kate_fire (kate_fire) wrote,
kate_fire
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Deeply Met: Oxnard, Part 1

Hi, so I decided to take a break from Deeply Hurt (well, writing it at least, because it was bugging me... the next chapter'll be up soon) and I posted a question on this nifty little group called

little_details about what type of song a construction worker would strip to, and they were just so supportive and answered right away that I just had to write this little part of Deeply Met that's been running around in my mind.  Here's Xander's opening night at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club.

Author:Kate_fire
Title: Deeply Met

No Pairing Yet

Rating: PG-13 for suggestive dancing and dialogue
Feedback: http://www.livejournal.com/users/kate_fire/
Concrit: /in comments/


 

I own nothing of either of the songs used.  Please do not harm me.  I am innocent.

....well, ok.  But I don't have any money!! That's true!

Thanks to everyone who suggested, especially amurderofcrows , who reminded me of this song and made me realize it was perfect.

 

 

Saturday night at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club and Xander was humming softly to himself as he washed the dishes.  “I’m a cowboy, bay-bee…”  He swung his hips in his newly acquired Sexy-Xander-Dance.  A tray of glasses slammed on the counter next to his sink and a large hand wrapped around his waist.

“Riding at night ‘cause I sleep all day,” Ray’s hips flush against Xander’s as they ground in a slow imitation of someone riding a horse.  The slim black waiter had been the one to teach Xander that move, after all.

“I can smell a pig from a mile away!” Carlos sang in answer, flicking his own dishtowel at the two with a snap.  “Damn, amigo, you pick up fast!” he laughed at Xander’s continuation of Sexy Dance with Ray. 

Luis from across the room at the stove said something Xander only caught half of.  “What’d he say?” to Carlos, tilting his head back on Ray’s shoulder to send to the other sink.  “I caught ‘white boy’ and that’s about it.”

“He said you ain’t doing those white-boy dances anymore,” Carlos replied.  “You finally got some rhythm.”  After a week at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club, the other members of the staff had decided to take pity on Xander and teach him some new moves.

“Hey, the Snoopy Dance is well loved across many cultures and generations!” Xander said as Ray peeled off his back and he turned to load the mugs into his sink. 

“Uh-huh,” Ray tossed over his shoulder as he made his way back out of the kitchen.  “Don’t forget, bros, party at my crib after closing!”

Xander laughed and went back to scrubbing industriously, still humming under his breath and swinging his hips back and forth.  And then:

“Shit.  Shit shit shit shitty-shit-shit.”  Silence.  “Fuck.”

It was Mal, the club owner.  She ran her hands through her short mop of graying hair after she hung up the phone. 

“Qué pasa, Mal?” one of the cooks asked.

“That was Mike,” Mal ground out.  “He’s sick.  And we’ve got three bachelorette parties and a room crowded to bursting.  We need someone to cover the fifth dance, before the big number, and Pedro’s out of town, Sal’s got that ankle, and goddamn Tony is getting goddamn reconstructive surgery!!”

Her fist pounded the countertop and Xander winced as he scrubbed.  There was probably going to be a dent.  Let no one say that Mal was one of those soft females.  That was probably why they got along so well: Xander was used to taking orders from women.

“Harris!”

He yelped.  Turning around he saw that she was stalking towards him, a surveying look in her eye.  Xander got a distinctive feeling that he wasn’t going to like this order.  “Uh, yeah boss?”

“You got a groove.  You danced before?”

“Um…”  He swallowed hard.  “At, you know, like prom and I do the Snoopy dance every year at Christmas with my friends, and I sometimes do a little shuffle when I—”

Strip, Xander,” Mal said, cutting through his flow.  “You ever strip before?”

“Uh, I—”

“It’s a yes/no question,” Mal interrupted again.  “Don’t go on one of your tangents; don’t do that charming babble thing with the fluttering of eyelashes and the frantic swallowing.  Just yes or no.”

No.”  The word was tiny.

“Would you like to?”

“What-what about the other guys?  Ray?  Matt?  Steve?”  Xander frantically searched for more waiters.  The bartender: “Ox?”

