The bet
Title: The bet
Author: mindor
Pairing: Pinto
Warnings: Mentions of two OMCs, one of them being a cocky stripper.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~7067
A/N: For her who shall not be named (at least I’m pretty sure she posted the prompt over at the kink meme anonymously...I’m sorry if I’m wrong.) Happy belated birthday!
A huge thank you goes out to leandralocke who beat all my commas and contractions into submission along with everything I’ve gotten wrong, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: You don’t even want to know what happened if I owned them.
Summary: Zach bets Chris and whoever wins takes the other to a strip club of their choice (Zach chooses a gay strip club, Chris chooses a straight one). The loser buys a lap dance for the winner, and he's so turned on watching his friend get turned on that he takes him home for... whatever anon wants.
The bar they’ve chosen for their first night out of the past few months is getting overly crowded for Zach’s taste, the beer isn’t cold enough, and if he has to endure witnessing one more guy feeling up his girlfriend while ogling Chris’ ass, he’s going to have a seizure.
And the moron doesn’t even notice, how typical.
“Fine, think whatever you want, but I’m never wrong about this.” Zach sighs exasperatedly, leaning back against the pleasantly cool wall behind him with his beer in hand.
“You’re wrong about me.” Chris answers smugly, stepping a bit closer to Zach with a coy smile as if daring Zach to prove he’s right. Of course he isn’t actually daring Zach, because Chris is an oblivious idiot but far from a scheming tease.
“You’re in denial.” Zach shrugs, watches Chris’ eyes roll theatrically; gorgeous and blue, surrounded by long, sandy blond lashes and adorable wrinkles at the corners as he laughs, and Zach decides to stop with the alcohol for the night.
“I went to Berkeley. If I preferred cock, I’d know by now.” Chris smirks and turns toward the dance floor to lean against Zach shoulder to shoulder. The touch is innocent enough and without the booze it wouldn’t affect Zach at all, which is a big, fat lie, but it sounds very good.
“I never said you preferred them, only that you could have as much fun with them as you have with pussies.” Zach sets his bottle on the bar next to them where Chris’s built a pyramid from their empty shot glasses, and of course he’s the only one in the whole place who gets away with hogging them. Normally, the bartender wrests the glasses from the customers when they’re still half-full, but not from Chris. He just flashed a smile at the pretty brunette after their first round, then she smiled back, slipped her number on a napkin and left the edifice intact.
“As if you knew…” Chris snorts, but there’s no venom in his words, it’s just a statement, and it is, in fact, true. Zach’s never been a fan of pussies which Chris’s so fond of and he doesn’t make a secret of it either. “Besides, you said that about half of the men who’ve stepped into this bar so far. Look at him!” Chris points victoriously at a couple grinding on the dance floor. “According to you, and I quote, he’s gay as a handbag full of rainbows. Doesn’t seem that bored with boobs to me.” The tall guy’s hands run up the blonde girl’s stomach as she pushes her ass back into his pelvis and they do seem to have fun.
Chris has already turned back to Zach by the time the guy looks up and winks at Zach, almost giving him the thumbs up for getting a piece of that. As if… Zach may be a little bit in love with Chris, but it’s not anyone’s business but his own. He’s done an admirable job of keeping his shit together so far, and Chris’s just lucky that he’s cute or his obliviousness would be quite frustrating. Point is, Zach’s not getting any of that, and it’s a crying shame too, because after a certain amount of alcohol, Zach’s positive he’d rock Chris’ world.
“Fine, I’ll prove it.” So maybe Zach’s more drunk than he’d thought, but it’s not like he can undo the last beer now, so he takes another swig and smiles at Chris. He comes up with his best ideas when he’s inebriated anyway, consequences be damned. “You pick anyone I’ve called gay upon entering, and ten bucks says he’ll be on his knees in an hour.” Chris looks shocked, eyes so blue that Zach wants to poke at them to see if they’re real because that shade just doesn’t exist in nature.
“You’re a mean drunk, did you know that?” Chris asks, and he really should drop the cute and innocent act or Zach will do something stupid, like hit on Chris again just to get rejected in the nicest way possible, which is pretty much worse than a punch in the face, and Zach’s quite fond of his face.
“I’m not drunk.” Zach protests, ignoring the bitter taste of beer still lingering in his mouth.
“Alright, then I want a real bet, not just a lousy ten bucks.” Chris suggests and Zach can hear the wheels turning in his head. “If I can pick someone who doesn’t fall for your charms in an hour, you take me to a strip club with girls, buy me drinks, lap dances, whatever I want and you pretend to have a good time for a whole night!”
