Straight Up Chicago Style (2/2)

[airgiodslv]

Straight Up Chicago Style
Part One



Monday night, Gabe walks into the club and is momentarily confounded. “Holy shit,” he says out loud, staring down at the stage and out across the floor.

Bob nods him in from his post by the door. “Ladies’ night,” he offers by way of explanation, which Gabe had already figured out, because holy shit.

He’s been to strip clubs before, dozens of them, but he doesn’t remember the girls ever looking like this. There are tattoos everywhere, bright colors splashed onto pale skin, and these girls don’t look like particularly delicate flowers. They’re all uniformly slender, but Gabe can still see the ripple of muscles when they move, strength hidden in slim legs and arms. It’s fucking hot.

He finds Travis by the bar, drinking what looks like coke. “I’d forgotten what half-naked women look like,” Gabe jokes, sliding onto a stool beside him. “I think I’m in heaven.”

“Man, I told you I’d get you in on a ladies’ night,” Travis replies, grinning lopsidedly. “Welcome to Mondays.”

“This is amazing,” Gabe says honestly. “Are you drinking coke? I want one too, diet. Where the fuck did you find these chicks?”

“Music scene, mostly,” Travis says contemplatively, stroking the stubble starting to grow in on his chin. “Concerts and clubs. You’d be surprised. Word gets around, too, they tend to find me first.”

“That’s fucking amazing,” Gabe says. “Ryland, hey, diet coke? Don’t you ever get the night off?”

“Never,” Ryland tells him solemnly. “I practically live here. You should do something about that.”

“I’m giving you full-time benefits,” Travis reminds him, tapping the bar. To Gabe he says, “Hey, do you mind if we hang out in here tonight? I try to stay in the club and help Bob out when the girls are working. I almost called to tell you to come in early, but I figured you wouldn’t want to miss this.”

“Too right,” Gabe says. “It’s cool. We’re nearing the end anyway, I think.”

Travis’ grin broadens slowly. “That mean you’ve decided?” he asks. Ryland sets Gabe’s glass of coke down on the bar and leans in to listen. Gabe glances between them, feigning indecision, but in the end he just grins and throws his hands up.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Tell me where to sign.”

Travis whoops, leaning back on his elbows against the bar. “Man, and here I was thinking I’d have to coerce you with free dances from the girls until you gave in and agreed.”

“You still can,” Gabe says immediately. “Did I say I’d decided? I meant I might need further persuasion.”

“Too late,” Travis says. “I’m drawing up the papers, you’re going to be legally bound before the end of the week.”

“You should meet the rest of the staff,” Ryland puts in. “I think you’ve met everyone but Lyn and Maja. Lyn’s on the floor now, I’ll send her over when she comes back with drink orders. Maja’s onstage.”

Gabe twists around to check out the blonde working the crowd onstage. Comparatively speaking, she’s not wearing that little; a short skirt with black bikini-cut panties underneath, a white t-shirt with the sleeves and collar ripped off over a black lace bra. The way she’s moving, though, the high kicks and the manic undulations are far more enticing than a topless chick playing coy schoolgirl.

“You have to be sitting on a goldmine,” Gabe tells Travis, without taking his eyes off the stage. “Why don’t you have them working every night?”

“Have you seen the boys?” Travis reminds him. “Besides, they’re all employed elsewhere, I can only get them two nights a week. Lyn’s an art adjunct, and Maja’s band plays local gigs the rest of the week.”

“Art adjunct,” Gabe echoes. “What the fuck?”

Onstage, Maja skids onto her knees and starts humping the air, hips circling and legs spread wide. Gabe stares until a familiar soft voice says, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Gabe turns his attention to the girl standing beside him, done up like he’s never seen her before in high heels, a criminally short skirt and a purple brassiere. “Victoria,” he purrs, turning up the charm. “Next to you, none of them even compare.”

“Save it,” she says, but there’s the smallest smile at the edges of her mouth. “Ryland, I need two bourbon-and-cokes.”

“Coming right up,” Ryland says, over top of Gabe’s, “Who the fuck drinks bourbon and coke?”

“Those guys,” Victoria answers, sliding her drink tray over to Ryland. “And me. Although I drink it straight.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” Gabe croons. “Hey, Victoria, Travis was just telling me about how he’s going to buy me dances with all of the beautiful women in here. Want to be the first?”

Victoria crooks a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “I heard a rumor you were working your way through the staff,” she comments. “You’ll have to make it higher up on the list before you get to me, though.”

“Ouch,” Gabe says, clutching at his chest dramatically and grinning. “What about coming home with me? You’re first on the list, one and only.”

Victoria leans in across the bar, her breasts pressing against his arm. “In your dreams,” she murmurs, looking up at him through her lashes, and then slides back with drink tray in hand and pushes off the bar. Gabe watches her progress across the room towards the bourbon-and-coke guys with his eyes fixed firmly on her ass.

“Man, stop harassing my staff,” Travis tells him, nudging Gabe with his elbow. “I don’t pay them enough to put up with your shit.”

“She likes me, I can tell.” Gabe pulls his gaze away just in time to see William standing at the other side of the bar, watching him curiously.

“Billy,” Travis says, before Gabe can think of anything clever to say. “What are you doing in here? I’m not supposed to see your pretty face in my club for another week.”

“I forgot my check last night,” William says, shrugging one lanky shoulder and turning his attention completely away from Gabe. Gabe smothers the urge to do something dramatic like knock over his soda glass to get it back. “And I’m getting tired of Ramen, so.”

“That’s what you get,” Travis says, straight-faced, and William rolls his eyes. “It’s in my office, hang on. I’ll get it.” He glances out at the floor as he says it, sweeping over the floor and the crowd around the stage.

“I know where you keep them,” William volunteers. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll help,” Gabe offers brightly, finishing his drink and standing up from the bar. When Travis and William turn nearly-identical skeptical looks on him, he adds, “In case you can’t find it.”

“Right,” William says warily. Travis just coughs into his hand and pretends not to notice.

Gabe walks behind William on the way to the office, which is an entertaining endeavor because William seems to know exactly what he’s doing, but the lazy swing is gone from his hips, and he keeps glancing back over his shoulder when they turn corners. Gabe just grins innocently and goes back to watching his ass as soon as William looks away again.

“On that shelf in the corner,” Gabe says as they walk into Travis’ office. He shuts the door with a quiet click and watches the tense line of William’s shoulders jump a fraction.

“Are you sure?” William asks, turning to the shelf in question. “He usually keeps them in his desk.”

“My bad,” Gabe says easily, leaning in to open the desk drawer and trapping William against the corner of it in the process. “Here it is.”

“Thanks,” William says, although there’s more suspicion in it than gratitude, his eyes narrowed and watchful. Gabe doesn’t move away, just holds the envelope up between them, and doesn’t let go when William’s fingers close on it and give the first expectant tug.

