This isn't the night he had been expecting. His body tensed as the curtains to the private stage opened. Every muscle tensed in tandem as the music flooded the room. How could his friends let him be abducted into the back?

This was not Dipper's idea of fun. He's had the occasional hook up but he'd rather be home watching Wednesday, to be honest. He didn't have any itch to scratch other than planning his DnD campaign from next Sunday. It wasn't even his idea to come. Not like his friends did good research in the first place—coming to a gay strip club instead of a regular one. He had to sit through their bitching while they ate, watching the male dancers do their thing. For the few female dancers that came onto the stage—his friends quickly learned that the ladies up on stage were the ladies of the crowd. Not for them.

It's not like Dipper-minded sneaking glances at male bodies clad in tight leather or skimpy jockstrings. They looked good. Really good. None of Dipper's friends knew he was bi. It wasn't really something he shared or was open to discussing. He only really found out so soon because his sister dragged him to a party in their second year of high school. As a joke, he was stuffed into a closet with Marcus Flikus, for seven minutes of heaven. He was in the closet for 15 minutes sucking on Marcus' face and sucking him off. And in his last year of high school, Macy Turner and Alison Manky did things to him that he is not allowed to disclose.

It wasn't until an hour in that his friends deemed it socially acceptable to leave without seeming disrespectful. Dipper agreed—wanting to use the opportunity to finally go home. He had gotten his fill of eye candy and was ready to play some warcraft. Unfortunately for him, some fucking tall—golden glass of vodka decided to strut on stage in leather pants and gloves that made Dipper feel things no man should be his at a strip club. He had strange contacts that made his eyes a bright yellow. How did Dipper know this? Because those eyes locked with his as he removed his belt....fuck.

The performer tossed it to the crowd. Some lucky bastard got to keep that belt and it wasn't him.

Dipper wanted to see what his real eyes looked like. He watched as the man's leather clung to his hip bone. Dipper hid behind his hand. He couldn't let his friends see him biting his lip.

The crowd erupted. Both the girls and the gays screamed for the beautiful man to strangle them. Fuck them. As if it was some public fuck-ecution that if Dipper was there alone... he'd want to be him. This dancer was different. He was violent. Not afraid the get his hands on the crowd. Push them—grab their waists and grind his pelvis into them. And from the looks and cheers from the crowd—they all wanted his touch. Like some sort of drug. The crowd ate it up. As if in return, he'd eat them.

The be completely fair, Dipper was not watching the man on stage dance. He was more interested in his figure. Every tiny detail—like how the man had a tiny scar just above his eyebrow. Or the veins popping from his arm whenever he flexed.

How the fuck is he supposed to go home? When those yellow eyes bore into him like liquid gold...

And now...those eyes made of liquid gold were on him again. In a room far from anyone.

Dipper's ass is practically glued to the fine-leather couch. The only thing that could move him now would be if those leather-clad hands ripped him from it and fucked him.

A small sound escapes Dipper when a gentle-gloved hand coaxes his chin to tilt up. Shivers run miles down Dipper's spine.

"What's you're name, beautiful?" his voice wicked.

"Beautiful?" Dipper blirts out. "I–I'm not beautiful–I'm plain—"

"Shh," he hushes softly, rubbing his thumb over Dipper's lower lip. "I asked you a question, doe eyes. You can babble all you want once pinned under me." His voice has Dipper hard. His brown eyes looked up at the tall strangers like he was Jesus about to pardon him of his sins. Dipper would gladly sin if this man would bless him. "Now don't make me ask again."

"My friends call me Dipper," he says. Instantly, he's rewarded by the thumb pressing against his lips. A slow rub in ado for entrance. Dipper opens his mouth—the thumb sits perfectly against his palette.

The stranger chuckles. "Are we friends?" he asks. "My friends call me Bill, sweetie."

Dipper was left unable to answer, the thumb pressing down on his tongue more to get a little view of his mouth. Dipper's mind—though totally spacing—wanted the stranger's cock on his palette and deep into his throat.

"What a good boy you are," he told Dipper. "Do you got a naughty side to you?" Was that an invitation?

Dipper replied with a bite. Holding the man's thumb between his teeth. Not once did his eyes leave Bill's. Looking up, through his lashes at the yellow contacts. Even as he took his hands off his lap and to Bill's thick wrist. He let go of the thumb but moved to Bill's other digit. He nipped at the middle finger; surprisingly, the glove came off with ease.

"Naughty, naughty."

Dipper bit harder. He watched through his lashes as Bill rolled his bitten lip through his teeth.

"I like possessive boys."

Oh yeah, Dipper is in trouble.

Bill hiked himself onto the couch. Dipper's hips are trapped underneath Bill's thighs. Dipper tried to hide the small sound that escaped his lips when Bill stroked the sides of his face. Possessively holding his face in the examination. He leans into Dipper's personal space, whispering sweetly. "What's your flavour of fun, darling?" his hands move down Dipper's chest. Bill's hands graciously glided over his lower belly and teased his shirt upward. "What do you want me to do to you? Or...what do you want to me?" Dipper nearly choked on Bill's words. As if they were being forcibly shoved down his throat.

Off, Bill unbuckles his belt. His zipper tugged downward. Yeah, Dipper was at this man's mercy. Completely consumed by lust.

Dipper pushes his hips upward in a teasing roll. "I want you to do what you want with me." He wants Bill to show him what he likes. Open a door Dipper won't be able to close.

Bill raises his eyebrow before mocking a pout. Now, Dipper knows that can't really be a disappointment. The way those yellow eyes devour him slowly, wanting nothing but a taste...no. Dipper is going to show Bill a full-course meal.

"Sounds like you don't know what you want," Bill chuckles. "Is that a cop-out?"

Dipper reaches his hands into Bill's hair, pulling his blonde locks just hard enough and close enough the be breathing in Dipper's air. And guessing from the pleased groan that escaped Bill—he loved it.

"I know what exactly I want. I want you to break me. Turn me into your personal toy. I want to know how you'd devour me without limits." Dipper pressed his lips briefly against Bill's, aiming for his top lip. He bites it until blood fills his mouth—Bill hisses into his mouth. His tongue licks up the cut, eyes greedily taking in Dipper's form and his bloodied lips. "I don't care who you fuck, but tonight, you're fucking mine. You're fucking me. Show me your worst."

"God, I hope you're a screamer..."

(thanks to @kynnxx for the idea! Hope that's spicy enough for you! Bye babes!)