Chapter Text
~
On the road between somewhere and nowhere, there’s a place where people look the other way.
Cities like these aren’t worth policing too hard. Not when the chief is paid a hefty tip to stick his schnoz in a book and pretend he doesn’t know who’s digging graves all over town.
You get used to it. To come into work on a Tuesday and find out half your coworkers are missing, on the run, or just straight up dead . The term ‘under new management’ isn’t anything new, nor is it exciting.
“Hera is gone, huh?” Rumi leans further towards the mirror, struggling to glue on a stray lash for the um-teenth time. “Good, I always hated that bitch.”
For a city of undesirables, the Marble casino is luxurious, and expensive. It’s not your run of the mill strip club, especially when you’ve got some of the worlds’ richest men flying in just to cheat on their wives. It’s such a shame their locker room is a piece of shit.
Hawks tightens the buckle on his shoe, and raises his eyebrows at Rumi. Jewelry is pierced in her bunny ears, and that’s definitely his shredded crop-top she’s wearing. Thief.
“Wait, are we talking gone gone, or just…halfway to China, gone.”
“More like, yar har walk the plank.”
“Oh damn,” Hawks curses, but isn’t too surprised. “Didn’t know she was affiliated.”
“Ha, like I care. She always stole my regulars.”
“Hm.” Rest in peace, Hera.
He’s got about thirty seconds until his shift starts, but Hawks double checks his wings in the mirror. Clients are sticklers for stray feathers, unclipped threads or one singular blonde hair you miss while shaving.
Well, if you pay luxury prices, you expect luxury items. People will pay to see sexy hybrid quirks, no matter the gender.
His reflection stares back like it always does. One of these days, he expects to look in the mirror and see something else entirely; maybe a monster, maybe something worse. But it’s just him; sharp eyeliner, minimal jewelry and some of the finest lingerie money can buy. Well, not really – but the leather buckled harness did cost him a pretty penny.
One of the baby strippers clomps her way through the locker room, and Hawks zones in on her shoes as a force of habit.
“Woah woah woah,” Hawks starts, watching her freeze. “That’s a great impression of a gazelle on ice. You planning on breaking an ankle tonight?”
“Uh,” Baby drawls. She puts on a defensive act, “I just have to break them in.”
“Yeah you do, come here.” Hawks fumbles in his locker for a pocket knife, “Sit down, shit.”
“I’m on bar,” Rumi waves, making her way to the stage door.
“Alright, I’ll be at VIP.”
“Boo, lucky whore. Get some fat tips.”
“Mm, fuck off.”
Rumi pulls up her tight little thong, wiggles her bunny tail and steps out. Baby is still looking at Hawks like he’s going to bite her head off, and he sighs, flipping the knife in his hand.
“I’m not gonna’ hurt you, just take off your shoes.”
She sits on the metal folding chair and does so reluctantly. Hawks glances at the clock on the wall and grimaces. Ah, well.
He studies the freshly bought ankle boots now in his hand, and frowns at the smooth bottom of the shoe. It’s only a six-inch lift, but the poor thing would still be in a hospital by midnight.
“Cut your shoes next time,” Hawks explains, flipping it over and slicing the bottom. “It’ll keep you from making a slip n’ slide out of the platform. Hey, is that hairspray?”
“Uh, yes. It looks like Muriko’s.”
“Give it here.”
After cutting a few lines into the boots, Hawks sprays the bottom and hands them back.
“Tada. Now you’ve got some grip.”
Baby looks apprehensive, but takes her shoes back and bows halfway.
“Thank you.”
“Some of these dancers would love to see you fail,” Hawks says, standing to adjust his own choker. “Don’t give them the opportunity.”
“I won’t,” she nods. Hawks gives her two weeks, max.
~
Hawks likes working VIP for the gossip, more than the tips. He can hustle for money mostly anywhere in the club, but VIP is where the high-rollers talk shit, and that’s how you find out who’s running the town.
The club smells like cigarette smoke and carpet cleaner; playing cards glow white from the black lights, the gambling tables full of chatter and cigar smoke. The usual patrons aren’t here, and while Hawks is curious as to what happened, he’s not stupid enough to go asking.
Hawks is on a high sit at the spinning pole, stretching out slow to save his energy. He smiles down at the absentee poker player who, quite frankly, isn’t very good at keeping face. He’ll be easy money, so Hawks spreads out into a split, and shows off exactly where that thong goes. It’s an easy twenty dollars.