“Ray and Steve don’t fit in Mike’s costume,” Mal said, and rolled her eyes.  “Let alone Ox.  Matt’s got less rhythm than an elephant on LSD.”

“Well, you know I saw Dumbo and those elephants can get some pretty good dance moves in,” Xander tried, but Mal shook her head.

“We need you, Xander.”  And damn if he wasn’t such a sucker for a woman saying those lines.  Hell, anyone saying those lines.  Just to be needed, wanted

And that was how he found himself shoved into in a construction worker’s “uniform” while the other strippers gave him tips:

“The pants tear away, but leave them for the end…”

“You’ll have to tighten your tool belt—you’re going to lose all your tips…”

“Remember to wipe your forehead and the sweat off your chest…”

“Don’t brain anyone when you toss your work helmet—it’s actually pretty heavy…”

“But if you can get it on someone else’s head, it’s a bonus…”

“Relax…”

“Breathe…”

"You’ll do fine!”

Benny, the attractive “farm boy” was helping Xander dress as Mal got on the mike.  He winked a roguish blue eye at Xander as he tightened the tool belt—pocket situated strategically in the front, long and wide enough to cover everything and to hold a couple of ridiculously-sized plastic tools.  The “tool belt” was really a modesty-preserver; Xander wouldn’t have called it underwear exactly.  “Just dance,” Benny whispered to Xander. 

“Aaaand for our next dance we’ve got the ever so Handy Harris!  Just be gentle, ladies!  It’s his first time!”

To Xander’s embarrassment Mal played a clip of “Like a Virgin”.  “Hey!” he shouted from backstage just as Madonna squeaked the same word.  The crowd roared with laughter.

“Sometimes it’s best to just pretend you’re someone else,” Benny added, and pushed Xander out on stage as the music started. 

Pretend you’re someone else. 

“What the hell,” Xander muttered.  He brought up the first, sexiest person he could think of: Spike. WWSD?  What would Spike do?  And started dancing. 

He’d heard some of the music from the dish sink, and he knew fairly well how they went.  He sauntered out on stage as the background music started up, and cast a cool long glance over the room, foot tapping to the beat.  The opening lines: “I work so hard…” sliding a hand down the front of his “tool belt” letting everyone know exactly what he meant by hard as his hips made little thrusting movements.  His eyes slid shut at the word “dream” and his other hand slid up his chest. 

“The sweat keeps rolling/ off the tip of my nose…” His hand snapped from barely touching his nipple to almost slap himself on the nose as his head jerked sideways, tongue flicking out over his lips, staring at the audience for the last line “only one thing/ keeps me on my feet” his eyes full of knowing promise.

He hit the tip of the construction hat with the heel of his hand and it went flipping off his head.  It landed on the comically oversized plastic wrench in his tool belt as he jutted his hips forward to catch it.  It swung there hypnotically, tauntingly as the song went into the bridge, “watching the gears as they move/ just reminds me..” and he flipped it off again with a tap from the edge of his hand and slid into the audience to land in front of one of the prospective brides just in time to grind for her, the next line singing, “of bodies in motion/ the sex and the sound.”  He popped the helmet on her head and moved away, the women frantically stuffing money into his tool belt.  One of them stole his wrench.

Back on the stage for the chorus: “Wild sex!” Hip swivel.  “In the working class!” Backwards hip swivel.  He stroked a hand down his chest, which was really sweating now.  It was hot under those lights.  Again, nearly, almost brushing his nipple but then: “Wild sex!” Pelvic thrust at the nearest shouting woman, who reached up to stuff money in his tool belt just as he jerked it away, a teasing smile on his face.  The audience groaned in laughter and lust, and he thrust back in front of the woman just in time for the last line: “Counting down minutes gonna get home fast/ gonna get hoooome fast!” She laughed and put two tens in his tool belt.

The second verse, and he did a shimmy to the line, “Thinking of your warm skin,” ending up on the stage on his knees as he stroked his again oversized plastic hammer, one hand on the shaft and the other sliding a thumb along the edge as the song went, “as I touch cold steel” head tipped back in mock-ecstasy.

