Dust

Ambrosia (1)

Strobe lights and heat. It was the first thing everyone noticed on entering Flow. The second was the people. Men and women both in the audience. Waiters and waitresses serving drinks and taking orders in skimpy outfits designed to make the most of their figures without confusing them for the dancers, who flaunted their bodies for the audience. And last, the music.

Ambrose let beat wash over him, let it move his body, a wave, a ripple, a feeling pulsing through him with each thump of the bass. A change in the music - verse to chorus - let him know it was time to get serious. Pay attention. Now was when the money would start flying. His shirt came off in a single, smooth motion and was flung into the rapt audience.

Despite the wolf whistles and catcalls, and the girls losing their shit, Ambrose didn't smile. He wouldn't. Smiling would give away his persona.

He moved into a body roll, muscles rippling with each flex, with an intensity in his eyes that he knew drove girls wild and made men want to pull the curtain back on his mystique.

The trousers came off with an audible rip. This. Ambrose fed off this - off the want and lust and desire the audience radiated with every scream and shout for more.

Now left in just a pair of tight, black leather briefs, with an enticing zipper on the front, it was time for Ambrose to pick his target.

There, near the front of the stage, a pair of men watched him, their attention solely on him despite their joined hands on the table. A couple. One was slimmer than the other though both were equally handsome. It was like looking at an angel next to the devil, the other so bulky and large it was almost intimidating.

Challenge accepted.

Descending the stage with a sway in his hips and a roll in his shoulders, Ambrose focused on the blonde angel, even as the music pushed him to keep moving, to keep his audience interested. It was alright. They could watch.

As Ambrose swung a leg over the angel, his devilish partner tightened his hold on the angel's hand. Possessive. That would make this even better. Ambrose dropped his weight onto Angel and simply moved. Chest to chest, thighs on thighs and - oh - crotch to crotch. With a single move, Ambrose had the man hard and putting money in his leather briefs. A little more teasing torture, a little more dancing, and then the music shifted. A swift whorl had Ambrose out of the Angel's lap and into the demon's.

Letting his lips part, Ambrose pushed back, rolling his hips, and ground his ass into the very accommodating lap. Demon's hand flexed on Angel's and once again tightened. The other hand, Ambrose took a hold of and ran it over his pebbled nipples, forcing a grunt from Demon. It was then that Angel leant over, put more money into Ambrose's briefs, and smiled.

Ambrose's mind caught on that smile. His body kept going, shift and moving between the pair, feeling their hands on him, and enjoying the differences in their bodies, until the song ended.

"Did you like that?" The MC cooed as she stepped onto the stage. "Contrary to popular belief, the nectar of the gods was never a drink, but our very own sweet, sweet Ambrose."

As Dalia spoke, Ambrose sashayed past her, not a hint of surprise showing when she ran hand over his spine. It was all a part of the show.

Seconds later he was out of sight of the audience and stepping into a pair of tight leather trousers - ones that weren't held together by Velcro. In the empty room, he found a little bag of white powder in his duffel, and made two neat lines. He sniffed them both, and hid the rest the away once more before checking his nose for powder and then collapsing onto the sofa to wait for the rush to hit him.

Another stripper, Feather, swaggered over to him and sat her scantily clad behind in his lap.

"You were beautiful up there," she sighed.