Gesture - Greg and Lucas 1
#1 of Gesture
Author's Note: Okay, so I've been on a long hiatus of writing anything with smut (and anything that I did churn out otherwise was never long enough or developed enough for me to feel comfortable with posting here). I decided that I finally wanted to flesh out the third story in my Drabbles that I posted here so long ago, and well, this is the result.
Enjoy the story. And there is more to come. As well as various other pairings and scenarios, so don't think that Gesture is only about these two.
Another Friday night, another club to try out. He was getting bored of this weekly disappointment. Ever since he'd moved to this city, he felt so out of place. There was just nowhere that screamed at him, no place stood out like he belonged. He scratched boredly at the back of his head, ruffling around a dark brown shag, as cold, bright blue eyes stared out at the dance floor.
Hips gyrated on the dance floor, as technicolor lights flashed around like busy bees in a hive. Bodies pumped, moved in unison, danced, flailed; as long as they were in movement, they were welcome. For lack of a better word, it was pretty much a clusterfuck out there. There wasn't any sort of defined motion, or wanted movement. It was just a big chaotic mass of bodies.
He scowled somewhat. These people were in the process of ruining, no, that was too light a word-- they were butchering his very favourite form of art. He couldn't just sit idly by anymore. He got up off the stool, leaving the ferret bartender (who had been saying something to him, but he wasn't listening), and simply made his way to the dance floor.
Greg moved his body, feeling the beat drive every pulsation of his heart. Boom. Boom. Boom. His body moved not to the music, but with it. His entire body, from fingertips to his torso, became art in motion, and the beat began to pick up. He just let out a laugh to himself, enjoying him far too much to care anymore about the world around him. This was his time.
This was what the brunette loved. This was what he lived for. That internal rhythm matching the rhythm of a song, that need for movement. That drive that could only be inspired by a good song, either techno, or house, or hip-hop, or country. That way of living called dance, the expression, the feeling. The fact that it didn't matter what played, you just had to move. This wasn't just some club bouncing around stupidly to a beat.
Well, okay, it was. He looked around as he danced, people simply grinding with each other, pumping up and down. It was disgusting, outright horrid. Amongst all the doubt he had that he would find a dancer, there was still something minimally... tantalizing. He had that much to admit. He admired the fact that some people he could point out felt the same way he did-- moving not because it was an action, but because it was a feeling. Their movements just weren't his cup of tea-- no one had caught his eye.
Humans, furs, lizards, woman, man, transgender-- it didn't matter anymore. He could look past that. He could look past their build, their looks, their abilities or disabilities. As long as they could impress him, they were worthy. But he was too good. Everyone knew that. He knew that. He didn't just dance, he lived through motion. He loved it. But right now, he just stood, scoping out the other dancers, as if he had some sort of power here.
Which, in turn, made him feel guilty. He wasn't the kind of guy to think himself higher than anyone else, except when it came to this art. There was raw talent on the floor, yes, but no one seemed to take it seriously. Still, this wasn't his place, his studio, his own club back home. This was alien territory. He could only stand and mull, berating himself for being too presumptuous.
He took off his shirt, and tied it around his waist. His body was already starting to sweat, light bouncing off a couple droplets of it on his body. Most other people here were clad in the same way, or hadn't brought a shirt at all. All he could think when he looked around, was how fake people were. Bodies toned to perfection, created by drugs, endorphins, and hours of wasted time, with the sole purpose of vanity in mind.
That wasn't to say he was ugly. His body was toned, but not overly muscular. But it wasn't for the purpose of attraction. It wasn't for the use of being "hot" or "sexy". It was just the side effect of hours of training, practicing, and conditioning to be the best dancer.
This was why he hadn't found anything at the other places. He'd been so quick to be displeased, that he hadn't opened his eyes. He just stood there, wondering. Take another chance? He had to. He'd never feel happy, never feel welcome if he wasn't going to try and watch. Who was he to say some people here weren't thinking the same things, or had built their bodies because of the same reasons he did? He started to disgust even himself, and the scowl on his face reflected that.
"Well what are you doing here on the floor if you're not moving? Don't tell me you're scared." Someone said, coming up behind him. Paws trailed down his sides, resting themselves on his thighs. A tail snaked its way around his waist; white and black striped. Lynx? No, the body was too big. He was about to squirm away, when those paws on his thighs clenched lightly, keeping him there.
Greg was about to speak up, when he found he was moving with the tiger. He blinked a couple times, wondering just how he'd gotten into this position. Those paws traced tiny little circles along his inner thigh, their bodies pressed against one another. The tiger leaned over slightly, his frame pushing into Greg's with a slight sort of menace, but also protectiveness. He felt... oddly safe nestled into this body.
It was becoming clearly apparent that this tiger was different from all the preconceived notions that he had in his mind about these people. He wasn't talking his way into his pants, nor did he act like he was faking something. Instead, with his deathgrip on Devon, he moved along with him, swaying from side to side. He ground into the human's backside, moving to the rhythm smoothly.
He spoke, really. Spoke with his actions. Greg ground back, almost intoxicated by the dancing. The song slowed down a little, their movements becoming less dance-like, and more passionate. He reached back, his smooth, hair-less arms running across the feline body behind him. It was large. Powerful. Unclothed for its upper half. He smiled.
