#vincemick

Mick is very familiar with facades.

He's known people who use them almost exclusively to the point that they lose all true identity and people who curse the mere thought of pretending to be something they're not or being anything but honest about who they really are. Mick falls into the latter category, he hates when people lie to save face and beat around the bush with their true intentions he'd rather just people be upfront about their true motivations so they can get from point a to point b.

There is one exception to this rule. One annoying blond exception that now lays next to him in his hotel bed, pressing his cold shivering form against Mick's side and hiding the face that he's usually so proud of in the crook of Mick's neck.

Another nightmare it would seem.

Vince Neil is a man who is no stranger to facade. He prances around all day like he's God's Magnum Opus and treats everyone who isn't hot and famous enough for him like second class citizens.

But at night, when there is no more audience to entertain and no more people to peacock around for in public and no more booze and girls to go around to satisfy his insatiable need for debauchery. Vince gets to thinking. And thinking leads to remembering. And remembering leads to thoughts of razzle.

And thoughts of razzle lead Vince to Mick's bed.

They haven't been doing this whole song and dance long, the accident was literally a few months ago so Vince is still freshly traumatised, not that Mick knows anything about that, he just assumes.

Mick wraps his arms around the singer gently and helps them settle into a more comfortable cuddle, one that allows them both to lay in positions that doesn't turn them into acrobats.

Vince's face still stays pressed in the junction of his neck and if Mick feels moisture there from what could only be tears, then he pretends not to notice and instead almost protectively puts his chin on top of Vince's golden locks and brings him in closer.

Mick isn't huge on cuddling but he wants Vince to know that he's there and that he's got him. He has to steer clear from as many words as possible. Him not speaking is the whole appeal to Vince.

Vince comes to him because if he goes to Nikki, Nikki would want to talk. Vince doesn't go to Tommy because Tommy will brush him off and assure him all was well. But Vince knows all isn't well, knows that a man, his friend, is dead today because of him and he doesn't need someone to tell him to talk about how he's feeling or someone to give him patronising comfort. All he needed was a warm body to touch and a judgement free zone to cry and Mick was the perfect candidate.

Mick hears rain start to fall on his window pane and Vince seems to shrink up further and deeper into Mick's side.

They don't ever speak when they're like this, Vince just clings to the subtle warmth of the guitarist and Mick holds the man, despite himself like the most precious gift in the world.

So yes Mick hates facades, thinks they make the world a far worse, more complicated place but he understands why Vince hides behind a mask.

If anybody were to touch the fragile ego and soul of the singer with even slightly to rough a palm they'd break him into a million pieces.

Mick loves Vince too much to ever want that pain of being vulnerable around the untrustworthy people of the world to be known to him.

So for once he puts up with the facades, and allows the soul of his vulnerable singer to stay protected next to him in bed huddled in his arms safe and sound.

He'd make the bad thoughts go away. He'd make them disappear forever if he could…or maybe he wouldn't, call it being selfish but Mick quite likes being needed by his singer for things like this, likes holding him close and running a hand through his hair.

Maybe they could reach an agreement somehow, Vince's nightmares of past horrors go away but he stays in bed next to Mick, still in desperate need of his affection.

Yeah, he thinks that's fair.

Usually, after a gruelling show, bands around the strip liked to haul ass over to more fun, exciting places. Playing on the sunset strip meant that there were countless ways to cure the boredom that came with constant gigging. While hanging backstage and meeting fans was something they were supposed to enjoy, most rockstars had better, more fun things to do, as sick as it was to say. The main haunts were the strip clubs that littered the streets. The bright neon signs that blinked against the dark of the sky hypnotized the men, drawing them in like fruit flies.

Mick found himself in another club, in another part of town, after another gig. He huffed as he held his head up with his hands, his elbows in direct contact with the sticky surface of the table. He was only 25, but he was already getting tired with the mundanity of club life. He always managed to get himself dragged into the mess of night life, even after promising himself he’d stop. That night was no different than the others. His band, Vendetta, were once again on the prowl. This time, at the Body Shop. He hated clubs with weird names like that. As he sat, watching girls dance with blank expressions, he wondered why someone would name their club something that almost alluded to trafficking.

