AU Kradam fic: Adam is a Stripper
Title: He Works Hard for the Money (That's bad but I couldn't think of a title! Sorry!)
Author: drcat83
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: R for now, possibly higher
Prompt: Someone on an ONTD_AI After Dark Thread requested an AU fic where Adam is a stripper and a bottom. I haven't gotten to the second part of the request yet but I'm working on it.
Warnings: Probably some kink eventually. Definitely some dom/sub. Probably a lust triangle that incorporates the strip club owner, Roberto, an original character.
Summary: Kris owns a bar in Dallas. He goes to a certain strip club in order to deal with his sexual desires. Adam is an actor/singer who takes a job at a strip club when his show gets canceled and he is desperate for cash. His stage name is Brian Fairy (cobbled together from Velvet Goldmine characters - because that's what Adam would do if he needed an alias!).
This is my very first fic! I do a lot of writing, but it's not usually fiction, so this was hard and I was skurred. Constructive feedback would be awesome. The opening is a bit slow but it does pick up. TY for your time!
Kris Allen was a perfectly respectable businessman. He ran a laid-back sports bar in Dallas. It was the sort of place that locals, rather than tourists, gathered to watch a game, drink good, cheap beer, and bitch about their mostly blue collar jobs. Kris volunteered at a homeless shelter a few blocks from his business. He hosted an amateur musicians' night at the bar when there wasn't a game. Sometimes he even played the guitar and sang himself. He had a clean, modest apartment, and he enjoyed cooking homestyle southern meals for friends and neighbors. Kris was happy with the small but comfortable presence he had in his community, and he was mostly satisfied with his life. Mostly.
Kris was a grown man in his mid-twenties but he'd known since his early teens that he harbored what some might call “deviant” sexual desires. As a teenager growing up in a small town in Arkansas, he had occasionally truth-or-dared some of his male friends into their underwear, a game which sometimes ended with him sucking off another teen boy. It had been all fine and good until he got caught. There was embarrassment at the moment, but that paled in comparison to the humiliation for himself and his family as gossip spread throughout the community.
After high school, he decided that it was in everyone's best interest if he moved on, so he went to Dallas and began building his business. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there had been a fantasy: he'd establish his business and open himself up to a social life that included dating - and, naturally, sucking off - other men without shame. That had been the fantasy but somehow it never happened. He was popular with his employees and patrons, a few of whom he hung out with outside of work, but he found himself demurring in the face of advances from either gender. Women, ages 18-60, hit on him aggressively. Men sometimes did too. Kris Allen didn't even consider it an option to respond to those advances. He liked his life in Dallas and he wanted to continue liking it. He felt that a sexual relationship would somehow put the stability and comfort he'd achieved in life in peril.
Over the years, he'd learned how to cope with these desires without putting himself at risk: he began to frequent Roberto's Dream, a very discreet, gay gentleman's club in the city's red light district. He had to pay a monthly fee to take advantage of the discretion offered by Roberto's Dream, but he figured that it was more effective than a monthly gym membership in terms of relieving stress. There were several different rooms inside of Roberto's Dream. The type of membership you signed up for determined which of the rooms you could visit. Kris was completely content to join at the cheapest level, which entitled him to unlimited visits to Purgatorio, the strip club room. He'd been a regular for almost two years and followed the same routine every time he went. He found a shadowy table on the periphery of the room (this was not hard: almost all of the tables were in shadow), ordered the house beer, and silently watched the show.
While he watched, he pictured the beautiful, buff dancers making out, screwing each other, and sucking each other off, but he never imagined himself doing any of those things with the strippers. It was easier that way, and it made him less melancholy afterward. He typically stayed for two to three hours, left half-hard, and went home to finish himself off. He went maybe once a week and it was enough to preserve the equilibrium that he was looking for in life. He didn't even feel all that bad about it. The dancers were like works of art, fictional characters in a movie. Their campy, cliche costumes made them entirely indistinguishable. They were simply imaginings made concrete by the weekly outing. His visits to the Purgatorio were flights of fantasy and nothing more.
He was engaged in this very routine on a Thursday night. The announcer closed veteran stripper Angel's act by entreating the audience for a hearty round of applause. Angel got it, though the crowd sounded a bit bored (one of the things that Kris appreciated about the Purgatorio is that the clientèle was laid back - lethargic even). Angel was a lean, muscled man who started out topless in white pants and wings and ended up only in the wings. Kris liked to picture Angel and Candy together. Candy was a petite young man who sucked on a lollipop and gyrated while gradually losing his Catholic schoolboy outfit.
