North Shore

by Santino Hassell

  “After he stole your idea for dance lessons and gave it to those straight bitches,” Charles muttered, still doing crunches. “Fuck that place.”

  “Agreed, but I need the cash.” I tickled his side with the tip of my sneaker and smiled at his fierce warning glare. With his curly hair sweaty and skin flushed, he was utterly fuckable. Summer had come in like an inferno, and we’d both been sweltering while practicing together. It should have been uncomfortable, but seeing him red-faced and drenched was a turn on and a half. “Dame un besito, lindo. I’m late.”

  Charles heaved a big sigh and drew up to his knees. He pushed his lower lip out, gazing at me coyly from beneath his lashes. “Are you sure you don’t want to just… tell them you’re physically ill and stay home with me?”

  “I’d love to stay home with you.” I ran a hand through his damp hair before twisting it between my fingers. “I’d fuck you and feed you all night. But money is a thing, doll face. You should know. You’ve been busting ass giving lessons to the little mafia prince on Todt Hill for the past few weeks.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, but that might slow down. His mom fired his old instructor, and he has some recital soon. Although, she’s been bragging about me on her social media.”

  “Yeah, I think she wants you to be her gay bestie.”

  “I can be her best gay dance teacher for her and her rich friends.” Charles rubbed his face against my t-shirt, looking like a cat begging to be pet. “I know the cash is good. I’m just needy.”

  “I like it when you’re needy.” I tilted his face up and my playfulness faded when I saw his moodiness was legit. “You could come, you know. I love it when you watch me perform.”

  Charles shrugged one shoulder. “I dunno about all that.”

  “C’mon. What else are you gonna do tonight?” I pressed my thumb against his lips. “You’re still on a commuting strike so I know you won’t be going into the city to see your friends.”

  “I’m going to practice, for your information,” he huffed. “Have you forgotten my first show is next week?”

  “How could I? Literally all you do is teach tiny mafia spawn to dance, workout, and practice.”

  “I also suck your cock quite a bit.”

  My dick twitched at the words. Because… yes. Yes, he did. I was halfway surprised he wasn’t trying to get my shorts down so he could blow me right now, because that had become our routine. It was usually so standard before I left for work that I’d started wondering if it was his way of branding me before I went to get naked for other people.

  I kinda liked the idea.

  “Kiss me,” I repeated, voice gone hoarse. “Before I fuck your brains out and end up late.”

  Charles sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, but leaned up to brush his lips to mine. One touch, and I dug my fingers into his hair even tighter so I could slide my tongue into his mouth. He went from lazy to attentive in an instance, and kissed me like there was a war on the other side of my apartment door. Like he’d never see me again, and he had to pour his everything into this last embrace.

  “You’re fucking addicting,” I whispered. “And a menace. Now I’m gonna be at work all fucking turned on for the next few hours.”

  Something flickered in Charles’ expression. “I guess you’ll have to hold out.”

  I looked at him sidelong, then flicked his nose. “No shit. What else would I do?”

  “I’m sure some thirsty fuck would love to have you grind all over—”

  I shut him up with another kiss, and bit his lower lip as I pulled away. “You behave yourself, and I’ll eat your ass later.”

  “You’ll do that anyway.”

  He had my number, so I just flashed a smile and stepped away. “See you later, sexy.”

  Charles flopped back on the floor and crinkled his fingers in a wave. He watched me as I shut the door, and I felt a little twinge at closing it on him. And what a weird ass thing to feel bad about. We weren’t that codependent already, were we? My reluctance bordered on ‘no, you hang up first!’ lovesick nonsense.

  I pondered on whether this was a terrible thing as I jogged towards the bus stop, and decided that it wasn’t. Considering I’d never been this into someone, I was going to enjoy every second and symptom ranging from my ridiculous joy of sharing meals with him to cuddling him when we fell asleep together after sex.

