2019-11-22 - Wrong Dance Partner

Most days the drinking starts during his shift and continues somewhere into the wee hours of the morning and ends with Easton passed out somewhere. But then there's his days off. And somehow the drinking started earlier, huh. And the fact that he found himself doing something as dumb as contemplating hookup apps on his phone has him making other plans. He tells himself that Bennie was fine with him going to the strip club before. Nothing wrong with a little sexy entertainment. Plus the benefit of already being loaded is that he gets two dancers for the price of one. SMRT.

Dressed in his usual gray tee-shirt, with just a white waffle knit shirt underneath for warmth added and dark jeans over boots he enters the place and smiles. Lots of beautiful women, more booze, this is a good plan. Satisfied with himself he approaches the bar to get a bottle of beer and then goes about picking the blondest stripper he can find for a private dance.

On the busier nights, there is a bouncer assigned just to the VIP room. Tonight that bouncer is Cristobal. Dressed in his usual black on black attire, as the blonde dancer approaches the private area with her latest victim, he holds aside the curtain for both her and Easton to slip into the darker, more intimate room. There are black couches set apart a discrete number of feet, each with a side table for drinks and such and a counter girl who tends to the money taking. "Sir." He rumbles quietly, but otherwise keeps his eyes in a respectful neutral gaze over the man's shoulders.

Pulling out a stack of cash as he makes his way into the private room, Easton pauses momentarily outside the door to look at Cris. It takes his drink addled mind a minute but then a grin breaks out over his face. "I know you." He doesn't. He did see Itzhak launch himself at Cris one time in a bar fight that was in Easton's opinion stopped FAR too quickly. He's not even sure Cris got a chance to throw a single punch. Lame. But he doesn't stop for long. He's a man on a mission.

Once inside the room, he takes a seat, laying out twice the price of a normal dance on the table by the sofa. The dancer, doesn't look all that impressed but manages to stay game and ask what he's interested in. Specifically.

"I want you all over me, as much body contact as possible. I don't want to be able to wedge a single dollar bill between us.."

Easton's never shy and has no problem explaining exactly what he came her for.

Cris huffs out a breath of air that might be a chuckle in any other circumstance, but the man is working and is all business. The curtain swings back closed, sealing away the room of discrete depravity from the rest of the club. Back here, there are less rules and less clothing - if that were even possible - and a distinct rise in dancer fake moans and wondering hands within the girl's realm of comfort. Anything above that? Is what Cris is here for. Men like Easton are a dime a dozen in a place like this. And every dime is milked.

And it starts off well, Easton relaxing back into the couch as she wastes no time in straddling him, pressing against him as requested. His arms stretch out over the back of the sofa, giving her plenty of access to grope and press against him. But soon he starts to realize his mistake. It's no different than having literal handcuffs on, the consensual restraint of expectations that stop him from doing anything more. He tries to just enjoy it, the fact that this girl isn't afraid of him. That's what he came her for, right? His head spins as he tries to get back into the train of thought that lead him here. Why was he doing this?

"Enough! Fuck! Stop!"

The girl pulls back and looks confused and says "Look if you want the top off it's extra pal." She glances down at his pants, well aware that he's enjoying himself just fine, and then back up into his eyes. She puts her hands on his neck and coos, "Just relax, tell me what you need baby." Trying to get back into the zone.

Easton's jaw tightens and he coldly tells her, "Get the fuck off me." She looks confused, not sure if this is part of his kink and she should keep rubbing up against him? Some guys like to protest, she doesn't judge. Out loud. But he's not faking a protest he moves her roughly off his lap and she cries out in surprise. Easton tries to stand but is a little unsteady on his feet and it takes him a minute to get his bearings.

The girl literally goes tits over tuna as she's spilled off his lap, stiletto clad feet splaying in something entirely unsexy as she falls in a heap to the floor. Most of the girl's here are tough as nails - you have to be - and she just flips her extensions out of her face and calls to Cristobal from where she's getting up onto all fours. Not that she has to, the bouncer was already on high alert from the first of Easton's yells.

A steel banded grip of Cris' hand is clamping down on Easton's shoulder while he tries to get his bearing, his mouth coming close to the ex-Marine's ear with a low hiss. "Let's take a walk, shall we?" Occasionally he dispatches problem clients right from the floor, but when it's so busy you don't want to disrupt the flow of money by scaring the other customers. It's best to take corrective measures in private. That, or Cris is just in a mood.

Where did that hand come from? Easton looks down at it as if it were some confusing apparition that materialized from the ether. He blinks a few times and then realizes it must be attached to someone. See? He's not that drunk. The hiss in his ear is met with an overly loud reply of, "Oh fuck off, she lost her balance. I'm going." He tries to swat at the arm clamped over his shoulder.

