Wicked Writing Wench (perverted_pages) wrote in bloodclaim,
Wicked Writing Wench

My newest WIP! It isn't going to be like my last WIP (not nearly as dark, for example) but it'll still have moments of heacvy angst and I will be extreemly careful to keep the warnings accurate. I'm trying something brand spankin' new, and I'm all apprehensive and stuff.

The first chapter is needfully long (seven pages, oi!) But every chapter thereafter will be markedly shorter. Trust me, I couldn't cut this without the damned thing making no sense (or by cutting out a REALLY HAWT SCENE!).

PLEASE give feedback! Please? Either here or e-mail it to me if for some reason you don't want to leave it on the post. I can't believe how nervous I am about this.

Also, you might want to DL this. Trust me, it comes up in this chapter and it'll be handy.http://www.sendspace.com/file/fd378y

Title: Truth Denied 1/?
Pairings: Spander (eventually)
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... a hard R I think
Warnings: exhibitionism, GAY MEN!!!, angst (gonna be so heavy on angst but I hope it won't take away from the story itself), not sure what else
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: About five years post NFA, Xander needs a job, like, NOW! And runs into someone he knows where he'd least expect it.
Word Count: 3449 (As per MS Word Count)
Beta: tamakin, any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, bloodclaim btvs_lightsout, btvs_slash, btvsatsdotcom, darker_spike, spike_fics, sxandviolence

Comments please my muse and keep the story comming.

Xander scowled, staring at the marquee and all the half nude posters on the doors and walls of the club. He looked up at the apparently permanent “DANCERS WANTED!” sign above the door highlighted by rays of the slowly setting sun and took a deep breath.

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself. “I have done this before. This is not bad, or evil. There’s not going to be demons inside wanting to eat my tasty tasty man-flesh. I will be fine, it will be okay, I have done this before.” After a while of just… standing and staring at the front door, and a few quizzical and one lecherous glance his way, he walked determinedly into the club and looked around.

There was a large bar along one wall staffed by carefully sculpted men wearing a kerchief tied about their necks, a thong, vest and matching colour cowboy boots. Everyone was a different shade from the rainbow which was a rather obvious representation, but oddly it didn’t look corny. They all seemed to be smiling and enjoying themselves, which was a good sign. There was a stage that looked pretty much like a penis, a wide shelf near the curtains that bulged out around the poles with highlighting spotlights and a long thick shaft jutting out into the middle of the room with a removable pole at the tip.

He kept his eyes off the dancers and took a look at the clientele first. They seemed respectful-ish. No one was forcing their way onto the stage, burly bouncers made sure of that, and though the wait-staff were groped, caressed and occasionally manhandled, they seemed to enjoy it, and it always went with a bill stuck onto or into their costumes. They were wearing outfits similar to the bar staff but minus the hats, Xander guessed because the damned things would probably get knocked off all the time when spinning through all those groping hands.

Doesn’t matter, I just want to dance, not wait on tables. No need to go down the road of temptation.

He eyed the tips visibly peeking out from clothing, and sighed inwardly. If all they have are waiting positions… maybe I could try it. Doing that wouldn’t… it wouldn’t… would it? No, it would be okay, everything would be fine, I’d just have to… not… do anything…

He looked about at the dancers to distract himself from his line of thinking and to see where he’d be working if he got in. Apparently there were three dancers on stage at once, and the area they worked was where there tips were collected from. There was a bar going around the entire stage that kept the audience far back enough for safety and comfort, but still let them close enough to deposit their tips on the stage, or if the dancer permitted it, down his thong. Everything seemed straightforward enough.

Xander took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking the tension from his hands. He could do this, he could do this. So this wasn’t The Fabulous Ladies Night Club in Oxnard, so this place catered almost exclusively to the gay crowd, so he’d be surrounded by eyefuls of erotically nude male flesh… he could deal. It wasn’t long term anyways, just enough to pay off last months rent, and this months. He’d stop after that, and it’d be okay.

He walked up to the bar and waved to get a bartenders attention. Xander swallowed hard past a knot in his throat when the sandy haired, blue eyed, dimpled, tanned, and oh so nicely filling out that vest, bartender walked up to him a welcoming smile on his lips.

