Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Ansel hit the last pose as the spotlights blinked off. His heart pounded against his rib cage, his skin glistened with sweat. They’d only danced for ten minutes, but they’d timed everything just right. The crowd loved their routine.

He took a deep breath and broke position. God, it was a rush to be onstage, to feel the caress of hundreds of eyes watching you. His whole body buzzed with the excitement of the moment. He grabbed Tam’s hand as they moved backstage and gave him a squeeze.

“Good job, honey,” he whispered.

“Thanks. I think the spin kicks and the second eight-count worked better. Don’t you?”

“It was fucking brilliant, Tam.” Z rushed past, pulling off the black gloves he’d worn during the second half of the dance.

Out front, the DJ’s voice came over the speakers. “Don’t worry, Queens and Kings, the Sassy Boyz will be heading out to work the crowd in a few minutes. So get your dollar bills ready because, trust me, you want to see what those boys can do up close and personal.”

Lirim snorted as he sat in one of the metal chairs in the dressing room and began pulling off his boots. “He wishes.”

“Or not,” Ansel said.

“You didn’t. Really?” Z stood naked now, wiping himself down with a towel. His light olive skin was smooth and taut over the hard muscles developed by dancing.

Dag, the DJ, wasn’t so bad. He’d only been working at the club for a couple of weeks, and yeah, okay, he was kind of a douchebag if you let him open his mouth, but the guy had a great ass and Ansel didn’t get to top very often.

He folded his arms across his chest. “It was a slow night.”

“Slut.” Tam grinned as he pulled off the tiny leather shorts.

“Says the genius who choreographs the dirty routines we dance every night. I think there is something twisted in your little brain.”

Tam ducked his head. His light brown hair fell like a curtain to hide his face from the rest of them. Even after years together, he still struggled to speak his mind, but Ansel didn’t let the lack of reply bother him.

He flipped his hair and cocked his hip. “Let’s hurry up, I need a drink—or two hundred. And damn, I want to get laid.”

“What else is new?” Z asked, pulling on his black G-string. It was always black with Azariah. “Just don’t get so wasted tonight that I have to drag your ass all the way to your apartment again. That was hell on my best pair of heels.”

“Shut up, Z.”

“I’m just saying you still owe me for that cab ride.”

“Didn’t you go home with that jock last night?” Lirim asked. Dressed in colorful briefs, flashy cuffs around his slim biceps, and multi-colored thigh-high stockings, he looked like the gay version of Rainbow Brite.

“I tried, but he got a palm full of balls instead of the pretty pussy he expected, and flipped out.”

“God, Ansel. You’re going to end up in the hospital pulling stunts like that.” Tam shook his head.

Been there
,
done that.
They knew about most of his past, about Ray—maybe not all the gritty details—but the hospital was not foreign territory. Besides, he’d befriended an ex-Navy SEAL and knew all kinds of ways to protect himself these days.

“This one was too shocked to get violent, but it did mean I had to jerk off alone. That’s never as satisfying.”

He finished getting changed, reapplied his makeup to match his new outfit, rubbed some body glitter on his chest, and spritzed himself with the sample bottle of Flowerbomb he’d gotten from the Sephora counter.

He wore a pair of lacy black short-shorts that highlighted the bulge between his legs and made his ass look divine. He chose the same knee-high black leather boots he’d worn onstage and decided to go shirtless under a mesh shrug that made his pecs pop. He studied himself in the mirror beside Z, Lirim, and Tam.

They all looked fucking sexy. Maybe to some, confusing as hell. But that’s what they were all about. He smacked his ruby-red lips, fluffed his hair, and adjusted his package.

“Ready to work, bitches?” Lirim asked.

“They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Damn straight.”

“Well, not straight,” Tam said.

“Bent. Really, really bent,” Ansel said, and they all laughed.

Yes, pushing the boundaries was what he lived for.

He wanted to twist the fuck out of normal and leave the world baffled in his wake.

Chapter Three

Thursday nights at The Vibe were usually pretty quiet and though the dance floor and bar were crowded, it wasn’t as packed as it would be on the weekend. Ansel took note of a few potential sex partners. He didn’t usually pick up guys at work because it was a little tacky and besides, everyone who watched him perform already knew what he had between his legs. Where was the fun in that?