“That’s very mature Christopher.” Zach snorts, trying to wipe the horrid image of himself in an actual strip club out of his mind. He can appreciate women, but he prefers them not up close and personal when they’re half naked. “If I do win however, you’ll spend a nice and pleasant evening with me at a gay strip club, with men in g-strings, grinding against half naked guys and hard cocks wherever you turn.” Zach mostly wants to taunt Chris, but he can’t deny the low simmer of arousal under his skin when Chris’ posture stiffens just a little.
“Deal.” Chris says after brief consideration and he appears to be just as stunned by his quick agreement as Zach feels.
“Fine Princess, take your pick and prepare your straight little ass for an experience you’ll never forget.” Zach leers, barely resisting the urge to throw his arms over Chris’ shoulders and grind against him at his albino deer caught in headlights expression, because yeah, those eyes? Still luminous blue.
Chris shrugs and turns back to the crowd, but to his credit doesn’t take a step away to stop the sparkles from flying around where their personal bubbles are colliding.
There’s something wrong with that image though. Zach doesn’t think Chris and he would clash under any circumstances. They are actually good together, they have the potential to make each other better, phenomenal even. Chris is the perfect Kirk to his Spock, the sun that creates the aurora completely unaware of the magic it inspires.
Zach sighs, vowing silently to meditate his inner prepubescent girl away as soon as possible, because the polar lights? Really? He can only hope that he won’t wake up in a straitjacket the next morning reciting poems about the gloriousness of Chris’ fingernails. He’s so tragically screwed it’s almost comical.
“Him.” Chris nods at a young, dirty blond guy who seems to hardly believe his luck for he’s currently being entertained by a pair of barely dressed, gorgeous girls.
It’s almost too easy. He’s exactly Zach’s type for a quickie in the restroom; well-built with lean muscles under tanned skin, a nice face, wide, curious eyes and ready to bend over at the first sign of dominance. Zach smiles and hears Chris laugh next to him. “Not that one you perv, I won’t send you after someone who’s too young to even be here. The guy at the bar.” Zach follows Chris’ gaze, and dread floods him in an instant. Chris’s either an evil genius of gay stereotypes or the luckiest S.O.B. on Earth.
The man he’s chosen is a bit older than they are, picture perfect definition of tall dark and handsome with a healthy dose of arrogance, making it clear that he’s aware of his desirability. He’s like Zach, no, Zach wants to be like him, hopefully, in a couple of years, oozing confidence and an amount of testosterone that would make Zach roll over with tail between his legs if he was a dog. That guy’s the alpha of this place and he knows it, flaunting his arm candy of the day proving that he can get anyone he wants. Zach closes his eyes and breaths out slow; there’s no way in hell or heaven that this guy would smudge his shoes getting a blowjob in a bar, let alone giving one.
“Something wrong?” Chris asks, pure innocence written all over his face. “I thought you said anyone…it’s not my fault the wife’s right there.” Luckiest bastard it is then, Zach thinks bitterly.
“Your ignorance is almost amusing.” Zach folds his arms over his chest contemplating his options. Contrary to the pictures his mind conjured up in his brief moments of panic, he has more dignity and self-awareness than to back away from a challenge so easily.
The man’s really hot, and the thought of grabbing his hair and making him suck his cock until he chokes on it sends Zach’s arousal flying into the stratosphere. The satisfaction of the hunt itself would already be worth it, and there’s also the possibility of seeing Chris in a gay strip club somewhere down this road, and suddenly Zach’s never been so determined about accomplishing anything in his life.
He waves the bartender over, ordering a Sex Appeal for the arm-candy-slash-girlfriend-slash-wife; it’s not like Zach cares and if it’s not a come on enough for the guy, Zach will have to consider throwing punches to get his attention.
Chris looks curious and mildly impressed as the bartender mixes the blood red drink, brings it over to hot guy’s table and sets it in front of the girl. She points at Zach when the man raises an eyebrow in question. He looks over and Zach concentrates really hard on channeling Sylar at his most intimidating. When their eyes meet, the air crackles between them. This is how it looks like when two people clash with fireworks and all.
The guy bites his lower lip nervously and Zach feels as if he’s just managed to break through the surface of the water he’s been drowning in the last minutes to take a first breath. These few seconds are borderline animalistic with Zach and hot guy sizing each other up like male lions trying to decide who’s the stronger one without hurting the other.
