strung by the gods themselves. He was a fool; a damn weak fool for still lusting after her like this.
He leaned back, popping his hard cock out the top of his waistband, tightening his grip. Maybe when she messaged him, she was touching herself, remembering how well he fucked her. Maybe big ol' Barry Linton, finance bro extraordinaire was lacking in the sack and she needed a real man like Arthur to make her scream. That's why she kept coming back, right? He had to still be good enough for her in some way for her to still keep coming back, right?
He slowly pumped away, closing his eyes, trying to envision her body the last time they fucked.
Instead, he saw scars. He still saw black hair, but he also saw stubble and a flash of chagrin flooded him for a split second.
John Marston. Scarface. Chiselled jaw, slim waist, smouldering stare with a hard, lithe body to boot.
With the thought of the young man, he could feel his cock twitch.
It was the memory of his eyes that first did it, while he was swishing away on the main stage and in the Whiskey Room like he'd caught Arthur staring. The truth was he was; how could he not with a body like that, that moved like that?
If only he'd been the one sitting in the Whiskey Room, receiving a dance.
"Hey there handsome...need some help there?" That dusky, smoky voice in his mind would ask.
Arthur wouldn't be able to hide how hard he'd be if he received a dance from the young man. In the fantasy land of zero consequences where everything is ok and it all works out, those long fingers that kept their grip on the brass poles of the Dolls would be running over his cock while those deep brown eyes wouldn't leave him. His fingers would brush over it before he enclosed his palm around it's width.
With that, Arthur mimicked the feeling with his own hand.
"Big guy, ain't'cha?" His hand would be in a steady rhythm while his face studied Arthur's for every gasp, every small moan that came from the older man's mouth.
John would look like all kinds of mischief when he leaned into his lips, speaking against them seductively.
"Don't'chu worry....What happens in the Whiskey Room stays in the Whiskey Room."
His deft fingers would make short work of his zipper, pulling his entire length out of his pants. He'd give it a few gentle strokes, just enough to get Arthur's hips moving in time with them before he got down on his knees, his face hovering over it.
He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd had his cock sucked. Mary had never been a fan, citing 'I'm saving that for my husband' as her reasoning for never reciprocating when Arthur had pleasured her with his mouth. His encounter with Eliza was already fuzzy with alcohol, made even fuzzier by time. Maybe there was another nameless, faceless hookup in there somewhere? It had been ages.
Still, that man would run his tongue up the elder's entire length, engulfing it with his mouth while those doe eyes stared back up at him.
"Fuckkkkk......" Arthur breathed.
Those fingers would still be on him while that mouth that had been smirking at him all night would be sliding up and down, up and down, each swipe of his tongue driving Arthur absolutely wild. Arthur would thread his fingers through that mop of black hair, trying hard not to buck his hips up and fuck the young man's throat, instead just lolling his head back against that bright pink chaise.
Would he touch himself while he did it? Perhaps he would slip a hand down towards his own cock, playing with it and moaning a little while his mouth was being filled.
Those eyes wouldn't leave him while the younger man would open up his mouth, going a little deeper, more aggressive. His hand would move from the base of his cock to the underside of his thigh, trying to hold him firmly in place while he worked him with just his mouth, his eyes watering a little at the pace and size. In this fantasy, he'd be sucking dick like his life depended on it. In this fantasy, he'd suck Arthur as if his own pleasure hinged on it, each whine turning into a vibration that could be felt up his entire length.
"Goddamn...." he moaned, his hips moving along with his hand. He wasn't going to last long like this.
KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!!!
The unmistakable sound of the front door yanked Arthur right out of his fantasy, back onto his bed while his cock was in hand, facing the ceiling. No gorgeous brown eyes, no handsome young man in his lap.
"Shit!" He growled.
He scrambled around for pants and a shirt, something to look somewhat presentable in.
KNOCK KNOCK!
"I'm comin'!"
The irony of his words wasn't lost on him. He would've been had it not been for whomever was at that fucking door.
He pulled his clothes on, making his way out of his bedroom, past the bathroom, out into the loungeroom with a clear view of his front door. Despite the two slimline windows bookending it, he couldn't make out who was on the other side, disturbing him like this.
If it was some religious nut or someone from an MLM trying to sell him shit he didn't need, they were about to cop an earful.