Last night he’d gone home with a jock. He’d been wearing his pretty purple suede, four-inch Jessica Simpson rip-offs and matching eye shadow. When the guys on the court whistled their appreciation, he wasn’t surprised. It happened all the time.

With his feminine features and liberal use of nail polish and makeup, people always assumed he was a girl. It wasn’t his job to convince them of his gender, one way or the other. Was it his fault people let their assumptions get them into trouble? It’s not like he was going to wear a sign on his head that said Warning. Cock Attached.

He wore what he liked and to hell with what other people thought. Though, okay, maybe he did add a little swish to his walk when cute guys were watching.

Still, maybe tonight he’d settle for something quick and easy.

Or maybe not...

Lirim, Z, and Tam branched off to work the room and earn their cash, but he headed to the bar. He was so sober, he was trembling as he leaned against the brass edge and smiled at the bartender.

“What can I get you, beautiful?” Terry winked.

“How about a double shot for now? Just need to loosen up a bit.” He had to shout over the music, but Terry was well practiced at taking his order.

“You got it, dollface.”

Terry was in his mid-forties, balding, and pudgy around the middle. He’d worked at the club for twenty years. The Vibe was his second home and he was a spectacular bartender, sweet and nonthreatening. Not so pretty to look at, which meant he wasn’t competition. The customers wouldn’t choose him over the dancers always on offer. Terry poured the double shot of dark whiskey and served it with a friendly smile.

“Thanks, hun.” Ansel tossed the contents back in a practiced swallow. It was the good shit. Terry always gave him the good shit. The warmth bloomed in his chest, and his arm steadied as the alcohol made its way into his bloodstream.

Letting the tranquility wash over him, he scanned the room for his first trick of the night. The strobe lights and beams swirled with dizzying effect, reflecting off glass and bared skin as the pulse of bass throbbed just like a heart, vibrating every surface. This was his church, and he reveled in the steady familiar pounding. One of his regulars was in the usual spot, but Ansel didn’t acknowledge him. He liked to make them wait. The jealousy always led to bigger tips.

Across the room Tam was grinding the lap of a happy woman with a bridal veil on her head, her blush almost as red as his own lipstick. Bridal showers were great. Brides were so much fun to tease. Near the center of the room, on the edge of the dance floor, a gaggle of girls was waving money in his direction. Their bright laughing faces were inviting and harmless, so he headed their way.

“Evening, ladies,” he purred loudly so they could hear him as he approached their table. The girl in the middle had her dark hair cut in an attractive bob, and she wore one of those fake tiaras you got from the dollar store. Only hers had a giant pink 21 perched in the middle.

“Oh my God, you’re so pretty, even up close,” one of the girls said.

He smiled and batted his eyelashes. She hadn’t meant her comment to be a backhanded insult, so he swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue. Throwing shade at the customers was a bad idea. Plus, these girls looked fun and a little too naive to understand his particular brand of sarcasm.

“Aw, aren’t you sweet.”

There was one empty chair, so he spun it to the side and draped himself over it, crossing his legs in a dainty move he’d long ago perfected. “Are you girls having fun tonight?” One quick sweep of the group and he pinned them down—birthday party, a few lesbians, all over twenty-one but none over twenty-five. Lesbians and birthday parties were almost as much fun as bridal showers.

“It’s awesome. You guys were so good.”

“Thanks, sugar. I love your necklace, where’d you get it?” He nodded at the long silver chain with a black bow tie at the end.

As expected, the girl smiled and touched the piece. “Thanks, um. I think it was at a kiosk in the mall.”

“Oh cool, Manhattan?” Tourists then? No one shopped at the Mall unless they didn’t know any better.

The girl scrunched her face. “No, Hudson. We’re from the other side of the river.”

“Jersey girls? What are you doing all the way out here?”

At this, the birthday girl laughed. “To see the Sassy Boyz, of course. You’re famous.”

He warmed at their attention. “I hadn’t realized our reputation reached so far. I’m flattered.” He batted his lashes and waved a hand in a girlish gesture that made the group laugh. He joined them. They were fun and easygoing, but as much as he’d love to sit and gossip with them all night, he needed to pay his rent.