“Bob, what’s your deal?” His bassist suddenly appeared out of thin air, slapping him on the back and making him spill half of his drink all over himself. He looked up, glaring at the man in front of him.

“I told you not to call me that.” He grumbled as he grabbed a couple of tissues on the table and wiped off his shirt. His bassist, Greg, simply laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

“And I keep telling you, I ain’t calling you ‘Zorky Charlemagne.’ You gotta come up with something better than that!” He teased him. Mick’s cheeks flushed slightly and he quickly pulled away from Greg’s hand.

“Ok, I only went by that for a month. Stop bringing it up.” He fumed.

Huffing again, he looked up to see a girl dancing on the table he happened to be leaning on. Moving back a bit, he turned back to Greg.

“Do we always have to go to these places? I mean the name of the place is so dehumanizing.” He sighed. Greg snorted and raised an eyebrow.

“Not even you believe that. How many girls have you fucked during this tour?” Greg laughed, making Mick purse his lips.

“Ok… then, what’s the point of going to a place like this? Doesn’t the whole “look but don’t touch” thing turn you off? ” He angled. Greg paused, before shrugging.

“Yeah, got me there! But hey, if you go to a place like the Cornucopia, then you can do whatever you want… in a reasonable amount of ways.”

“What the fuck is ‘the Cornucopia?’”

“It’s a far out club, dude! The things you see there you’d never see in a classy place like this!”

“What’s so classy about the Body Shop? Its name literally sounds like a sex trafficking organization.” Mick huffed. Greg laughed and once again patted Mick on the back.

“Trust me, there’s some crazy shit that goes on there… maybe I’ll take you one day.”

Mick hadn’t thought much about that interaction. Greg was someone he wouldn’t exactly call a friend, but he managed to rope him into doing some weird things at times. Still, he was sure Greg had been bluffing about the “crazy weird” club he was talking about.

Greg hadn’t forgotten though. The next night, after another gig in another club, he pulled Mick aside, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“You ready, man?” He asked.

When Mick had furrowed his eyebrows, obviously having forgotten about their previous conversation, Greg sighed.

“You know… Cornucopia?” He asked.

“Corni-what?”

“That club I was talking about yesterday?”

“Oh… the crazy wild one?”

“Yes,” Greg erupted. “That one!”

“Do I have a choice?” Mick asked, almost exasperated that Greg happened to remember every bad idea he’d make.

“Nope!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The club was much more dingy than any of the others Mick had been to. Like Greg had said, compared to the Body Shop, this place looked crazy. It was like an English pub, but even more run down and messy. The lights were low, and it smelled like both vomit and beer. Mick cringed as he watched the patrons act like buffoons. Drunken people laughing too loudly, and outwardly touching the dancers as they tried to do their job. The bartenders seemed to be ignoring the assholes in the crowd that mindlessly heckled both them and the performers.

What was even worse was that he was sure he’d just glanced past a dancer that somehow managed to fit a cucumber into her vagina. His eyes widened and he immediately looked away, unused to seeing such a lewd act out in the open.

Greg turned to him and laughed when he saw that shocked expression on Mick’s face.

“Told you, it’s absolutely wild in here.” He chuckled as he watched Mick dodge another drunk patron who was wildly dancing to the music, along with the performers.

“If wild means a peak into what an insane asylum looks like… yeah, I guess so.” He mumbled.

Mick wasn’t sure he was entertained by the mess of the dank, dingy club. He was more so convinced all the patrons and the performers were insane for even stepping foot in the bar. Maybe that meant Greg was equally insane for finding the place so amazing. But… that meant Mick was also crazy for agreeing to come to this place as well. He pondered over his sanity, mulling over the countless things he could have done instead of following Greg… until he saw something. Rather, he saw someone.

In the depths of the darkness, the depravity, he saw someone he couldn’t even believe would be at a club like the one he was standing in. Let alone actually work there. A person took hold of the pole on the stage and worked it like a snake, their body gliding along the pole with the grace of a ballerina. The person, who Mick had assumed was a girl, whipped their head around, sliding to the floor and thrashing around like a creature, their long blonde hair whipping around like a halo around their head.