The swat fails to move the hand from his shoulder. Easton turns to look at it as if confused as to why that didn't work. His face darkens farther as he turns to look up at Cris.

Cristobal's fingers only tighten, "You wish it were that simple." When Easton looks up to his face, Cris is smiling his most pleasant smile but there is a gleam to those blue eyes that edges on dangerous if not a little mentally off. The fucker is happy he gets to bounce someone tonight. Using his free hand down to the dancer, he helps her back to her high-heeled feet. "Now let's give the nice lady an apology first, hmm?"

The tightening fingers get another look from Easton but something different in the look this time, less confusion and more intrigue. He looks back up at the bouncer, this time with a matching smile on his face. He says, "Of course." to the request for an apology. He looks to her and says, "Sorry I'm an asshole ma'am." He is quite sincere. He frowns and then turns a glare to Cristobal, "Now take your damn hand off of me. I may not have a table to launch over but I can still know you the fuck out." While he was polite to the dancer, who after all was just doing her job, he's downright growling at Cris.

The blonde lifts her nose just a bit and turns to wander off to find another customer. After she takes all of Easton's money off the table of course. "That's cute." Cris says of that growling threat. "Now about that walk." His hand withdraws from Easton's shoulder if only to attempt to give him a shove towards the curtain to promote forward motion.

Easton relaxes a bit as the hand comes off his shoulder, but then there's the light shove and he throws an elbow back at Cris, before turning to face him. "You touch me again and I will beat the shit out of you. You understand? I'm walking out. This was a mistake. I understand that." He shakes his head and takes small steps to start walking away but he doesn't want to turn his back to Cris. Especially after that elbow.

Cris' stomach tenses at the blow from the elbow, not expecting it but certainly able to react in enough time that the damage is somewhat minimal and he doesn't lose his breath. But now? Now he's officially pissed. "Oh, you're leaving. But if you think you're walking out of here, you're sorely fucking mistaken, vaquero que chupa la polla." Cock sucking cowboy. He's fond of that one. With a tick of his thumb off his nose, he quickly decides an arm lock is in order, and he steps in to dispense just that, going for a wrist and twist motion.

Easton might be drunk, but muscle memory is still very much in tact at this point. The grab at his wrist causes him to let that arm move with the momentum while he spins to knock the other one away. He then aims a headbutt at Cristobal's face, though it does take a little bit of going up on his toes to reach. "Fuck off. I am not in the god damn mood." That is a total lie. This is exactly the mood that he's in and there is even a slight turn up of his lips at the fact that finally he gets to hit someone.

Cristobal's head snaps back from the head butt, the sharp blow to his nose making his eyes glossy and a little dribble of red sprout from one nostril. As it starts to trace the valley of his philtrum, the tip of Cris' tongue emerges to taste it. "Let's take this outside, like civilized fucking men." That, and there are less witnesses with cell phone cameras. His hand snaps out again, this time to just haul Easton up by his dual-layered shirts and steer him out.

"You know what? I would fuckin' love to" Easton grins now, a little bit of blood on his forehead, Cris's. He doesn't even mind the steering hand, because at this point he's going to get something he wanted. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all. (External narrator: No, it's a terrible idea Easton) But that doesn't stop him from grinning his way through the club to the fresh crisp fall air outside.

Cris doesn't direct him through the club to the front door, instead swinging a left on the main floor and heading through the back and the exit there. Once in the employee portion of the lot, Cris releases his grip on Easton a little forcefully and takes a few steps aside. With the cooler weather, he's taken to wearing black dress shirts instead of tees, so Cris starts unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them up to his elbows. "What's the matter? She make you jizz your pants the second she sat down so you thought you could shave a little off the price?"

Easton doesn't really have enough of a sense of bearings to know where he's being led so it's a good thing Cris actually told the truth. The cool air helps snap his sense back a little bit though and his eyes open wider. His grin doesn't falter at the question, "You want to find out, come check asshole." He grabs his croth and waggles his eyebrows at Cris. He watches the man with a predatory smile as they circle each other now.

Glutton for punishment that he is, Cris was even going to let Easton get in that first swing but as he sniffles against the cold, the ache in his nose brings back a thirst for doling out punishment. "Sorry. I'd sooner give a hand job to a cactus in a sandstorm." Maybe that's a Tejano thing? He rocks back on his heels for just a fraction of a second before his fists come up as a trained fighter and steps into Easton's range with a quick one-two combo for the chest and face. Little does he know he's fighting an ex-Marine.