Chris leans in close with a question on his lips, but Zach doesn’t hear him. Half the fun of one night stands is being on the prowl, choosing his prey and then moving in for the kill, and the anticipation of what’s about to come has Zach hardening in his jeans. Chris’ scent’s right there taunting him with what he can never have: sun kissed skin and ethereal eyes, and it doesn’t help one bit that everyone thinks he already has all that. The guy’s eyes widen and Zach has a difficult time focusing on keeping eye contact, because Chris is close, so maddeningly, infuriatingly close.
Hot guy stands up, graceful and elegant, lightly touching his companion’s shoulder as he nods toward the restrooms with a dark smile on his face. He knows their all-out war has just turned into a game with toy guns, because someone, who has Chris to go home to, can hardly be considered a hunter anymore. It bruises Zach’s ego, but not enough to push Chris away, so he takes one last deep breath and follows the tall, dark and handsome man whom Chris has chosen for Zach for the night. The irony isn’t completely lost on him.
***
Even the music blaring from the speakers isn’t loud enough to completely veil Chris’ curse when they step into the Sareisa, Zach’s favorite strip club in LA. Pulsating neon green lights breach the darkness above, casting shadows on Chris’ scowling features, and Zach decides to give him a few minutes to get used to the scenery and hold up his end of their deal.
Chris leans against the rail separating them from the well-lit dance floor, dimmed by smoke and artificial fog one story below. They have the most perfect view of everything the club has to offer; from beautiful dancers writhing against shiny poles, to half naked men grinding to the pounding beat and Zach’s favorite: the bartenders busy working in a pair of boxer briefs and a bowtie. He has to resist the urge to unwrap them. Every. Single. Time.
The air’s heavy with sweat and the undeniable musk of men, no flowery perfume to soften it, and Zach wonders what Chris smells when he takes a breath here. For Zach it’s the purest scent of sex which makes his heart beat faster instinctively. But he likes sex rough around the edges, where he doesn’t need to be afraid of getting himself or his partner dirty and gross as long as it ends with an orgasm for both of them. He imagines that Chris must be sweet and gentleman-like where Zach likes to push and shove and leave marks behind, biting rather than kissing, bruising instead of stroking.
Chris stares at him with an unreadable expression for a bit longer than a blink as if gearing up for a battle, then nods his head and mouths let’s go. They descend the steps side by side and curiosity gets the best of Chris as he starts surveying the club for the first time without looking ready to bail.
Everything’s made of sleek and cold steel joined by colorful, smooth plastic, but not as modern as clubs nowadays pretend to be, much like the interior of a spaceship from the prime time of science fiction. Reading Clarke or Asimov doesn’t make Zach want to laugh at the idea of having punch cards in 5000 A.D, but admire the timeless vision of a future they created, and he likes that quality about this club.
They wander around for a while, Chris sticking to Zach’s side like a leech, getting more and more annoyed with random men slapping his ass every time he’s more than an inch away from Zach. “How come they leave you alone?” Chris sounds like a petulant child demanding to know how to turn cute little turtles into killer ninjas right the fuck now.
“Because I don’t look like a straight boy begging to be pounded into submission. Pun absolutely intended.” Chris scowls at him, but Zach just smirks when he doesn’t dare to leave his protective presence.
“I’m an actor. I can totally channel your menacing broodiness.” Chris sets his jaw, looking like a particularly blue eyed husky, ready to follow its master but with a severe case of toothache this time. It’s really not helping.
“Not in those jeans, Pine.” Zach points at Chris’ favorite pair of denims as if there was something terribly wrong with them.
“C’mon dude, you’re wearing leather pants tight enough that you couldn’t make it clearer if you wrote it on your forehead that you don’t own a pair of underwear!” Chris shouts in frustration and growls at the man next in line to grab a handful of his backside.
“Show me one person looking at anything above my waistline...” Zach smirks jutting out his hips in a way that has even Chris speechless for a second. He looks dubious, but finally sighs, dropping the subject.
“Fine, let’s just sit down.” Chris turns and starts toward the tables. “Hopefully no one can grope my ass while I’m sitting on it.”
They choose a table in a respectable distance from everything that might be too traumatic for Chris, like the drag queen currently molesting three naked twinks on stage to a Gaga song. There’s a pole fairly close to them - they’re in a strip club after all - and the dancer eyes Chris and Zach, not even trying to hide his interest. They’re hot and look able to spend enough money to make the stripper’s time worthwhile.
Inspiration suddenly hits Zach. To hell with forcing Chris to endure a lap dance, he’s going to make Chris want one. If he can get it up to lesbian porn, there’s no way Chris’ bi-curious side would stay in its walk-in closet upon seeing Zach enjoy a stripper to the fullest.