“So,” Gabe says casually, leaning in just a fraction to force William up tight against the desk. “I was wondering if you give private dances on the weekends.”

William’s expression shifts back and forth between annoyed and disbelieving. “It’s Monday.”

“I wanted to get in an advance reservation,” Gabe says, smiling wider. “Just in case you booked early.”

William rolls his eyes again and gives the envelope another tug. Gabe refuses to relinquish it, and wonders how far he’d have to lean in for William to actually be forced onto the desk. Sex on a desk could be hot. Then again, Travis would probably kill him for it.

“I don’t work on Mondays,” William tells him, straightening up just enough that Gabe is actually the one forced back. Gabe rolls with it; sex up against the wall is just as hot. “Ask when I’m on the clock.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” Gabe says, taking a step backward, inviting William to follow.

William doesn’t. William gives the envelope Gabe’s forgotten about a quick yank, folds it up to stick into his back pocket, and says, “Right.”

He disappears before Gabe has a chance to try again, leaving the office door open behind him. He’s out of sight by the time Gabe walks out, and not in the club when Gabe heads back to the bar.

Travis takes one look at him and snorts. “Don’t make me give them a raise,” he warns. “You’ll be the one paying for it.”

Victoria’s beside him, one hand on her drink tray and a coy little smile on her beautiful lips. “One and only, huh?” she says, and saunters off with enough swing in her step to make Gabe wince.

“Fuck off,” he tells Travis pleasantly. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“Sure you do,” Travis agrees neutrally.

Gabe decides to let it drop.

-

“I think we’re done here,” Travis says on Tuesday. “All that’s left is to get you all official and shit.”

“Show me the dotted line,” Gabe says. He’s still nervous, a little, but the anxiety has faded into a more pleasant buzz of anticipation. He’s going to own a motherfucking strip club.

“You need to look through the contract,” Travis says, pulling a heavy manila envelope out of his desk. “Have someone explain the legal jargon so you know what you’re agreeing to. I have someone attached to the staff, if you want, or you can see someone independently.”

“Shit, I trust you,” Gabe says, but he takes the envelope anyway, weighing it in one hand. “On staff, really? I don’t remember seeing that on the payroll.”

“It’s more of an unofficial position,” Travis explains. “He goes through the legal shit, I throw a couple extra hundred in his bank account. It works out.”

“Cool,” Gabe allows. “Who…?”

“Trav,” Ryland interrupts, sticking his head in the door after a perfunctory knock. “Butcher just called. He’s not just running late, he’s also running a fever and can’t keep down chicken soup.”

“Shit,” Travis says, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Tell him not to come in; I want him better by the weekend.”

Ryland gives a funny little cough and doesn’t move from the doorway. “Brendon’s volunteered to step in,” he offers mildly, examining his fingernails.

Travis snorts, shaking his head. “Of course he has.”

Gabe hasn’t seen a lot of Brendon, but what he has seen hasn’t been so bad. “He’s hot,” he comments, for whatever it’s worth. “He’s got a great ass.”

“You haven’t seen him dance,” Travis replies ominously. He sits still for a moment, then picks up his phone and sighs. “Shit. I’ll call Bill.”

“He might not kill you if you bribe him enough,” Ryland suggests, watching. “He’ll just make you feel guilty for the next month.”

“Try the next three,” Travis says. He listens while the phone apparently goes to voicemail, hangs up and dials again.

“Not there?” Ryland inquires.

“Oh, he’s there, he’s just expressing his piss-off-edness with me for calling him on a night off.” He looks up at Ryland and Gabe with the expression of a reluctant soldier heading into battle. “You can go on, this might take a while.”

Gabe makes himself at home by the bar, chatting with Ryland while he makes drinks. “At least it’s Tuesday,” Ryland observes. “Slow night. Thank heaven for small blessings and all that.”

“You guys get squeezed like this a lot?” Gabe asks, rolling his empty glass between his hands.

“Only in the winter. We really need one more person, just to handle these days, but then Travis couldn’t offer them full-time.” Ryland looks up at the stage, where Pete is shimmying his way up the silver pole, and shakes his head. “He’d better get…oh, speak of the devil.”

William rushes in past them, shedding scarf and jacket as he goes. “Do I have time to warm up?” he asks Ryland on the way towards the dressing rooms. “How long has Pete been on?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Ryland tells him promptly.

“Fuck,” William replies, and disappears through the staff doors.

Travis comes out a minute later, shaking his head. “If they don’t find my body,” he tells them mournfully, “I’m trusting you guys to keep this place open.”

Ryland pours him a glass of whiskey and pushes it across the bar. Travis salutes him with it and downs a good half of the liquid in one swig.

“That bad?” Gabe asks, only half-joking. “What, was he catching up on beauty sleep or something? Hot date?”

Travis shakes his head. “Nah, man, he’s got midterms.”

Gabe stares at Travis, then at the stage in disbelief. “Why the fuck is he going to school?”

Travis just chuckles. Pete works his way offstage, apparently having received the signal to swap out, and finds them immediately after, sweat still streaking his skin. “Bill says to tell Jack he’s doing Checkmarks.”

“Well, fuck,” Travis drawls. He stands up, presumably to go find whoever Jack is, and then glances sideways at Gabe. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“What?” Gabe asks. Travis is already on his way off, though, so he turns the question on Ryland, who’s giving Pete a glass of water. “What?”

That’s when the lights in the club go out.

For a second Gabe can’t see anything, and then the blue lights come up, illuminating a familiar silhouette. A second later the spotlight clicks on, the music starts, and Gabe just stares.

William’s wearing a cowboy hat, an actual fucking cowboy hat, pulled low over his eyes; a tight-fitting flannel shirt, his trademark shredded jeans, and fucking cowboy boots. He looks like he just walked out of a western-themed porno, and then his hips swing lazily from one side to the other, showing the first taut stretch of denim over his skin, and Gabe wonders if maybe instead he’s wandered into one.

He’s walked further onto the floor without realizing it, but that turns out to be convenient, because William twists around and bends in half, the buttons on his shirt popping free all in a row to leave the material hanging loose, framing his chest, and Gabe thinks Travis might have been right about him needing to sit down.

The music isn’t coy at all; it’s almost violent, manic, and William twists with it, caught up in the beat and the energy of the chords, shaking his hair out of his eyes and dripping sweat onto the stage. Gabe drops into an empty chair and tries not to care that he has a fucking boner in the middle of a strip club, because it’s not his fault when William is doing…that.

The shirt comes off entirely a second later, and the first button of his fly pops open in what has to be the biggest tease Gabe has ever seen, barely enough to show the first hint of a treasure trail. He leaves it there, doesn’t undo the rest of the buttons and keeps grinding, thrashing around on stage and earning a cacophony of catcalls from the edge of the stage, where guys are pressed eagerly against the barrier, watching.

