Down at the Alley Cat...
Apr. 2nd, 2022 04:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oprorsk_sodeWays to say I love you 75 "You're overworking yourself... Please take a break."
Sigurd was running himself ragged and refused to relax. Mikkel could see it and enlisted the help of his family to force him to take a break. Even Mikkel wasn’t seeing much of the bassist who appeared to be trying to manage everyone and everything. Torden was probably the one to spearhead getting Sigurd out of the hotel and venues. The manipulative older Dane was one you could count on convincing just about anyone to do anything. No one told him where they were having dinner just that he was going. The Danes would drag him if they had to, no stubborn Swede would convince them otherwise. Who knew who else they might drag along at this rate?
Mikkel on the other hand knew exactly what was going on, the innocent mastermind behind all of it. He’d been getting help from Aarne to improve his ability to look feminine and had all but mastered it by now. Aarne even helped him pick out the outfit; red leather knee high spike heeled boots, red leather hot pants that barely laced closed in the front, matching cropped red leather jacket and black bralette. Aarne had giggled excitedly while helping him get dressed on the sly.
What Sigurd didn’t know was that this restaurant was also a strip club, high class, near burlesque or showgirl in style rather than the sleazier venues Mikkel normally worked. He’d picked the perfect song for his red leather and smoky eyes, sure, it wasn’t the usual glam rock or metal, but it wasn’t meant to be. This was more about seduction or rather proving to the Swede that no matter what he did on stage there wouldn’t be anyone else. The older bassist needed that kind of wake-up call desperately.
Aarne texted him when everyone was seated at a table right up by the stage. He had no idea how Sigurd felt or would take all of this, but Mikkel ignored that fear while finishing his hair. He stepped out on that stage like a fashion model, the walk was practiced and perfect as he headed for the pole. For the moment ignoring Sigurd and everyone else, even the gasps at how feminine and thin he was. Or well, they would all think she was because that was what he did, what he portrayed and loved to be on stage.
He slung a leg around the pole, spinning and leaning back to unzip the short little jacket he wore. It was slow, tantalizing before putting his back to the pole and using sliding his back up it to pull the jacket off his shoulders. A smooth split and he came up crawling toward the table during the bass breakdown. He couldn’t see because of the intensity of his nerves. Sure, he was seeing but nothing was registering outside of what he did with his body. When he rolled on to his back, right at the table, he let his head hang over the side of the stage, but he was afraid to look and see if Sigurd was actually there with the Danes. He went about this as if he was and barely opened his eyes. He was so afraid to see anger.
He paid attention to his hands down the front of his body, the belt coming off as he arched and undid the laces of his shorts. Mikkel knew that it made Sigurd crazy, hopefully in a good way right now. He got up and heard the other people in the place. The sounds rushing in as he went back to the pole, jumping to it and spinning gracefully, legs spread before he wrapped them around to free his hands. Slowly he slid upside down to the floor with just his legs. Everything after that was a blur of people reaching for him and trying to get his attention. He ignored them as the pounding fear forced his heartbeat to drown out the sounds. The next thing he knew he was picking up his coat and heading for the back.
Mikkel took a deep breath and slid his coat back on but didn’t zip it up. Once he stepped out into the restaurant everyone wanted his attention. He held his head high, brushing them off and b-lined for the table with the Danes. He hoped Sigurd was there and hoped he would understand what it meant to see the Dane walk to him when he could have the attention of anyone else in this restaurant. It was a gamble, and he couldn’t bear to focus on the table yet, blindly navigating toward it. What if Sigurd was pissed, or walked out, or refused to be there at all? Mikkel tried to force those feelings down before it made him cry. This was supposed to be something for happiness. If Sigurd was there, then he planned to sit right in his lap in front of all these other people who wanted his attention. Mikkel wasn’t going to give it to them. Sigurd was the one that needed to see that work was just that and these people meant nothing. He needed to learn the people in the bar were no different than the groupies when the bassist was on stage.
