to love or lust [mike schmidt AU]

vi.

vi.

[dance]

here we are all 
alone in this room 
girl i know where 
to start and what
we gonna do

take you down  — chris brown

| "You want my time? Then, buy me. I don't speak to men like you for free." |

MIKE.

Standing outside the packed parking lot of The Vixen, I hear the endless spouts of my friends' excitement. It seems they've brought me here for a specific reason that they have yet to disclose to me. I see it in the way they share numerous looks and emasculate giggles among each other, and it's starting to piss me off. Because what the fuck is so goddamn funny? And why can't I be a part of their shared laughs? I have begged them inside of the car and on the drive to the club to tell me what it is they're so secretive about, why they're throwing out subtle remarks about this club. But Pauly, Matt, and Chris tell me to shut the fuck up.

I swear I only have one more "Shut the fuck up!" in me to hear, before I lose my mind.

Don't get me wrong, though, I fucking love strip clubs—The Vixen, especially. I've been here a couple times before, but it's been a few years. Last time I was partying here, I couldn't even remember my fucking name that's how much fun I had. But then I got into a serious relationship with my ex-girlfriend, and the boys trips to the strip club had all but stopped. I guess, tonight, out of all nights, will be my return.

But, again, it's Halloween, and I'd prefer to spend my time at the numerous house parties we were invited to. We're dressed in our costumes for it, too; I'm Tony Montana from Scarface; Pauly is Patrick Bateman from American Psycho; Matt is Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean; and Chris is Michael Jackson from the Thriller music video. And it's easier to find a girl and get laid through some party then it would be at a strip club. So, I don't get why the guys practically force this idea for us to be around strippers. And the strippers—specifically the girls at The Vixen—don't want you to sleep with them. You may find it easier to fuck a stripper at a different, sleazier club, but you run plenty risks that of which make me squirm in disgust. It's not that I don't want to sleep with a stripper—that's a fucking dream; it's the disillusionment of the entire point of a strip club and the strippers. The idea of a strip club is to dangle in front of you what you can not have. It makes the chase of a woman harder, sexier even.

I'm not, however, looking for a chase tonight. I want to fuck. I want to fuck the type of girl, who I can bring home, mess around with, and have no strings attached.

The guys are on the same page as me, and I hope we're simply here to pregame, then head to house parties.

"Alright, Mike," announces Matt, clapping his hands together. His anticipation exudes out of his every pore. He flips the fake braids of his ridiculous Jack Sparrow wig over a shoulder. I don't know whether he looks cool, or if he looks like he should go home and change. But he's Matt fucking Rife; he could pull anything off and the girls will still want to fuck him. The other guys fall beside him and stand in front of me. "We're not going to those house parties, because... we've got some big news for ya. It's a surprise."