The second button comes undone. Gabe can’t see any sign of underwear. He wonders if William’s wearing any, or if guy strippers wear thongs. He should ask Travis, Travis would know. Gabe could tell him it’s a research question about how much they’d be spending on costumes. Then he wonders why the fuck he’s thinking about this now, because William has both thumbs hooked into his belt loops and is pulling. Down.

Gabe has his eyes glued to that stretch of skin, the tantalizing tease of below-the-navel, so it takes him a moment to realize that it’s getting closer. William drops to his knees on the edge of the stage, immediately groped by a dozen greedy hands, and then he slithers down off the edge and onto the floor.

Possibly someone should call Bob before William gets mauled, Gabe thinks, and then he stops thinking, because William has tipped his head back far enough to catch Gabe’s eyes beneath the hat, and a second later he’s sauntered his way over and is actually climbing into Gabe’s lap.

Gabe’s hands twitch, desperately wanting to touch, but he keeps them to himself and lets William do his thing, the spotlight on both of them now, washing William’s skin porcelain white. William tips the hat back, straddling Gabe with more grace than Gabe would have previously thought possible in this situation, and his hips move in a long, slow, lazy roll.

It’s not a lapdance, not exactly, because William is still performing. This isn’t a show for Gabe, it’s a show for the whole fucking club, and Gabe just happens to be a part of it. There’s less direct contact and more art, more strategic angling when William stretches his legs out straight and bends over to lick Gabe’s ear.

Gabe’s mouth is dry. William grinds against him, enough that there’s no hiding how much he’s enjoying this, and then he tangles both hands in Gabe’s hair and pulls his head back. Gabe stares up at him, bathed in light with his own head thrown back, still moving to the pulse of the music, and gasps, “Jesus Christ I want to fuck you.”

William smiles faintly, just the corners of his lips turning up. Then he leans in and bites Gabe’s lip - bites his lip - and all of the blood in Gabe’s body goes rushing southward. His knees feel liquefied, and it’s a good thing he’s sitting down, because William is riding him like he really is a cowboy and Gabe’s the fucking mechanical bull.

Things get a little fuzzy after that, or maybe it’s just light-headedness from the lack of oxygen and blood making it to his brain, but he’s aware of William pulling away eventually, working his way back to the stage, pulling himself up over the edge and sliding into the most legally obscene pose Gabe has ever seen before the lights go out again.

When they come back up, William is gone, the crowd is in a fucking tizzy, and Gabe’s so hard he’s seeing stars. He walks with stiff legs to the bathroom, jerks off into a stall, and comes back to the bar still feeling dizzy.

Ryland passes him a shot of something Gabe doesn’t even taste, just downs in one gulp. Travis just claps him on the back and says sympathetically, “I warned you.”

Gabe pushes the glass back towards Ryland and says, “Another.”

Ryland pours without questioning, hands him the shot and says, “Believe me. I know the feeling.”

-

Gabe’s getting used to the end-of-the-night ritual of hanging around at the bar after the club closes, joining in the chorus as everyone says goodnight. It’s starting to feel like home. He never expected to say that about a strip club in the middle of Chicago.

He’s still a little warm under his skin, a little buzzed off the shots Ryland kept in steady supply and the memory of William’s teeth sinking into his lip. It’s not like he has a thing for strippers. Chick strippers, maybe, but not guy strippers, who in his head are still beefy hunks of manflesh wearing Speedos. This totally isn’t his scene.

Then again, he’s seen what William can do with a metal pole, and there’s no way he isn’t going to tap that.

“Yo, where’s your boytoy?” Gabe asks Ryland, leaning over to tap his fingernail against the bar.

“Taking his sweet time in the shower,” Ryland answers, polishing the last of the glasses and hanging it up on the rack over the bar. “Probably using that hideous pomegranate body wash.”

Travis comes out with a familiar envelope in his hand, dumping it onto the bar in front of Gabe with a smack-crinkle of paper. “Don’t forget this,” he warns. “I had to do a lot of wheedling to get you the talk-through.”

“When are we doing this, now?” Gabe asks, turning the envelope over. “And who is it I’m meeting with?”

“Not now,” someone else says, and Gabe turns at the same time Travis does to see William walking out of the staff area to join them, winter scarf already wrapped around his neck. “I’m functioning solely on caffeine pills right now, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“You?” Gabe asks, and he doesn’t exactly mean for it to sound so incredulous, but come on. Seriously?

William gives him a weird look, sideways and measuring. “I’m taking the bar next summer,” he says. “Travis explained this wasn’t a professional legal consultation, right? I’m just talking you through it.”

“What the fuck are you doing in law school?” Gabe asks, and okay, admittedly, that wasn’t the most tactful thing he could have said right now. He should maybe consider keeping his mouth shut for the time being.

“Better question; ask him why he’s an English lit minor rather than a major,” Pete chimes in, damp from the shower and wearing fresh eyeliner, along with about fifteen layers of clothing in varying shades of black. “It’s a waste.”

“I want to be able to eat,” William answers, like they’ve had this conversation before. “It’s pretty straightforward.”

“You’re selling out to the bloodsucking leeches of our society,” Pete informs him, crossing behind the bar to duck casually under Ryland’s arm. “Two poetry classes and nothing else is practically a crime.” He stretches up to peck Ryland casually on the cheek and says, “Hey, you.”

“You smell like the fruit of the underworld,” Ryland informs him, but he squeezes Pete a little closer as he says it, and Pete’s grin is blinding in response. “Right, we’re heading out. Goodnight, all.”

Travis has his fingers in William’s hair when Gabe glances back, rubbing his temples with gentle fingers. “You taking the train?” he asks. “I can walk you over on my way.”

“No, someone’s picking me up,” William answers tiredly, eyes falling gradually shut. “I have two more hours of cramming before the exam, we’re going to hit the diner for an early breakfast.”

It’s not that Gabe’s jealous, because he’s not. It’s just that he doesn’t get how William can be grinding in his lap and pulling the shy flower routine the next, not to mention snuggling up to Travis. That’s a fuck-ton of mixed signals right there.

“You need me in again on Thursday?” William asks, visibly forcing his eyes open again to crane his head back and look at Travis.

Travis looks apologetic, but he says, “Even if Butcher’s back, he won’t be in top shape. And you know if Butcher’s out, Frank is next.”

“I am not,” Frank says from the end of the bar, sneakered feet propped up on the stool beneath him like a kid at a soda fountain. “I refuse to get sick.”

“Every year,” Travis tells Gabe, who isn’t watching the way William sighs when Travis goes back to rubbing his temples at all. “Someone gets sick, and the next day or two it’s Frankie’s turn. It’s like clockwork.”