“And up next on the decadent and torturous stage of the Purgatorio, please welcome our newest act, a sinful and exquisite burlesque, inspired by your most dark and glamorous desires. Gentlemen and rakes, please puts your hands together for Brian Fairy!”
A lone spotlight lit the stage and Kris laid eyes on the most stunningly erotic, strange creature he'd ever seen. The man was very tall, had pale skin, and dark black hair with blue streaks. Strands of his hair fell delicately around his face, highlighting his striking bone structure, even though the man's face remained turned down. He had a long, lean body, but he wasn't a waif. He was barefoot on stage and his fingernails and toenails were painted an electric blue that matched the streaks in his hair. The performer wore a translucent black vest with black and rhinestone beading and skin-tight leather pants. Kris' gaze stayed on those leather pants, the way they tightly encased the man's hips which had now begun to sway slowly in time with the music. He thought he recognized the music that had begun to play: it was Nina Simone's classic “I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl.” Brian Fairy looked up as he sang the first note of the song and, at that moment, Kris Allen's breath caught in his throat.
I want a little sugar
in my bowl
I want a little sweetness
down in my soul
Brian's voice was like something from another world: clear, strong, and oh so sexy. The man's eyes were piercing and heavily lined with blue glittery eye makeup. His lips were the most perfect-looking plump lips Kris had ever seen and they were painted bright red.
I could stand some lovin'
Oh so bad
I feel so funny and I feel so sad
Brian swayed and pouted as he sang the song, his lithe body moving snakelike across the stage. He had Kris - and the rest of the room - eating out of the palm of his hand by the time he reached the stripper pole and rubbed himself against it: first his nipples (visible through the translucent fabric of the vest) and then his cock, which was - even in a strip club - scandalously prominent beneath his leather pants. Brian seemed lost in the sensations of the spell he was casting and, by the final lines of the song, he stood in front of the pole with his hands above his head clutching it, while slowly and sensually grinding his gorgeous, leather-covered ass against the metal beam. Most of the patrons had left their seats in the shadows and were now standing at the edge of the stage. Some were staring rapt, others were whistling, cheering, and begging him to take off his clothes. It was the most intense reaction from the audience that Kris had ever witnessed in the Purgatorio and it had taken all of his will-power to remain in his seat.
Brian performed a few more songs, most of them standards to which he had added a certain surreal, potently sensual signature. His voice alternated from deeply masculine to stunningly ethereal and vulnerable. He remained loosely elegant throughout his set and gradually the garments began to come off. First, the translucent vest came off to reveal that the beading was not actually part of the vest but had been glued to his body. Sparkly black beads and rhinestones were arranged in a henna-like pattern on his chest. “How long does it take him to get ready,” Kris wondered as Brian finally gave in to the crowds' egging on and swung around the pole in the center of the stage (that's what the pole is for, after all). He kicked up his legs as he swung and giggled, adding a carefree boyish quality to the gesture which only further excited the admiring crowd gathered around the stage.
For what appeared to be his last song, Brian began to do these belly dancer-type moves - body rolls, Kris thought they were called - and his hands had begun to slowly tease the edge of his pants. By the time he unbuttoned them, Kris had to stand to see because the men in front of the stage were cheering and jumping. Brian's song was more of a whisper now but it was still so beautiful. Kris was at once struck by how erotic the sight was and how tragic the sight was: here was a beautiful, talented man, who knew exactly what he was selling to the crowd of horny men and who owned that gesture, without pretense.
Brian's whispery song seemed sung mostly to himself as he unzipped the pants and slowly pushed the leather down past his hips. Beneath them, he wore a pair of black briefs that had been made from the same material as his vest. They were also mostly translucent, but were slightly lined so that there was still something left to the imagination. Kris almost wanted to look away - which was a strange occurrence in and of itself. This, after all, was the place where he came to find provocative pictures for his fantasies. Brian's slowly swaying body and gyrating hips, dramatically thrown-back head, and gradual striptease were just about the most provocative image Kris could ever hope to conjure for the purpose of jerking off.
After Brian pushed his pants past his thighs, they pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them carefully, as if the fabric would burn his skin if he touched it. As the lights went down, Brian wrapped his right arm across his chest and threw his head back. His left hand drifted between his legs and he grabbed himself through the fabric of the briefs. By that point, many of the patrons' hands had drifted as well. Kris felt suddenly self-conscious when he realized that Brian Fairy had left the stage and he was standing in the Purgatorio with a limp cock and a soiled pair of pants. Had he even touched himself? He couldn't remember.