All things considered, the night is normal. The VIPS are more interested in the horse betting taking place tomorrow, so Hawks rolls through an easy routine of spreading his wings and balancing upside down, only when he really feels like grabbing their attention away from the game. Hawks knows he has to give a few lap dances tonight (ugh) but he has good body strength, so the pole is easy. He can stay here all night, no problem.
Commotion kicks up at the craps table. Hawks is used to ignoring it, but it annoys his clients.
“Tch, look at the tourists over there. That used to be Jun’s table. They were always so quiet and respectful.”
Hawks’ ears perk up. He didn’t like Jun’s gang, just like every other posse that runs the town, but he’s seen worse around here.
He squats down slow, sliding a tip with his shoe and rolling to his knees to let a man stick it in his dancer’s belt. He does so like putting change in a machine. Like absently paying for a parking meter. Nothing but an item.
“I heard Marble was bought over last night.”
“Not just the casino. The resort and half the clubs in town.”
“That used to be Jun’s territory.”
“Not anymore.”
And on cue, Hawks’ attention is drawn to a new commotion at the front of the club. Hawks can’t see very well through the VIP privacy glass, but when he spots his shitty manager bowing like a fucking lawn chair, Hawks knows it’s about to get real.
“Who’s that?”
“No clue.”
“Hm. You gonna’ lift up those panties for me, sweetheart?”
Hawks looks down as he’s spoken to. He keeps his toes pointed in his platform shoes as he lifts into a sideways split, slowly spinning back and spreading his wings for balance.
“What, like this?” Hawks purrs. He slips his thumb between the fabric and his skin, using his sleight of hand to keep himself covered. It’s an old trick, and it gets him tips anyways.
He’s just been beckoned for a lap dance when Hawks spots his manager out of the corner of his eye. Mera looks stiff as a board, and it takes Hawks a moment to realize why.
The VIP guest he’s escorting is huge. Like, absolutely fucking stacked. Hawks feels his skin squeak against the pole as he slows himself enough to get a better look.
Broad, blue eyed, and it’s hard to tell under the purple neons but his hair might be a maroon color. It’s a cotton miracle that this man has a suit that fits him so tightly. The most prominent part of his features is likely the scar running down his face. It’s pretty gnarly.
The guy’s sexy, but Hawks knows trouble when he sees it. The bodyguards alongside him are equally intimidating, as well as the well-dressed woman sprouting fiery green hair. They look hard to please, so Hawks is a little grateful that he’s not entertaining them.
“Your table is right this way,” Mera says, and leads the group towards the craps table. It’s amusing to watch Mera shoo some customers, because typically, Mera couldn’t be bothered to leave his back office to take a piss, let alone scare off some paying clients. This party must be a big deal.
Hawks realizes that he’s staring, and jerks to look away.
There’s a short, singular moment where Hawks locks eyes with the big one. And suddenly, time slows to a very tense and agonizing crawl.
Hawks is hanging high off the pole, gripped by his calf and his ankle, dancing to the slow roll of the bass vibrating through the ceiling speakers – and a chill jerks down his spine, like a prey animal deeply aware that they’re being hunted. The man looks him up and down, and gives the most insulting sneer Hawks has ever received. Like a dog turning its nose up to food.
Hawks has been spat on, cursed at, called every derogatory term in half the world’s known languages, but this really gets under his skin. Hawks spins the pole, skimming the toe of his platform against the stage like it’s water, and he stares right back, grinding against the pole as if to say – you wish.
The man looks away, and Mera settles them around the craps table, and the dealer wipes the board clean.
Tch. Straight, probably. Well, it’s his loss. Hawks slips off the pole and into the lap of a man who will slide tens into his bra.
Every once in a while, Hawks catches the beefy man staring his way. Hawks doesn’t let it affect his work, but he does feel…strange. Maybe he’s a creep.
The gentleman he’s dancing for smells terrible, but Hawks can hold his breath for thirty seconds at a time. He pushes up the strappy harness, shows off the full length of his chest and grinds in the man’s lap. Ugh, he really hates this song – he wishes their DJ would quit playing the same shit over and ove – oh, there it goes.
“Damn baby,” the man looks him up and down. “Do I get you hard?”
Nope.
“Fuck yeah, can’t you feel it?” Hawks grinds harder into his lap, beyond practiced at faking it by now. He pulls back just as fast, hovering for the rest of the table to see, and the man laughs, slipping his fingers into Hawks’ thigh belt to slide him another dollar.