“Fucker,” Frank grumbles, but he doesn’t deny it. He hops down from his stool and says, “I’m beat. See you guys Thursday.”

“Vitamin C,” Travis calls after him. Frank sticks one finger out behind him on his way out the door.

“Lit minor, huh?” Gabe muses. “So hey, would I get a better response if I tried to stick War and Peace down your pants instead of bills?”

William pushes his hair behind his ear, straightening up, but he just says, “Probably.”

“Knock knock,” someone calls, and they all turn to see a lanky California bleach-blond with a scruffy beard making his way across the floor from the direction of the back alley. “The tall Nordic guy let me in. How’s it shaking?”

“What’s up, Andrew?” Travis asks, letting go of William so he can shrug into his coat. “Midterms kicking your ass yet?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Andrew answers, bumping fists with Travis in a way that’s practiced but casual. “We’ll see how this next one goes. I hear you’re hitting flu season.”

“It’s a bitch,” Travis agrees. “Hey, you ever think about stripping?”

“Only for my girlfriend,” Andrew answers honestly, scratching his head. “And I don’t think she appreciates it all that much. I’ll keep it in mind once I fail the bar, though.”

“You’re not failing,” William says, stepping away from the bar. “No one is failing. Come on, I need pancakes. And coffee.”

“You’re not going to sleep for a week,” Andrew comments, but he raises a hand in farewell to the rest of them, following William’s lead. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Hey, wait,” Gabe says quickly as they near the door. “You need my number?”

“Travis has it,” William calls back, and the door swings shut before Gabe can say anything else.

“Law school,” Gabe says a beat later, staring after them. “Holy shit.”

Travis chuckles. He sobers up a second later, and says seriously, “You’re cool with this, right? Because once he’s out of school, he’s probably going in with us on the club’s new location, so I need you to get over that huge-ass crush and stop harassing my potential business partner.”

“It’s cool,” Gabe swears, raising both hands.

“Good,” Travis says. “Because I already had to call the cops on the last dude who went batshit insane on him in here, so he’s a little skittish around aggressive dudes, you get me?”

“Totally,” Gabe promises, although he hasn’t even done anything, so he doesn’t know why Travis is reading him the riot act.

He’s tired, suddenly, and Travis seems to see it, because the overprotective routine vanishes instantly. “Aww, hey,” he says, clapping Gabe on the shoulder. “It’s late, man. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

-

“Are you feeling all right?” Victoria asks, somewhere in the middle of Lyn’s naughty schoolgirl routine onstage.

Gabe turns his attention her way and flashes an easy smile. “Absolutely. Why do you ask?”

Victoria leans back against the bar, resting on her elbows. “You’ve been here for five hours and you haven’t hit on me once,” she points out, eyebrow cocked. “I was getting concerned.”

“Ha ha,” Gabe jokes, and then realizes that Maja just walked past for the seventh or eighth time in her leather dominatrix outfit, and he has yet to make a comment on it. Then again, he reasons, it is Maja, and he values his balls.

There’s no other reason, obviously. None at all.

“Phone,” Ryland says, and Gabe frowns when he sees the receiver being held out in his direction.

“What the fuck?” he asks, and then into the phone, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s William,” the voice on the other end announces. “Are you free to meet?”

Gabe lounges back on his stool, ignoring Victoria’s expectant look. “I thought you were going to get my number from Travis,” he says lightly.

“I did,” William says. “But if I’d called, you would have had mine.”

“Ouch,” Gabe says, impressed. “Yeah, I’m free. Where do you want to meet up?”

“Where are you staying?” William asks. “Can we make it somewhere near there? I don’t want to come all the way downtown unless I have to.”

“I’m at the club now,” Gabe says helpfully, and then nearly turns around to bang his head against the bar, because seriously, what the fuck.

“I know,” William says slowly. “I called you there.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe sees Ryland make a ‘smooth move’ signal with his margarita shaker.

“Right,” Gabe says quickly. “So hey, how about your place? Where are you? I’ll just come to you, it’ll be less hassle.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, which he guesses is William deciding whether or not Gabe is a possible candidate for creepy stalker, and then a drawn-out, “O-kay.”

William gives him the address, which Gabe scribbles down onto a bar napkin after a few frantic hand signals to Ryland, and he hangs up a few seconds later, satisfied. “Home address?” Ryland asks with patently false indifference.

“You know it,” Gabe replies, flashing him a grin. “See you tomorrow, sucker.”

“You should stick around,” Ryland advises. “Lyn and Maja are playing good cop, bad cop.”

That gives Gabe pause, but only for half a second. “Maybe next time,” he says. “I have a date.”

Ryland says something in response, but it gets lost in the noise as Gabe heads out. Flagging down a cab is easy, and it’s not actually all that long a ride to the grad student apartments William had named. Gabe tips the driver and finds his way to what must be apartment 108, because even though it’s missing the last digit, there’s a sparkly sign proclaiming, ‘Bill & Sisky’ on the door.

He knocks, and the clever comment ready and waiting on his tongue dies away as William opens the door. “You don’t wear glasses,” isn’t exactly the charming opener he’d been planning, but it’s what comes out anyway.

William gives him a funny look, opening the door wider for him to come in, and says, “No, I wear contacts.”

“So what, these are your sexy law student glasses?” Gabe asks. He’s only half-joking. William-the-stripper is gone, and in his place there’s this…hot guy. Wearing glasses.

William smiles a little, faintly. “Something like that,” he agrees. He waves Gabe in and locks the door behind him. “Can I get you something? Sorry about the mess, it’s midterms. And my roommate is kind of a slob.”

“I’m good,” Gabe says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around. “It’s not what I expected. Smaller.”

“No orgies on the futon?” William asks, with a sarcastic drawl that makes Gabe grin lazily at him in return.

“My illusions about the decadent lives of exotic dancers are shattered,” he says. “I take it back, do you have any diet coke?”

William gets him a glass, tinkling with fresh ice, and they sit down to work. At first Gabe is too conscious of William’s proximity, the scent of his shampoo and the way he keeps pushing his hair back out of his eyes as it falls perpetually forward, but then they start really getting into the legal shit, clauses and fine print and lawyer-speak gobbledegook, and Gabe doesn’t have any attention to spare.

They go through it once completely, and then William insists on going back through the major points, one-by-one, highlighting things Gabe has questions about. “Wait, shit, can you do that to a legal document?” Gabe asks when William adds the first vivid streak of yellow, but William just gives him an amused look that’s somehow evaluating at the same time, says, “It’s erasable,” and wipes the color off again.

“Fucking amazing,” Gabe says fervently, and makes William laugh when he insists on doing the rest of the highlighting so he can erase it after they talk through everything.