He turned the handle, hearing the person before he could see them.
"Hey there; sorry, I'm your new neighbour and I'm in a bit of a jam at the moment-"
Smoky voice. The same smoky voice from Out Back.
Well I'll be damned.
A familiar black head of hair turned around, followed by some very familiar scars and a set of brown eyes that were wide at the sight of a rather tired, sexually feral, half-clothed Arthur. That smoky voice had stopped dead in its tracks.
Just what the hell was John Marston doing at his door this early in the morning?
Notes:
AND THEY WERE NEIGHBOURS 😜
Chapter 8: Yesterday’s Heroes in Last Night’s Clothes
Summary:
John is taken out for breakfast by Abigail and Sadie to celebrate his first night at Dutch’s Dolls, slowly learning the hierarchy of the club.
Notes:
Hey there all, here’s Chapter 8! This one is all about John’s morning after his first shift, leading up to being at Arthur’s doorstep 😁 As always, thank you to everyone who’s given this fic a read and an even bigger thank you to everyone who’s left comments; I really love hearing your thoughts about it and it’s keeping this story going.
I will put a bit of a content warning here as this chapter does feature an F slur in one of John’s flashbacks. It’s only just the once but still, it’s there. I don’t use it flippantly but unfortunately it is a harbinger of John’s trauma where homophobic slurs and hate does play a part in later chapters, so be warned. I will mark out these chapters in my author’s notes (as well as updating the tags as necessary) however so if that kind of language is problematic for you, you can skip it.
The title comes from Look Out Sunshine by the Fratellis as I felt it describes John and Abi’s morning after as headliners perfectly. Plus it’s a song that kinda radiates self-deprecating joy for me; the lyrics are self-deprecating but the melody is pure joy and I think that’s the headspace that John’s in to a tee.
Hope you guys enjoy this one 😁
Chapter Text
Sitting in the back of Sadie's Camaro, the events of the past 12ish hours felt absolutely surreal.
John was going home with not only a job but just north of four grand in his jacket pocket, enough for him to live comfortably for the rest of the month made in one night. As if the night couldn't get any more mental, he'd reconnected with an old friend in the most unlikely place beyond his wildest conception. Said friend had given him a generous tip, all for just talking her through some pre-wedding jitters in the ever elusive Whiskey Room.
While he had the blisters on his feet to prove that this was by no means an easy job, he couldn't have chosen a better first night.
It didn't hurt either that he kept crossing paths with Arthur throughout his shift. Man...just what was that in the carpark? The man actually had a gentle look about him when he wasn't in Security mode, trying to keep all the undesirables out.
There was a small pang of sadness within John when Abi and Sadie came out of the club doors. He was kinda enjoying the older man looking at him, all softer and friendlier...maybe with a bit more time and smoke breaks, he'd ask him to stick around to talk some more. He just wanted to pick the man's brain to see what was going on underneath that smoking hot veneer.
More to the point, he could now breathe against the leather of Sadie's seats, listening to her and Abigail in the front.
"I don't see why Uncle ain't been thrown out already; ain't like he buys a dance!" Abi was moaning in the front.
"He buys plenty of drink; better than the folk that ain't buying nothin'." Sadie responded.
"Still, he's a damn waste o' time is what he is." Abi pouted.
"You still had a good night without his money, didn't you?"
Abi was in stunned silence for a moment. "...That's not the point."
John and Sadie chuckled at Abi being backed into a corner; she never took well to losing an argument and wasn't about to start now.
"Speaking of," Abi turned around towards John. "Look at you with the big take! That's gotta be some kinda record for a first night!"
For some reason, John felt a little self conscious. While he was happy about the amount of presidents he now had in his jacket pocket, there was a part of him that felt a little exposed in being the newest guy on the block going home with such a big take. He didn't have Abi's experience nor tenure; what if he'd taken money out of her pocket just by showing up?
"Thank you....is it really that much?" He asked.
Abi turned further in her seat towards him, wearing an expression that said 'Are you serious right now?'
"John, two stacks is a good night. Three is phenomenal, four is unheard of, 'specially for a first night. You did really, really well."
There wasn't any malice in her face, no jealousy over the amount he'd made. She actually looked proud of him.
