Master, Master {ManxMan} {BDSM}

Chapter Four

{Chapter Four}

"Jason, just why?" Christian demands in exasperation as his pale eyes follow a blonde woman who twirls and twists against the pole like an expert. His horrified expression when she manages to maneuver her legs around her head while still remaining rooted on the pole three feet above the ground, is incredibly humorous. I begin snickering at his face until it contorts into a glare pointed at me. 

"Because we're two single men who have nothing better to do on a Sunday night," I declare proudly, stuffing a twenty in the scantily clad black haired woman's bra when she moves across the stage to send me a seductive look. Christian only continues to glare even after my explanation, and I continue to ignore him. Instead I watch a new woman—-Charity as the announcer declared moments ago—-dressed in a thin plaid bra with a very small pair of matching panties, a tattoo disappearing under the waistline of her panties to tease men.

She winks at me as she drapes a leg over the pole closest to me, pulling herself up and doing a short twirl, falling gracefully to the black glass stage and doing a very seductive crawl towards me. Her body seems to move with the loud rock music, her dark blue eyes—-barely a shade darker than blue obsidian—-lock with my own.

They pull me in until she's within an inch from me, her blonde hair brushing my arms that I've set on the edge of the stage in front of me as she leans over to stare at me. Her eyes hold nothing more than lust and seduction, attempting to lure me in to get more money. Or maybe she finds me attractive. Though when I slip her a ten, she leaves as if nothing ever happens meaning she probably wanted money.

I shrug it off and turn to Christian with a sigh, becoming more serious. He's busy watching the strippers with no interest, clearly not seeing the art of their dances, the effort it takes to remember each move and accurately complete the moves without messing up. He also fails to see the pure concentration on their faces, showing how much they are working, or the slight staggers of those who have been on their feet a bit too long.

Instead he seems to be in his own world, his pale eyes glazed over, completely unaware of beautiful dancers eyeing him while attempting to catch his attention. Even unaware of my eyes boring into him. I scrunch my brows up at this and heave a heavy sigh.

"Alright, spill it, tell me what's wrong," I command. He turns his head to stare at me for a long moment, an obvious fight of whether or not he wants to tell me. Finally he sighs, slumping down in his torn red vinyl seat and glaring at the ugly, stained red carpet.

"My parents want me to come down for a visit in the next month or two," he mutters dejectedly. I stiffen at this, my jaw clenching with the irritation this subject is sure to bring. I clear my throat though, attempting to relax so Christian won't notice.

"Tell them you can't, tell them you're sadistic boss barely lets you out on the weekends," I reply with a shrug in an attempt to lighten the mood. He rolls his eyes but then sighs, falling deeper into his seat.

"I can't lie to them, Jay. They're my parents, I love them," he mumbles but I hear the part he doesn't voice. The part that his brother is a dick to Christian merely because he prefers to date men.

"But your brother is a dick and anytime you so much as hear from him over the phone, you end up getting all upset. Then you decide to close me out for weeks," I rant in aggravation. I wouldn't care if it wasn't so bloody obvious that his brother is in love with him, honestly if Ezekiel really did just hate Christian I wouldn't be as bothered, it's the fact that he's covering up his infatuation with hurtful slurs that Christian just can't handle.

And the worst part is Christian doesn't even see it. He's so blind to it, it hurts. What's worse is his brother doesn't want to acknowledge his love, he'd rather bury it deep under bigotry.