Finally William sits back and says, “I think you’ve got it,” and Gabe says, “Hand me a pen,” and that’s it, he’s the co-owner of a business. He just stares at it for a minute, and then says, “Fucking amazing,” again, because it is. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” William says, and he looks softer somehow, different than Gabe’s seen him before, and it’s not just the glasses and the button-down, although that’s probably part of it. They look at each other for a minute, and then William’s smile creeps out a little wider and he says, “That’s it? No comments about how it really could be my pleasure?”

“Honestly, I want to,” Gabe tells him. “But you’ve got this whole hot geek thing going on right now, so I’m a little off-balance.”

William laughs, an actual, surprised laugh, and Gabe grins at him like a loon. “Are you hungry?” he asks impulsively. “I’m hungry. Let’s get pizza. We should celebrate.”

William looks confused, but he stands up when Gabe reaches for his coat. “It’s five in the morning,” he points out.

Gabe just grins at him. “What, you’ve never had pizza for breakfast? What kind of a college student are you?”

William lets himself be bullied out the door in search of sustenance, although he does leave Gabe waiting outside in the frigid early-morning air while he runs back inside for a scarf.

Gabe watches with amusement as he ties the scarf in a fancy knot, tucking the ends down into his jacket. “English minor, huh?” he says innocuously, throwing his hands up and playing innocent when William eyes him sideways.

They walk to the pizza place because it’s only a few blocks, but when William stops expectantly outside the door, Gabe shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says. “We’re not having it Chicago style. We’re having real pizza.”

William narrows his eyes slightly. “Chicago style pizza is the only pizza,” he challenges, which is more than Gabe’s honor can take.

“New York,” he says, hooking William’s elbow and pulling him along down the sidewalk. “Dripping with cheese and grease and so floppy you have to fold it up and eat it with two hands. Where the tomato sauce is in its proper place, between crust and toppings.” He hails a cab, because William needs to be exposed to high-class cuisine, and the best place in Chicago is a good fifteen blocks away.

“You’re kidnapping me for pizza?” William questions as Gabe shoos him into the cab.

“New York pizza,” Gabe clarifies. “You Chicago heathen. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back by sunrise.”

Gabe's favorite pizzeria in Chicago is a hole-in-the-wall that he and Travis discovered once through sheer dumb luck, drunk off their asses at four in the morning. He tells William the story, embroidering some of the details, on the ride over, and then orders a giant homemade vegan pie for them to share, chatting with the kid behind the counter. His parents own the store; Gabe’s met the entire family.

They drink an entire pot of bitter black coffee while they wait for the pizza, until Gabe’s wired and William’s actually shaking, eyes bright. His phone goes off as the sky is just starting to lighten, and he glances at Gabe apologetically before he flips it open to read the message. “Andrew,” he says, typing something in return. “We had another study session today.”

“Yo, bring him along,” Gabe invites. When William looks up at him, uncertain, he adds, “We can move over to Starbucks or something, you guys can do your thing. It’s almost six anyway, I could call Trav and those guys, too.”

William hesitates for another second, visibly torn, and then pushes a few more keys. “Okay,” he says, and Gabe grins, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial.

Travis shows up with half the staff in tow fifteen minutes later, by some amazing coincidence at the exact time William’s friend Andrew comes down the sidewalk from the opposite side and ends up holding the door open for Victoria.

Their first pizza comes out of the oven a few minutes later, and by then they’re ready to order at least three more. Pete and Ryland crowd into the booth next to Gabe, Pete’s face for once free of makeup, wearing a worn hoodie and track pants. Travis slides in next to William, arm going around him automatically to make more room for Victoria to squeeze in while Andrew grabs a chair, and Gabe doesn’t even mind.

Brendon rushes in a few minutes later, apologizing for getting totally lost, and they add another chair to the end of the table, everyone cramming in until there’s barely enough elbow-room to lift the slices of pizza dripping grease onto the checkered tablecloth.

Travis tells the story of how he and Gabe first found this place all over again, this time with less embroidery over Gabe’s protests of, “That’s not how it happened!” when it actually really was. William eyes him sideways, a little smile on his lips, and when Travis gets to the part about the tranny hooker - and how was Gabe supposed to know, really? - Gabe buries his head in his arms on the table and groans.

“Swear to god,” Travis finishes, over Gabe’s protests of, “I didn’t know!” and Pete laughs so hard he knocks over Ryland’s soda glass and they all scramble madly to mop it up with napkins before they end up with wet laps.

“What Travis is leaving out…” Gabe begins loudly, and Travis tries to shut him up, but if Travis gets to tell the part about the tranny hooker, Gabe gets to tell the part about Travis trying to sweet-talk the policewoman on 38th with a face like a lemon.

“No, you guys don’t even get it,” Gabe insists, over the chorus of catcalls from around the table. “He was like, ‘no really, ma’am, is there anything I can do for you?’” He leers outrageously, leaning in across the table, and Travis hits him in the cheek with a spitball made from their discarded straw wrappers.

A brief but intense spitball battle later, they have even more food, some of which they can barely fit on the table, and another two pots of coffee for the night owls starting to fade as the sun rises higher in the sky. Gabe and Andrew commandeer the jukebox, and after a rousing selection of the greatest pop-synth hits of the ‘80s, they take over the aisle next to their table to perform ‘Bye Bye Bye’ with all of the original choreography.

“Man, I didn’t even need to tell the story about the hooker,” Travis drawls, leaning back against the corner of the booth. “You just embarrassed yourself worse than I could even imagine. Scoot over, I have to piss.”

They trade places, so after Andrew claims a corner of the booth, William ends up pressed tight against Gabe’s side. He’s mostly a warm weight that Gabe only remains half-conscious of, until he glances over to ask if William wants more coffee and sees that he’s fallen asleep on Gabe’s shoulder, hair falling haphazardly across his eyes.

It’s creeping towards 8 AM when Ryland finally says he has to go get some sleep before the next night shift, and everyone reluctantly works their way out of the booth to divvy up the bill and head home.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Gabe murmurs, rolling his shoulder a little. “Rise and shine.”

William wakes up slowly, wrinkling his nose in protest, and finally blinks his eyes open reluctantly. He straightens up when he sees Gabe, scrubbing his hands over his face blearily. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Gabe assures him, sliding out of the booth after William to join the rest of the group. Andrew is the only one of them still even remotely wide-awake, sliding his sunglasses on and waiting for William by the door.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” Travis says, slinging an arm around Gabe as they walk out, blinking blearily, into the grey Chicago morning.

“Just like,” Gabe agrees, tugging his baseball cap down over his eyes to block the sun. “Man, feels like coming home.”

-

“Check me out,” Gabe announces when he walks into the club that evening. “I’m Travis motherfucking McCoy.”

He does a little spin on the landing, showing off the new suit jacket, and bows graciously to accept the wolf-whistles. “Man, I said you could buy in on my club,” Travis says from where he’s leaning against the stage, watching the staff set out chairs and the dancers warm up on the floor. “Not bite off my style. What the fuck is that, anyway, thrift store chic?”