Mick’s eyes softened and he couldn’t help but feel that familiar rush of adrenaline flow through him. He hated how quickly he caught feelings. All it took was a beautiful girl to turn him into a mess. A complete wreck of emotions that he couldn’t comprehend and he couldn’t control. Greg must have noticed, because he leaned in to whisper in Mick’s ear.

“They call him the hermaphrodite.” He informed him.

Mick furrowed his eyebrows. He was so enthralled, he only barely heard the clarification within the sentence. Him. That woman he was watching on the stage, the one that was working the crowd into a frenzy… wasn’t a woman.

“Why’s that?” He questioned. Greg scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Why do you think, genius? He’s got a dick and a pussy.” He retorted sarcastically. Mick frowned.

That should have turned him off. Despite a couple of incidents he didn’t want to remember, Mick was sure he wasn’t gay. Up until now though, he was under the impression he was watching a girl dance, her soft skin barely showing under the low, dim lights from the stage. They really needed to buy better lights. Maybe then, he would have clearly seen the lack of chest on the guy. He would have seen the soft hint of muscle on his arms, would have seen those high cheekbones… the more he thought about it though, the more he realized it didn’t matter to him. The knowledge that it wasn’t some chick was also starting to turn him on.

“He’s a good one though.” Greg interrupted his thought process once more. “He’s pretty skilled for a guy.”

Mick nodded along.

“Think they teach that in hooker school?” He joked, making Greg bark out a laugh, pounding the table for extra effect.

“If there is a hooker school, he passed with all As!” He added.

Mick flushed when he saw the boy glance their way briefly. His eyes shone with mischief as he twirled around the pile seductively. Greg cheered him on as Mick sank in his seat slightly.

By the time they left, the club was close to shutting down. Greg loved to linger, and as he regaled Mick with another story of his wife and his mistress, Mick wondered how he’d be able to get away from him. As if given a four leaf clover, Mick happened to see the door open. In a white fur coat, white leather pants and tennis shoes, the boy with the blond hair walked out. He pulled the coat closer to him as he walked out to his car.

Another man walked up to the blond and started chatting him up. Mick prided himself on being able to tell when someone was uncomfortable. He can tell blondie was uncomfortable, the way his smile was unsure, the way his tone was polite, but dismissive. He wanted nothing to do with the conversation, but Mick was sure that kid knew better than to be rude or outright dismissive. Once he realized he had an out to his own conversation with Greg, he quickly turned away, walking in the direction of the performer who was being accosted by a random stranger.

“Hey, where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting for you!” He burst out as soon as he got close.

The blond man whipped his head in Mick’s direction. Finally, Mick could see his eyes clearly. Bright, light brown eyes stared into his, wild with fear. Mick kept his gaze friendly. He needed him to trust him. Smiling awkwardly, he discreetly tilted his head, as if to say; “go along with it!”

“Do you know him?” The random stranger asked, his voice bordering on dismay. Mick looked back at him, nodding.

“Yea, he’s my best friend.” He stated, before turning to acknowledge Blondie.

“Seriously though, you were supposed to meet me like… ten minutes ago. I thought you flaked out on me again.” He pretended to whine. Blondie grinned softly and laughed.

“Aww man… I nearly forgot! I was having such an… insightful conversation with uhhh… what’d you say your name was again?” He asked, turning to the random stranger, who was slowly backing away from Blondie and Mick.

“You know what… I uhhh, I have to go! It was nice talking to you though!” He blurted out, before turning around and nearly running away.

Mick started at the running figure, slowly getting smaller the farther he ran. He couldn’t help but laugh, his cackle loud and abrupt. Blondie stared at him, eyes wide and a smile growing on his face.

“Thanks, man! You won’t believe how much this happens to me.” He let out a relieved sigh. Mick nodded.

“Yeah well… you can only imagine how many times I see a guy hitting on an unwilling girl.” He shrugged. Quickly, Blondie thrust his hand out to Mick, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“I’m Vince. I figured you practically saved my life, the least I can give you is my name.” He explained.

Mick nodded and grasped the soft hand in front of him. He tried not to blush at how the feeling of the smooth skin felt against his calloused ones.

“I’m… Mick.” He replied.