Author: drcat83
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: R for now, possibly higher
Prompt: Someone on an ONTD_AI After Dark Thread requested an AU fic where Adam is a stripper and a bottom. I haven't gotten to the second part of the request yet but I'm working on it.
Warnings: Probably some kink eventually. Definitely some dom/sub. Probably a lust triangle that incorporates the strip club owner, Roberto, an original character.
Summary: Kris owns a bar in Dallas. He goes to a certain strip club in order to deal with his sexual desires. Adam is an actor/singer who takes a job at a strip club when his show gets canceled and he is desperate for cash. His stage name is Brian Fairy (cobbled together from Velvet Goldmine characters - because that's what Adam would do if he needed an alias!).
This is my very first fic! I do a lot of writing, but it's not usually fiction, so this was hard and I was skurred. Constructive feedback would be awesome. The opening is a bit slow but it does pick up. TY for your time!
Kris Allen was a perfectly respectable businessman. He ran a laid-back sports bar in Dallas. It was the sort of place that locals, rather than tourists, gathered to watch a game, drink good, cheap beer, and bitch about their mostly blue collar jobs. Kris volunteered at a homeless shelter a few blocks from his business. He hosted an amateur musicians' night at the bar when there wasn't a game. Sometimes he even played the guitar and sang himself. He had a clean, modest apartment, and he enjoyed cooking homestyle southern meals for friends and neighbors. Kris was happy with the small but comfortable presence he had in his community, and he was mostly satisfied with his life. Mostly.
Kris was a grown man in his mid-twenties but he'd known since his early teens that he harbored what some might call “deviant” sexual desires. As a teenager growing up in a small town in Arkansas, he had occasionally truth-or-dared some of his male friends into their underwear, a game which sometimes ended with him sucking off another teen boy. It had been all fine and good until he got caught. There was embarrassment at the moment, but that paled in comparison to the humiliation for himself and his family as gossip spread throughout the community.
After high school, he decided that it was in everyone's best interest if he moved on, so he went to Dallas and began building his business. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there had been a fantasy: he'd establish his business and open himself up to a social life that included dating - and, naturally, sucking off - other men without shame. That had been the fantasy but somehow it never happened. He was popular with his employees and patrons, a few of whom he hung out with outside of work, but he found himself demurring in the face of advances from either gender. Women, ages 18-60, hit on him aggressively. Men sometimes did too. Kris Allen didn't even consider it an option to respond to those advances. He liked his life in Dallas and he wanted to continue liking it. He felt that a sexual relationship would somehow put the stability and comfort he'd achieved in life in peril.
Over the years, he'd learned how to cope with these desires without putting himself at risk: he began to frequent Roberto's Dream, a very discreet, gay gentleman's club in the city's red light district. He had to pay a monthly fee to take advantage of the discretion offered by Roberto's Dream, but he figured that it was more effective than a monthly gym membership in terms of relieving stress. There were several different rooms inside of Roberto's Dream. The type of membership you signed up for determined which of the rooms you could visit. Kris was completely content to join at the cheapest level, which entitled him to unlimited visits to Purgatorio, the strip club room. He'd been a regular for almost two years and followed the same routine every time he went. He found a shadowy table on the periphery of the room (this was not hard: almost all of the tables were in shadow), ordered the house beer, and silently watched the show.
While he watched, he pictured the beautiful, buff dancers making out, screwing each other, and sucking each other off, but he never imagined himself doing any of those things with the strippers. It was easier that way, and it made him less melancholy afterward. He typically stayed for two to three hours, left half-hard, and went home to finish himself off. He went maybe once a week and it was enough to preserve the equilibrium that he was looking for in life. He didn't even feel all that bad about it. The dancers were like works of art, fictional characters in a movie. Their campy, cliche costumes made them entirely indistinguishable. They were simply imaginings made concrete by the weekly outing. His visits to the Purgatorio were flights of fantasy and nothing more.
He was engaged in this very routine on a Thursday night. The announcer closed veteran stripper Angel's act by entreating the audience for a hearty round of applause. Angel got it, though the crowd sounded a bit bored (one of the things that Kris appreciated about the Purgatorio is that the clientèle was laid back - lethargic even). Angel was a lean, muscled man who started out topless in white pants and wings and ended up only in the wings. Kris liked to picture Angel and Candy together. Candy was a petite young man who sucked on a lollipop and gyrated while gradually losing his Catholic schoolboy outfit.
