TITLE: A Little Bit of Frosting AUTHOR: Makingamochrie PART: One shot PAIRING: Well, everyone, really. Ryan/Greg at the end, though. Sorta. You'll see. DISCLAIMER: FICTION! I do not own, please do not sue. Meant in good fun. I don't own Bronski Beat either, but I sure love their music! SUMMARY: Happy Birthday, Greg! It was already really fucking late by the time I’d gotten out of my goddamned dressing room. My fucking agent had kept my ear glued to the phone for hours, talking about some shit that I’d forgotten as soon as he’d started spouting it. He had a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth, that dude. I hoped it was fatal. Something about playing with a bunch of unknown stand-ups in a bunch of unknown venues in a bunch of unknown cities in the middle of Heartland, USA. Yeah, my jokes about drug legalization and gay marriage would really go over well with the rednecks. I’d end my act swinging at the end of a fucking rope. Thanks, but no thanks, man. The studio was dark and deserted as I walked down the halls toward the exit wondering what to do with myself for the evening. I’d been tied up with Agent Laxative when the rest of the guys were making their plans, and now I was stuck. Course, there wasn’t any law against calling one of them, I knew. Colin always kept his phone on, but I had to admit that by that time, I was taking a long trip down self pity lane. Unfortunately, that was a road I’d been driving down all too frequently lately. It felt almost like home, and that sure as fuck didn’t put me in the best of moods. As I neared the exit, a body moved out of the shadows to block me, and I nearly plowed into it. I managed to stop myself in time to notice it was Drew, squinting up at me through his glasses and grinning like he was already three shits to the wind. “Yo, Proops!” he called, speaking as if I was fifty feet away instead of right the fuck in front of him. “We were wondering when you were finally gonna show!” “Yeah, well, here I am.” The little fuck snickered. “We had a bet going. Ryan said you were doing it with Rosy Palm and her five sisters, Wayne figured a blow-up doll, and me, I bet on the new floor manager.” “What did Colin pick?” “He figured you were on the phone.” “Give the Canadian a prize. The rest of you have my undying hatred, you fucking bunch of pigs.” But I smiled when I said it. I’d have been in the betting pool hot and heavy if it had been one of them, after all. “Give it to him yourself. We’re going out to meet up with him and the rest of the guys at Strip-Tease.” Sighing, I shook my head. Though I didn’t much relish being alone, I really wasn’t in the mood for crappy music, watered down drinks and a bunch of rock-hard tits bumping me in the face every time I tried to move. Been there. Done that. Threw the fucking t-shirt away. It wasn’t my color anyway. “Sorry, Drew. Not that I don’t appreciate the invite, but…I’m just not into it, man. Some other night, okay?” “Sorry,” Drew replied, refusing to be dissuaded. His hand clamped down harder on my arm. “I have my orders.” “From who?” “You’ll find out. Now get out of your shitty mood and come on out with me. You don’t have to stay long. Just put stick your head in, say hello, and then you can go mope in your fucking room if you want to.” “Fine,” I replied, jerking my arm away. “But if you even think of purchasing a fucking lap dance for me, Drew, I swear I’ll kick your fat, hairy ass from here to fucking China and back.” Drew held up his hands, still grinning. “Thought didn’t even cross my mind, man.” “Yeah, and I’m the fucking Pope. Let’s get a move on before I fucking die of boredom right here.” Taking my arm again, in a more gentle grip this time, he led me to the parking lot where his Porsche was the only car left. It’s always amazed me how fast a crowded studio can empty out after all the fun’s over. The ride over to the strip joint was mercifully quick. Drew was playing some oldies shit on the radio that was threatening to make my ears bleed, and I couldn't escape the confines of that tiny, status-conscious car fast enough. Fucker just laughed at me as I slammed the door—did you ever notice that you can’t even get a good slam out of those fucking tin cans anymore? God I felt old. The joint’s parking lot was pretty damned empty, which surprised me, since I’d heard from Drew and some of the others that it was a pretty upscale, swinging place that usually attracted a good crowd no matter what day of the week. I wasn’t all that displeased, though. The fewer sweaty, horny men in business suits waving hundreds I saw, the better. That had never really been my scene, man. I had to admit, once we entered, that the place seemed pretty decent. The lighting was mellow, and so was the music. There were a bunch of small, round tables covered, if I was any judge, in real