  My entire commute to Male Revue was spent with me thinking of Charles instead of my routines. After being iced out by my supervisors when it came to my own idea, I’d pretty much ran out of fucks when it came to putting real effort in. My new plan was to save my energy for Man-dated Attraction, and give my supervisor what he wanted at MR. Instead of rocking the stage with actual dancing and real showmanship, I’d twerk my way to dollar bills like the rest of the bros and stop trying to reinvent the wheel by turning Male Revue into a burlesque show.

  The upside was that I was spending less time practicing for this instead of the burlesque performances that required me to always be on my A-game. I’d even redone my stripping schtick so my boxer routine was exclusive to Man-dated, whereas I now wore whatever costumes looked good on me when stripping. Well, except for hot cop thing. I wasn’t ever gonna go down that fucking road.

  My routines were less exciting to me personally now when I stripped, but there was no way to deny that the customers liked it. My whole bit was more sensual and tempting, and the bills thrown on the stage and tucked into my jockstrap had grown larger. Also, I was guessing the pole dancing and fake humping made me more inviting because I suddenly had way more requests for lap dances and private performances in side rooms.

  It really was not my thing, but my money had tripled and my savings for the gym were growing. I was starting to think we would have enough saved to rent a place by the fall instead of the end of the year like we’d initially projected. The very idea of it caused a flood of excitement to go through me. What had seemed impossible by myself was not an actual reality with a partner.

  It still bugged me to have watered down my act, though. It reminded me of what Charles had described about his experience on the cruise, despite my life now being easier. Riley, my Male Revue manager, and the other dancers had quit passive aggressively commenting on my performances, and I was less exhausted after work.

  The commute passed quickly, and then I was at the club and changing into some random firefighter getup Duffy had procured for me.

  “You look like you’re in a good mood,” Riley said, appearing in the grungy locker room. “I like the suspenders.”

  “Thanks bud.” I snapped one at him, grinning. “The crowd seems into seeing me in uniform.”

  “That they do.” Riley looked me over slowly, glanced around, then stepped closer. “Listen kid, I like what you’ve been doing lately. Talk to me later about those dance lessons you mentioned before. I did a test launch with Mitch and Abel, and I’ve had people request you.”

  Dollar signs exploded before my eyes. I nodded vigorously, trying not to smirk too obviously at him finally acknowledging it had been my fucking idea. “Hell yes. I could really use the extra cash. I was going to ask you about picking up another day.”

  “This might make you more money than dancing,” Riley admitted. “You were right—it was a good idea. And people are into your salsaton thing.”

  I totally ignored his horrific pronunciation and flashed a thumbs up. “Just let me know when.”

  We parted ways with me feeling fucking buoyant. For the first time in a long time, I told myself that things were fast tracking in the right direction. I was always confident, but now I was feeling it for reasons other than my own belief that things would be okay if I busted my ass with the right kind of energy.

  With my mood bolstered, and hope putting a smile on my face, I was in rare form once it was my turn on the stage. Instead of worrying about steps and moves and timing, I put on one of the filthiest shows I’d performed since I’d started working at the club. And the audience ate. it. Up
.

  If all it took to get hundreds thrown at me was me humping the stage and grinding my dick against the pole after twerking in people’s faces with my jockstrap nearly pulled off, I could do it. It helped that I now tended to blank out the crowd and think of Charles while I was dancing. I thought of what I’d do if I was dancing for him, and I did it, even if it meant pushing the boundaries by fondling myself every now and again. Fantasizing about him while caressing my bulge was enough to get me hard in an instant, and the audience liked seeing my erect dick print.

  At the end of my second set, one of the suits was panting like a dog at the edge of the stage. He was younger than most of the usual suit crowd, and kind of reminded me of Charles’ friend. He’d also been the one throwing hundreds at me, so I wasn’t surprised when one of the shot boys tracked me down to inform me that the guy had requested a lap dance. Cha-ching.