“Fuck you, I’m a suit now,” Gabe tells him affably, coming down the stairs to join everyone else. “This is the new Saporta look.”

“The new Saporta look should have gone out in the ‘70s,” Travis says dryly, plucking at the ruffles on Gabe’s dress shirt. “You’re going to give this place a bad name.”

“Could be worse,” Pete suggests, stretching out against the bar. “He could be wearing that onstage.”

“I have rockin’ dance moves,” Gabe informs him. “You only wish you knew.”

“Oh, I think we do know,” Ryland puts in. “I think we all got see them last night, Timberlake.”

“Not everyone can pull off Timberlake,” Gabe defends, holding a hand to his heart. He points at Pete and says, “Fifty bucks if you strip to N*SYNC tonight.”

“Done,” Pete says before Travis can overrule them, heading back towards the dressing rooms. “Brendon, I need your iPod.”

“Sexyback doesn’t count!” Gabe calls after him. He turns around to say something to Travis and nearly runs over William, who looks amused at the near-collision when Gabe recoils to keep his balance. “Hey,” he says, recovering smoothly, because he’s the king of smooth. “You look like you slept.”

“I did, thanks,” William answers. “You look like you fell out of Boogie Nights.”

“If that’s your way of saying nice threads, then I compliment you on your good taste,” Gabe tells him with dignity.

William smiles, then adds casually, “You know he’s going to go for Space Cowboy, right?”

“It’s what I would pick,” Gabe says honestly, kicking his legs open wide and miming a lasso. “I mean, you can’t really go wrong with a classic.” He rolls his hips lewdly and William laughs, shaking his head.

“Five minutes,” Travis warns, pausing as Frank zips past him on the way to the dressing rooms. “Get your asses backstage, I need to open up.”

“See you later,” William says, pushing off the stage. Gabe’s about to utter something horribly inane and toolish, like ‘not if I see you first,’ when William adds, “You forgot your contract at my place.”

“Oh right,” Gabe says, briefly thrown off-balance. “Do you have it?”

“No, I forgot it too,” William admits. “I can bring it in tomorrow, if you want.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I can come pick it up,” Gabe assures him. “Tonight after this place closes up? Is that good for you?”

William pauses for a moment, but then he says, “Yeah,” with another one of those little half-smiles that Gabe’s starting to crave like oxygen.

“It’s a plan,” Gabe says, raising his fist. After a second, William bumps it with his own, laughing when Gabe hooks his fingers and attempts to turn it into a secret handshake. Gabe grins at him and lets go, taking a step back so William has room to leave.

He’s just turning to head backstage when they hear Pete yelling, “Bill! I need your hat!”

-

Gabe hangs around the bar chatting with Ryland while William gets changed, and then they head out together to catch the train to William’s place, talking about stupid things like the best late-night snack foods and less-stupid things like the poetry class William took with Pete, once upon a time back in undergrad.

It turns out they both have opinions on music, and that discussion takes them all the way up to William’s door, continuing even after they’re both inside. Finally they reach one of those pauses conversations always hit, the awkward in-between time where no one says anything, and William picks the envelope with Gabe’s contract up from where it’s sitting on the kitchen counter, next to an overgrown plastic plant.

“Not to be cliché, but I had a really good time last night,” William comments, eyes darting away and back as if he’s not sure whether he should make the admission.

“Hey, me too,” Gabe answers immediately. “We should do it again sometime. After you’re finished with midterms and all. Travis and I know some great places.”

“I’ll bet you do,” William answers, with laughter in his eyes. They both stand there for a minute, and then William clears his throat and takes a step forward. Gabe has enough time to think, ‘hey, I know that move,’ before William tilts his head and Gabe automatically moves to counter him.

He forgets about the no-touching rule, which he thinks is probably fine because this is definitely a kiss, not a tease. William’s waist is warm beneath his hands, and he leans forward when their tongues first slide together, swaying into contact with Gabe’s chest.

Gabe catches him before they overbalance, his arm sliding tight around William’s waist to draw him closer. He’s about to back them up against the kitchen counter, the front door, anything, when William pulls away and licks his lips. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then he asks, “Do you want to stay?”

“Fuck yes,” Gabe says without thinking, and then, “If that’s an actual offer, I mean, and not just a theoretical question. Because it’s pretty rhetorical, actually.”

William smiles again, soft around the edges, and says, “My room’s the one on the right.”

Gabe takes the contract, setting it down on William’s paint-can-and-plywood coffee table. Then he reaches for William’s hand and pulls him along towards the bedroom.

“Man, you don’t even have a bed frame,” he laughs when he pushes open the door and sees the mattress on the carpet.

William blushes slightly, and Gabe’s dick sends a little zing of interest back up to his brain, which starts thinking about how all of that skin would look flushed and bare. “I’m getting around to it,” William says, and starts to pull Gabe over to the bed, obviously looking to distract from the state of his shitty furniture, but Gabe has other plans.

“Sit down,” he says, pushing William gently off-balance so he falls back onto the mattress. “I owe you one.” He shakes out his shoulders, popping open his belt buckle, and says, “I’d be better with a pole, though.”

William ignores the innuendo completely, just raises his eyebrows and says, “I don’t keep a practice pole in my room, you know.”

“I see that,” Gabe answers, working the belt loose. “I told you my illusions were shattered. Where’s your stereo?”

William points to the equipment in the corner, and Gabe almost laughs, because William doesn’t have a bed frame, but he has a two-thousand-dollar Bose acoustic sound system.

“The Carpenters?” he asks when he first flips it on. “No fucking way, you fucking pansy. Okay, wait, here we go.” The drum-machine rhythm of hip-hop replaces folk, and Gabe does a little shimmy back to the foot of the bed, slipping his belt loose and waving it over his head. William lounges back on his elbows and raises his eyebrows, and Gabe immediately rises to the challenge in his posture, letting his hips go loose and fluid.

“You’re going to be a tough crowd, aren’t you?” he asks, copping a feel and adjusting himself during the first slow undulation. “Not all of us are professionals, you know.”

“Just dance,” William tells him, one foot rolling back and forth in time with the music. “I want to get my money’s worth.”

“Shit, you didn’t tell me I was getting tips,” Gabe exclaims, bending over and rolling up his spine. “I would have picked a longer song.”

William laughs, still playing casual, but his eyes are bright and fixed on Gabe’s chest when he pulls his shirt over his head, rolling his abs tight. “Less hips,” he murmurs, when Gabe is midway through a spectacular session of humping the air. “I want to see you move.”

Gabe complies, relaxing his body a little, slinking forward until he can straddle William’s lap. “You ever gotten one of these?” he asks, swinging his hips a little, feeling it out.