Sigurd was running himself ragged and refused to relax. Mikkel could see it and enlisted the help of his family to force him to take a break. Even Mikkel wasn’t seeing much of the bassist who appeared to be trying to manage everyone and everything. Torden was probably the one to spearhead getting Sigurd out of the hotel and venues. The manipulative older Dane was one you could count on convincing just about anyone to do anything. No one told him where they were having dinner just that he was going. The Danes would drag him if they had to, no stubborn Swede would convince them otherwise. Who knew who else they might drag along at this rate?
Mikkel on the other hand knew exactly what was going on, the innocent mastermind behind all of it. He’d been getting help from Aarne to improve his ability to look feminine and had all but mastered it by now. Aarne even helped him pick out the outfit; red leather knee high spike heeled boots, red leather hot pants that barely laced closed in the front, matching cropped red leather jacket and black bralette. Aarne had giggled excitedly while helping him get dressed on the sly.
What Sigurd didn’t know was that this restaurant was also a strip club, high class, near burlesque or showgirl in style rather than the sleazier venues Mikkel normally worked. He’d picked the perfect song for his red leather and smoky eyes, sure, it wasn’t the usual glam rock or metal, but it wasn’t meant to be. This was more about seduction or rather proving to the Swede that no matter what he did on stage there wouldn’t be anyone else. The older bassist needed that kind of wake-up call desperately.
Aarne texted him when everyone was seated at a table right up by the stage. He had no idea how Sigurd felt or would take all of this, but Mikkel ignored that fear while finishing his hair. He stepped out on that stage like a fashion model, the walk was practiced and perfect as he headed for the pole. For the moment ignoring Sigurd and everyone else, even the gasps at how feminine and thin he was. Or well, they would all think she was because that was what he did, what he portrayed and loved to be on stage.
He slung a leg around the pole, spinning and leaning back to unzip the short little jacket he wore. It was slow, tantalizing before putting his back to the pole and using sliding his back up it to pull the jacket off his shoulders. A smooth split and he came up crawling toward the table during the bass breakdown. He couldn’t see because of the intensity of his nerves. Sure, he was seeing but nothing was registering outside of what he did with his body. When he rolled on to his back, right at the table, he let his head hang over the side of the stage, but he was afraid to look and see if Sigurd was actually there with the Danes. He went about this as if he was and barely opened his eyes. He was so afraid to see anger.
He paid attention to his hands down the front of his body, the belt coming off as he arched and undid the laces of his shorts. Mikkel knew that it made Sigurd crazy, hopefully in a good way right now. He got up and heard the other people in the place. The sounds rushing in as he went back to the pole, jumping to it and spinning gracefully, legs spread before he wrapped them around to free his hands. Slowly he slid upside down to the floor with just his legs. Everything after that was a blur of people reaching for him and trying to get his attention. He ignored them as the pounding fear forced his heartbeat to drown out the sounds. The next thing he knew he was picking up his coat and heading for the back.
Mikkel took a deep breath and slid his coat back on but didn’t zip it up. Once he stepped out into the restaurant everyone wanted his attention. He held his head high, brushing them off and b-lined for the table with the Danes. He hoped Sigurd was there and hoped he would understand what it meant to see the Dane walk to him when he could have the attention of anyone else in this restaurant. It was a gamble, and he couldn’t bear to focus on the table yet, blindly navigating toward it. What if Sigurd was pissed, or walked out, or refused to be there at all? Mikkel tried to force those feelings down before it made him cry. This was supposed to be something for happiness. If Sigurd was there, then he planned to sit right in his lap in front of all these other people who wanted his attention. Mikkel wasn’t going to give it to them. Sigurd was the one that needed to see that work was just that and these people meant nothing. He needed to learn the people in the bar were no different than the groupies when the bassist was on stage.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-09-03 07:50 pm (UTC)Mikkel screamed from the tickle of the neck kisses, giggling and starting to open Sigurd's shirt.
"You think I haven't?" Mikkel moaned among the giggles and tugging the Swede's shirt. "The way you look at me..."
(no subject)
Date: 2022-09-03 07:57 pm (UTC)"Tell me how I look at you."
Sigurd groaned and allowed Mikkel access to his shirt and all of his clothes because they would soon all be gone once they started stripping and making out.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-09-03 08:03 pm (UTC)"Like you're fucking me." Mikkel gasped. "It makes me feel naked even when I'm dressed."