Hawks has to be careful he doesn’t bat the table behind him as he dances. The man tries to pet for his feathers, and Hawks ghost grinds on him to evade it.
“Sir, are you joining the next game?”
“Yeah, deal me back in. But you – ” his client sits back and looks Hawks over huskily. “Whatcha’ doing after work?”
“Flying to the moon,” Hawks purrs.
“Cute, but really. When’s the last time you got fucked?”
Ugh. Hawks shakes out his wings and gets a foot up on the booth to dance up by his face.
“Actually, I’m a virgin,” Hawk hums, because he’s good at saying what people like to hear. A couple men snort in disbelief, but the man he’s dancing for raises his eyebrows.
“Damn, with a body like that? That’s hard to believe.”
“Too right.”
“Shake some ass, baby.”
“You want more?” Hawks bends over, gripping the bench behind the man’s head. “Greedy greedy little boys.”
More laughter from the table. Hawks uses the opportunity to get a break from the client’s body odor. Ugh, that reminds him. He needs to do laundry.
Out of curiosity, Hawks looks up again, across the room to the craps table. That bristly, large man is looking at the table skeptically, while two bodyguards remain standing at the edges of either side. It’s not the first time Hawks has seen a guarded entourage, but this guy is so big, Hawks can’t imagine him needing bouncers in the first place.
The man looks in his direction, and Hawks glances away. In that short moment of distraction, Hawks lost track of where his client’s hands went. One is creeping up his thigh, and Hawks nudges it away.
“Hey, watch it.”
“What?” He gropes back for his knee. “Damn, these legs…”
In a split second, Hawks sees one of the other poker players reach over to slap his ass. Hawks catches his wrist with lightning reflexes, twisting it back and gripping hard.
“Ow! What the fuck?!” He slurs his words, definitely drunk.
“I know you can read,” Hawks grits, shoving his hand back. “No touching.”
“That’s fuckin’ bullshit, Juicy’s lets you touch the girls.”
“Then go to Juicy’s,” Hawks slaps away his hand again. “I’m not playing games with you. Comply or get the hell out.”
Hawks sees one last attempt to slap his ass, and this time he squeezes hard enough to hurt. The customer yips, and Hawks steps off his lap and gathers his tips.
“Ow, fuck! You’re strong for a bitch.”
“I’m a man,” Hawks spits back. “Have fun with security.”
On cue, the bouncers show up to escort them out. They throw a drunken fit, but Hawks takes the moment of silence to count out his tips and stash them away. Not too bad, but not great. Damn, that’s a fucking shame. Now he’ll have to hustle a few extra tables, and the other dancers aren’t going to be happy with him.
He looks up and sees Midnight working the craps table. She has a very specific style of dancing – a bit more forward than some men like – but the table doesn’t look very interested in Midnight at all, father, the group is more focused on the gambling. That sucks for her.
The man with the scar is staring at him again. Hawks winks, and he looks away.
Oh well, onto the next.
~
Jesus, his feet hurt. He’s worn out these shoes a bit too much, but they're reliable, and he’s reluctant to throw them away.
Hawks is just sitting down to count his payout to the club, when Mera slams open the locker room door with the strength of an elephant.
“Hawks. Thank god you’re still here.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hawks jerks, slapping a hand over his chest. “Did someone die?”
Mera always has dark circles under his eyes, with unbrushed hair and an ill-fitting suit. His overall demeanor is a strong disinterest in anything work-related, so it’s startling to see him so nervous.
“No. Put your shoes back on, I need you in the champagne room now. ”
Hawks raises his eyebrows, and slides his cash back into his bag.
“I’m off already.”
“I know – but you were requested by one of our high rollers. An A-List VIP.”
Ooooh. Is that right? The math is pretty easy;
A List + lapdance = cha-ching.
Hawks starts to slip his heel back on.
“What level of A-list are we talking? Celebrity? Political?”
“I’m not answering that. But I need you to be on your best behavior, Hawks – no look at me. Your best behavior.”
“I got it, I got it,” Hawks laughs. He digs his fingers into the holes of his fishnets and tugs them back into place, his feet not-so-happy about being put through another dance. “Did he say what he wants?”
“Not a damn thing. He just asked for you.”
Hm. “If he doesn’t tip well, I’ll be bitching up a storm at your door.”
“Just go. Best behavior, please. ”
Sure, whatever. Hawks waves him off and slips out of the locker room.