linen that hung to the ground. Perfect for those illegal blow-jobs, my mind insisted on telling me, and I couldn’t argue the point. I was probably right, after all. Unfortunately, a pair of collagen enhanced lips painted and shining with some fucking bright red color gobbling my cock wasn’t something I really wanted to experience either. Again, just not my scene. The place was maybe a third of the way filled, and as I looked around, I began noticing that I actually recognized most of the people there. All of them were guys—that was no surprise given where we were—and all of them I knew in one capacity or other. None were what I would call close friends, but at least I remembered most of their names. Several of them caught my eye and gave me a wave and a smile, which I returned before turning to Drew. “Where are the guys?” “Around here somewhere. Come on. I reserved a table up front for us.” Sure enough, the table right next to the mirrored stage—complete with three shining brass poles—had a big ‘reserved’ card on it, and one of the bouncers led Drew and myself right to it, smiling and bowing us into our seats like we were fucking royalty or something. A bottle of really good champagne appeared out of nowhere, along with two glasses. Drew did the honors, popping the cork to scattered applause, and pouring us each a glass of bubbly. “Mm,” I moaned, taking a small sip. “Good shit, man.” “Only the best,” Drew agreed, taking a sip of his own. My glass in hand, I looked up at the stage. Judging by the time, it should have had three ladies giving the poles their jollies to some funky fucking music, but it was completely barren. I thought about it for a minute, then shrugged. I wasn’t exactly a frequenter of such establishments. Maybe the show started later than the ones I was used to. The music seemed to have reached a crescendo, and tapered off to silence. The stage lights lit, and I nodded, congratulating myself on being right. “Gentlemen,” boomed out a deep voice over wherever the fucking hidden speakers were, “we have a very special show for you tonight which we hope you’ll enjoy. If you’ll please welcome to our stage, the Not-Quite-Ready-for-the-Brass-Poles-Dancers!” There was a smattering of applause as the music started up again, this time with a low, throbbing beat that was undeniably sexy, even to one as jaded as I. As I watched, two vaguely familiar men stepped out onto the stage wearing matching leather suits, the brims of their identical hats cocked down low, partially obscuring their faces. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Taking another sip of my bubbly, I watched as each selected a pole and began humping it in a way that was pretty damn seductive. Every so often, they’d trade off, their fingers trailing against one another as they passed. Then the stripping began. This, too, they did in unison, unbuttoning their jackets to the rhythm of the music and flinging them away to reveal starched white shirts tucked into tight black leather pants. “Mm.” I honestly couldn’t help myself. Something was beginning to stir down below as I watched their hips sway and thrust. It was a total turn-on. As the music’s speed increased, so too did their movements. Their shirts were the next to go, revealing two bare, developed chests that had me all the way into lala land. I could feel Drew watching me. I knew the bastard was smirking, but I didn’t give a shit. This sure beat the fuck out of whatever I might have been able to come up with for the evening. I could feel myself turn to stone in my pants as their hands moved to their waistbands. As one, they turned, bent over, and jutted their asses out, giving me a look at some prime real estate. With a double shout, they yanked the leather away, and I found myself staring at the twin gates of heaven covered by strips of cloth so fucking narrow, spaghetti would have felt fat in comparison. When they turned, my jaw dropped. The black lycra encasing their packages was straining appreciably and was so fucking thin, there was absolutely nothing left to the imagination, and I would have fucking salivated if there’d been any fucking spit in my mouth at the time. I was so intent on watching those beautiful hips gyrate that I completely missed when they flung their hats off, to applause and shouts of appreciation. When they started coming toward me, I finally looked up, and my eyes damn near popped right the fuck out of my head. “Chip?” I croaked. “Jeff? What the fuck?” Grinning at me, they jumped off the stage and bookended me, each riding along my body in time to the music, like I was the fucking pole. Fuck. I don’t think I’d ever been so turned on in all my fucking life. As Chip reached up to slowly loosen my tie, Jeff grasped my hand and placed it squarely over his cock, thrusting and bucking and moaning like he