"Thanks Abi...Although I couldn't have done none of it without your help."
The dark-haired woman smiled. "I told ya you'd be good at it; show everyone a thing or two about how we do it in Armadillo!"
John chuckled. It had been a while since he had someone praising him so highly like this.
"Yeah, you threw down some moves I ain't never seen and I've been workin' there a hot minute!" Sadie followed.
Before John could stop her, Abigail was running her mouth. "Yeah, John's a gymnast!"
Oh no.
"A gymnast huh? Explains you nearly landing on your head." Sadie quipped.
Sadie didn't realise it, but she'd diverted the line of questioning away from that which made John's blood run cold. There was nothing about UWE Gymnastics Team and why he was no longer a part of it. There was nothing about the scandal that forced him out. He didn't need to explain himself, not now.
"Shut the fuck up, Marston or you're next!"
"You know what we do to faggots like you, Marston? Keep fucking quiet or you're gonna find out!"
Their words stung him like the tendrils of a jellyfish or the tail of a scorpion. Heart racing, breath getting shorter.
No. They couldn't get him here. Not here, not now. Just save it for when he was alone and could fall apart in peace.
"Uh, yeah; got a few aces up my sleeve." John broke the deafening silence between them.
Don't leave it too long, John. You can fall apart later. Just keep the conversation going and don't make it weird. Maybe you'll tell them sometime but not now. Just don't be weird.
"That's one way to put it. Still, the more folks that come in, the nicer payday we can all have so keep pullin' out those aces, sunshine!"
Like a wave on the banks of Blackwater Bay, his anxiety rolled up and then broke, going out with the tide. It would still take some time before he could reconcile that he didn't do anything wrong, but if he could just have a nice morning celebrating this win without his fucked-up memories coming back to haunt him, he'd be closer to that reality.
How do you talk to someone else about something that barely even makes sense in your own head?
It was Abi that stopped his train of thought.
"So....confirm a rumour for me. Was that Bonnie MacFarlane that you wandered into the Whiskey Room with?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Betty's Diner, situated just down the street from Blackwater First Methodist, prided themselves on having the best cherry pie in all of West Elizabeth. Award-winning even. Open 24 hours, the waitstaff provided refuge for all manner of folks in their time, many of whom came in in the wee hours of the morning for some coffee and a friendly ear, maybe a chat over a slice of pie. It had become a favourite of quite a few of Dutch's Dolls, serving up hearty breakfasts that were a godsend after hours spend sweating it out on the poles or the stage.
If you asked Sadie what their best dish was, she'd recommend the eggs benedict. For Abi, it was their apple spiced pancakes with some extra maple syrup. For John, he couldn't resist bacon and eggs with a side of their famous cherry pie.
"Wow....." Abi said, stunned.
John shovelled a loaded fork of bacon and egg into his mouth, allowing Abi to process what he'd just said. The topic was Bonnie MacFarlane, alumni of Armadillo High School and John's first Whiskey Room dance recipient.
"Yeah....I kinda felt bad for her. Seems her friends kinda just shoved her in there." John responded.
"Some friends she's got....did she enjoy it at least?" Sadie chimed in.
John nodded. "Yeah...I mean, it was a lil overwhelming for her. I danced for like, one song before she called it. But we just talked, caught up a bit; she gave me her number so might ask her out for a coffee or somethin'."
"Won't Miss Goody Two Shoes' fiancée have somethin' to say 'bout that?" Abi asked suspiciously.
John rolled his eyes. "Not like that....Just as friends. She's a decent lady, seems like her friends weren't the type that she could talk to about when she was feelin' overwhelmed."
Abi's face was a flat, unsatisfied look. "Exactly the kinda people you want in a wedding party then."
John wasn't about to argue with his best friend; Abi and Bonnie didn't exactly run within the same circles back in school. While Bonnie was a well behaved extracurricular queen of a high pedigree, Abigail Roberts was a wild child whose family always struggled to make ends meet. A very smart, capable wild child to be sure, but one that drew a lot of judgement from a conservative community like Armadillo.
It seemed that in the years since, while Abi maintained that she made her choices and was content with them, inside she was still a gentle girl who was just tired of being judged by people who didn't understand.
If only John could get them in the same room together; maybe Abi would see that Bonnie wasn't as judgemental as she thought.
