Sugar Daddy (MUKE A.U)

Sugar Daddy: Fuck Off, I'm On Break

Michael

Michael hates shaving his thighs.

It takes way too much time and effort. By the time it starts to grow back, it's itchy and prickly, and the feeling of tiny little hairs rubbing against one another has him cringing inwardly.

On the other hand, he can't say he hates the soft, silky skin left behind after shaving. Michael loves the gentle way his clothes rest against his bare skin and the way his clients' hands slip up the smooth expanse of his legs. It also helps when he's slicked up on stage, his movements turning into liquid grace as he moves around the pole.

Glancing down at the legs of discussion, Michael studies his knobby knees in the reflection of the full-length mirror before him. His alabaster skin sparkles and tiny flecks of iridescent glitter cling to him, reflecting off every light in the dressing room, lighting him up like a Christmas display. The suffocating red spandex on his hips seems to tighten by the second, threatening to cut off circulation to his cock and balls.

"Cursed fucking spandex." Grunting in frustration and readjusting himself for the millionth time, Michael slowly turns to the side to examine the outcome of his outfit when the door whooshes open.

"If you think you're fat, like, just lose the weight. You know?"

Briefly closing his eyes in annoyance, Michael resists the urge to groan aloud. "I don't think I'm fat."

"Then stop sucking in your stomach," Ezra, Michael's co-worker and self-appointed best friend, leans heavily against the rows of personal lockers. His impressive arms flex as he crosses them over his chest and the neon yellow hardhat on his head slides to one side. "I think you look great just the way you are!"

"Is that a Fisher Price hat?"

Reaching up and rasping his knuckles against the plastic, Ezra grins. "It's cute, no?"

"It suits you." Michael snorts as the child-sized hat refuses to stay on Ezra's styled locks. "What are you even doing back here? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"It really brings out my tan, don't you think?" Ezra places himself right next to Michael, the two of them sharing the only full-length mirror in the backroom. Standing to his full height and easily towering over Michael, Ezra motions toward the cursed spandex. "Going for the big bucks tonight, Mili?"

Ignoring the horrid nickname and fixing his mess of hair, Michael slowly nods. "Hopefully enough to catch up on rent. The usual."

"I thought you were caught up?"

"Two minutes 'til show!" The muffled voice of their security guard, Cain, has both of them turning their attention toward the door. Cain's tattooed hand waves inside the room, the rest of his large body being hidden behind the door. "Are you ready?"

"Thanks, Cain! We're ready." Ezra elbows Michael and raises a questioning brow, his arms slowly opening in an all-too-familiar gesture. "Bring it in, Mili. It's for good luck!"

Michael knows he could and would never get out of hugging Ezra, so he allows himself to be pulled in for a tight hug. His face is smooshed against Ezra's hard chest, and the faint scent of the man's body soap floats through his senses. Standing there with skin-on-skin contact happening, Michael sighs and gently pats Ezra on the back. "Hold me any tighter and I'll make you pay like everyone else."

Ezra scoffs. "We're best friends, though."

"You held me at gunpoint to be your friend." Forcing his release from the hug, Michael grabs ahold of his feathered wings and shrugs at the expression of mock hurt on Ezra's pretty face. "You touch, you pay."