Eyes On The Prize
The bar looked… well… Let’s just say that it wasn’t a place Rod would’ve usually chosen. It was just a bit too sleek and hip, trying to go for classy instead of being proud of what it was: a stripper joint.
Of course, nobody talked about strippers anymore. They were entertainers or dancers or performers, for fuck’s sake. But Rod knew that, deep down, they were exactly what they’d always been: whores. Some just cost more than others, even though the price tag wasn’t necessarily comparable to the goods.
This place looked like the one where a man had to pay way too much for some wiggly ass.
The reason for the choice of the meeting place was the contact, Peter Cole. The man was a perfect example of a closeted gay: way too wound up, with that pinched look around the eyes, and nervous stuttering when Rod had flirted with him. Also, the way he had practically salivated the first time Rod had brought him into a gay stripper bar was pretty telling.
If he hadn’t been on a tight schedule, Rod would’ve loved to mess with the man, even try for a make-out session or a friendly hand job in the toilet. From what little he’d been able to pry, Cole had decent-sized junk in his slacks.
Anyway, business.
Rod made his way through the crowded bar, rolling his eyes at the people milling in. Too many trendy hipsters, either the ones who had decided that being gay was cool or the ones who were determined that it was a sign of an educated person to be sighted in a gay bar. In all honesty, fuck cool and education, they all were here for one reason only: to get some eye-candy.
Glancing at the stage, Rod checked the performer of the night. It was some nondescript guy with a broad back and dark hair. He went through an average routine of twerking, strutting, and ripping off his chaps, nothing to tickle his fancy. Rod ignored him and scanned the bar to see his contact.
Peter Cole was sitting at a table near the stage, conveniently in a corner that gave them privacy but also the opportunity to see the stage perfectly well. It was just the kind of a table Rod thought Cole would choose: pretending to be discreet but close enough to ogle. Rod was pretty sure Cole had arranged himself so that his inevitable hard-on wouldn’t be visible from the stage and soil his straight boy image.
He straightened his spine and plastered on a friendly grin. ”Mr. Cole, sorry I’m late!” He called as he strode forward.
Surprised, Cole stumbled a little as he stood up, offering Rod his hand. ”No no, you’re just in time. I came a bit early to make sure we had a table.”
Sure you did, you dirty bastard, he thought, but only said, ”Okay.”
He wondered how early Cole had actually come to stare at the half-naked guys parading around the stage.
Forcing his mind out of the gutter, he sat down, snapping his fingers at the waitress. She was a small redhead with cool eyes and a sneer on her face, and she clearly didn’t like his lack of manners. Rod ordered a scotch and thought he should leave her a fuck-you tip, just as a reminder about who actually paid her rent.
”Have you had enough time to think about our offer?” He asked and raised a brow.
”Uh, yes,” Cole said, leaning eagerly forward. Then he hesitated. ”But I’m not sure about the terms of the deal. Could we go over the details once more? Just to be sure?”
Rod almost groaned out loud. The guy was a twitchy, anal retentive, paper pusher, but Boss had said they needed the money. So, he gritted his jaw, flashed Cole a smile with too much teeth, and started going over the details for the ump-fucking-teenth time.
Halfway through, the lights dimmed a bit and an exciting hush spread through the audience. Rod frowned and looked around, unsure if he needed to bolt. He almost reached for his gun, just in case Cole had fucked him over, but the man looked slightly bewildered, staring at the stage with wide eyes.
Rod glanced to his side and — holy fuck.
The man stalking to the stage was fucking hot. Even through his three-piece suit, Rod saw he was pure muscle, perfectly honed, and powerful. He paused beside a pole, smirked, and tipped his hat forward. Then the music started and everything stopped.
The man climbed the pole and swirled around it like he was weightless, bending his body into arches and angles Rod had thought was impossible without breaking bones. He kept his smirk in place and his hat on as he inched up the pole upside down, and his arms barely trembled when he lowered himself to plank, supported by his hands.
Suspended by his legs, he took his jacket off, and the crowd went wild.
It had been a long, long time since Rod had been this mesmerized about a whore on the stage. Being so close to the Boss did have some advantages, but it also meant he was too used to people who could be bought.
He wondered how costly the pole dancer might be.
When he heard a strangled sound from his side, he turned to face Cole once more, taking in the flushed face, slack jaw, and a boner the man didn’t even bother trying to cover.
He stifled a relieved sigh and leaned forward. ”You know, if you want him, I think I can help,” he said in a low voice.
Cole blushed and blinked furiously. ”I’m not— that’s— ” he stammered.
Rod snorted. ”Bullshit, Cole, and you know it. Your dick wants him pretty hard.”
Cole’s eyes darted into his, but he didn’t even try calling him on the horribly awful pun. Almost on their own, his eyes drifted back to the pole dancer who was now without a shirt, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his torso.
Cole licked his lips.
”Are you serious?” He asked hoarsely.
Rod made a mental fist-bump. Fucking finally! Every man had a breaking point, and it seemed like the hot pole dancer was Cole’s.
”Yes,” he said, letting a smug grin show.
Cole blinked and nodded. ”Okay. What do I need to do?”
“You don’t have to do anything but hand over your credit card.”
Rod outlined the special deal to him, internally rolling his eyes at the hungry gleam in Cole’s eyes. Seemed like no matter what, deep down people were the same: all about hedonism and greed, and Cole was no different.
”It seems we agree. I’ll make some calls and you can leave with your pole dancer.” Rod closed the deal and dug out his cell phone. He tapped in the number and frowned. It didn’t connect.
”I’m afraid your phone isn’t working properly, Mr. Norsky,” Cole said.
His voice sounded odd and when Rod glanced up, he didn’t even look the same. The flush and awkwardness were gone, and Rod was being stared down by a pair of calm, steely eyes. With a cold feeling in his gut, Rod figured he was in some deep shit.
Around them, the crowd erupted in wild cheering as the pole dancer ended his performance. Rod didn’t dare look towards the stage.
”There are two ways this can go down,” Cole said. ”Either you cooperate or you don’t, but we’ll still get everything we want from you.”
”Who the fuck are you?” Rod asked hotly.
”My apologies. I might have slightly misled you,” Cole said mildly. ”I’m Agent Coulson of SHIELD. My employers are very interested in discussing the human trafficking business your Boss has been into lately.”
Rod swallowed. He was really fucked.
”I hope you offered a decent sum for my ass,” a rough voice said from behind him.
Rod whirled around to see the hot pole dancer standing right behind him, looking at Cole — no, Agent Coulson — with the same smirk still on his face.
Agent Coulson’s face stayed impassive, but something about him revealed his amusement. Frankly, it was terrifying.
”I’m not spending company money on you, Agent,” Coulson said dryly.
Rod blinked. Agent?
The pole dancer shook his head. ”The romance is gone,” he sighed, pouting.
Agent Coulson raised a brow. ”No, it’s not. It’s right where it’s supposed to be, which is safely at home — where you should also be heading, unless I’m mistaken. And while you’re at it, we’re out of milk.”
The pole dancer rolled his eyes and blew a kiss at Agent Coulson. ”See you at home, dear,” he said in a sultry voice and sauntered off.
Rod blinked again, because, What?
”So,” Agent Coulson said, turning to nail Rod in place with his stare. ”Have you had enough time to think about our offer?”