"Look, she's alright even if her bridesmaids are a lil'...obnoxious. Gave me a generous tip at the end, just for talkin' to her. Probably the easiest night's work I've ever done."
"Well I'm glad. It sounds like you did pretty well." Sadie said, her tone trying to defuse the tension.
John leaned in over the table, quietening his voice like he was revealing sensitive information. "That was one thing I wanted to ask...what do folks expect in the Whiskey Room? How's that different from VIP?"
Abi took a sip of orange juice through her straw before she spoke. "Well, ain't no sex in the Whiskey Room, although that doesn't stop everyone. Just don't do it. It fucks the rest of us around if clients start expectin' that shit."
"Not to mention if Dutch, Hosea, Grimshaw or Arthur catch you, you'll be out on your ass faster than you can say Floss." Sadie added.
John nodded. It seems they really took this policy seriously and for good reason; the less creepy customers expecting sexual favours from dancers, the more comfortable each shift would be for everyone.
Still, he found it hard to believe that Arthur would turf him out without explanation. Sure John hadn't done anything wrong, but from what he'd seen of the older man, he had every reason to believe that there was something softer and gentler underneath all of the muscles and brooding.
"As for the difference between VIP and Whiskey, well....it really depends. VIP, you dance. You don't gotta get fully naked, but you are expected to show more skin than onstage. For me, I'll show my titties but my panties stay on, no exceptions."
John appreciated the feedback, but how would that translate to him? He didn't have tits and was pretty sure that anyone booking a VIP session would want to see more than just his chest. Maybe he could show his ass and that would be enough.
"I don't straddle clients in VIP neither. I keep one foot on the floor; they want me on their lap, they can take me to the Whiskey Room and pony up some more cash." Abi continued.
One foot on the floor. He should've had a notepad with him.
"Whiskey though....Whiskey's diff'rent. Whiskey, you get naked. A striptease is pretty standard. Then again, you might not just dance neither. Maybe you'll get someone who wants to just worship you. Maybe you'll get someone wanting to be spanked or they'll give you a foot massage. Maybe it won't just be you they wanna be entertained by. Negotiate all this outside so that it's not a mess inside."
Abi's turn of phrase filled John's head with more questions than answers; what did she mean by 'worship'? Would he have to hit someone? How'd he feel about his feet being touched?
"In sayin' all that....you'll find you'll get a lot of folks just wantin' someone to talk to as well, like Bonnie. It ain't unusual. Most of the time they're real sweet. Still, anything hinky happens, you call for security and bail. Ain't gotta give the money back or nothin' but expect complainin'. Bosses don't wanna deal with that shit so only do it if you have to."
John felt like one of those dog trinkets found in discount stores back in the day with the bobbing heads, he was nodding so much. Still, he couldn't say that he didn't expect it; even working in various greasy spoons, he'd have to explain himself to a manager whenever some shitty customer wanted to scream at him for not accepting their expired coupons. At least he didn't need to fiddle around with scanners and barcodes in this gig.
"Aside from creepy customers....are there folks I need to be wary of?" John asked, his question concealing more layers than he was willing to let on. While it would've been good to get some kind of lay of the land, find out who was friendly and who wasn't, John couldn't kid himself; there was only really one staff member he truly wanted to know about.
"Ooh yeah," Abi said, Sadie nodding along with her. They shared a look between one another that could only be shared between partners who'd worked together for as long as they had. "Where should we start, babe?"
"Micah. You ain't met him yet; he weren't there last night, but the guy is a slimeball. Likes to throw his weight around because he's Dutch's pet." Sadie finished her sentence with the same level of disgust as if she'd eaten a rotten egg.
"Yep. He ain't someone you want to get too comfortable around; why Dutch keeps him 'round is fuckin' beyond me. He'll pester waitresses and dancers, so watch your back and don't leave your drink unguarded 'round him. Gives me the damn creeps." Abi shook her head.
It didn't make sense that someone like that was employed at the Dolls. "What does he do?"
"Dutch's personal assistant. Does all the shit that Dutch don't wanna. Ain't even worth the argument it'd take to get rid o' him, really. Still, he ain't a manager no matter how much he wants to act like it, so you don't have to take shit off him. He's an errand boy with an attitude. Tell 'im to fuck off if he gets creepy."