Maybe it’s the green haired girl. Hawks recalls her being more interested in gambling than naked people, but she seems like the most feasible person at that table to request a private dance.
The champagne room is a square shape, with fine leather benches and a quartz platform centered in the middle. Crystal drapes line the walls, with glowing neons and a personal bar. Slot machines sit in the corner, and are regularly unused in private dances.
Hawks enters the room, and finds the large man from earlier sitting in the center of the couch, smoking a cigarette. His knees are slightly spread, and his suit jacket is unbuttoned, but still on. His attractive face is only offset by the nasty scowl set in it.
There is no fucking way this guy requested me.
Oooh, but the watch on his wrist is beyond expensive. Alright, maybe it’s worth the effort.
“Well hello,” Hawks purrs, shutting the door behind him. Click. “You look comfortable. Drink?”
“No.”
Oh, his voice is deep. Hawks hums, and fluffs up his wings, knowing it’s an attention grabber. As expected, the man looks over him coldly.
“I’m told you asked for me by name – I’m so flattered, I’m blushing,” Hawks coos, stepping forwards. “What’s on the menu today?”
The man looks indifferent.
“Aren’t you supposed to dance?”
“Aww, are you a newbie?” Hawks purrs, and enjoys watching him grow angry. “I can do all kinds of tricks. You want me to rub my tight little ass in your lap, or I can do flips on the pole. Your choice, honey.”
The man’s eye twitches. Hawks isn’t concerned, because if he chooses to get violent, he’ll be six feet out the door and licking his pretty little wounds. Boohoo.
“I don’t care what you do,” the man grunts. “Impress me.”
His voice is an octave that Hawks doesn’t hear often. It scratches a part of his brain that makes his stomach clench. Bile, probably.
Hawks steps up on the platform and wiggles his wings, swinging around once, letting the various leather belts clack against the pole.
“Mmmm, those are big words for a big man. Do you work out?”
“You talk a lot.”
“It’s my job, hun,” Hawks replies. He gets a good grip on the pole and hikes up a leg, suspending himself with his thigh muscles. “If you wanted a quiet dance, you asked for the wrong guy.”
The man narrows his eyes, and brings his cigarette back to his lips. He looks completely stone faced. Probably repressed (but who knows). At least he isn’t a messy drunk. Hawks entertained enough of those today.
The music is quieter in here, and Hawks hates hearing the sound of his own shoes clicking on the platform, so he talks again.
“Do you have a name, or are you just made to look pretty?”
An impressive puff of smoke curls from his nose. Hawks squats down, so it blows right into his crotch. The man looks at him coldly.
“Enji.”
“A sweet name for a sweet man,” Hawks teases, knowing he’s playing with fire. Enji stubs out the butt of the cigarette on the coffee table and scowls.
“You’re as annoying as you look.”
Oh. This guy wants a challenge, does he?
Hawks stands up again to curl around the pole.
“My fatass mouth is good for more than talking,” Hawks teases, slowly turning upside down on the pole, letting his hair hang with gravity. “Too bad you’ll never know.”
Enji’s eyes squint. They’re pretty, for a man with such a terrible personality.
“And yours?”
“My what, baby?”
“Name.”
“It’s Hawks,” he coos, spreading his wings wide. “Like the bird.”
Enji raises his eyebrows and settles back in the booth, looking at him skeptically.
“Not your stage name. Your real one.”
“Ah, right, my apologies. My birth name would be Crow. ”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you.”
“Kinda’,” Hawks grins, flipping back around and giving the pole another spin, turning it on the platform. “Sorry to disappoint you, but it was Hawks out the womb. Swear on my momma’s grave.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then that’s a personal problem.”
Hawks sets his feet back to the platform, and presses his back to the pole to get a good look at Enji. That watch is really nice. Damn. And not a single tip yet.
Hawks squats down again, running the pole through his fingers behind him.
“What brings you in today? You look stiffer than the toy in my ass.”
Hawks gets him with that one. His eyes flicker down and up for a second, like he really contemplates if Hawks is dancing with a plug up his ass. Of course he isn’t, but he laughs when the man glowers.
“That would be none of your business.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” Hawks shrugs. “But I’m a good ear. I clean ‘em nice and good for repressed folk like you.”
“Is that what you do?” Enji grabs a new cigarette from his shirt pocket, and flips it around his large fingers (really large, ah). “You shake your ass and play therapist?”
Hawks laughs, because he’s never heard it put that way.
