Because, Brett... [BxB]

Chapter 2: Strip Tease

The music starts, and immediately I'm drawn into my element, like a moth to a flame. A gentle hand runs over my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine as Elijah whispers in my ear, "Good luck. Not that you need it, eh?"

I smile tightly back at him out of courtesy, but I don't really need the distraction of him standing there in his tight boxer briefs at the moment. His hand lingers on my bicep for maybe a second too long before I find the courage to shake it off and on my cue, step onto the stage, but not before Elijah chuckles and slaps my ass.

The whistles that fill the room upon my entry light a fire in my heart and put a spring in my step. I've been dancing ever since I was young. My mother would always push me towards football, she had said that she didn't like to see me on my own, I needed to make more of an effort to fit in with the other boys. As it turns out, she was wrong. All the dance classes I went to, they paid off in the end, even if I did have to adapt to fit the certain 'style' of dance they want here.

When I reach centre stage, I can feel all their hungry eyes on me. It makes me feel so alive knowing that they all want me. That they can look, but they can't touch.

Tonight, as I do every night, I pour everything I've got into the performance. Every move is strong and pronounced. As I strip myself of my clothes I make it look as sensual as I possibly can. I take it slowly, draw it out and plaster a teasing smirk to my lips, meant to entice. My hips gyrate and once my trousers are littering the stage flooring too, I adjust my dick. It sends the men at my feet into a lust-fueled frenzy and I can't help but feed off their energy as money is thrown onto the stage and carefully tucked into my waistband when I get a little too close.

As I near the end, I can feel the sweat rolling off me by the bucketload. My breathing is ragged and in a way, I feel hot and bothered.

I stopped lying to myself a long time ago. I used to tell myself that I only did it for the money, that having all those men watching me undress was the bad part of the job, an occupational hazard that I would do my best to avoid. I'm sure that I had seemed shy then, less the hot, sexy, take-me-now type and more the cute and vulnerable type.

Now though, there is no denying that the attention is a massive turn-on for me.

The song comes to a close and I can feel myself semi-hard in the skimpy jock-strap. As if coming out of a haze I blink a few times to regain all my senses before giving a short bow.

As usual, before leaving, I take the time to gather up my costume and scattered notes which are strewn haphazardly across the stage. I don't cut any corners with the guys and make sure to bend over when I'm at the right angle. More shouts arise and I grin to myself.

Peeking over my shoulder I take one last glance at the crowd, but that's when I notice it again. Lately, I would just catch glimpses of these striking azure eyes. And I can feel them staring at me now. The man they belong to stands at the back of the room leant casually against the wall with his hood up and his hands tucked snug in his pockets. Any other distinguishable features are overcast by shadows, but those eyes alone hold me, paralyzed. When he notices my eyes on him, he looks away. His head lowers until I can no longer discern those piercing eyes and he slips out the door to his left.

So familiar. . .

As suddenly as I'd zoned out, I come back to my senses, pick up my fireman's hat and without a single regret, turn and walk off stage, my ass on show to all the men who care to look in my direction.

Reaching the back room, I don't hesitate before changing into my usual work attire: a netted vest and some booty shorts. The fun part is over and now I have to go out there and mingle with the customers. Usually, I get a lot of requests for lap dances, and occasionally, someone does pay for a private dance. They're never as thrilling as going on stage though, and it often means grinding on top of a middle-aged man's excited cock.

I sigh heavily but try to keep it to myself as I pack my bag up.

"Aww, what's wrong, kiddo?"

Strong arms slip around my waist and I feel hot breaths on the nape of my neck. Elijah again.

"Nothing," I mumble, deciding that I've finally got everything together and I gently push him away so I can go and do my job. But he stays on my tail as I walk. I just run my fingers through my hair to set it back in place, ignoring him for the most part.

"Don't be like that," he says tugging on the back of my vest. I halt and it's only a second before he's got his arm once again over my shoulder and we're walking together, side by side. I note that he's at least wearing trousers now, but grimace nonetheless, "I just need to give you something," he wiggles his eyebrows and I think I know what he's hinting towards.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Eli," the guy's got to be at least ten years older than me, "I don't want it, and I'm never going to want it. We've been around this roundabout a few too many times, don't you think?"

He throws his head back and laughs, "Sure," he grins, "but I just meant that you've got a letter."

He holds it out to me and I eye it guardedly as if it's a bomb set to detonate upon contact. I don't get letters, not at work. Anyone who knows me also knows where I live, there would be no point in sending one to my workplace. But written on the front, in neat cursive handwriting is the name, Brett.

With an exhale and all caution thrown into the wind, I take the letter from his grasp. I flip it back and forth in my hand and trace my fingertips over the beautiful stationery used. The thought crosses my mind that this might just be from some crazed club goer who wants to get in my pants, in some way, that's a reassuring notion.

But what if it's not?

How does this person even know my name?

"Who gave this to you?" I almost growl at Eli, stepping away so that his arm falls off of my shoulder as I turn to face him.

He raises his arms in mock defence, "Don't shoot the messenger," he jokes, but if my frown is anything to go by, I'm not amused, "Look, I don't know, okay? It just showed up on the dressing table over there," he nods his head behind him but my expression doesn't improve.

"I'll deal with this later," I say as I brush past him to go and put it with the rest of my things. I've got to work now.