John didn't look forward to meeting Micah. Judging by the fact that in the entire shift, no one had mentioned Micah...he'd say that he wasn't missed by too many people when he was gone.
"Then there's Bill. He's security. Comes off as a pit bull, but has a few boundary issues with the fellers. He ain't gonna start touching up on you or nothin', but if it ain't welcome then you really gotta tell him No or he'll just keep comin' back." Sadie informed. "Plenty of times he's come sniffin' ‘round Sean an' Lenny."
If Abi hadn't giggled at that moment, John would've been worried to have spent time in the same room as Bill. "It's a lil pathetic; guy comes in on his day off for dances but you don't have to give him none....man's too thirsty for his own damn good."
John rolled his eyes. He couldn't exactly put a face to a name just yet, but he knew the type; they'd fit right in if they were in a 70s bathhouse where you left your keys in a bowl at the door. However in 2025, his moves were a little out of sync.
Maybe if he needed some extra cash to squirrel away or really felt for the guy, he'd throw him a bone and give him a dance.
Still, the hint of a staff member with an inclination towards the same sex sent the cogs of John Marston's queer mind whirring. Hopefully Bill wasn't alone in his affection towards other men?
"I see....what about Arthur?" John pivoted.
Sadie leaned back. If she were wearing glasses, she'd be looking over them right now.
"What about Arthur?"
Her words sounded more like an accusation than a question.
"I mean, what's his story?" John responded, trying to not reveal his cards to early.
I want to know what his deal is so I don't end up making a damn fool of myself and end up hitting on a straight/married/all of the above guy. I want something, anything that would help me get to know him better so I don't look or feel a damn lovesick fool who can't string a sentence together.
Sadie and Abi shared a small look; the kind that can only be shared between partners who worked together. "What's there to say really? He's the head of Security. Takes his job real serious; if there's anyone who's by the book, it's him." Abi chimed in.
"He ain't all that bad; he's gotta be on the ball. He's heir to the throne an' all."
John's ears pricked up. Heir to the throne? Was he Dutch's son or something?
Sadie caught wind of John trying to connect the dots. "He's Hosea's son. They're family. Arthur's bein' primed to take over one day, heir apparent n' all."
John's mouth formed a silent 'Ohhhhh.' While it didn't dig as deep into the man as he would've liked, it was good to see where he fit in the Dutch's Dolls hierarchy.
"So is he like a manager or what?" He asked.
Abi leaned forward, grabbing the salt and pepper shakers, a few spoons and a bunch of sugar packets, moving her plate to the side.
"Say the salt and pepper is Dutch and Hosea. They're at the top of the food chain; Dutch's name's on the sign but they run the place together, their word goes,"
She put each shaker down on the table with a satisfying plonk.
"Then you got Strauss; he's payroll. Ain't really a manager, but definitely ain't one of us. He handles all the money coming in and out of the Dolls and is the one who counts it up at the end of the night,"
She placed a spoon next to the pepper shaker.
"You got Arthur, who's head of Security. He's the one you talk to or yell out for if anyone's bein' an asshole,"
She placed a spoon gently underneath the salt shaker. John guessed that Dutch was the pepper and Hosea was the salt, judging from Hosea's silver-grey and Dutch's dyed black heads of hair.
Abi then held up one spoon in front of her face, dangling it by the stem. "This one's Grimshaw. Talent manager. She's our manager. Any dancer issues; where your timeslot for a headline is, what you should be charging for dances, where you can get spare floss, all that, she's the one we go to."
She placed the spoon next to the one representing Arthur before grabbing the sugar packets, fanning them out in her fingers like she was a croupier in a casino, dealing out cards.
"This is us, the dancers. This is where we are in the grand scheme. I'm a sugar pack, you're a sugar pack, Sadie's a sugar pack under Pearson," She put down another spoon for the head of Hospitality. "Arthur's got sugar packs under him. But basically, that's where we are. Headliner dancers have a bit more status than regulars but big picture, that's where we are."
The whole setup looked like a rough family tree of sorts, but there it was. Arthur was higher up on the food chain than him was the message he was getting.
John cocked his head like he was shrugging with it. "Explains why Grimshaw was kinda shitty when we first met."