“What can I get ya there stud?” Xander couldn’t help but stare for a second, hotness must always be admired, before he formed words enough to communicate.

“I… uh … saw the sign. Dancers?” Xander winced inwardly at his awkwardness. Ohhh yeah, suave Xander Harris, able to woo the ladies, get the men, and apply for a job which involves shaking his naked ass with grace, poise and unawkwardness.

The bartender looked him over, shaggy brown waves, chocolate eyes, the muscles and broad shoulders. Xander had worn soft skin tight light blue denim pants and a tight white t-shirt. He had his construction worker physique, shapely muscles and a slim waist working for him. He’d flung a duffle bag over his shoulder and the bartender motioned towards it.

“What’s in there?”

“My costumes from the last time I danced.” He felt on firmer footing now, questions were easy, he just had to be as honest as possible. Honest, and unblushing. Blushing would not be conducive of the persona he was trying to imitate. Oh yeah, because this? This was not him. He was acting, pretending, he could do that, he’d been doing that for as long as he could remember, wouldn’t be hard to change the character he was playing, come up with a new persona. Nope, not at all difficult. Totally a piece of cake. Angel food cake even! Though in a place like this devils food cake might be a better comparison... Great, now I’m hungry…

“You’ve danced?” The bartender’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, and possibly also a flirting light.

“Yeah, little nowhere of a place in Oxnard, called The Fabulous Ladies Night Club… it was just a few nights, but they seemed to like me.”

“Well, you know this place doesn’t get many ladies, right?” He quirked a single eyebrow and Xander stared with rapt jealousy. What is it that’s so damned hot about that? Why can’t I do that? Why can everyone else do that? I need an eyebrow transplant. I wonder if health plans cover eyebrow transplant surgery so people can look cool… Probably not. Xander was struck out of his inner monologue of jealousy and transplant theories when the bartender shot him a disarming smile and leaned on his elbows on the bar top, his lips tantalizingly close to Xander’s while he spoke with a confidential air, like this was a secret just between them.

“We’re pretty much a gay club, though sometimes we have a ladies night or a birthday party or something. Also, our dancers are also our waiters.” He looked pointedly at one of the waiters who was balancing a tray of drinks while leaning back into the arms of a customer who had his hands down the waiters pants, depositing a fifty dollar bill snugly inside the front.

Xander could tell the dancer either wore a thong, or nothing at all under his pants, and spent a good deal of time trying to understand how the fifty would be wedged in his privates if he wasn’t wearing a thong. Then he blinked and shook his head clear of the images. Gonna find out myself now, aren’t I? Unless they don’t think I’m pretty enough to pay that much attention to. That would suck, if everyone was getting felt up and I was left alone because I was the newbie. Not that I want to be felt up, I just really really really need money. Soon as I have enough, I’m out of here, gone. Oh God. I can’t believe I’m doing this…

Xander tried hard not to think of all the lovely things that fifty could buy him, like maybe a banana, he’d been craving a banana for so long, or even a pair of shoes that weren’t held together with rubber cement and packing twine used in some places as stitches. He tried not to think of it, but he failed. He tried to remember the last meal he had that wasn’t Kraft Dinner or discount Bulk Bin soup mix or even severely watered down instant ramen. He suppressed a grimace when he realized he couldn’t remember that either.

Okay, so maybe I work a little longer and save up enough for groceries for a while. I don’t think I realized how totally one hundred percent I’m depending on making money while doing this. I can’t not make money. I need the money, oh god, I’m going to have to… have to let them… they’ll be… but it won’t matter, right, because I won’t. I can’t believe this, that my salvation is going to be found in a gay club when I … I’m me. I so wish I wasn’t me.

“Do they have to… do customers get to…,” Xander felt his cheeks darken, unable to say what he needed to ask, but the gods of mercy smiled down on him when the bartender caught on.