  I agreed to do it after my break and peered out into the club to find where the guy was sitting. Instead of setting eyes on him, my gaze magnetized to someone leaning against the bar. Charles. He seemed to glance in my direction then pushed away from the bar to head to the bathroom.

  Surprise mixed with excitement. Aside from that one time with his friends, he’d never come to a show no matter how many times I’d invited him. It was probably a bad idea to follow him into the toilets, especially since I had a customer waiting on me for a lap dance, but I had zero ability to resist greeting my man. We’d been in each other’s lives for over two months now, and seeing him jumpstarted my heart with just as much electricity as it had the first time I’d pressed up against him.

  I took a detour around the club, trying to stay discreet, and followed him. Two dancers had hit the stage together—Bruno and Isaak, the queer twins—so the audience was suitably distracted and the bathroom was empty except for me and Charles. I leaned against the door, grinning at the sight of him leaning into the mirror to examine his face. He probably wasn’t trying to look like porn, but the sight of his ass in his usual tight pants gave me instant wood.

  “Hey beautiful,” I said, coming up behind him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Charles’ dark eyes flicked up to my reflection. He didn’t smile, but there was fire in that gaze of his, and not the sexy kind.

  My hands froze on his hips, my smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

  He stood up straight and turned so he was leaning against the sink. I could see him trying to force his face into a grin, to put some lightness into the thunderclouds gathering on his brow, but there was no point. By now, I knew him. I possibly even knew him better than friends he’d had long before we’d met. And I could sense that the tension crackling between us had nothing to do with our usual clothing-optional attraction. This was anger. This was jealousy. This was a potential disaster.

  “Nothing,” he lied, finally managing a taut smile. “You were—”

  “Don’t lie. What’s wrong?”

  A muscle in his cheek ticked. “Why bother to push me into something I obviously don’t want to talk about?”

  I pressed my body to his, bracing my hands on the sink behind him. “Why bother to lie when I can see the pending explosion behind those pretty eyes of yours?”

  Charles glanced at the door then back to me. His nostrils flared on an exhale that was slow enough to spell out just how much he was trying to control himself. “I shouldn’t have come here. I knew it was a bad idea, and I still did it because I’m a fucking idiot.”

  “Or because you want to support your man.” I scanned his face as the music pounded on the other side of the door. “Why’re you mad? You knew what I do here.”

  Charles clenched his jaw again. “Right. I did. But I was picturing the type of dancing you did when I first came with Ashton and them, not you basically fucking the stage and jerking off for them.”

  Defensiveness cracked through me in a lightning bolt. My head jerked back. “Wow. Okay.”

  “Am I wrong? Is that not what you were doing?”

  “No, you’re not wrong.”

  Charles took another deep breath. “So, what’s next? Private dances in the back? Lap dances?”

  Each word came out in a low deep growl that punched into my chest with every syllable. I couldn’t think of a response at first, not while staring into his pissed off face. And when he clamped his hands on my shoulders, fingers digging in possessively, the ability to speak further fled. His territorial rage was having an odd effect on me. As in, I wanted to be defensive even while my dick hardened.

  “Charles—”

  “Just answer.”

  I licked my lips nervously. Fuck, he was mad. And now I was doubting myself. Should I have told him I’d changed my act? That I was now writhing against strangers while they basically creamed themselves in response? Why had I invited him here without warning him of what he’d see? More importantly, how would I have reacted if I’d busted in on him doing the same with no warning?

  “Baby, I’m just trying to make money to get the fuck out of here,” I said softly. “You know that.”

  The tension in Charles’ lean frame released so rapidly that he slumped against me. He was a marionette with its strings cut, his face falling and eyes dropping to the floor. Embarrassment and shame practically oozed out of him, and I hated it. I hated it so much that I lifted his chin and kissed him despite knowing this was the wrong place and the wrong time. Or was it? Was there ever a bad time for me to remind him that I would do anything for him? That he was my number one? That I was falling in love with him?