He didn’t know what to say, feeling almost awkward now that he was face to face with such a beautiful man. Vince was the first to pull his hand away, smirking slightly as he moved to walk to his car.

“Well Mick, I’ll call you if I find myself trapped in another unwanted conversation, alright?” He called out. Mick chuckled softly as he nodded.

“As long as you don’t expect me to save you from real big buff guys, I’ll come running.” He joked, before wincing at how try-hard the response seemed.

Luckily, Vince either didn’t hear him, or didn’t mind the comment. He simply got into his car and drove off, leaving Mick standing on the street. He felt dumber than he’d ever had, standing there watching the red corvette drive off. He walked back to where he’d been standing before, Greg still standing there. Mick rolled his eyes when he saw his wife grin and knowing eyes.

“Whatever. Don’t even say a word, I’m too tired for this shit.” He grumbled as he walked away. Greg simply shrugged.

“Ok, but I demand an explanation tomorrow… spare no details!” He hollered as Mick got into his car and slammed the door shut.

Peeling off the road, the only thing he could think of was the fact that brown eyes shouldn’t have gone so well with the shock of platinum blonde hair. That, and he really didn’t want to talk to Greg about everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vince could have stayed up, counting up all his tips. It was his favourite pastime, next to getting a manicure, or styling a new outfit, or shopping, or playing with his favourite boys. He didn’t do that though. In fact, the only thing he could think to do was ruminate. Sometimes, when the lights were low and no one was around, the only thing Vince could do was think. He didn’t even think about fun things either. He thought about things like disease and strife.

A lot of his friends were slowly passing away, all catching the same disease Vince was so scared of. Every interaction he had was scrutinized by himself at the end of the day. Did he touch someone that looked sick? Did he hint at wanting to have relations with someone who seemed sick? Did he do a good job at not rocking the boat, upsetting someone who was taller than him, stronger than him… sick?

That night, the thoughts had turned to something lighter. The man with the long red hair and bright blue eyes. The one that had saved him from the man that definitely looked sick, the man who was taller than him. Sure, the guy had run off before getting caught, gaining attention he didn’t want. But, during the healthier stages of the disease, most of his friends looked unwell but still had energy. Vince shook his head, sighing as he flopped onto his bed. Here he was, in a nice apartment complex, with a nice view, nice clothes, and yet…

He closed his eyes and tried to picture that guy again. His name was Mick. He wore a cute leather jacket and faded jeans. He was wearing a black shirt underneath his jacket. His skin was nearly paper white. His eyes were kind, inviting despite how light they were. He had shades tucked into his shirt… he was cute. Vince chuckled to himself as he thought about how cute the guy was. He looked a bit older, but not as old as most of his clients were. Mick seemed closer to his age. That would be the first time he’d fallen for a guy so young. Vince’s eyes opened abruptly. His eyes widened as he shook his head.

No, he hadn’t fallen for anyone! Vince Neil was in no position to fall in love with anyone in the first place! He worked at a strip club… Well, as if tonight, he no longer worked at that specific strip bar, but he’d be working at another the next day. No, the point was, he was a stripper. He was someone who gave his body to the patrons of the bar, and then left after his job was done. No strings attached. All the most experienced hookers had always told him that.

Don’t fall for your clients. He broke that rule a couple of times. He always learnt the hard way. Each time he came back feeling emptier and emptier. This guy wasn’t even a client! He was just a guy who had enough morals to help him out. Vince snorted as he got out of bed and went to his dresser. He must have had some terrible experiences with men if he was falling for the first guy to show him the bare minimum decency. Grabbing a box out of his dresser drawer, he jumped back into the bed and opened it. Pulling out his wallet, he took out the bundle of dollar bills, crumpled and pressed straight alike. The tips were the best part of the job. He did a lot of work to be the best at his job, which meant he usually got tipped the most. He was sure most of the whores at his work place hated him for it, but he didn’t care. They just needed to up their game.

As he counted his money, he wondered briefly if he’d ever see Mick again. Not because he liked him. Because the more he thought about his stringy red hair and his stupid blue eyes, the more he convinced himself he was simply high from the adrenaline of the incident. He mainly just wanted to see him again so he could give him something as a thanks. Maybe a lap dance. Or twenty bucks. He’d figure it out sooner or later.