“Oh sweet mother of pearl absolutely not! In fact you’d be actively discouraged to! Customers come here for the tease, the show, the fantasy. If you let one of them take you home, or out in the parking lot for a quickie on your knees even, you fulfill the fantasy, you finish it, and why would they come back after that? Or worse yet are the one’s that get possessive and can’t stand the attention you get from other customers… just, a large pile of no. If you did take a customer home and it got back to the bosses… well, let’s just say they don’t appreciate their club getting the reputation of a whore house. This place is run clean, and legal, you got me?”

Xander hadn’t been prepared for a speech, but he was very glad for the topic. At least he knew it wasn’t expected of him, and that no one else working there would likely pressure him into doing it. He could do this, because he didn’t have to… because he couldn’t… it would be okay. He could do this.

“Okay, that’s good,” Xander nodded, ducking his head and looking up from beneath the shaggy waves falling over his eyes. He knew he looked adorable, cute, it was a tool, and he used it when needed. “What happens now?”

“Now? Well, now would be when you actually go through with the interview with the manager on duty, but he’s due on stage in a minute. He’s one of our headliners and a terrific show to watch. Here,” he handed Xander a glass of sprite, “on the house. Think of this as educational viewing. Every dancer has a main show that they gotta put on once during a shift. They’re the big money makers, and you get a lot of props to play with, costumes you gotta provide yourself, and any props you bring in yourself you gotta take care of and clean up after if it’s alive.”

Xander blinked at him, confused, “Alive?”

“Yeah, we had a guy do a show with a snake,” the bartender shivered with delight, “that was amazingly hot. Anyways, you have to come up with a show for yourself and the better it is the better money comes in for you in tips. If you bring in enough hot, bothered, sweaty thirsty men to the bar during your set, you’ll be encouraged to make up a few more, maybe do more than one show a night… that’s what most dancers aim for. So, you’d have at least one show and four non-show dances plus waiting tables for at least a five hour shift.”

Xander nodded, it seemed simple enough, he’d get the drift of things, try to come up with a show dance, whatever that was. He picked up his glass and sipped at the fizzy drink, feeling the bubbles tickle his nose. The bartender motioned towards the stage which had fallen dark and empty. A few catcalls and whistles came from the waiting crowd, and not a few grunts.

An expectant hush fell over the crowd, almost reverent. The entire crowd was eerie in it’s rapt attention on the stage, a slight scuffle on the side as two men jockeyed for position but then silence again filled the room. Xander sipped another mouthful of his pop and then his jaw flopped open when the dancer came on stage. Belatedly he wondered if he’d swallowed all of the pop in his mouth or if it was drool that was currently dribbling from his mouth to splash on his shirt.

Of course he can dance, why wouldn’t he be able to dance? But why is he HERE? He’s supposed to be dead. Dead and dust and gone and not here. Most importantly NOT here, as in somewhere other than the immediate area of the PLANET EARTH. Why the hell is he here? Is there a Hellmouth here? Is that it? Some wacky spinney time bending vortex of evil and non-deadness? Oh god oh god oh god, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t let him see me, he won’t see me, I won’t take the job, it’ll be fine, I’ll find another club, somewhere, someplace, or some other job that can make a lot of money in a couple of weeks… so great, my choices are gigolo, drug mule or possibly sell myself into slavery. Yup, sure, I can do that. Oh god, why why why is this happening to me? He felt like repeatedly whacking his head on the bar, but didn’t think the bartender would appreciate it, and besides he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage.

Xander heard the music, saw the pale blue eyes accented heavily with thick black eyeliner. Platinum blond hair had escaped its gel prison to be spiked out erratically, artfully, making his cheeks look sharper, more defined. Pale skin wrapped in leather, delicate ears pierced and decorated with gleaming metal, barbed wire-like barbells pierced each pale pink nipple.