was already halfway to coming, and for all I knew, he probably was. Soon, my tie was history, as were most of the buttons on my brand new, and fairly expensive shirt. Four hands came in to stroke my chest and belly, and if I’d have died right then, I would have been as the happiest, and horniest, man on the planet. Jeff kept thrusting himself into my hand and, taking a chance, I cupped Chip’s impressive package as well. Moaning, he stepped even closer, and fuck me silly, I now had two hard cocks in my hands and one in my fucking pants. Christ, I didn’t know whether to shit or go blind! The music eventually tapered off, only to be replaced by another low, lewd and throbbing beat. This one I recognized. It was a remake of an old Donna Summer tune, done by a band I secretly loved—Bronski Beat, if you must know. A smooth, mellow, undeniably male, and still hidden from me voice began the opening lyrics. “Ohhhhh, love to love you baby. Oooooooooh, love to love you, baby. OooooOooooo, love to love you, baby. Oooooooh, love to love you, baby.” I could barely see, but I forced myself to look up on the state as Wayne stepped out, dressed like a cop, gunbelt and all, microphone in hand and a wide, beaming grin on his face as he sang. “Oooooh, it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s sooooo gooood,” he sang, idly twirling around the pole. “Oh, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I feel love….” With one hand, he grasped the front of his shirt and ripped it off, baring his muscled, hairy, delicious chest to me. It was already glistening with sweat, and all I wanted to do, cocks in my hand or not, was to lick every single drop off. “I feel love. I feel love. I feel love. I feel love. I feel love!” I noticed then that both Jeff and Chip were singing harmony with Wayne, which was only making the experience that much more pleasurable, especially since they were still both stroking my chest and playing with my nipples as I played with their erections through the thin covering of material. Next, Wayne worked on his wide leather belt, continuing to sing. “Ooooh, what’ll it be, what’ll it be, what’ll….it…beeeee.” The belt flew off and into the audience, to hearty cheers and wolf whistles. “OooooooOoooo you and me you and me you and me you and me you and meeeee!” “You and me!” Chip and Jeff sang in perfect falsetto harmony. “Yeah!” The pants came off next. Wayne’s g-string was a brilliant white against the deep chocolate of his skin. “Oh, I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love! I feel love!” Still in his shiny black boots, he stepped down to me, placing himself squarely between my widely parted thighs. “Oooooh, love to love you, baby,” he moaned, thrusting his covered cock against me. “Oooooh, love to love you baby. Ooooooh, love to love you, baby. Love to love you baby, baby, love to love you baby, baby, love to love you baby, baby, love to love you, baby, baby baby. Oooooooh. OooooooOOOO. OOOOOOOOOOOOH!” Jesus, I was sweating like a fucking pig, completely overwhelmed and feeling like I was about to blow my wad right into my own fucking pants. The music stopped, then, but the dancing and humping didn’t. I was going to lose it. I knew I was. The announcer’s voice came back over the speaker. “Now, the next two gentlemen don’t sing. Well, one of them does, but he’s chosen not to, this evening.” A drum-roll sounded, and Colin and Brad stepped out, grinning widely. Both were dressed in tuxedo pants and bow-ties and nothing else. Oh, man, this was only getting better and better. Between them, they were wheeling out a cake that was as nearly as tall as Colin. “Happy Birthday, Greg,” Colin said sweetly. “Brad and I, knowing we’ve got nothing on the three studs you have hanging all over you, decided instead to get you a present. Hope you like it.” Brad started the traditional “Happy Birthday” song that, since this wasn’t a paying gig, was perfectly legal. Either that, or Drew had paid off the bitch who wrote it. Either way, it didn’t matter. When the last word was sung, the top of the cake burst open, and Ryan stepped out, completely naked save for his fully erect cock, which was covered in frosting. Wayne stepped quickly out of the way as Ryan strode toward me, a hungry grin on his face, his eyes dark and glittering, and so fucking sexy, I thought I’d fucking pass out before he even got off the goddamned stage. “Happy Birthday, Greg,” he husked, coming to stand before me. “Would you like to unwrap your present?” I could only stare at him, or more accurately at his gorgeous cock dripping with frosting. Laughing, Chip and Jeff hauled me out of my seat and onto my knees. “Holy fuck,” I finally managed to squeak out before bending forward and taking my first lick. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had in my life. The End