__________

Vendetta was on its last legs. At least, in the inner workings of the band. Mick had always been weary about the band. They had maintained some popularity in the scene for a while. When Mick joined, they were still on the ups. There’d even been rumours they’d get a record deal soon. Of course, that hadn’t been the truth at all. For Mick, struggling after Whitehorse busted was hard enough, he wasn’t ready to let go of the dead horse that was starting to become Vendetta. It also didn’t help that Whitehorse’s last singer had found out Mick had stolen her name. Though, he wouldn’t have considered it stealing (“I was just really inspired!” He had once argued), it was clear she was willing to make his life a living hell over it.

It was probably time to let the whole thing go. Mick had always been confident he’d find the right band one day. The last thing he wanted to do, though, was let go at a time where he finally had a living arrangement that didn’t constitute as unsafe. As the band piled their instruments into their van, Mick stood by the wall, smoking a cigarette he felt he was owed. Their lead singer forgot the words to ‘Let Me Roll It’ again and Mick hated having to play hits he barely knew.

Greg walked over to where he was standing. With a nod, Greg tapped out a cigarette from his own pack, before stuffing the end into his mouth.

“So… we’re going to the Tropicana tonight.” He commented, the cigarette haphazardly dangling in between his teeth as he talked. Mick drew in the cigarette smoke, pausing as he felt his lungs corroding with every breath. He breathed out, sighing as he pulled the cigarette from his lips.

“Yeah, and?”

“You should come with us.” Greg offered. Mick rolled his eyes.

“You say that every night.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, and you come along with us, so?”

“So… by this point you don’t really need to ask.”

“A guy can still be polite.”

“Is this all there is?” Mick suddenly asked, making Greg pause in the midst of pulling a lighter out of his jacket pocket.

“Whatcha mean?”

“You know. Gigging, clubbing, going home and doing it over and over again. Is this it? Is this all we’re doomed to do, night after night, for the rest of our lives?”

Greg snorted as he flicked the lighter. He held the flame under the end of the cigarette, finally inhaling the smoke.

“Dude… this is not the time to get philosophical. Save that for a bored hooker who actually gets paid to put up with your nonsense.” Greg spat, before he sighed and left Mick alone.

If that was how easy it was to get rid of a guy like Greg, Mick would have pulled that move much earlier.

Still, like clockwork, Mick found himself at the Tropicana. The place was slightly more classy than the Body Shop, and a hundred times more classy than the Cornucopia. He found himself in a secluded area of the club, downing another drink.

Mick wasn’t one to drink. He figured his drinking days ended in high school. After his phase of doing opiates and drinking gin, he decided he would stick to “clean living” as long as he could. That being said, he also knew most people had to drink to stand being in places like the Tropicana. Something about seeing a bunch of topless chicks really just made you want to drink. Like dinner and a show.

He watched as patrons and performers alike flew through the place. He watched girls guide guys away to private rooms, probably happy to get paid to do a lap dance. Mick wasn’t the one to order one. He was content enough to watch the girls listlessly dance around the pole, their dead eyes freaking him out enough to shrink away from the idea of a private session. He didn’t know where his other bandmates were, and frankly he didn’t care. He had twenty more minutes left until he left the place on his own. He liked the guys, but being in the same room as them for more than an hour was enough to give him a headache.

“Excuse me sir, would you like a refill?” He heard a familiar sounding voice come from above.

Looking up, he could see Vince. He was dressed in a scantily clad uniform, holding a tray of shots. His eyes widened, as did Vince’s.

“Oh my… are you following me?” Vince’s scandalized face narrowed in on him as he held onto his tray a little tighter.

“I could ask you the same question, dude!” Mick pointed out, cheeks flushing slightly. Vince grinned.

“I was just joking! Jeez, look at you, blushing and everything! It’s just a coincidence, I left the Cornucopia last night actually.” He laughed, pointing at Mick as he chuckled.

Mick looked down, cheeks getting redder. Still, he looked back when he registered his last statement.

“You quit? Why? I… I figured a place like that suited a guy like you.” He asked. Vince tilted his head.