Passion turned into lust. In a dance metaphor, that is. It was like dry sex hidden in dance. He could sense it. They would slowly become a part of the dry orgy that everyone was involved in on the dance-floor. They would slip into the confines of their rhythmic bliss, moving with one another, focused only on one another.
He didn't need to be a fur to realize what the tiger wanted. He didn't need to smell the pheromones that filled the thick, sweat, muggy airspace. He didn't need to be overly sensitive to realize that a sizeable bulge in the tiger's pants were forming.
But he wasn't like that. He wasn't just some one-time fling. That wasn't impressive.
"How about we go somewhere to 'dance' in private?" The tiger asked. Apparently, the feline thought he was. Greg started to push off, but the hands kept him there. They roamed his body, traversing the expanse of the chest, caressing the smooth human underneath the clothing. It felt like a million little hands ran over his body, the way his sweat mixed with the felines, how his short, light body-hair was almost teased by the fur and paw-pads of the tiger.
He started to breathe a little nervously, and the paws just rested on his chest, acceptiong the motions of out, and in, moving with each heavy breath.
"I'm not some lap-dancer." Greg said, wondering if the tiger would get it.
"That's alright, I don't like one-time dances. I'm sorry it came across that way" The tiger replied. Greg turned around, and smiled up at the tiger. "Lucas."
"Greg." The human replied coldly, brushing his bangs out of his face. They'd become matted down from the sweat, and from turning around, he could smell it off the tiger. Sweat. Musk. Man. Tiger. Sex. Lucas just pulled him closer, their fronts grinding. The human bit back a gasp as his chest met pelt, composing himself enough to not melt in the fur's warm embrace. The smells were only magnified here, and he started to feel dizzy, their bodies still moving.
"So, you up for a little one-on-one dancing?" The tiger asked. Greg smiled.
"Gotta have a dance-off first." He said, pulling the tiger more to the center of the dance floor. A circle formed around them, and Greg started, going into a form of breakdancing, as the music switched from the adagio, passionate beat to a more up-tempo, hip-hop remix.
The tiger responded in kind, not letting up. Greg laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in a while. Heck, he even matched his freezes and flares. He was surprised that such a large being could be so athletic-- but then again he was slowly learning that appearances weren't what they seemed. He started to move into jerkier sort of motions, accentuating beats and entering a sort of grungier, krump style of dance.
And the tiger kept up. He even switched into another style, forcing the human to follow, which he did with ease. The two of them became the highlight of the club, a circle forming around them, cheering. Most of it was for the tiger-- he was apparently known around here. Perhaps a local celebrity at the clubs. Greg was soon realizing why.
He hadn't had any fun in a while. He realized. Maybe it was time to try again. The tiger was impressing him, at least.
They danced, centre of attention, for a little while. Together, apart, against, or with each other, they were like two dancers who'd been practicing for a long, long time. They anticipated each other's movements, reacted in kind, whether as a counter or together. It was like the tiger knew him, not for his looks, or for his skill, but for the dancer inside. It was poetry on the dance floor.
Foreplay, was more like it. Everytime he drew close to the tiger, there was a small movement that most other people didn't see, but he felt. Along his leg, his spine, his stomach-- each touch sent messages whizzing through his mind, and he just shook his head. Poetic, dancing foreplay. He hadn't felt that in a while.
And, it won him over. Greg smiled, as the song finished. People cheered, and the tiger bowed jokingly, which Greg started to do as well.
"Now, for that private dance?" The tiger whispered, as he walked beside Greg. The both of them headed back to the bar. He was being really pushy-- and despite the fact that his dancing had impressed the human, that wasn't exactly rubbing off in a good sense.
"Maybe some other time." The brunette said back, a little miffed. The tiger frowned, realizing that perhaps, he'd come on a little too strongly. He just scratched at his white and black striped pelt, and sighed. "Tomorrow, then?" He was already trying to make up for it. Devon just raised a brow. Don't dance for him like that today, but tomorrow? Where was this tiger getting off? "I mean, you're not just visiting on a whim, right? We could meet up tomorrow, just to hang out at the club. I don't know. I enjoyed dancing with you."
The human just sighed. "Well... I guess I can put some time aside for tomorrow. I'll be here after 7:00, though." He said back. The tiger just smiled toothily, and nodded.
"Deal. 7:00 tomorrow, then. But don't tell me you're going home-- the night just started and the music's just getting good." The feline noted. Greg looked up, staring at speakers overhead. Yeah. He could probably stay for a couple more hours and dance. It wouldn't hurt.
Besides... Lucas was the first being to ever dance with him, and though he did ask to get in his pants, he wasn't put off by the fact that Greg said no. The human hadn't known anyone like that in a while. Maybe he wasn't going to ever sleep with the fur, but he might as well make a new friend.
Besides, he liked the atmosphere of the club. He might as well stay.
"Who's the tiger got in his sights now?" Someone asked the bartender. He stepped out of a door just beside the end of the bar, and he turned to lock it. The ferret who was bartending just smiled.
"Dunno. Some new face. They're tearing it up out there." He said, with a motion of his head as his hands were currently mixing up a Long Island Iced Tea. The other just turned, a fennec, and he just looked out at the dance floor. He chuckled, and shook his head.
"I'm out for the night. See ya later. Tell the manager I said g'night." The fennec said. The ferret just gave him a mock salute, taking the cash for the drink and offering it to a panda who'd just ordered it. He stared back out at the dance floor, and smirked.
Already, the club's magic was taking effect.