William shakes his head, looking up at him with naked want in his eyes. “How many people will dance for a professional stripper?” he asks rhetorically, and Gabe leans in close, mirroring what William did to him earlier, finding his rhythm before he bites William’s lip and whispers, “Fucking shame.”

William doesn’t try to touch him, so Gabe reaches for his hands, places them on his own stomach and rolls his hips so that William can feel the hardness of his abs. “You can touch,” he says, grinning. “I don’t have any rules.”

William rolls his eyes, but his hands slide upward, over Gabe’s chest, and then wind their way over his shoulders and around his neck to pull him in closer. Then they’re kissing, and Gabe loses his rhythm in the easy sweep of William’s tongue. He doesn’t even hear the song end.

“How was that for your first dance?” Gabe asks when he catches his breath, still mouthing William’s jaw and working his hands up under his shirt. “We even now?”

“Technically, I gave you two,” William points out, his hands tucked under Gabe’s waistband and urging him even closer.

“I could put my clothes back on and start again,” Gabe offers, kicking his jeans loose and shaking his left foot until they finally drop away, immediately surging forward to push William back onto the bed.

“Maybe another time,” William says, breathy almost to the point of gasping, busy helping Gabe work his shirt off.

“What if I strip you, does that count?” William’s shirt finally hits the floor, and Gabe starts in on his pants, slithering down to undo the button with his teeth. It’s showy, sure, but it’s fucking hot. The way William is looking down at him suggests that he agrees.

William makes a noise that might have been a reply, but by then they’re both racing each other out of their underwear, so Gabe misses it in his mad dash to have William’s mouth open under his again. They push each other up the mattress until they can be horizontal, and then it dissolves into hot mouths and hotter skin, gasped breaths in between kisses.

“Condom,” Gabe says, not meaning for it to come out like such an order, but he can’t really help it, things are getting kind of urgent. William fumbles for the squat bedside table and Gabe pulls a packet out of the drawer, ripping it open with his teeth. “Top or bottom?”

William shakes his head, still moving, ostensibly trying to free himself so Gabe can work but really only tangling them further. “However you want me. I’m flexible.”

“No shit,” Gabe says, leaning in to bite William’s ear, worrying the lobe between his teeth until he hears William’s breath catch. He rolls the condom on himself and says into William’s ear, “I want to be inside you.”

“Lube,” William says, practically bending himself in half to reach the drawer, and Gabe runs his tongue over the flat planes of William’s stomach while he pops the cap on the bottle and groans, arching into the touch. He preps himself while Gabe sucks a hickey onto his sharply-angled hipbone, until Gabe realizes what he’s missing and slides a finger in between the two William is working inside himself, forcing him open wider until he hisses.

“Fuck me,” William says, and Gabe’s not the only one giving orders, apparently, but it’s not like he cares. William’s legs go easily over his shoulders, fucking flexible as he is, and then it’s a long, smooth slide home into the heat of his body.

“Your ass is fucking amazing,” Gabe says fervently, not bothering to hold back once William adjusts and eases, just pounding away because he’s pretty sure that’s what they both want anyway.

William arches up, straining for a better angle, and says, “I thought I didn’t have one.”

“You don’t,” Gabe agrees. “It’s fucking incredible.” William laughs until it strangles off into a moan, and Gabe gets one hand under his hips to lift him up into Gabe’s thrusts.

It’s good, but it’s not good enough. Gabe doesn’t have the balance to jack off William’s cock, and doesn’t have the right angle to drive him crazy in the meantime. “This isn’t doing anything for you, is it?” he asks, forcing himself to slow down.

“It’s fine,” William says, but Gabe’s already pulling out, ignoring the needy pulse of his cock.

“No, shit. We can do better,” he promises. “Turn over.”

William does, rolling fluidly onto his knees and elbows, and Gabe palms his ass, squeezing and kneading to hear the noises William makes when he does it. His cock is ready to go back to the fucking, but his brain has gotten distracted, so it seems like a logical move to lean in and run the flat of his tongue between William’s cheeks.

It tastes like lube, and not gross flavored lube, but gross regular lube, which isn’t all that pleasant and they really should have used flavored, but it’s too late now. Anyway, William makes a startled, grateful noise when he does it again, so the taste in his mouth is totally worth it. He slides in deeper, and William’s hips come off the bed, pushing back against his tongue.

He’s really getting into it when William gasps, “I thought we were fucking.” His hips don’t stop moving, though, so Gabe slides a finger in deep to replace his tongue, wiggling it at just the right angle while he wipes his mouth.

“This is halftime,” he says, sliding his finger back out again slowly.

William laughs, his whole body shaking with it, which is when Gabe gives in and covers him, sliding in deeper than before until his balls are flush against skin, holding still for a second to take in William’s shaky moan.

He hangs on for as long as he can, stroking hard and fast, but eventually William groans, the sound muffled because he’s sunk his teeth into his own arm, and Gabe loses it and just fucks him into the mattress.

He lies there afterwards, breathing hard, inhaling William’s shampoo because his hair is tickling Gabe’s nose. “Give me a second,” he says. “My legs are tingling.”

William twists enough that Gabe has to pull out or become very uncomfortable, and then they both lie there looking at each other. William’s eyes are soft and a little unfocused, half-dazed. Gabe wants to kiss him until he can’t see straight.

He slides down William’s body, their skin squeaking together with sweat, and licks his lips. He fists William’s cock a few times and is just opening his mouth to go down when William arches and comes, both arms flung over his face to muffle the noise he makes. It’s a reasonable amount of noise.

Gabe blinks at him until William peeks out from behind his arms, and then wipes a drop of come from his cheek and says with affront, “I was going to blow you.”

William smiles tiredly, without a single drop of shame. “You shouldn’t have fucked me like that, then,” he says, and his legs spill out to the sides like liquid, his entire body loose and relaxed.

Gabe raises up enough to kiss him and says matter-of-factly, “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

William laughs almost silently, like he doesn’t have enough air yet, and then rolls out of bed, pulling his shirt off the floor and over his head. “I’m going to get some water,” he says, pulling on a pair of boxer shorts and standing up, pushing his hair back where it’s straggling into his face. “Want some?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, spreading out on the mattress lazily. He feels good. He feels fucking great, actually. He’s also hoping this doesn’t end with him getting kicked out, because that was pretty fucking fantastic, and he’s already considering a round two.

William comes back with two bottles of water, and Gabe chugs half of his before setting it aside on the carpet and reaching for William’s shirt.

“Hey,” William protests halfheartedly when Gabe takes his bottle of water away in order to pull the shirt the rest of the way off.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Gabe informs him, pulling William into his lap. William goes easily, loose-limbed and relaxed, and Gabe palms his ass through the material of his boxer shorts. “You’re going to fuck me, right?”

William laughs, almost high enough to be called a giggle. “Maybe after a nap,” he suggests, his fingers curling and flexing in Gabe’s hair, arms around his neck.

Gabe rolls them over onto the mattress, pulling William on top of him. “We can sleep when we’re dead,” he says, and William doesn’t protest again.

-

“I have to go to work,” William murmurs against Gabe’s mouth, somewhere between lazy, blurred-together kisses.

Gabe makes a noise that he hopes expresses his feelings about that course of action, and slides a thigh between William’s legs. William moans in an extremely satisfying way, but pulls back a second later when Gabe goes to kiss him again.

“I have to get out of bed so I can go to work,” he tries again, squirming away from Gabe’s hands but capitulating gracefully into the next kiss.

“I’m so not down with this plan,” Gabe informs him, dragging his mouth over William’s collarbone to suck on his throat.

“Stop it,” William says breathlessly, although the pushes of his hands are ineffectual and heartfelt at best. “I’m a stripper, you can’t give me hickeys.”

“Too late,” Gabe replies cheerfully, dotting kisses down William’s chest over every place he’s left a mark.

William groans, and takes advantage of Gabe’s distraction to roll them over and straddle him. “Now I really have to go,” he says, hair hanging down over his eyes when he leans in for a kiss, slow and open-mouthed. When they break apart, he says, “I have to get there early so I’ll have time to cover these.”

“Pete’s magical makeup kit?” Gabe asks brightly, lifting himself onto his elbows when William sits back so that he can get his mouth on William’s nipple.

“Pete’s foundation is too dark for me,” William says distractedly, one hand coming up to cradle Gabe’s head and hold him in place.

Gabe laughs, switching to the other nipple and letting his hands wander lazily down to William’s hips. “I’m your boss now,” he points out. “I can give you the day off.”

“You’re not my boss yet,” William argues, arching back away from Gabe’s mouth. Gabe just tightens his grip on William’s hips, dragging him forward again. “Travis hasn’t signed that contract yet, it’s not legally binding.”

“Ooh, law talk,” Gabe mutters between kisses scattered across William’s shoulder. “Baby, you’re getting me so hot.”

William laughs, but wrestles himself away before Gabe has the chance to roll them over again. He pulls on a shirt left carelessly on the floor and stops mid-motion, one hand frozen in the act of combing through his hair. “This isn’t about the dancing, is it?” he asks cautiously.

“The fuck?” Gabe responds eloquently.

William crosses his arms, looking ridiculous in a shirt and nothing else, but also frighteningly determined. “I’m not quitting,” he says flatly. “This isn’t going to be you saving me from a lifestyle of degradation.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gabe props himself up on his elbows, eyebrows arched. “I’ve seen how much money you bring in. Fuck no, you’re not quitting.”

William’s expression softens slightly, but he still presses on. “And you’re not going to go apeshit on me whenever you see me with another guy?”

Gabe sits up and raises both hands in surrender. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he promises. “Hell, I’ll even give a couple of lapdances myself if it’ll make you feel better. Even the score.”

William leans in over the bed, crawling close enough to bite Gabe’s lip before soothing it with a kiss. “Exhibitionist,” he accuses.

Gabe mouths his earlobe, biting hard enough to make William melt against him. “Let’s do it with the curtains open,” he murmurs suggestively.

William laughs, pushing him down and struggling back out of bed. “Later,” he says. “I have to go.”

Gabe crosses his arms behind his head, watching William dress with sincere regret. “Shower?” he suggests hopefully.

“I’ll shower at work,” William says, zipping up another pair of sinfully tight jeans. He tosses a pair of boxer shorts over Gabe’s face on his way out and calls, “Coming?”

Gabe has to take a moment to seriously think it over, because the bed is warm and welcoming, but he knows it will be less so without William in it. “Yeah,” he says finally to the empty room, and then has to chase William down at the bus stop because he doesn’t get dressed fast enough.

William drops his hand before they get to the club, splitting off as soon as they walk in to head towards the dressing room, but Travis still takes one look at Gabe and shakes his head. “Man, tell me you didn’t,” he says, with an inflection that says he already knows very well that Gabe did.

“I signed the contract,” Gabe tells him with a grin. “You can’t get rid of me now. Victoria,” he adds as she walks past, “you are looking positively charming today. Are those new shoes?”

“Oh shit,” Ryland says, laughing. “It’s like that, is it?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Gabe says glibly. “Get me a drink, I own you now.”

“It’s like fucking Pretty Woman,” Travis says, shaking his head.

“Fuck you,” Gabe says, grinning so hard he feels like his face is splitting. “And I’m serious about that drink.”

-

They’re grouped around the bar, getting ready for the traditional Friday-night toast to welcome Gabe formally into the fold, when Frank sneezes. Everyone stops, looking down the bar at Frank, who promptly sneezes again, then breaks the silence with a loud, “Fuck.”

Travis shakes his head. “Man, I’m already down a dancer,” he says. “You couldn’t make it through the weekend?”

Frank looks miserably at him, then sneezes again. Victoria reaches into her purse and fishes out a packet of tissues and a zinc tablet.

William sighs. “Pete and I can handle it,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. Gabe doesn’t blame him.

“Yo, I could pitch in,” he offers, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” William says, and when Gabe opens his mouth again, he laughs and repeats, “No.”

Travis chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Bill, how serious is that law friend of yours about not dancing?”

William shrugs one shoulder. “I can ask,” he offers. “We have a bachelorette party coming in tomorrow night, right? He might be up for it, just for fun.”

“Shit, I forgot about them,” Travis says, rubbing his nose. “We’re going to be slammed.”

“I could do it,” someone else pipes up, and Gabe twists around along with everyone else to see Brendon perched on the other side of the bar, swinging his legs off the high stool. “I could,” he insists. “I’ve been practicing. I’ve worked here forever, I know all the moves. I know the routine, too, you wouldn’t even have to move anything around.”

Travis looks at him, speculative but still dubious. “I don’t think so,” he says finally, which makes Brendon’s face fall to almost comical effect. Because Travis is a big cuddly teddy bear, Gabe thinks it’s the slight protrusion of the lower lip, along with the big wounded doe eyes, that unintentionally turn the tables.

“Okay, fine,” Travis relents, holding up his hand. “One night, trial basis.” Brendon practically vibrates in place with excitement, his whole face lighting up. Gabe reaches over to clap his shoulder while Travis mutters, “I’m already regretting this.”

“Are we going to toast or what?” Gabe asks, picking up a shot glass from the row on the bar. “To Brendon’s exotic dancing debut.”

“Hey, that’s not how we do it around here,” Travis says mildly, but he reaches over to ruffle Brendon’s hair before he picks up a glass and toasts. “To us.”

“To us,” Gabe echoes, looking straight at William as he says it.

William rolls his eyes, but when he raises the glass to his lips, he’s looking back and smiling.