“A guy like… ok, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Umm… Anyways, I wasn’t supposed to stay there long. I used to work at the Body Shop but I really wanted to work here. They didn’t want to hand me over here though… There's major competition between Body Shop and Tropicana. If they let me go, it would have been harder for me to get into Tropicana; they like their girls to have a stacked portfolio… so they made it harder for me. I just happened to get the Cornucopia gig, so I did six months to make my tenure look legit.” Vince explained. He trailed off when he saw Mick’s blank expression.

“I terminated my contract with Cornucopia so I could work here.” He added, in order to simplify his explanation. Mick’s eyes brightened and he nodded.

“I get it… it’s kinda like how my old band changed their name in order to get into more clubs.” He related. Vince nodded. His eyes shined with an emotion Mick couldn’t place.

“You’re in a band?” He asked. Mick nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve been in a couple of bands actually… none of them really go anywhere though.”

“You in one now? Are they any good?”

“Uhh… well yeah. We do pretty well on the strip. We’re a top forty though so… can’t tell you how good it is. Can’t say it’ll last either.” Mick sighed.

Vince found himself sitting down next to Mick. Still holding the tray, he moved it closer to Mick.

“Want one?” He asked. He smiled when Mick took one, downed it in one gulp and immediately took another glass.

“So… what instrument do you play?” Vince asked, goading Mick into a conversation. Luckily for him, Mick was a lot more willing to talk.

“Guitar. Been playing since I was… like, seven?”

“So you really like it, huh? Playing music?”

“Well, I can only ever see myself being in a band as a way to make money… so yeah.”

Vince crossed his legs, leaning closer to Mick. He didn’t really know what he was doing. It didn’t seem logical to try to fuck a guy who seemed to be losing hope in… life itself. Then again, he did just want to get it over with. He knew he was feeling something for this man, despite all the warning signs telling him to get away from him. He wouldn’t let himself fall in love, but if he could show himself he could fuck a guy and move on… maybe he could loosen up a bit.

“That’s like… a dream of yours, right?” He asked, cursing himself for sounding so awkward. Mick didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he nodded along.

“A big dream. Ever since I was three.” He added. Vince smirked.

“It must be nice getting to play music, getting to fuck any girl you want.” He hummed. Mick choked on his own saliva. He looked back at Vince, eyes wide and face red.

“Well! Umm… I wouldn’t… I mean…” he trailed off. Vince grinned and moved closer.

“What, you’re telling me you don’t fuck the chicks that hang around backstage?” He asked.

Mick could feel himself grow hot. He had no clue what Vince was trying to pull, but trying not to seem interested was no longer working for him. He stammered as he tried to collect himself enough to answer.

“I mean… it’s definitely uhhh… a perk? But, it’s not what I really… it’s not the reason why I do this.”

Vince threw his head back and cackled.

“I think you’re the first guy to actually sound ashamed to be doing what you are! Why so modest, honey? It’s ok to say you’re a little manwhore who needs chicks to survive.” He teased him. Mick frowned and downed another drink. Vince’s eyes widened and his eyes gleamed.

“Struck a nerve, huh?” He laughed. Mick shook his head.

“No… I just don’t like talking about that kind of stuff.” He shrugged. Vince tilted his head.

“You don’t bang chicks… do you?” He asked, eyes wide in an innocent expression. Mick sputtered, moving away from Vince in fear.

“Well! I mean I do! I just don’t see the point of hashing out all the details!” He cried out. Vince hissed and tried to keep the tray in his hands steady.

“Ok! Ok, I’m sorry. I guess I thought you were…” trailing off, he could see Mick’s mournful expression.

“Well.. I’m not- I don’t know if I’m… you know. I could be. It depends on what constitutes as…”

“Homosexual?”

“Ummm… sure, that.”

“Why, how many possibly homosexual experiences have you had?” Vince asked, prompting Mick to look down in embarrassment.

He shrugged, hoping Vince would drop the subject if he stopped responding. Vince simply stared at him, willing him to talk.

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about it here.” He awkwardly offered. Vince’s eyes brightened and he nodded.

“You’re right! How disrespectful of me! How about we find a quiet room and you can tell me all about your possibly homosexual experiences.” He offered.