"Pay her no mind, she's always shitty 'bout somethin'. How she and Dutch were ever married, I'll never know; most days it's a blessing she's in the dressin' room and he's up in the office. Homegirl seriously needs to get laid...." Abi responded. "I guarantee you she's eating her words right now."
A smile tugged at John's cheek. Susan definitely did seem a lot softer at the end of his shift than she did at the beginning. Hopefully he'd proven himself worthy enough to stay amongst her stable of talent.
"Back to Arthur....either of you seen him outside of work? What's he like?" He needed to get back on track.
Sadie shrugged. "He's nice. Quiet. Don't talk much....Sticks to himself, minds his own business. Pretty polite too, keeps callin' me Miss Adler when we've been workin' together for years....It's kinda nice havin' someone who ain't runnin' your business all over the place. Sometimes it's like you shouldn't say nothin' unless you want it broadcast, but not with him."
John smiled gently. Either he wasn't big on talking with others around The Dolls or he genuinely wasn't interested in idle gossip and was above it, showing a level of maturity that most weren't used to.
But if he wasn't interested in talking with others then why did he talk to you?
Abi's eyes narrowed while a smiling smirk appeared on her face. "You ain't changed in all the years I've known you, John. You like him, don'tcha?"
John could feel his cheeks heating up with the feeling of being found out. He was unable to hide the smile forming on his lips, knowing that he couldn't hide anything from his oldest friend. It was like they were back in school.
He chuckled, shaking his head, refusing to make eye contact with her. "Fuck off."
Abi giggled impishly, knowing she called it perfectly. "Can't blame you, he is easy on the eyes."
Sadie cocked her head. "Well if you manage to crack that hard nut of a man, I will pick up your entire bar tab for a whole entire month. Guy's the strong, silent type; ain't gonna be no easy feat."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was now hanging a little higher over Blackwater as Sadie, Abigail and John made their way over to John's to drop him home; trying to avoid the depths of a food coma after a visit to Betty's Diner was a fine art and all needed some sleep before their next shift at Dutch's Dolls.
It was a strange feeling, checking out for the night when they could see the rest of West Elizabeth only just waking up, getting ready to start the day. It was almost a shame to let the sun go to waste like that. However sitting in the back of Sadie's Camaro, John could feel the heat of the sun's rays making his eyelids heavy; there were a few times where he nearly dozed off until Sadie stopped him.
"Antler Avenue, right?"
"Yeah, Antler Avenue."
It wasn't long until she turned into the street in question, filling John with a bit of relief that his bed wasn't too far away.
They were approaching John's new place; a small single-storey place that looked a little like a townhouse from the outside. The place had a couple of bedrooms and was a mirror of the house next to it; by the looks of things, he may have shared a wall with his new neighbour. Couldn't have been more than a few years old, probably constructed as some straight-off-the-plan development and flipped for a profit; either way, the only things that really distinguished his place from that of his neighbour's was that the 'LEASED' sign was still up in John's front yard while his neighbour parked a big blue Mustang pickup out the front of theirs.
It had all been so fast, having to pack up his life from that dorm so quickly, but he was so grateful to just have a place at all, nevermind a place that was actually kinda nice. He hadn't yet met his landlady, one Catherine Braithwaite, but he could've kissed her for approving his application on such short notice.
At this point, John couldn't put a price on his safety. It was worth using up the last of his savings for his security deposit.
"This is it, right here."
Sadie brought the car to a stop while Abi marvelled at the exterior of the house.
"Wow...you've got yourself a nice place here!"
Abi's approval felt nice; from the dire straits he'd found himself in, he would've taken any moth-eaten shoebox that he could just to get away from UWE. It was sheer dumb luck that the place he got was actually nice and not too far from the city.
Now he had a job, he could keep it for a little longer.
"Hey, ain't that....?" Sadie whispered before earning a cutting glare from Abi, cutting her sentence short.
"You gonna invite us in John?" Abi asked in a way that sounded more like a demand.
This was difficult. The house might've been nice but his furniture wasn't. He didn't have a table or chairs for them to sit on. He had his bed, a couch and a coffee table but not much else. Hell, he didn't even really have a TV. Everything worth anything was still in boxes in the garage, waiting to be unpacked; it was just a case of scouring the annals of marketplace to make his house feel a bit more like a home.
At least his couch was nice. A green velvet number he got for a steal from an estate sale. Even then, having all three of them on it, shoulder-to-shoulder would've been awkward and embarrassing.
"Ummm....Might be a bit-" John stumbled.
Abi chuckled. "I'm just fuckin' with ya; we're all tired as shit. But soon...we'll hang out."
He was relieved at the prospect of not needing to explain himself, however more than anything he needed to lay down and rest his tired, aching body. All he could do was smile gently and wrap his arms around the front passenger seat, catching Abi's shoulders.
"Thank you, Abi....for everything. I mean it."
He felt her hand close over the back of his. "Don't sweat it, John Marston. Just buy me a drink tonight and we're even."
He huffed out a laugh. There was no way a cocktail would cover what Abi had done for him; she'd handed him a lifeline and showed him the ropes in keeping it. He wasn't freaking out about what the next month or week held while he tried to cobble together a plan. He wasn't going back to Armadillo to explain why he was forced out of his fraternity and why his scholarship was now hanging in the balance. It may not have been the most glamourous gig but what he had was an opportunity and it was worth just being able to sleep easy.
Abigail Roberts had been more of a friend to him than any of those idiots back on campus.
"Well...good thing I know a good bartender who can not only make a mean mango daiquiri but who'll do ya a great discount." Sadie quipped.
John chuckled. "Great to finally meet ya, Sadie. Thanks for the ride and breakfast and everything."
"Don't sweat it, sugar. Any friend of Abi's is a friend o' mine."
He had them. In spite of everything, Abi and now Sadie were in his corner.
"You ladies get home safe, alright?"
"Oh we will; need to have you over at ours sometime. See ya tonight!" Abi chimed.
John opened up the door, walking out before turning around, waving to Abi and Sadie. He could hear the engine firing up and making its way down the road. Once he heard them turn the corner, he sighed.
Home, finally. He could peel off his shoes and clothes and just flake out for a while before going back to The Dolls for another shift. If he was on a roll now, it'd be foolish to stop.
He walked up the little path to his front door, bookended by two panes of glass. There was no sign of life next door; that blue Mustang pickup had been parked out the front for a while and wasn't a good gauge of whether they were in or not. Maybe when he'd had some more sleep, he'd go over and say hi; right now, he just wanted a hot shower and to flop down with his full weight onto his mattress, passing out until he needed to catch the bus back for another shift.
The morning had been really nice; his belly was full and he had a bit more of an understanding of the hierarchy of the club, especially where Arthur sat within. He didn't expect the man to be as important as he was; he carried himself with the air of just being another cog in the machine rather than one of the wheels keeping it moving. More than that...how many folks that had been there for far longer than John knew that he was an artist? How many knew that he was Team Sam when it came to True Blood?
Sadie said that he was the strong, silent type but how many people really took the time to get to know Arthur? From what John had seen, he wasn't silent or scary but rather polite, just waiting for someone to reach out to him.
Maybe he'd see him back Out Back tonight and he could find out a little more about him.
John reached the front door, digging in his jacket for his keys. His fingers felt out his wallet, phone and cigarette box in his pockets, but no telltale metal or jangle of a keychain. He checked both pockets and....nothing. He patted around his jeans, his front pockets and then the back, trying to ignore the panic creeping up his spine.
Fuck.
No keys to be found.
FUCK.
They couldn't have fallen out in Sadie's car, could they?
He pulled out his phone, trying to illuminate the screen. Instead, he was greeted with a sad little battery icon, all drained, save for a red strip down the bottom, flashing as if to say 'Your phone's dead, fool.'
Even if he wanted to call the girls to check, call for help or look up a bus timetable to try to get back into the club, he couldn't. Hell, if his keys were sitting at the bottom of a locker back at Dutch's Dolls, they didn't open for hours. He needed sleep. He needed to just get in. He was fucked.
"Fuckin' SHIT!" He growled. He could've thrown his phone right through the window. At least then he might be able to get the door open from this side.
Your lucky streak was never gonna last forever, Marston.