Zach winks at the guy, his face a careful mask of arrogance and arousal as he pulls a hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket, laying it on the table. The stripper moves fast as lightning but with the grace of a feline, and in the blink of an eye Zach’s eye to crotch with the dancer, almost getting pierced by Chris’ cautious gaze.
Zach catches Chris’ eyes and with a smirk he leans closer to markedly scent the growing erection in the dancer’s underwear. He runs his palms up the stripper’s thighs and Chris follows the path of his hands, eyes darkening with every inch until Zach slips his fingers under the barely there thong. The dancer’s hips jerk down and forward with an erratic movement, causing more bare skin to brush up against every inch of Zach’s torso.
Chris makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a choking noise, and, satisfied with the attention, Zach turns toward the man in front of him to check him out. Flashing a row of pearly white teeth, the guy tips his head and Zach simply has to reach up to tug on the light brown curls while his other hand’s busy with tracing patterns on the stripper’s hipbone.
Apparently his hundred was enough to get the dancer to break the no touching rule and he arches and twists into Zach’s every touch, purring and mewling like a perfectly tuned violin. Zach’s fingers wander to the dancer’s inner thigh where his g-string doesn’t do a very good job of confining his cock, blunt fingernails marking the pale skin with red welts. The dancer’s weight descends, pleasantly pressing down on Zach’s lap as his hands wrap around Zach’s shoulders. Zach feels fingers start to gently massage the nape of his neck, waving through his hair and tugging so that his mouth is inches away from the stripper’s.
“Boyfriend?” the guy asks nodding toward Chris’ unmoving form. Zach shakes his head and that’s all the invitation he needs. Hot lips are on Zach’s skin in an instant, nipping along his neck, on the verge of leaving a mark. “You’ve no idea how happy that makes me. By the way, I’m Jake and yours for the night.” He whispers huskily and his eyes cut to Chris then back to Zach disbelievingly. Tongue darting out the stripper licks a trail up from Zach’s collarbone to his ear. “You sure he doesn’t mind?” Zach looks over and has to swallow against the lump in his throat, Chris looks absolutely furious. Not angry, or jealous; he’s boiling in rage like his brother did that one time when Zach fucked his girlfriend’s little brother, and as a result the supposedly love of Joe’s life left without a backward glance.
“Go ahead and ask him.” Zach gathers all his confidence and releases the stripper admiring his bravery for walking right up to Chris.
“Hey there straight boy.” Jake runs a finger along Chris’ jaw. “Your friend thinks you wouldn’t mind me doing this,” he grinds his cock against Chris’ and doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to find him hard in his jeans, “to him.”
“Fuck. You.” Chris growls, hands still immobile, holding onto the seat of his chair for dear life.
“I think you should rather fuck him.” Jake smirks back and he must have seen some really terrifying shit at this club if he can face Chris without batting an eyelash. Or rather, without batting an eyelash he doesn’t consciously want to.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Chris sneers, fisting Jake’s hip with one hand, finding mostly muscles and skin to hold onto. He tightens his grip further and Zach can see the satisfaction on his face when Jake groans.
“Do you really want me to spell it out for you?” Jake asks through gritted teeth, but twists so he can push back against Chris’ hand. “Fine, that guy over there would give his left nut to turn into the girl of your dreams, while you’re so fucking hard from watching me with him that you’re about ready to shoot.” Jake’s mouth gets dangerously close to Chris’. “And while you’re having a really belated big gay crisis over here, anyone in this club would be more than happy to make a move on your man. Want me to go on?”
“No, that’s enough.” Chris spits out, yanking Jake into a bruising kiss and, hot damn, Zach hopes he didn’t learn how to kiss like that from girls, because then Zach has some serious introspection to do.
“Crisis over.” Chris says decisively once he’s had enough of Jake’s pouty lips, and maybe it’s not the best choice for a first kiss with a man, but Zach can’t deny that it turns him on more than all of Brent Everett’s movies together.
“Zach, we’re leaving. Now!” Chris announces and finally turns to Zach panting slightly, liquid heat pooling in his eyes, and Zach sends a quick thanks heavenward that he hasn’t drunk anything during the night, because he wants to stay sober for this.
Chris almost dumps Jake on the floor in his haste to grab Zach’s upper arm and the stripper frowns a bit before a knowing smirk spreads on his face which turns into a full blown grin when Zach tucks the second hundred dollar bill into the guy’s underwear. “I’m always up for a threesome once you guys figured your shit out.” He winks cheerfully and stalks away to his next client, leaving Chris and Zach alone.
Part 2