He arched his back to the line, “my back is aching so bad,” and then hit the stage back-down, turning his head towards the audience so they could see his sexy grin as his hips pumped.  Then when the song said, “thinking of you/ keeps me on my feet”; at “feet” he jackknifed up to a standing position. 

Sauntering closer to the audience during the repeat of the bridge, he grasped the tear-away parts of his pants, and at the next chorus: “Wild sex!”  He tore them off and flung them into the audience.  The women shrieked with laughter and more crowded around the stage, straining with the money.  He turned so that they could see his tanned Californian ass and the little thong underwear that held the tool belt on. 

By the time the chorus was done he was simply thrusting in time to the beat, tired and sweaty, but the women were applauding and still waving money.  The song’s end came in a whisper, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand (not faking—he was drenched!) and then slid it down his chest during the last “I work so hard”.  And stepped behind the stage’s curtains again. 

“Let’s give another round for Handy Handy Harris!” Mal’s voice called.  “Amen for blue collar, eh ladies?  And now here’s some of our hottest men, doing the FLNC version of ‘Lady Marmalade’!”

Xander collapsed on one of the backstage stools, panting and sweating and stinking.  Oh man he needed a shower.  And some clothes.  Where were his clothes? 

“Damn, bro!” Ray said admiringly.  “Where the hell you get that from?  Two weeks ago you were Whitey McWhite-Ass and now you’re Groove Stu!”

“Remind me never to do that again,” Xander moaned, closing his eyes.  “I’d trade my soul for a shower.”

“Ten bucks and I’ll carry you there,” Ray said, and then came closer.  He waved a hand in front of his nose.  “Man, make that fifteen.  You reek, boy.”

Xander groaned, and Ray helped him up, sliding a hand around his shoulders.  “Carlos moved your clothes to the bathroom,” Ray said, and Xander thanked his lucky stars that there was a tiny shower in the stripper’s changing room.  Most strip joints hardly had a changing room.  The cool water was heavenly, and when he was dressed, he counted out the money from his tool belt.  And blinked.  And blinked again.

“Shit.” 

Eight hundred and seventy-four dollars.  Eight hundred and seventy-four dollarsEight hundred and seventy-four dollars… and eleven phone numbers, two “personal notes”, one strange nudie picture he shuddered at (did she just bring photos, or what?), and one very strange old silver coin.  He peered at it.  It wasn’t any silver coins he knew: American, Canadian, or English.  Shrugging, he pocketed it and went out to celebrate his newfound earnings with his friends.  A large chunk of it would go to fixing his car, some of it would be put down for next month’s rent, and with the extra left over he was buying drinks for everyone at Ray’s party tonight!

 

From the back of the club two people watched the performance quietly, sipping their drinks.  The short pale one sat back, just returning to her seat.

“You felt it,” her companion said, his voice as dark and smooth as the expensive whiskey he was drinking.

“Of course I did,” she snapped, taking a sip of her fruity peach daiquiri.  “I put the coin in his money pocket.  We should be able to trace him as long as he holds on to it.”

Her companion nodded, dark hair slipping over his shoulder.  “And then we find him.”

“Right.”  The female pulled out a cell phone and typed in a number.  “Hello, Wesley?” she said.  “Yeah.  We’re going to be a little late meeting you in LA.  Something’s come up."

 

 

"Cowboy" by Kid Rock

"Like a Virgin" by Madonna

"Wild Sex (in the Working Class)" by Oingo Boingo.  (If you haven't heard this song, you should go here to listen to it, and then buy the CD.  I'm not condoning uploading songs on the Internet... if you want to really support the group, please buy the CD.)

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  • (no subject)

    Hey,john75half , we love McNuggetinis!!! Om nom nom!!! Bigger versions up on my Facebook (god help me, I have a…

  • Octopus + shoes = ???

    This is for you, john75half!! Everyone loves octopi! Except for those people who buy cheap blackmarket shoes from them. OCTOPUS…

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    It's no secret to my friends, family members and even random strangers that I have slash goggles on like 24/7. Everything I see can be slashed, up to…