Lamp oil

1. The gentle man

Tobirama

The soft whooshing of the fire was unmatched by the exclaims made by the audience.

The poi were a favourite among the guests of the beach club, basically two metal balls covered in Kevlar and lit on fire, suspended by chains which I held. I loved them, too, as they strained my muscles in a way the staff did not, enabling me to feel I'd done a real workout once I was done.

I stood on the soft sand on the beach of the beach club surrounded by people with drinks in their hands, exactly the way I wanted it. The palm trees were ghostly silhouettes against the dark sky. I could feel the orange glow of the fire covering the poi reflect on the glistening skin of my upper body; bare, of course. My trousers hung loosely off my hips, showing off a V-line I knew made me popular among the guests, the boys wanting to be me, the girls believing they could change me.

And there was him. Watching.

I loved it when he watched because I knew he was impressed and that that gave him the hots for me. I knew he was frustrated, frustrated to show me he was good at something, too, but I never allowed him. I wanted this sense of power over him.

From time to time, I would look over at the open sky bar where he worked, mixing things of incomprehensible complexity and he would be looking at me, biting his lip playfully, adorable in his working garment; a white, oversized shirt, a black bowtie, black trousers. He had his long, black hair nonchalantly up with two chopsticks, lifting his pointed face to the skies.

Madara...

I smirked at him before I did my final number, which was spinning the poi with an immense force creating two enormous wheels of fire on either side of me, causing the tipsy audience to shriek and back off in pure glee.

After I had extinguished my poi in the ocean, I walked back up the beach, noticing and enjoying but ignoring the glances and words of admiration from the guests as I walked to the bar. I leaned my elbow casually on the desk. Madara stood with his back to me, pretending to ignore me, but I knew every fibre of him was hyper-aware of my presence. He knew he would be lucky tonight. 

He knew I would fuck him.

"Usual?" he asked casually in his sing-song voice, still not turning around to meet me.

"Mmm", I said flatly.

Madara poured up a White Russian without the coffee liqueur, leaving just vodka and milk, in a glass for me and finally turned around to slam it on the bar desk. I took it and chugged it.

"Ten dollars", he said.

"But it's me", I said.

"Ten dollars", he repeated.

"But I'm going to make sweet love to you tonight."

"Oh... Then twenty dollars. For the effort."

I stuck my tongue out at him playfully; I had a piercing there which I knew he liked.

"You look lovely tonight", I complimented.

"You were really good", he said back, blushing.

"When do you get off?"

"Three am."

I frowned.

"You're joking?"

"You're an adult", he said. "You should be able to stay up."

"If you give me another one."

He mixed another glass of vodka and milk for me.

"Drink it slow", he demanded. I chugged it. "Twenty dollars. Forty, all-in-all."