  After a beat of resistance, Charles opened his lips for me. We kissed sweetly, like we were introducing ourselves to each other for the first time, while holding each other in a loose hug. Then he flicked his tongue against my lower lip, and my dick woke up yet again. A sweet kiss caught fire, and then we were all over each other.

  I forgot that we were in the dim bathroom of Male Revue, that the booming bass from the music beyond the door meant I was at work, and that losing myself in Charles’ touch wasn’t the best plan. I moaned into his mouth when he scraped his short blunt nails down my bared back, and thrust against his crotch when I felt his dick getting harder.

  We’d just been together earlier, just fucked this morning, but the red tide of jealousy and rage had washed those recent memories away. My body reacted to his like this thing between us was new, and I had to show him just how much I needed and wanted him all over again. I tongued him until I was panting harshly, and didn’t stop him when he reached down to fumble with my borrowed firefighter pants. They were already too large on my narrow hips, so they sagged below my ass once they were undone.

  A breathless groan caught in my throat once he shoved my jock to the side to free my erection and swollen balls. He grabbed my shaft with a grip so tight that my eyes rolled and my toes curled in my boots. I wanted to touch him too, to jerk him while he choked my cock in his strong hand, but I lost my mind as he pumped while sucking on my tongue.

  He jacked me so fast and viciously that it was clear he was trying to get me off quick. I was so focused on the electricity racing through my veins, and the climax building in my gut, that I forgot why. It wasn’t until I came with a loud oh fuck, yeah as the door swung open did I remember why this was a really bad idea.

  North Shore, ch 20

  Chapter Twenty

  Charles

  I got him fired.

  The thought had been on repeat in my head since Luis had been dragged to the office by his manager and dismissed from the club’s premises not even fifteen minutes later. It’d gotten louder as he’d quietly told me that he’d broken the rules by having sex in the club, and that having sex with a “customer” had been the nails in his coffin.

  When he’d stared at the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and jaw clenched, and let me call an Uber instead of commuting, my brain had started screaming.

  Your fault, jealous bitch.

  Your insecurity is why he even felt like he had to touch you.

  You
knew you shouldn’t have gone.

  You knew he’d stepped up his game to make faster money.

  You know Luis would never sleep with someone else, and you acted like a fucking idiot anyway.

  You got him fired.

  You’re a piece of shit.

  You should end this now.

  That I was going rancid from guilt and stricken silent from self-loathing instead of apologizing to Luis on the ride home was yet another ticked box on the “you’re fucking worthless” checklist.

  One glance at his tense body, his eyes slit and focused out the window while he rubbed his stubbled jaw, seemed enough to confirm all my doubts. I’d fucked up beyond all repair. I’d ruined everything. My jealous had gotten him fired, cost him a job that had allowed him to bring in nearly two thousand a week by dancing four days a week. I had no idea how any of this worked, by my brain was cranking out all the ways this was a disaster.

  Could he get a job dancing somewhere else?

  Would his manager even give him a reference?

  How would he make money now? What were his other answers?

  Was his dream of having his own gym indefinitely on hold?

  By the time the Uber pulled up in front of the house, I was ready to puke. I needed to get the fuck away from everyone, hole up in my apartment, and never look anyone in the face again. I practically jumped out of the car, ran up the stairs, and fumbled with my keys to unlock the door. My hands were shaking again, just as badly as they had the night Landon had left that note, but this time Luis didn’t come up behind me.

  He didn’t speak or touch me. He didn’t do anything, even when I barreled into the vestibule and immediately went to my own apartment. We’d stopped locking the bottom doors since we’d basically been going between our apartments interchangeably for the past month, so there was nothing to stop me from sprinting up the stairs.

  Luis did not follow.

  My breath ripped out of me in harsh pants as self-loathing tumbled downhill and slowly became rage. Pure blinding rage aimed at myself.