Mick’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed once more. Vince was sure he could see sweat beading on his forehead. Mick’s eyes darted back and forth. No one was watching them, no one paying attention to Vince and his very unwilling possible client. Vince sighed, taking his hand and grabbing Mick’s face. Forcing him to look back at him, he raised an eyebrow. After a moment, Mick finally spoke.

“I’m sorry… I don’t think I have enough money for a lap dance.”

If Vince could, he would have smacked him in the face. While he knew Mick was a bit more respectful than most men he had encountered, he was still a man.

“I’m not going to give you a lap dance, you dog. We can just chat.” He hissed.

Mick still looked at him with blank eyes. Vince was sure his hand on his face was making Mick short circuit. Slowly he removed it, watching as Mick slowly guided his own hand to his face, softly stroking the area Vince had held.

“I don’t have enough money for a therapy session either.” He whispered.

Vince sighed, setting the tray on a nearby table. Getting up, he hauled Mick to his feet.

“You don’t have to pay for anything. It’s all on me, ok? Let’s just talk.”

Grabbing hold of his hand, Vince dragged Mick across the bar, away from the stage and into a hallway. A bunch of doors littered the walls, all leading to rooms of different decor. Vince’s room was near the end of the hallway. The room was pastel pink with a king sized bed, a dresser with a mirror and a chair. Vince pushed Mick onto his bed, closing the door behind him. Grabbing the chair, he whirled it around, before sitting on it. He was right in front of the bed, watching as Mick slowly sat up.

“Do they make bedrooms for each girl?”

“It’s a private room, for private sessions. Every girl gets one. We’re in demand, you know.”

“Gross, does that mean I’m sitting on someone’s cumshot?” He moved to get up, but Vince pushed him back down.

“We frequently wash and change these sheets. You don’t have to worry about that.” He reassured him.

Of course, it was sort of the truth. Most of the sheets in all the other rooms got changed every other day. Vince was the one to request his be washed and changed after every session.

“Anyway, I’d rather talk about your homosexual tendencies.”

“I don’t really have homosexual tendencies… more like, experiences that happen a couple times.”

“What do you define as ‘experiences?’”

“Ummm… well… I might have sucked a cock or two.”

Vince cackled, avoiding the pillow Mick had quickly picked up and thrown at him.

“That’s not funny!”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s really gay though!”

“Fuck off, you literally work at a strip club!”

“Hey, I can admit I’m gay as fuck! I like sucking cock, just as much as I like stuffing my dick in some good pussy. What about you? Why are you avoiding the elephant in the room?”

“I’m not avoiding any elephants. I told you, I bang chicks.”

“And you fuck guys.”

“I don’t fuck guys.”

Vince rolled his eyes. Getting up, he moved towards his dresser. He pulled out his chapstick and busied himself with reapplying it. Mick huffed, sitting up and fiddling with his hands.

“I’m just saying, sucking cock is definitely the least straight thing you could do.” Vince commented absently.

“Says the guy applying lipgloss.” Mick grumbled.

“It’s chapstick, and I need it, I have really chapped lips.” Vince bit back, pouting in the mirror as he fluffed up his hair. Mick pursed his lips.

“Your lips aren’t chapped.” He whispered. Vine grinned, turning back to stare at Mick.

“Wanna get closer so you can see?” He asked mischievously. Mick blushed and pulled away.

“Ok ok… whatever. Didn’t think you’d do that.”

“Aww, am I scaring you away with my gay talk? Sorry, it’s just so fascinating to see someone so deeply in the closet.”

“And I’ve never seen someone so… out of the closet.”

“I get that a lot.” Vince shrugged as he walked back to the bed and sat beside Mick, who quickly moved away from him. Pouting, Vince leaned forward, tilting his head slightly.

“You know, none of my other clients act the way you do.” He whined. Mick’s eyes widened and he moved back even further.

“What do you mean, ‘other clients?’ I’m not your client!” He burst out. Vince chuckled, before covering his mouth.

“Oh no,” he started, feigning shock. “I forgot to tell you…”

“Tell me what?” Mick demanded.

“Most of the people who walk into this room walk back out as my clients.”

“Vince, I don’t have the money to be your client.”

“You’re a rockstar… you should have enough money to take a chick out every night.”

Mick bit his lip and looked away.