He oozed over the stage like liquid sex. The song started out slow, he slinked to the middle of the stage quickly and stood with his head bowed and to the side, letting the audience drink in their fill of his posed body. He’d bent one knee with his bare foot balanced on its toes, his head was lowered and to the side, giving the audience a profile view of his face. He thrust his pelvis to the beat. Skin tight leather chaps gleamed dully in the stage lights, drawing attention to his rather full codpiece, it didn’t so much hide his erection so much as obscure it from view.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

With a flurry of liquid movement he spun and shed his vest, tossing it behind the curtains of the stage with practiced ease. Xander saw there was a weighted chain hanging from his nipple rings, attaching the tiny bits of jewelry to each other. Xander couldn’t swallow, his mouth was much too dry. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the stage, but thankfully the bartender was keeping an eye on him and had placed his drink right into his hand. Xander missed the knowing smirk, but took a grateful gulp of his pop.

The dancer was spinning, twirling, moving with speed and agility no human could possess, the audience was hooting, everyone standing, calling out to him. He ghosted his hands over his own body, arching at his own feather light caress… Xander took another gulp of his drink.

You're sick of feeling numb
You're not the only one
I'll take you by the hand
And I'll show you a world that you can understand
This life is filled with hurt
When happiness doesn't work
Trust me and take my hand
When the lights go out you will understand

He hadn’t stopped moving, every gesture and motion carefully choreographed to entice, allure, seduce. He was at the edge of the stage, drawing his audience in with every look, every movement. Xander wished he was by the stage, just so he could see those smoldering eyes locked on him… then realized that would mean he’d be seen and recognized, then took another sip, discarding the idea of elbowing his way to the front and possibly getting his teeth kicked in for his troubles.

The lights went off in cue with the lyrics and that was when things got interesting. Out of nowhere, or possibly from just behind the curtain, he had a thinly braided flogger in hand. Xander instinctively flinched when he saw the vicious looking toy. It didn’t look light and fluffy, it was built and made to hurt, to injure if used too harshly, it looked like it would easily break skin if the wielder wasn’t careful. When the chorus started again, things changed tracks from the sultry sinewy grace to harsh emotional aches and pains displayed openly for public consumption.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

He was on his knees, sliding them out so his arse rested on the stage, and then bringing them tight together until he was kneeling tall. Every time his arse rested on the stage, he brought the flogger down on his own back. Ice pale skin erupted into vivid pink blossoms in delicate lines and stripes down his back. Each strike was aimed carefully; force was expertly applied, but no matter what, Xander could see those blows hurt. He didn’t once cry out in pain.

Each time he brought his knees together, he thrust out lewdly, blind ecstasy on his face as he rode the waves of pain. This wasn’t the man Xander knew, something was different, something was… off. He may have joked around about being into kinky things, but this… something was off.

Anger and agony
Are better than misery
Trust me I've got a plan
When the lights go off you will understand

The lights went off and stayed off until the singers’ crooning ended. They came back on with the first guitar riff of the chorus, a spotlight centered on him. The dancer was at the tip of the stage, hands bound behind him around the pole. The vivid stripes on his back looked angrier, blood welling to the surface of the abused skin, but none was spilled, the dancer had been careful about that. He looked so hopeless, so hurt, emotionally flayed… all of it couldn’t be an act.

He used the ropes holding his wrists together as leverage as he danced about the pole, struggled against his captor while pressing himself needily against it. To run away or to take comfort in what was offered? It made him dizzily breathless to watch, made him ache in understanding. He was strength and grace captured, forced into bondage, as he danced about the pole for the audiences amusement.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing
Rather feel pain

He ripped his hands free, Xander couldn’t tell if the ropes were untied, broken, or hadn’t been properly tied before, but it was dramatic, made muscles move and dance under their sheath of silky skin.

I know (I know I know I know I know)
That you're wounded
You know (You know you know you know you know)
That I'm here to save you
You know (You know you know you know you know)
I'm always here for you
I know (I know I know I know I know)
That you'll thank me later

Pain, without love
Pain, can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain

The song ended with him on his knees, back arched painfully as he pulled harshly on the chain between his nipples. He bit his lower lip, either in pain or ecstasy, Xander couldn’t tell. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin while he panted heavily, looking drained and empty on the stage. Xander ached, he wanted to hold his hand, and tell him everything would be alright, wanted to hold him and make the pain go away… but of course he couldn’t do that, he had to get moving, get going, get out of here before he was recognized.
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