“So who wants to go first?” He slipped the bills off the table and surreptitiously counted them before tucking the pile into the waist of his shorts.

They all giggled. The birthday girl’s eyes darted up to focus on something behind Ansel.

“Hey, big bro,” she said.

“Meg.” The deep timbre shivered down Ansel’s spine.

The warning was so clear in that one single syllable. But the birthday girl didn’t seem to care. Her smile widened, and she looked into Ansel’s eyes with sly calculation.

“He’s first.”

Ansel lifted himself out of the chair in what he hoped was a tantalizing motion and flicked his hair over his shoulder as he spun to face the newcomer.

His breath hitched. Damn, the guy was hot.

A big bear with a strong, square, scruffy jaw and deep-set dark eyes. Older, maybe thirty, but sexy in a way that would only increase with age. He was tall, maybe even taller than Ansel—when he wasn’t wearing heels. He had big shoulders and arms and was clearly fit. He had on a worn blue T-shirt that clung to his upper body and made Ansel’s mouth water.

Most clearly of all, he was not happy about the situation. His mouth was a grim line as he stared down at his sister.

“Hello, handsome,” Ansel said, trying to draw his attention. “Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured to the empty chair.

Their eyes met and his heart stalled.

Normally he loved the thrill of reeling in the straight ones, of never knowing if you’d end up flat on your ass or bent over moaning. But he suddenly felt like he’d just collided with the most dangerous man in the world—and he didn’t like it one bit.

In fact, he was fighting the urge to run for cover. Then the man glanced at Ansel’s mouth and his nostrils flared.

Holy hell.

The temptation to flee morphed into one hot ball of fuck-me-now, and Ansel almost stumbled back with the force of it. Before he could do or say anything, the stranger clenched his jaw and looked back at his sister.

“No.” The stranger’s voice was deep and gravelly like sandpaper, and it sent goose bumps over Ansel’s skin.

“Come on, Fitch. It will be fun, and it’s my birthday,” Meg said.

“Damn it, Meg.”

“Seriously, it’s just a lap dance. It’s not like I’m asking you to kill a puppy.”

“A lap dance—from a guy.”

At his tone, both Ansel’s and Meg’s eyebrows lifted almost like they were connected by some invisible string.

“What, are you suddenly homophobic? Is my only brother a bigot and I somehow missed it for the last seven years?”

Fitch turned a bright shade of red and rubbed his palms over his scruffy jaw. “No, Jesus. I just, ah, fuck.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she countered. “When I came out, you said—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with this situation, though.” He sighed and pushed a hand through the mess of dark hair atop his head.

“It’s just a dance, for fun. Please?” Meg continued begging.

“Christ, you’re going to make a good lawyer.”

At his words, Meg grinned. “Love you too.”

Tall, Dark, and Grumpy finally sat in the empty chair, but he didn’t relax. His shoulders remained tense as boulders and he gripped the bottom of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Ansel almost laughed because, seriously, the guy acted like he was going to the fucking guillotine. It’s not like Ansel had special powers of persuasion to turn straight men gay—at least not if they didn’t secretly want to be turned. And it wasn’t like he’d bite—unless asked.

Was he really so frightening? This guy could probably lift him over his head and toss him away like a rag doll.

He took a step closer. The man’s eyes locked on to his boot and followed his leg up, up, pausing at his crotch for a fraction of a second, then rising until their eyes locked. Then Fitch’s tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, and laughing was the last thing on Ansel’s mind.

Maybe the guy wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe Fitch was afraid of himself.

Wasn’t that interesting?

Ansel smirked. Holding eye contact, he gave Dag the signal. The music changed to a familiar thudding cadence and Britney’s breathy moan. He let himself sway to the new beat, moving his hips and raising his arms to lift his hair off the back of his neck.

High-pitched giggles reminded him where he was and he winked at the girls. They were whispering and holding their phones, no doubt recording the whole thing to torture Fitch later. Ansel kind of felt sorry for the guy. After all, he was clearly at the club because of his sister and had been manipulated into a situation which made him uncomfortable.