"Maybe don't fuck cacti?" Easton is from Connecticut, they have neither cactus nor sandstorms there and the colloquialism makes no sense to him what so ever, but it's fun to give that advice? Easton is surprisingly quick with his fists, going from his hands down to raised, grabbing the hand and attempting a judo throw over his shoulder. Easton is small and stable, which makes this maneuver on taller opponents with longer reach quite effective. He holds the arm as it goes and rolls with Cris to land on top of the man. He lays an elbow across the tall latino man's throat and leans in close, "Is that really all you got mijo?" Yes it's a term of endearment but Easton manages to make it sound as 'cutesy' as he possibly can with his terrible, terrible Spanish.

Cris might realize what's happening, but it's just a split second too late. Maybe somewhere between being airborne and cracking his spine on the wet asphalt. The wince on his features makes the skin around his eyes crack in deep wrinkles, and when the air escapes his lungs it sounds like it's in a chuckle. With Easton's arm across his throat, he can all but croak. "Maybe I like pricks?" But as secretly enjoyable as this might be, he's got a reputation to uphold. And he was trying to make a point. With a buck of his hips and twist of his body, he attempts to uproot Easton from the pin.

Easton's free hand is meant to be supporting his weight, pressed into Cris's shoulder but feeling the tight muscle under his palm, the touch becomes a little more exploratory. His breathing is heavy from the drinking more than the physical exertion of flipping Cris over as he leans over the man. His eyes narrow as he looks at the man's face upclose for the first time. He's distracted enough that he doesn't see the reversal coming and ends up flat on his back, coughing and a rolling off to the side.

Cris might know that look. Cris might claim he invented that look. As he manages to dislodge Easton his lips split into an entirely different kind of grin. Predatory, but for an entirely new reason. As the bartender goes rolling to his side, Cris raises his hands to press palms above his shoulders and with a kick of his feet that rolls up his body to a jerk of his hips, he manages to flip himself back up to his feet. "So that's why you called off the stripper. It wasn't the dance you didn't want. It was the partner."

Laying on the cold pavement is oddly comforting to a drunk Easton. It's certainly not the first time he's ended up there. He watches Cris kip up and manages not to roll his eyes, those days are long gone for him. The statement about his motivation provokes a laugh, at first just a shaking of his chest as he continues to lie on the ground, but soon a loud barking laugh. "Yea, you're making the shitty assumption that I have any fucking clue what I want." The best he can come up with right now? Maybe another drink? He doesn't seem in a rush to get up off the ground.

And there is Cristobal's hand being thrust down into Easton's line of vision, offering his grip for help up as if he's the one that won the tussle and now he's being a good sport. "Tell ya what asshole, we'll start you sucking and see if anything...pops up." The laugh he gives is almost bitter, mocking.

The hand does in fact surprise Easton and it takes a moment for him to figure out exactly what to do with it. He grasps it and is pulled up to standing. The line about sucking rubs him the wrong way and he takes a step into Cristobal to start, "Listen asshole.." but then he gets distracted by the closeness and he's pressing his mouth against Cris's suddenly and with vigor. One hand going for the taller man's neck, the other to his chest.

Even though there's a bit of a wicked grin on Cristobal's lips, he meets the kiss hard and without giving an inch. It's like he's continuing their fight, this time without fists. At first he just twists their positioning, starting to walk Easton backwards towards where the dumpster is. Nothing about this is going to be glamorous or sweet if Cris has his way. He breaks their lip lock with a sharp shove to Easton's shoulders. "I'm always up for a good grudge fuck, but you gotta be quick. I'm still on the clock." It's an assumption, sure, but he's following that feeling deep in his gut.

Easton hungrily kisses him back, pulling hard on the back of his neck to press up into him. He lets himself get lead backwards and couldn't give a damn about the surroundings right about now. He steps back with the shove, breathing hard and looking up at Cris with a dizzy lust in his eyes. Something about a dirty fuck in an alley though is enough to cause him to shake his head. "Fuck that. I'm ... that's not why I came here." He's not also exactly saying no? He continues to stare at Cris before shaking his head. He lets out an annoyed sigh, "I'm gonna go." He doesn't bother saying anything else, just turns and walks out before he crosses yet another line he shouldn't tonight.

Cris wipes away the taste of Easton's mouth with a pass of his palm swiping down his facial hair. "You show up here again trying that shit in the club, I'll really kick your ass next time!" He calls after the retreating form. Yeah. That's it. With an uncomfortable tug to his trouser leg, he mutters and heads back on inside.

The only answer Cris gets is Easton flipping him off over his shoulder as he walks away.