“I’m a glamorized barbie doll. You can tell me what the big bad bully did to you at school,” Hawks pouts dramatically, running his hand over his own chest. “Or you can take my clothes off and see how smooth I am underneath.”
No physical response. It feels a bit like dancing for a wall. The guy probably isn’t even hard.
“Can people touch you?” Enji asks.
“That’s a great way to get kicked out,” Hawks hums. “Wanna’ try?”
“Then what’s the appeal?” Enji asks. His eyes are still tracking Hawks’ body as he twists a new shape on the pole, spreading his wings for show. “You can get the same show on your TV at home.”
“I’m interactive porn, honey. I’ll moan your name as loud as you like.”
“There’s a mic in here.”
“Ooh, close, but no. Just cameras,” Hawks winks. Enji goes hm, and flips that unlit cigarette again.
Never in his life has Hawks felt so scrutinized by a customer (and he’s had some doozies). But this man keeps poking him, so Hawks will poke back.
“You’re mafia, aren’t you?”
Enji’s eyes go wide, like he wasn’t expecting Hawks to outright say it. The satisfaction of catching him off guard is almost worth this entire pain in the ass dance.
“That’s a dangerous claim to make. You better have some solid evidence.”
“Want me to give it a go?”
“Hm.”
“Well, to begin with, a whole entourage of security isn't very subtle,” Hawks lists, seamlessly lifting himself with one arm and hanging. “Then there’s my doped-out hippie of a manager shitting his khakis over a VIP.” Hawks creeps his free hand up his neck and tugs on the ring in his collar, watching Enji track his movement. “And finally, it’s hotter than satan’s nutsack in here, and you haven’t even rolled up your sleeves. I’ll bet you my whole bra that you have yakuza tattoos under that shirt.”
Enji stares through him. The stern expression on his face doesn’t change, and his body remains unmoving, like a sculpture. After a long beat of silence, Enji pulls up his sleeve, and tugs on his cuff, showing a slight peek of colored ink, before sliding his watch back into place.
“Clever, for a toy.”
The words curl down his spine. That voice is so deep, he wonders what hertz it can reach.Hawks picks a new position to show off the muscles in his back, hoping to gain a reaction,
“It’s unfortunate that objects have brains,” Hawks sighs wistfully. “Much to the disappointment of some of our clients here. I guess I get to keep my bra on.”
“What will you do now?”
“Now that I know? Nothing. I eat types like you for breakfast.”
Enji’s eyebrows raise. He leans forwards with his knees on his elbows, the biggest reaction Hawks has gotten yet.
“Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” Hawks ponders. “Wanna’ spoil it for me?”
“I think you can figure it out,” Enji says, and that unlit cigarette gets put right back in his pocket. Strange. “Why are you here?”
“Because you asked baby, come on, keep up.”
Hawks’ fat mouth is going to get him in trouble, but the worst that man does is grit his teeth and snarl.
“Why here? Why waste your youth dancing for lowlifes.”
“I like the way you say youth, ” Hawks twirls. “Like you’re oh-so old.”
“I’m likely twice your age.”
“Oh wow, name and age, I feel like I’m really getting to know you,” Hawks laughs. Enji doesn’t so much as blink, but his eyes continue to observe his body, creeping from the tips of his heels up to his hands gripped on the pole.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t have to.”
Hawks likes the shiny outfits and fun shoes, but he’s a man, and doesn’t attempt to be anything else than what he is. He lets his chin grow stubble and keeps his nails short and shows off how cute his cock looks in this outfit. Enji looks where Hawks wants him to, because it’s his job, and he should be desensitized to it (he is ), but his skin feels tingly the longer Enji stares. Like his hair is standing on end.
Hawks lowers himself back to the platform, and the world does that thing again – where it hits pause, and suddenly his feet don’t hurt. The numbness in his hands is gone. His wings don’t feel so heavy at his back.
Enji – this stranger with a temper that radiates some untapped power – is looking right at him, and Hawks feels himself go hot to his core. He opens his mouth to say something, but the buzzer goes off, and the moment breaks. A whole hour, over. It felt much shorter than that.
“Looks like that’s it,” Hawks bats his eyelashes. “Guess we’ll have to get to that lapdance next time. Unless you wanna’ play a little longer?”
Enji looks up at him, blinks dully and goes, “Hm. No thanks.” Hawks feels himself droop a little bit, and rustles his wings. He opens his mouth to say something snippy, but Enji reaches for his wallet, pulls out about a dozen bills and sets them on the table. “This was enough. Good evening.”
The sudden politeness catches Hawks off guard. He stares numbly as Enji rises from the couch, pockets his wallet again, and exits the room without another glance.
Huh.
Hawks wipes the sweat from his forehead, and crouches down to pick up the tip. It doesn’t look like a whole lot – but god damn that man made him work for it. Hawks wonders if he prefers the angry wives and the slut shaming over the stone-faced mafia man.
His eyes almost fall out of his fucking skull when he sees that the bills are all hundreds.
~
After his payout to the club, the DJ and the bouncers, Hawks still walks away with at least a weeks’ worth of cash. He feels paranoid walking home, keeping a tight grip on his backpack strap.
His night job hasn’t affected his personal life because, to be frank, he doesn’t have much of one. Yeah yeah, shut up, he knows. It’s just – there isn’t much to do in this town besides gamble, smoke, or hang out at the club, and Hawks has enough of that shit as is.
If you ignore the wings entirely, Hawks isn’t recognizable out of work. His extra-large shirts, baggy pants and hightop shoes disguise his body shape, and it’s so aesthetically different to the tiny bikinis, bodysuits and sparkly tights, sometimes people don’t even notice.
But there’s rumors. And the wings are very much permanent. It is what it is.
As Hawks climbs the stairs to his apartment, unlocks the door, and closes it behind him, he thinks of Enji, and those steel blue eyes. Hawks unloads his cash from the night on his kitchen table, and wonders why on Earth someone would pay so much for a dance they didn’t enjoy.
Fuck that’s a lot of cash. It’s too bad he can’t keep it.
~
The streets feel different.
When you live somewhere long enough, you know when new people are in town. New regulars sitting at the bus top, different faces hovering around the subway. It’s nothing new to J-town vets, but tourists ask questions, and that’s how you get in trouble.
“I feel like half the town left overnight,” a woman frowns, as Hawks gives her girlfriend a lapdance. “Doesn’t it feel weird around here?”
Hawks gives her an empathetic smile, gripping the table and wiggling his ass in the girl’s lap. You don’t know who’s listening, so Hawks steers the conversation away.
“Sure, baby – but have you been to the new sub place on eighth? Banger sandwiches.”
The girl wedges a tip between his feathers.
“You don’t say? Babe, we might have to go.”
Hawks is always being watched, but it feels worse than usual. He looks once around the club; it’s at half capacity, and he recognizes a few faces in here. Lady and Angel are working the stage today, and Baby is trying so very hard to convince a patron to pay for a private dance. Godspeed, kid.
Hawks doesn’t see anyone suspicious, but he’ll stay on his toes, for now.
~
If Hawks is being honest, he doesn’t expect to see Enji ever again. It’s a shame to lose such a high-paying customer, but he picked up some strong ‘business-trip’ vibes from the group he was in, and if Enji really is a member of the mafia, he’s probably working for a boss that will call him home soon. Hawks knows the type.
The rest of the week is pretty slow. He gets a few regulars – and even one of his favorites; an old woman that likes to rent the private room just to gossip about her husband. Hawks doesn’t even have to dance; he just gets to drink wine and play therapist.
You never know what you’re in for. At least it keeps him entertained.
“You need to get yourself some of those magnetic lashes,” Hawks says, flossing his teeth in the mirror.
Rumi sighs dejectedly, and pats on a new set of glue.
“I swear, I just gotta’ break these in.”
“They’re not shoes, baby.”
“Shut up, I spent thirty bucks on this set. They’ll stick, dammit!”
Hawks laughs, and fixes up his hair in the mirror. He never styles it too nice, because it’ll get trashed eventually. He pulls up the top of his bralette and frowns. His outfit today is a strappy lingerie one-piece that wraps all the way to his thighs. It’s a pain in the ass to put on – but he still feels like it’s missing something.
“Hey buns, can I borrow your mesh crop?”
“The black one, or the sparkly one?”
“The neon, with the back cutout.”
“Oh, right. Wings.” Rumi digs around in her locker, and then tosses the skimpy top across the room. Hawks catches it and slides it over his head, rustling his wigs through the backless hole.
“Thanks.”
Rumi looks at him and giggles, “It looks so different on you. Cute though, I like it.”
“It’s because my titties aren’t very fat,” Hawks frowns, squishing his pecs together. Rumi laughs, and at that moment, the backroom door slams open.
“Hawks,” Mera pants. “You’re here early, good.”
Hawks presses a hand to his chest as Rumi jerks her head around, ears going straight.
“Christ alive, you have to stop doing that.”
“You’re needed in the champagne room,” Mera jabs his thumb. “It’s the A-list again.”
Hawks pauses, blinking quickly. Rumi crosses her arms and lifts her brow.
“How come you never give me the VIPs?”
“Because you’re territorial over the fucking bar. No more fighting the other dancers.”
“Angel took my tips again!”
“That’s a personal problem –”
Hawks zones out as he thumbs across the choker around his neck.
Enji came back?
“Put your shoes on,” Mera points. “And play nice.”
As the door shuts, Rumi and Hawks share a look.
~
“Well, well,” Hawks greets, shutting the door behind him. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“Why?” Enji asks, sat exactly where Hawks last saw him.
“Dunno. You had this whole experimental vibe to you – not a problem, but I’ve seen it before.”
Hawks steps up on the platform, now above Enji’s eyelevel. He can feel him looking over his outfit, a slow gaze that starts at his feet and crawls up to his eyes. Hawks knows how to hold himself to show all the fine lines of his body, and he raises his eyebrows when Enji doesn’t react. He looks back down to Hawks’ platform heels.
“How many broken ankles?”
Hawks is caught off guard by the question. He snorts, and spins the pole once, showing off the three-sixty of his outfit.
“A number between one and ten.” Hawks looks over Enji, a quick glance as he gets to work spreading his wings and lifting himself up on the pole. “Don’t you look sexy today. Are you trying to impress me? I’m flattered.”
Enji’s suit is a crisp white, instead of the deep blue he wore last time. Hawks shouldn’t remember that detail, but he does. The sleeves reach his wrists and his tie knot stays where it is, and Hawks is curious of what those yakuza tattoos look like.
Enji doesn’t respond right away. He watches Hawks flex his muscles and kick his leg up past his ear, rolling into a sitting position and letting the pole spin. The music is a low level, filling the room with tension.
“What did you buy?” Enji asks, breaking the silence.
Hawks looks at him skeptically as he dances.
“With your fatass tip? Oh, this outfit, don’t you know.”
Enji squints, “You tell people what they want to hear.”
“I’m good at it.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“Fine,” Hawks sighs, touching his own stomach, up to the hem of the cropped mesh shirt. “I paid rent with it. Does that make you happy, daddy?”
Enji is still looking through him. His eyes are ice cold, it feels like he doesn’t want to be here at all. And yet, he doesn’t move a muscle. It’s such a stark difference to the bachelor party Hawks entertained last night, where he rolled around in a pile of slutty cash and fought other strippers for tips.
“You’re still lying to me,” Enji squints. Hawks raises his eyebrows and squats, thumbing into the straps around his thighs.
“Is that your quirk? Sensing lies? That’s not playing very fair.”
“It’s not,” Enji says. Hawks watches him grab the cigarette from his pocket and light it, bringing it to his lips. “Take a guess.”
Hawks pauses his routine. The flame was short and orange, and it lit right from his fingers. Hawks stands upright, gripping the pole behind him again. Realization hits him hard, and he recovers from the concussion of information swelling in his brain.
You hear a lot of names in the streets. If you’re smart, you remember them.
“You’re a Todoroki.”
Enji looks a little impressed.
“That was fast.”
“The fire quirk,” Hawks accuses. “The gang of firebreathing dragons. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“There are many fire mutations,” Enji deflects.
“You work for them, don’t you?” Hawks grinds back on the pole, pushing up the mesh shirt so Enji can fully see his bralette. He flings the shirt off his fingers. “Unless…no.”
“I work for no one,” Enji replies. Hawks gets a sudden chill down his neck, like he’s in danger.
Growing up, he heard stories of a mafia of dragons. The head was rumored to be cold and cruel, willing to do anything to acquire profitable assets. Cursed with an endless greed, they called him the Endeavor.
“You bought the town,” Hawks whispers. Enji doesn’t reply. Hawks swallows thickly, and rotates around the pole. This is…fine. Hawks can handle this. He knows where the panic button is. Like that would help at all, shit. “What happened to Jun?”
“Do you want to know?” Enji replies, and Hawks swallows again, keeping the emotion off his face.
“I mean, if daddy wants to tell me…I love a good conversation,” Hawks grinds back on the pole, and Enji continues to watch, unmoving. “I wasn’t a fan of Jun. But I only saw him once or twice.”