His displeasure wasn’t because he was a bigot. There was no animosity in his eyes. No, it was something else.

Ansel stepped closer and rubbed a palm down Fitch’s arm.

“I’m going to give you the best damn lap dance you’ve ever had,” he said low enough so the witnesses couldn’t hear him over the music.

Grumpy’s nostrils flared again. “I’ve never had one before.”

Ansel couldn’t hide his surprise. “Really? A big handsome guy like you?”

Fitch shrugged, but the movement didn’t loosen him up at all. In fact, the closer Ansel got, the stiffer Fitch became, and not in the good way.

Ansel was tempted to give the guy a break and take it easy on him. Maybe perform a simple air dance and be done with it.

He wasn’t a total tramp.

But, shit, Fitch licked his lip again, and all those good intentions went flying out the nearest exit. A straight guy, a lap dance virgin, and showing clear signs of arousal?

Ansel would lose his slut card if he didn’t work this guy like a stripper pole and change his fucking life.

Just as Britney started to pant the lyrics to “Breathe On Me,” he kicked Fitch’s legs wider and positioned himself between them.

“You ready, baby?” he whispered, not really expecting a reply, which was good, because he didn’t get one. The only reaction was the subtle tightening of the muscles in Fitch’s jaw and the hastily indrawn breath.

Ansel lifted the corner of his mouth and turned away. Yeah, let Grumpy get an eyeful of his ass on display in the lace shorts. Everyone always said he had a great ass. He arched his back in time with the music and bent his knees enough to almost sit on Fitch’s lap. Almost. He kept moving and swaying, raising his arms and touching himself. He used his core muscles to lean back and rest his head on Fitch’s shoulder, thrusting his hips into the air. Sweat broke out and his abs ached from holding the position, but his wasn’t the only heart beating too fast.

Fitch’s panting breaths warmed Ansel’s neck and caused a shiver of arousal to twist down his chest. When he finally lowered onto the guy’s lap, Fitch grunted at the contact, sending another cascade of lust down Ansel’s spine to pool in his balls. He rubbed and teased, knowing his scent would twist itself in the fabric of Fitch’s shirt.

Each time Fitch inhaled, he’d smell the perfume, and he’d remember Ansel. He’d remember this dance.

And for some reason, that got Ansel’s heart pumping and skin tingling. He circled his arms around Fitch’s head to cradle him close. His fingers forked into the short hair at the man’s nape. The heat at his back, the pressure near his ass, and Fitch’s hot breath stirred his passion higher until his cock filled within the tight confines of his shorts. No doubt clear as day to anyone who cared to see.

But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter that he’d never gotten hard at work before. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a crowded club or that the man he was dancing for was clearly straight.

Right now, it was like he was in a bubble where only the two of them existed. And it felt amazing. God, he’d climb a mountain in heels if he could feel this good every night.

What a scary fucking thought.

During the bridge in the music, he lifted off Fitch’s lap and bent forward to run his hands over his legs, circling his hips in time with Britney’s breathing. When the last verse started, he turned around and straddled the man’s lap. Fitch huffed a breath and closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth so hard, Ansel was afraid they’d crack under the pressure.

The urge to tease was too powerful to ignore. He leaned close and licked the man’s scruffy jaw.

Fitch growled. Ansel shivered.

God, yes, that was good. Maybe he could convince Fitch to meet him in the bathroom later. He’d bet a week’s worth of tips the guy had a thick cock. He leaned close, circling his arms around Fitch’s shoulders so he could grip the back of the chair, and was enveloped by the subtle scent of aftershave and musk.

“Do you like it?” he asked softly, seductively.

Fitch let out a slow breath before speaking, “No.” He didn’t open his eyes.

Ansel laughed and flung his head back, raising his hips up higher until his erection rubbed into Fitch’s chest. When he curled up and over, his hair tumbled down to hide them from the rest of the room.

“Liar,” he whispered, before sliding his hands down Fitch’s arms.

He pried the other man’s hands loose from the chair and dragged them down his glittering bare chest. Fitch’s breath hitched, but he didn’t fight the hold. His fingers flexed almost imperceptibly as they brushed Ansel’s nipples.