He leaned up against the window next to the door, shielding his eyes and peering in. A bright glint hit his eye from the living room. Sitting on the arm of his green velvet couch, he saw a sight that should've been a relief but instead, just annoyed him. The sun had caught the edge of the Dolly Parton keychain that kept all of his keys strung together.
Locked yourself out, dumbass.
It seemed that while he was juggling his phone yesterday, trying to flick between the bus tracker and Google maps to see where was the nearest stop so he could attend his interview at the Dolls on time, he'd forgotten to check if he had his damn keys in his pocket.
All he could do was throw his head back, roll his eyes and sigh. "Godfuckingdammit...."
Maybe he left a window unlocked or something and could pry it open, crawling in. Maybe there was some loose screen he could pop out and climb up into. His mind was scrambling for anything and everything he could do that didn't involve finding a rock or some concrete garden ornament and hurling it through the window, leaving him to clean up broken glass.
He didn't need to piss off his new landlord by vandalising his new place.
He looked over towards next door. Just because the truck hadn't moved in a while didn't mean there was no one in. Maybe he could ask to borrow their phone, see if he could ring up someone to unlock his door.
At this point, anything was better than nothing.
He walked over towards next door; thankfully the lawn was conjoined and there weren't any garden ornaments, woodchips or plants presenting any obstacles. All he really had to do was come up with a viable means of wording 'Hi, I'm your new neighbour. I know we haven't so much as exchanged two words to one another but could you help me out of this situation that my own dumb ass created?'
Well, here goes nothin'.
KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!!!!
It took a few seconds, but he heard a far away grunt. Maybe he'd just woken up whomever was on the other side. Still, it was promising; the kind that lit him up with the hope that maybe he wasn't far away from getting inside his own place.
KNOCK KNOCK!
"I'm comin'!" The voice yelled; it was a man's, judging from the timbre.
He heard a bit of shuffling, indicating that whoever was inside was moving around before it hit John that perhaps he did wake up his new neighbour and was in for a giant 'Fuck off' as their first meeting. The truth was that whoever lived in there didn't owe them the fuzz off their peaches, but John was in a bind and didn't have many other avenues to turn.
Even a phone charger would be an improvement.
Maybe there was some way he could appeal to their sense of charity; start off with his hat in his hand before asking for a favour that he could pay back at a later date. Maybe he'd have to come back with a six pack of beer or something once he had his keys back in his hand.
The footsteps coming towards him from the other side were loud and thuddy. The person they belonged to sounded rather intimidating.
He looked out across the yard; there was barely anyone out as the day was only just beginning. Most folks we're likely still asleep, not having worked the night before. God, what if his new neighbour was some poor shift worker, just come of the graveyard shift at the hospital or something and he'd just woken them up?
Inside, John tried to steel himself in case he copped an earful for disturbing his new neighbour's sleep on a Saturday morning no less. God, what a way to introduce himself.
The door handle clicked open while he still faced out to the street, taking him by surprise.
"Hey there; sorry, I'm your new neighbour and I'm in a bit of a jam at the moment-" John began while he turned around.
The words were stolen from him by the dirty blonde hair, tired blue eyes, faintly flushed cheeks and muscled frame of Arthur Morgan, the tall, muscly, handsome feller that had him completely struck dumb the night before.
Arthur had the hallmarks of someone who'd just worked a night shift and was ready to turn in to rest, but he didn't look tired by any measure. On the contrary, those sleepy eyes he had were just magnetic as they stared at John with an unreadable expression. Then there was the matter of that t shirt that clung to each peak and valley of his muscles and those grey sweats that left very little to the imagination...
Don't look at his cock, John. Don't look at it when you've likely woken him up and can already see that it's fuckin' huge. Save that shit for when you're back inside and can jerk off in your own bed.
It wasn't just the bright lights and the black security guard shirt he wore that made him look sexy. This man was fine as hell, even in the harsh light of the morning while all of them had long since taken their makeup and floss off.
More to the point, the enigmatic security guard who hadn't strayed too far from John Marston's thoughts for the past just-over-12 hours was his neighbour. The man that he was itching to get to know was separated only by a wall dividing their homes. He lived next to this gorgeous man and worked with him. They'd inevitably cross paths somewhere besides just work and John couldn't ignore just how thrilled he was by it.
Maybe his luck hadn't run out after all. He'd definitely have to come back with that six pack of beer.
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