Life is a stage
Jul. 14th, 2022 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oprorsk_sodeFor "What are we?" prompt 22. feeling a flutter after something they've done dozens of times
Mikkel danced most nights that the bands were on stage but no matter how many nights passed he always worried that Sigurd was going to abandon him. His mind easily imagined the Swede never coming back or convincing the tour to move on without him. Mikkel knew the thoughts were ridiculous but that didn't stop the hurt or worry. He stepped up on stage with his clicking heels. The crowd was rowdy tonight but not abusive, loud and yelling. The lights too bright to see until he got to the pole at the end of the stage. One hand on it as he glanced over the crowd. At first his heart sunk and he had to start the dance without spotting Sigurd in the crowd. Sometimes, like tonight, for no reason he felt the lump rise as if he was about to burst into tears. He was good at biting them back.
He hooked his leg on the pole and slid around it only to turn and get locked in the Swede's gaze. Sigurd must have just sat down, drink on the table and lighting a cigarette, but his eyes were on Mikkel. The Dane could feel his gaze sliding up his body as if it were his hands from a distance. Mikkel smiled and went back to dancing. He felt every bad emotion fall away now that he had proof he wasn't forgotten.
A few men offered him money and the Dane was careful how they gave him the bills. Sigurd's eyes were surely watching them closely while he fumed with his usual raging jealousy. When he stood up a waving hand caught his attention. Sigurd was standing at the edge of the stage, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a bill in his hand. Over time, Sigurd had at least started to get into the groove of a strip club; offering money, monopolizing Mikkel's time with private dances, and generally working the system.
Mikkel took advantage of the fact that Sigurd wasn't allowed to touch him. It was a game they played when he worked and as much as Sigurd acted mad over the whole thing his actions and reactions said something completely different. Mikkel turned his back on Sigurd and swayed his way down to a squat before sliding around to face Sigurd. The Swede's eyes were wide and the cigarette nearly falling out of him mouth. Mikkel took that cigarette, taking the lewdest drag from it before offering it back to the Swede. Even though the other bassist wore lipstick too, he managed the most put out eye roll at the print of pink on the end.
Mikkel leaned in closer, pretending he was about to kiss his partner. The other men in the bar howling over the eroticism in Mikkel's behavior. That all faded away to the background when Sigurd's lips touched his. It was barely a kiss, the kind people might mistake for simply being very close. The Dane knew those lips touched because his whole inside space fluttered. It didn't matter how many times Sigurd kissed him. The first one when they met up or woke up or walked into the same room caused his insides to somersault and tremble.
Mikkel knelt down all the way to the very edge of the stage, body nearly against the Swede's chest. The little jacket slid off his shoulders. The Swede was already tucking one of the bills into his bralette, fingers lingering on the skin too long. Another flutter of lust.. attraction.. love? Raced through his body. Mikkel had no idea what the feeling was but as it spread across his chest the skin flushed pink.
“Brat...”
Mikkel pushed a finger to Sigurd's lips to silence him. “Later.” He whispered before slipping away to finish on stage. Everytime he caught a glimpse of Sigurd's hungry and pissed off gaze the fluttering rushed back. Every night, every dance. Every time he caught sight of Sigurd's eyes glued to him it happened, his whole insides fluttered as fast as his heartbeat.
Mikkel danced most nights that the bands were on stage but no matter how many nights passed he always worried that Sigurd was going to abandon him. His mind easily imagined the Swede never coming back or convincing the tour to move on without him. Mikkel knew the thoughts were ridiculous but that didn't stop the hurt or worry. He stepped up on stage with his clicking heels. The crowd was rowdy tonight but not abusive, loud and yelling. The lights too bright to see until he got to the pole at the end of the stage. One hand on it as he glanced over the crowd. At first his heart sunk and he had to start the dance without spotting Sigurd in the crowd. Sometimes, like tonight, for no reason he felt the lump rise as if he was about to burst into tears. He was good at biting them back.
He hooked his leg on the pole and slid around it only to turn and get locked in the Swede's gaze. Sigurd must have just sat down, drink on the table and lighting a cigarette, but his eyes were on Mikkel. The Dane could feel his gaze sliding up his body as if it were his hands from a distance. Mikkel smiled and went back to dancing. He felt every bad emotion fall away now that he had proof he wasn't forgotten.
A few men offered him money and the Dane was careful how they gave him the bills. Sigurd's eyes were surely watching them closely while he fumed with his usual raging jealousy. When he stood up a waving hand caught his attention. Sigurd was standing at the edge of the stage, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a bill in his hand. Over time, Sigurd had at least started to get into the groove of a strip club; offering money, monopolizing Mikkel's time with private dances, and generally working the system.
Mikkel took advantage of the fact that Sigurd wasn't allowed to touch him. It was a game they played when he worked and as much as Sigurd acted mad over the whole thing his actions and reactions said something completely different. Mikkel turned his back on Sigurd and swayed his way down to a squat before sliding around to face Sigurd. The Swede's eyes were wide and the cigarette nearly falling out of him mouth. Mikkel took that cigarette, taking the lewdest drag from it before offering it back to the Swede. Even though the other bassist wore lipstick too, he managed the most put out eye roll at the print of pink on the end.
Mikkel leaned in closer, pretending he was about to kiss his partner. The other men in the bar howling over the eroticism in Mikkel's behavior. That all faded away to the background when Sigurd's lips touched his. It was barely a kiss, the kind people might mistake for simply being very close. The Dane knew those lips touched because his whole inside space fluttered. It didn't matter how many times Sigurd kissed him. The first one when they met up or woke up or walked into the same room caused his insides to somersault and tremble.
Mikkel knelt down all the way to the very edge of the stage, body nearly against the Swede's chest. The little jacket slid off his shoulders. The Swede was already tucking one of the bills into his bralette, fingers lingering on the skin too long. Another flutter of lust.. attraction.. love? Raced through his body. Mikkel had no idea what the feeling was but as it spread across his chest the skin flushed pink.
“Brat...”
Mikkel pushed a finger to Sigurd's lips to silence him. “Later.” He whispered before slipping away to finish on stage. Everytime he caught a glimpse of Sigurd's hungry and pissed off gaze the fluttering rushed back. Every night, every dance. Every time he caught sight of Sigurd's eyes glued to him it happened, his whole insides fluttered as fast as his heartbeat.