“He sold children,” Enji says, and Hawks feels himself physically freeze on the pole. “His head is at the bottom of the ocean.”
Hawks feels goosebumps trickle up his arms. His head blares a thousand alarms, and he has to take a deep breath. This city is now run by the Todorokis. Nobody chose to tell him that information.
“That’s a confession, hun. What if I’m hiding a mic down my panties?”
“Then prove it,” Enji says. Hawks, for all his experience, feels his face go red.
He rotates once on the pole to hide it, and then lands forwards again, turning to show his ass and tug the thong aside. Totally exposed, Hawks shakes his butt twice before snapping the fabric and turning to look Enji in the eye. Zero reaction, ugh.
“You’re right, I got nothing.”
Enji smokes, and that’s all.
“Hm.”
Somehow…this man doesn’t appear as scary as the rumors. Intimidating, maybe, (give or take a natural ooze of sex appeal), but Hawks still won’t trust him, even if he’s attractive.
Hawks can feel himself working up a sweat as he does the rest of his routine. The music shifts through several songs, and it’s hard not to talk. Not when he’s been hit with such a bombshell.
“If you own the casino, why are you here?”
Enji pulls on his cig, the end glowing red before he exhales.
“You don’t get to ask the questions.”
“Mmm, but baby I do, ” Hawks spins. “This is my house. Just wonderin’ why you didn’t bring cookies.”
“I don’t answer to anyone,” Enji replies. Hawks flexes his back muscles for another lift, this time exposing himself in a split, and Enji’s voice doesn’t even waver. “Especially not to those who won’t answer me in return.”
“Did I miss a question? Oh I’m so sorry baby, let me get on my knees.” Hawks slides down onto the platform and kneels, crawling up to the edge so they’re eye to eye. “Repeat it for me?”
The room feels tense. The slow R&B music thumps distantly outside the walls, the inside speakers only playing a soft pitch. The neons are blue and purple and it smells more like smoke as Enji holds the cig up to his mouth. Hawks grips the edge of the platform, and stares right at him. Like a tiger in a cage.
Enji looks down to his chest, then back up, and that’s it.
“Last week, I asked why you chose to work here.”
“And I answered, didn’t I?” Hawks pouts. “Because I like playing dress up and showing hole.”
Enji squints, “So you refuse to tell me.”
“Seems like it’s mutual,” Hawks winks. He plants a hand back on the stage and rocks his hips forward, trying to tempt him into responding, but he gets nothing. “How about a lapdance?”
“Stay where you are,” Enji says. Ouch.
Hawks pouts, snapping the strap around his ribs this time.
Fwip!
“You don’t want me to play pretend in your lap?” Hawks bounces a few times on his knees like he’s riding a cock, throwing his head back and grinning at the scandalized look on Enji’s face. “Oh, that’s too far?”
“You’re obscene.”
“Interactive porn, honey, get with it.” Hawks lays back fully and spreads his legs, looking at Enji through his knees. “Any requests? I guess I should treat the new boss to a good time – ooh, this is pretty scandalous, isn’t it? Oh, Mister Todoroki… I’ve been bad…”
“Your mouth is ridiculous,” Enji says. His tone is so flat it makes Hawks laugh.
“Don’t tell me you’re a prude.”
“Don’t make assumptions you know nothing about.”
Oooh. That one hits Hawks in the stomach. His body’s reaction actually surprises him a little. Intrigued, Hawks rolls to his knees and grips the pole behind him, letting his wings pool in a blanket of red feathers.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The words feel raspy leaving his mouth, like a croak. The room doesn’t feel cold, but Enji is like an ice palace over there; totally unreadable.
Enji stubs the cigarette butt on the ashtray, and the last trail of smoke filters up to the ceiling.
“That’s a brave question.”
“Well, I’d like to make plans, if you are. I have a houseplant that’ll need watering.”
“Keep your plant,” Enji says. “I only deal with those who get in my way.”
Hawks doesn’t know enough about the Todoroki mafia to confirm if that’s true or not.
“My plant thanks you.” Hawks’ heel squeaks against the platform as he rises back to his feet and climbs the pole again. Fuck, why is his heart beating so damn fast? He’s dealt with customers worse than the head of a mafia. Uhh…he’s pretty sure. Well, his mouth got him this far. “Do you like flowers, Enji?”
“Stop asking questions and dance.”
“I think I’ve already proven how good I am at doing both.”
Later, when Enji sets down the generous tip, he says, “Buy yourself something this time.”
Then he leaves.