“I… don’t really have enough money to eat on a daily basis.” He whispered, feeling shame prick at his chest. Vince paused.

Now he really didn’t know what he wanted. His brain told him the goal was to fuck the guy and then (hopefully) move on. His heart, however, was telling him an entirely different story. His heart didn’t want him to mess with Mick. Not because he was scared of him, Mick seemed entirely harmless. No, he didn’t want to mess with him simply because he’d started feeling bad for the guy.

Mick seemed like a rather insecure guy, who was unsure of his sexuality. That was the last person Vince needed to be messing around with. He didn’t want the guy to have an identity crisis around him, nor did he want to clean up the damage he could possibly do to a guy like this. But… the only way to move on from Mick would be to fuck him. Most guys didn’t know how to handle a guy like Vince, and the thing he needed the most in times when he was obsessing over something was a reality check. Against his better judgment, Vince played up his act.

“Wow… so you’re more like… a bar band act then.” He hummed. Mick shrunk in on himself as he took time to figure out a perfect answer. Instead of something philosophical, he could only let out a meek “yeah.”

“Well… maybe I could keep you a little secret then.” Vince mused aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll let you hang with me for free.” Vince offered, grinning nervously as Mick furrowed his eyebrows.

“What does ‘hanging’ include?”

“Hanging.”

“Yes, but what do you really mean when you say hanging?”

“Having sex with me?”

Mick nearly jumped off the bed, moving as far away from Vince as he could.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me! You gave me those hungry eyes the moment you saw me! You saved me from that ugly loser so you could get brownie points!”

“No, I saved you because I wanted to get away from my bassist! He was talking my ear off and I was genuinely either going to save you or throw myself into oncoming traffic.” Mick countered. Vince grinned.

“Ok, but you didn’t deny that you had your hungry eyes on me when you saw me dancing.” He whispered to himself. Mick cried out in protest, but stopped.

“Well… ok, maybe I was.”

“Knew it.”

“But it’s not my fault… you’re- well you’re a lithe blond guy who happens to look like a girl in certain lights.” He added, making Vince pout.

“So you’re saying you’d rather I was a girl.”

“Uhhh… well…”

“You say well a lot.” Vince pointed out. It was more matter of fact statement than just straight out teasing.

“I’m not sure if I’d rather you be a guy, a chick… a hermaphrodite.”

“What’s that?” Vince asked, puzzled at the rather long word. Mick chuckled.

“It’s someone with a dick and a puss.”

“Cool! I wish I was one, that’d make life a lot easier.” Vince commented, almost absentmindedly.

Mick made a mental note to remember that fact. He needed to smack Greg in the face for lying so blatantly.

“So… you’re not going to fuck me?” Vince suddenly asked, snapping Mick out of his daze.

“What?! No! Especially not here!”

“Why not here?”

“Because other people will hear us.”

“This place is actually pretty soundproof.” Vince assured him. When he saw Mick’s unconvinced face, he sighed.

“Ok, you’re not one of those guys who gets off on public sex, I get it.”

“I-I… who does?!” Mick stammered.

Vince simply shrugged. With only a small pause, he tried a different approach.

“Why don’t I take you to my house then? My shift ends in…” Vince trailed off, looking down at his watch.

He liked being able to show off his new diamond Rolex. It matched his white fur coat and his white tennis shoes. He could see Mick peek over at his watch as well, looking almost impressed.

“Ends in ten minutes. How about you wait here until I finish up work and we can head back to my place.” He suggested.

Mick looked back up at him, unsure of himself and the situation at hand. Vince once again felt bad. He was essentially using the guy, ready to throw him out the second he came. Then again, Vince himself had been used time and time again, mainly by guys who knew they’d never see him again. He was plenty of dudes’ first time, and he had been a lot of closeted guy's favourite toy. He knew what it was like to be on the other side, and maybe he’d become desensitized to the way it had felt.

“I don’t… it’s kinda… fuck it, fine.” Mick stammered, before hardening a bit. Vince grinned wildly. Without a second thought, he pulled Mick closer, kissing him on the cheek.

“I promise you won’t regret this, baby!” He whispered, before getting up and walking out of the room.

Vince couldn’t help but grin. He’d won after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors Note: