enneagrams | hawk/fiero

[ every shift at the cave comes with new surprises and newer challenges. very rarely do the dancers themselves have to engage with clients, but to increase high dollar client rentention? they've started doling out check-up texts for their expensive regulars.

fiyero isn't new to the club - he's been dancing his way through school for a year now but it's come at a cost. the cave, a divey strip bar with a myriad of genders, faces, bodies, sizes. a year he's been here and he's done well to garner the attention of some of their more exclusive clients. a quiet smile, a little shake of his ass, and purring compliment and it's easy to have them begging to stuff dollars into the thin lines of his thong or jock strap.

it's no different now as he sits at the bar cross legged, dressed in some flimsy, near transparent silk shirt and some tight short-shorts that reveal the long and strong legs he's known for. well, that and his flexibility.

he's heard tales of the man whose name is scribbled on the card. a stoic, private, quiet type with all the bravado and confidence to knock down the club with his impact if he tried. hawkins fuller, a man who was previously taken up with one of their bar tenders. mickey? marcus? he can't place it. the guy left to pursue journalism once the club paid him enough to get him out the door. so he taps away on his phone: ]

i've been told you're looking to book a private soiree.
qill it be for your enjoyment only or should we expect a rowdy and raucous group?
qt just so happens q know a boy or two who might be able to squeeze in a little time for you.
but only if you tell them to. can't have all the fun now can you?

[the cave is a convenient hop, skip, and a jump from work when he needs a last minute spot that's a happy marriage between just above board and seedy with good liquor to entice loose lips and gather the intel he needs for senator smith's meteoric, eventual rise to president. hawk's no stranger to getting his hands dirty over the years to keep smith's clean, which is why he even started coming here in the first place. or well, he supposes that's not entirely true. he started coming here because it was the perfect mix of toned boys and plausible deniability among the women, civilized entertainers who knew the merits of a well-placed wink and shimmy into someone's lap for a good time.

never too good, though. no happy endings, as far as he can tell. and that suits him just fine, seeing as hawk's never had to pay to go hunting, and he sure as shit isn't going to start now in this political climate.

so the text he gets has him frowning mildly, knowing he's never left any real calling card nor is he likely to pencil in any standing appointments. it's more of an as-is basis, spur of the moment. but he supposes inflation has hit everyone hard and it's not that outrageous to expect marcus might have put in a good word now that he's on the up and up as a traitor to politicians everywhere (affectionately, of course - like hawk doesn't give him a quarter of the tips outing scumbags and ruining unsavory policies when he has the chance).

it goes unanswered while he's in a meeting with smith and smarmy dave lonnigan who has been to the cave on more than one occasion and been asked to leave for sticky fingers and lingering hands. scott mcleod is nowhere to be seen, typical. only when he's out in the courtyard with a cigarette dangling from his mouth a few hours later does he respond, curious about the angle.]

I hate to leave a good boy hanging, but I'm a busy man. The company I keep is awfully hard to nail down.

But I like a good, stiff whiskey and a warmed lap every now and then.

Who told you, by the way?

Edited 2024-12-18 02:43 (UTC)

[ the hint of rejection sits uneasy in his stomach. he knows that his boss is expecting answers, expecting enthusiastic yesses and the promise of more money. this one doesn’t bode well. he nurses his mocktail at the bar, careful what he drinks to keep in good form for class. ]

thankfully i know a good boy who can do both
maybe even you all the whiskey you want

[ he’s so bad at this, jesus. it’s so much easier in person. ]

my boss was curious
said you have a friend who asked on your behalf
somehow our paths haven’t crossed
it could be fun to change that ;)

Edited 2024-12-18 16:07 (UTC)

[well, hawk can read between the lines. they either want something from him specifically, as a greased palm on the way to the big house a few blocks down...or they just want extra cash. he remembers what it was like during the crash, the way customers whittled down and dollar bills flooding the floor from thick bands dried up like the goddamn sahara. hawk can only hope they're not heading in that direction, but the lack of a name makes it feel slippery. clandestine, or straight up bullshit.

he taps a bit of ash to the ground, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips and sucking while typing out another response one-handed.]

Do you now.

I guess I could come by for a round. I don't have many friends there, so you'll have to be more specific.

Never met your boss, and presumably you, but - fortune favors the bold, don't they say?

i do. next time you visit, ask for fiyero.
he'll take care of you as long as you're in ;)

you were recommended by a former bartender.
we don't like to kiss and tell though he said you would know him
he said his name was langston but i think he was before my time.
he seemed very fond of you.

Fiyero. Got it. And does he know my name and face, or do I get to surprise him?

Huh. I think I know the guy. Real shame to see him go - he made a hell of a martini.

[marcus. he remembers that damn poem - blood and gold, something or other, that he used to pontificate about when the clients bought him enough drinks. he remembers when he'd recited it to one of the other entertainers, frankie, before they grew engrossed in a conversation like no one else was even in the room. he's a smart guy. he's also responsible for a solid chunk of intel hawk's used to dismantle his political enemies. he doesn't make connections like this by chance.]

What time tomorrow, doll? You free after 7?

he was a favorite.
we suspect he ran off to be a journalist.
he would be very good at it.

[ something about the man acquiescing to the request feels like victory but paired with the pet name - doll. classic, almost older. he wonders if this is one of the aged, silver foxes he’s seen tucked into one of the corners. ]

anytime works for me
i’m at your service after all
after seven is great if it pleases you

Sounds like a hell of a guy. You like journalists? They're in my line of work. Usually not for any good reason.

[at his service. if hawk was a lesser man, he might hold fiyero to that and wonder what the limit is. fortunately for them both, he's not, so he takes it as a mere flirtation instead.]

Yeah, it pleases me.

[his cigarette is almost done, but he fires off another message all the same because he can't quite resist.]

And what pleases you? Don't say a fat wad of bills - I'll have that covered.

I like a man with a little bit of brain behind his braun.
Some journalists could qualify.
Using more than four letter words or grunts is an added bonus.

What pleases me?
A little fun. Surprises.
I could sit on your lap all night but I’d rather dance.
For you. With you.
Maybe let you get your hands on my waist.
We’re not breaking any rules if you touch while we’re dancing, you know.
Most men are too afraid to take a chance.

Edited 2024-12-26 06:34 (UTC)

Some, but I find the reverse is just as true. Can't believe everything you read, you know? Otherwise half of us would be lizards in big meat suits around the Pentagon.

Bet you get a lot of those. Don't worry sweetheart, I'm good at small talk and even better at using my brain.

I don't know that you want to see my dancing - all I remember are a few waltzes from cotillion days, which makes me sound like a snob. But I'll be my moves have got nothing on yours, so you'll have to show me.

And this is the part where most men say they aren't like most men, right? Don't worry, I'll spare you the eyeroll. Look and touch, I got it.

It does make you sound like a snob but I don't mind it. Not if you wear a nice suit. Sounds like you do.
You must have the best manners in town, Mr. Cotillion.
I look forward to seeing your box step.

Smart and smooth. Look and touch all you want.
I get off my shift at 8, so I hope cotillion taught you to be punctual. ;)

Well, I shudder to think what the rest of your clientele is wearing if it isn't suits.

Yeah, you wanna know how to properly crack open a lobster or which fork goes with filet in a dozen different countries, I'm your guy.

How about a lindy hop instead?

Naturally. See you at 7, Fiyero.

[hawk's there before seven.

mostly because he wants to get the lay of the land first - ask around about this guy before he meets him one on one. everyone raves about his show, and more than that - they all go practically cross-eyed at the mere mention of him, like he's some sex god on legs or a hero straight out of a jane austen novel. seems like a small miracle he's never caught sight of him, or heard of him before this, but then again he hasn't been around as much now that he doesn't have to get his tips from marcus with a side of dollar bills stuffed down a thong.

he's nursing a cigarette outside until seven, clad in a neat navy pinstripe suit with a blood red and blue jacquard silk tie knotted at his throat and a heavy wool coat over his shoulders. maybe he should have come earlier to see the show everyone's raving about, but a promise is a promise. at seven on the dot he makes his way to the bar, glancing over his shoulder for the man of the hour, curious what he'll look like. hopefully handsome, with dark hair and a toned body befitting of his alleged aerobics and bendy abilities that precede him.]

Suits, jazz, and good manners.
Consider me very impressed.
I'll see you at 7, sir.

[ but the club is surprisingly busy for a thursday night. even fiyero after he sends the messages and runs off to class for a little while, when he worms his way back to the employee entrance he can hear quite a bit of noise from out front. a welcome surprise, really, but even his fellow dancers coo and tease at him for his surprise personal invite tonight.

(of course his boss has told everyone, made him the bar to be met. annoying that even here he is nothing but a prize pony to be paraded around).

but the time draws close to 7 and fiyero leaves a table of talkative business men to get prepped for his dance - a ten minute slot starting minutes before 7 PM. some lights shift on the little stage and illuminates a pole hanging, not secured to the ground. fiyero, dressed in an oversized button down that falls low past his strong thighs, his neck and shoulders drapped in a tie that's half-undone, slowly walks out on the stage. the crowd cheers as the playful music begins and fiyero teases the crowd with a few buttons here and there. a tie wrapped around a man's neck for the tease and taunt of it. he bends over the stage just enough that the hard muscle of his thighs and ass show from beneath the shirt - only tight, tiny leather shorts beneath.

some of his act is dance, all bendy mobility where we peels himself out of his clothes, coy and playful until he's left only in his black, leather shorts. the other portion on the aerial pole, where he twists and contorts, showing off the long lines of his body in all angles and shapes, thighs twisted round the pole. if hawk watches, the blue of his own eyes seeks his from the bar, a knowing little smirk and wink offered as he finishes the routine.

there are plenty of bills thrown on the stage and even as he steps down all sweaty and mussed, many more tossed and tucked into the waistband of his shorts. he works the crowd to be sure he's gotten all the money offered up - sweaty bills and sweatier hands - and disappears briefly backstage.

he returns in the same shorts, but with a mesh, black tank on top and combat boots instead and it's not hard to miss hawk at the bar. handsome, strong-jawed, elegant and poised and wholly unreadable. he'd seen him while he danced and that had been enough. and so with a charming grin he moves to take up a place at the bar beside him. he leans over, coy. ]

Sorry, I like this song, but I'm afraid no one here seems to know any variation of the lindy lop. Do you?

[it'd be a lie to say the entertainment here hadn't caught his eye more than once. there's a certain appreciation hawk has for the male form, every taut pull of muscle and dip of hard-earned strength on a body that looks made for sin. strong, sturdy - capable of handling someone equally built and wanting to see that same form fall apart under rough hands and sure strokes. there's nothing sentimental about any of it - purely physical, simmering in lust and animal attraction that ends the moment the deed is done and someone opens their mouth to ask if he'd like to stay the night. why ruin a good thing with talk? even if they weren't in a city of snakes, dc isn't the only place where talk is cheap, and the things hawk usually ends up paying for just aren't.

so yeah, he's seen his fair share of shows at the cave. women in shimmering crystals and fringe and tassels spinning around a pole as elegantly as if they were on a cotillion floor. men that look more ready for an olympics game with their backflips and impossible splits than the stage littered with cash in front of an equally hungry audience. most of the time he's a polite distance away, plying his guests with drinks and banking on their distractions to get answers or promises for senator smith at the most advantageous moment. but tonight he's up close from where he sits at the bar and sans any distraction other than trying to catch a glimpse of the man of the hour before he takes the stage. the place is old school in a way hawk respects, mainly because there's little to no social media presence for him to look up if this guy is even remotely close to his type. then again - a warm body in his lap is just that.

but his throat runs dry the minute he sees backlighting against a pair of the most shapely legs he's ever seen - thighs thick and calves looking hand-carved like something out of one of washington's many museums rich with history and greek gods. the charisma is impossible to ignore, the cheeky expressions, the effervescence that bubbles up out of him in a way that makes hawk feel rooted to the spot and unable to look away in the terrible thought of missing even a moment. there's raw sex appeal oozing from every toss of his head back, the errant strands of blonde highlights whipped away from his forehead. the physicality of his routine doesn't go unnoticed - the power it must take for him to gracefully twist his body without a pole rooted in place and as easy as if he weren't breaking a sweat up there.

he's not so stupid to think fiyero's looking at him as he performs - that's up there with thinking the waitresses up the street are actually interested at the politicians that they chat up for better tips - but he'd swear his gaze is fixed in his direction several times. it's disappointing that it ends seemingly so quickly, but hawk drains his whiskey and waits to see if he'll emerge, wondering if he'll be mobbed by the greedy hands that are all begging to touch and dote on him. there's not a long wait though, and hawk finds himself turning to meet a pair of brilliant blue eyes and a grin that's equally contagious. fuck, he's gorgeous. hawk leans in conspiratorially, tipping his head and arching his body to close the space between them and make it clear this is a private conversation.]

You're in luck, but I think you're the one who might be teaching me a move or two tonight.

Fiyero, huh? [his gaze rakes blatantly from head to toe, back up with a wry twist of his own lips.] We better get going if we want you on your merry way by 8.

[ hawk leans into his space and fiyero stands his ground, tipping his chin up just enough to get a better look at the cool blue of his eyes. he's even more handsome up close, something he hadn't fully anticipated when he'd been told that this man would be his contact. he tilts his head to one side, grin turning into a coy little smile, a loopy wave falling over his forehead, still a little damp with sweat from his dance. ]

You must be Hawk.

[ there's a thrill when the man looks him up and down, a shift of weight from one foot to the other to swivel his hips, show the ripple of muscle in his thighs. it's all muscle memory, autopilot, but in this instance he wants hawk to see - wants him to desire him. it's only supposed to be a private dance and even up this close where he can smell expensive whiskey and aftershave, he wonders how those broad hands would feel pressed around his waist. ]

And here I was hoping you'd teach me a thing or two, but I'm sure we can share tricks of the trade.

[ he huffs and reaches up to smooth down hawk's tie, press at a button to make sure his suit shirt stays crisp and fresh. ]

There's a room for us, would you like me to lead the way? [ any other man he might grab by the hand, by the arm, guide them and parade them through the crowd, empty minded and all playacting but there's a heat under his skin at the way hawk just looks at him. ]

Unless you'd rather, of course. The dance floor is busy tonight but I don't know if we'll have the space for a lindy hop. [ fiyero steps a little closer to him, slotting himself between the bend of his knees on the barstool, a hand falling to rest against hawk's thigh. ] We'd have to come up with another dance - we'd be very close.

Guilty as charged. Not that I'm complaining, but I'm surprised you went out of your way to invite me here. Looks like you've got plenty of takers.

[hawk tips his head to the very obvious clusters of audience members that are staring, dazed and dreamily, very much focused on fiyero and whispering nervously about whether or not they should approach him. it wouldn't have been hard for him to pick up someone - or several someones - for some private dances, at least if cash and quantity over quality was the name of the game. but marcus wouldn't have given him the referral if it was just that, or at least...he wouldn't have wanted to arrange a meeting for anything other than a problem that couldn't be gleaned from just skimming the surface, and definitely wasn't just about a pretty face. his friend wasn't nearly that generous, even if it's quite a nice bonus this time around.

but if desire is the name of the game - it's already won, especially when fiyero deigns to run fingers along his tie, the sensation of it warm against his chest and blooming the sudden need for more of that. the best part of it is that hawk's been told he gets to touch too - so what the hell are they waiting for?]

I'd hate to get in anyone's way. And frankly, I'm not much for sharing with prying eyes - call it old habits dying hard. I'm a private man and all.

[he's not sure what possesses him - the way his fingers traipse down a muscled forearm, lingering at the wrist rested atop his thigh as it flexes under the other man's grip. he slides his own hand under fiyero's palm, lifting the back of his hand to his lips for a quick press of them before he's up off his barstool and extending his hand to guide the other man off too. all he knows is that he wants to have those thighs around his legs, to have him in his lap whispering in that delicious accent against his ear and showing off just how bendy he can be beyond the stage.]

Go on then - show me where else we can get close all by ourselves, doll.

[his brows bounce again with expectancy, that easy smirk ever-present at the corner of his mouth. at least he's having fun, even if he's not much for all the attention they seem to have both garnered now.]

Edited 2025-02-25 05:17 (UTC)

[ fiyero doesn't even pass the onlookers a glance - he ignores the greedy eyes and the desperate men drooling after him. it's easy to forget they exist when he's pressed close to pleasant company. usually he doesn't allow things like this, doesn't lean into the fantasy of it, but the fingers along his arm to his wrist - gentle, really, but also commanding in their own way - send a ripple of chills up his spine. ]

Despite my show, I prefer a more private setting myself. I like attention, but only so much.

[ he grins, tilting his head and flipping his hair out of his eyes, expecting hawk to be eager and chase him. but there he is - standing and - kissing the back of his hand? he's grateful it's dark in the evening of the club for the way his cheeks warm just a touch. he curls his fingers around hawk's, giving him a little tug as he steps past him.

he guides him through the club, some of the men calling his name or whistling, some glaring at hawk as they pass by. he rounds a corner to a hallway with doors painted elegantly, each with an antique number. fiyero is lucky to have one that's his alone - and he opens the door, standing just inside so that when hawk passes through he has to do so with their bodies nearly touching. ]

I hope my humble abode will satisfy your taste. [ he grins a little. ] Though if you're looking for glitter and last night's booze I'm certain we could find another. Though it's hard to say what we might find inside.

[ the room itself is simple - an elegant booth, there's a bar cart with a smattering of liquors and mixers. there's a pole to one side with its own booth, as well as other toys hanging on the wall. ]

GRAPHIC TBD

on a scale of one to no
do you think i could get away with sneaking one of the dancers into my room
he's really very sweet and he asked so politely

Could you? Yes.

Will you? No.

maybe it’s an ask forgiveness later situation
i should be allowed SOME perks
i dont wish to be sequestered like a sad celibate nun the whole of my career
it would be a disservice to so many!

Look, I’m not your publicist, Mr. Tigelaar. I’m just here to ensure you make it to and from the stage in one piece.

The less risks you take with strangers and extra guests, the better.

can't you help me make it to and from the stage with a guest?
they'll practically be glued to me - it's a two for one!

you're truly no fun.
who hired you again? my manager?

[ not that fiyero would ever consider firing hawk - he's too good at his job and despite the whining, he really does like the guy. ]

Edited (u saw nothing) 2025-02-27 04:37 (UTC)

Yeah, your manager. After about twenty alarming letters and an explosive set of flowers.

It's my job to keep you safe. Everyone else but you and I are wildcards, far as I'm concerned.

Actually, let me amend that: everyone but me is a wildcard. I know how you get.

Which dancer is it anyway?

at least i'm a very fun and sometimes predictable wild card.
i know you can guess the dancer all on your own, that's how predictable i am.
i would love to see if you get it right. if you do, i'll be good and listen.
if you don't, then i simply must be a wildcard, mr. fuller.

Are you even taking this seriously at all? I know they don't want to give you the details because they think it'll be better for your performances and keeping you in the dark - but it's not something to laugh at. By the looks of it, it's escalating. And I know that's why I'm here and all, but you've got to be more aware. It's not funny, Fiyero.

Predictability will just make it easier for this creep.

Don't bring anyone up tonight.

My money's on the blonde.

They've told me very little, you're right. It all feels remarkably unfair that I don't know the details or any of the specifics. What's to say this mysterious admirer won't do something at a concert?
How is taking someone I know quite well to my room truly any sort of danger.
Why, I'd even let you watch if you're that interested.

[ though he gets it, and he almost feels a little bad for pushing back. ]

You're right.
I suppose I'm staying in for the rest of eternity, withering to an old maid and left to rot unless I'm on stage.
You could at least offer to bring me takeout and watch a stupid movie with me, you know.
It would be the honorable thing to do.

That's why I'm here. Look...I don't want to scare you. Not too much - but I think you should know enough to make your own informed decisions. Someone you know well probably isn't going to pose a danger to you directly - but what happens when they get the munchies and decide to let the delivery guy up to the door? Or they forget to close curtains, or...I could go on.

I'm not interested.

But hey - come on. You're not staying here forever. Just until this is neutralized.

...What movie?

I get it, no need to lecture me.
No one in the room, got it.
My father would greatly enjoy this as much as he can. He hates that I’m popular in the way I am, but he has had wild fantasies about keeping me under thumb.
So I suppose being under your thumb isn’t all so bad.

Whatever this hotel room has.
I’ve seen so many of them now. You’d come over? Or is this your very humorous attempt at distracting me from my misery? That dancer is very flexible - how will I ever move on.

Technically I already am over. I'm in front of your door. But yeah - I'd come in.

You ever seen "All That Heaven Allows?" It's older - I'm a Rock Hudson fan. If it's not your style, then we can pick something else.

And hey - I'm not trying to keep you under my thumb. I get it, this feels like a gilded cage, but it won't be forever. We're gonna find this guy, or girl, whoever it is.

And in the meantime, sorry I'm not all that bendy - but tell me what you want to eat.

I should just sit by the door and talk to you through it. If I must be frank, it’s quite isolating. I’m not used to it.

I’ve never seen that movie so it sounds like we have a winner. Is it an old classic?

Surprise me with the food. Just don’t poison me. 😇

This your way of telling me you don't want me to come in after all? I promise I'm not pulling your leg.

Yeah, from the 50s. Color, though. Forbidden romance, May-December kind of thing.

Please. That green crap you drink every morning looks more likely to do the job. That - protein stuff.

[well, he hopes fiyero likes chinese. he doesn't leave from his post at the door, instead summoning it via an app and sending one of their floor attendants off with a twenty dollar bill to go fetch it. eventually he's got his arms clutched full of two large bags, doing a quick sweep of the floor and nodding at the attendant back at his post by the elevator before nudging the entry to fiyero's suite with his foot.]

It's Hawk. Open up if you're hungry.

[when the door swings back, hawk lifts a bag in each hand with raised brows and the slightest insinuation of a smile.]

Is this gonna fuck up your diet? Actually - don't answer that.

That green crap isn't so bad - it gets me to lunch and helps me keep up this lithe and dynamic appearance. How else would we be successful on this tour?

[ but not too long after there's a knock - and fiyero is there to answer it. he's a little rumpled himself in black pajama bottoms and a tight t-shirt with a faded skyline of new york city on it. he's had the shirt for a while.

he smiles when he sees the food and laughs. ]

Who cares if it does - the green stuff will fix me in the morning anyway. You realize there is nothing better than Chinese food and a movie, right? Even if it's one of those old man movies you insist are so good. I'm waiting on bated breath to be impressed.

[ but also he blossoms under the company - the room is a little messy, like he's been wandering from one room to the other, a book here, an ipad there. restless. but he has the movie queued up and ready to go. ]

What did you order for us? [ he moves to the little fridge in the room and pulls up some paper plates with a waggle of his eyebrows. ]

You know, I didn’t think you could get much more flexible, but color me surprised.

Nice j’eté.

[ it takes longer than usual to respond to the text. mostly thanks to the fact that he’d been in class, but also - how does hawk know? he can play dumb, maybe, to calm the panic in his chest. ]

good morning. 🥰
what kind of fancy words are you using today, mistert?

hawk/fiero

text — hey big spender

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