“And up next on the decadent and torturous stage of the Purgatorio, please welcome our newest act, a sinful and exquisite burlesque, inspired by your most dark and glamorous desires. Gentlemen and rakes, please puts your hands together for Brian Fairy!”
A lone spotlight lit the stage and Kris laid eyes on the most stunningly erotic, strange creature he'd ever seen. The man was very tall, had pale skin, and dark black hair with blue streaks. Strands of his hair fell delicately around his face, highlighting his striking bone structure, even though the man's face remained turned down. He had a long, lean body, but he wasn't a waif. He was barefoot on stage and his fingernails and toenails were painted an electric blue that matched the streaks in his hair. The performer wore a translucent black vest with black and rhinestone beading and skin-tight leather pants. Kris' gaze stayed on those leather pants, the way they tightly encased the man's hips which had now begun to sway slowly in time with the music. He thought he recognized the music that had begun to play: it was Nina Simone's classic “I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl.” Brian Fairy looked up as he sang the first note of the song and, at that moment, Kris Allen's breath caught in his throat.
I want a little sugar
in my bowl
I want a little sweetness
down in my soul
Brian's voice was like something from another world: clear, strong, and oh so sexy. The man's eyes were piercing and heavily lined with blue glittery eye makeup. His lips were the most perfect-looking plump lips Kris had ever seen and they were painted bright red.
I could stand some lovin'
Oh so bad
I feel so funny and I feel so sad
Brian swayed and pouted as he sang the song, his lithe body moving snakelike across the stage. He had Kris - and the rest of the room - eating out of the palm of his hand by the time he reached the stripper pole and rubbed himself against it: first his nipples (visible through the translucent fabric of the vest) and then his cock, which was - even in a strip club - scandalously prominent beneath his leather pants. Brian seemed lost in the sensations of the spell he was casting and, by the final lines of the song, he stood in front of the pole with his hands above his head clutching it, while slowly and sensually grinding his gorgeous, leather-covered ass against the metal beam. Most of the patrons had left their seats in the shadows and were now standing at the edge of the stage. Some were staring rapt, others were whistling, cheering, and begging him to take off his clothes. It was the most intense reaction from the audience that Kris had ever witnessed in the Purgatorio and it had taken all of his will-power to remain in his seat.
Brian performed a few more songs, most of them standards to which he had added a certain surreal, potently sensual signature. His voice alternated from deeply masculine to stunningly ethereal and vulnerable. He remained loosely elegant throughout his set and gradually the garments began to come off. First, the translucent vest came off to reveal that the beading was not actually part of the vest but had been glued to his body. Sparkly black beads and rhinestones were arranged in a henna-like pattern on his chest. “How long does it take him to get ready,” Kris wondered as Brian finally gave in to the crowds' egging on and swung around the pole in the center of the stage (that's what the pole is for, after all). He kicked up his legs as he swung and giggled, adding a carefree boyish quality to the gesture which only further excited the admiring crowd gathered around the stage.
For what appeared to be his last song, Brian began to do these belly dancer-type moves - body rolls, Kris thought they were called - and his hands had begun to slowly tease the edge of his pants. By the time he unbuttoned them, Kris had to stand to see because the men in front of the stage were cheering and jumping. Brian's song was more of a whisper now but it was still so beautiful. Kris was at once struck by how erotic the sight was and how tragic the sight was: here was a beautiful, talented man, who knew exactly what he was selling to the crowd of horny men and who owned that gesture, without pretense.
Brian's whispery song seemed sung mostly to himself as he unzipped the pants and slowly pushed the leather down past his hips. Beneath them, he wore a pair of black briefs that had been made from the same material as his vest. They were also mostly translucent, but were slightly lined so that there was still something left to the imagination. Kris almost wanted to look away - which was a strange occurrence in and of itself. This, after all, was the place where he came to find provocative pictures for his fantasies. Brian's slowly swaying body and gyrating hips, dramatically thrown-back head, and gradual striptease were just about the most provocative image Kris could ever hope to conjure for the purpose of jerking off.
After Brian pushed his pants past his thighs, they pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them carefully, as if the fabric would burn his skin if he touched it. As the lights went down, Brian wrapped his right arm across his chest and threw his head back. His left hand drifted between his legs and he grabbed himself through the fabric of the briefs. By that point, many of the patrons' hands had drifted as well. Kris felt suddenly self-conscious when he realized that Brian Fairy had left the stage and he was standing in the Purgatorio with a limp cock and a soiled pair of pants. Had he even touched himself? He couldn't remember.