It was only another fifteen minutes before George was due on stage. He was Paul were backstage, getting him properly dressed and making sure his make-up was spot on, as well as going over the choreography one last time. It wasn't a difficult routine. Just the basics with a couple of variations to keep everyone entertained, making only a little use of the pole, because George felt so nervous he was afraid he'd fall if he hung from it for more than a minute or so. The basics worked best on the crowd anyway, especially this late at night when most had far too much to drink, and simply wanted some titillating, light nudity. Just enough to get their imaginations running wild, of course. Though it was a great relief, George still felt as if he was going to throw up.

"Oh shut up. You're not going to throw up. You've done this plenty of times before. And you always do great once you've gotten started." Paul told him sternly as he looked up at him through his eyelashes from where he was kneeling in front of George to make help him make sure his tights were on properly. George scoffed at that.

"Besides," Paul continued with a smirk, "There's a reason why Brian doesn't want you to dance without those fangs. They love you with them. You're gonna drive them mad, darling." The older man's grin changed into a proper smile when he noticed a light pinkish blush spreading across George's cheeks.

"If you say so..."

"Of course! Now, spin for me." Paul ordered, rather than asked, as he gave George's calf a playful slap, before standing up. George obeyed and spun around slowly, letting Paul inspect every inch of him. He smiled when he saw Paul nodding approvingly, baring his fake fangs.

"Gorgeous! Now, keep that smile and take off your clothes like a good boy."

                Richard wasn't sure what he was doing at this place. From the moment he had opened the solid wooden doors that were only accessible via a dark alleyway, sultry jazz music and cigarette smoke had engulfed him and the smell of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne had travelled its way up into his nostrils. The whole club was extremely dark, except for the large stage that was tastefully lighted up. The stage floor was a standard wooden floor that looked like it had been laying there for the past one hundred and fifty years without any kind of proper care, with a strip pole in the centre, which looked easy to get rid off when needed. A runway came a little further into the crowd, but wasn't lit up at the moment. Right now, a very pretty young man hung from the pole, wearing barely anything more than underwear, since what clung around his chest was not something that Richard would classify as a shirt. The walls were all black with a few brick walls with dirty posters on them. Next to the stage were three doors with, one leading backstage and to the bathrooms and the other two to private rooms, wherein some men would disappear with one or two strippers on their arms (Ringo guessed for an overly expensive private session). At the back there was a large bar with a couple of stools and in the middle there were even more tables with seats, all more or less turned towards the stage.

The men sitting there were mostly drunk or fat or ugly. Most of them were older than him, ranging from their late thirties to early fifties, or even older than that. Ringo almost felt bad for the gorgeous young men tending to them in little clothing and having their bottoms squeezed whenever one man thought that was the appropriate thing to do. He was surprised however, when he noticed a few young men and even women sitting at a couple of tables as well.

Still, it wasn't a dirty place and actually seemed more up-class and less sleasy than most stripclubs he's been to. It was clean and the boys working there seemed happy to work, joking with each other and playfully attending to their customers. They seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves, which was much better than the previous club Richard had gone to. There was even more security spread around the place to keep an eye on everyone. He was surprised when one of them actually walked over to a man, about forty-two, who got a little too handsy and who wouldn't listen to the waiter he was groping when he told him to stop or else he'd be thrown out. He was even more surprised when the man was actually told to get his stuff and was escorted outside within no time, even when he tried to buy himself out of it. Richard smiled to himself. At least this club seemed to treat its workers with respect and care.

He took a seat on the left side of the stage, a little more to the back, since the front seats near the runway were all taken. Immediately there was a handsome boy standing next to him to take his order. His light brown, almond eyes seemed to sparkle as he listened to him and wrote down his order, probably happy to be serving a younger man for once. Richard supposed they didn't see guys in their twenties here often. The man winked at him, before turning around and offering Richard a good look at his bum as he bended over to gather some empty glasses from the table next to his. His cock already gave a twitch in his trousers.

               The music ended, and the sound of men and a few women applauding and whistling increased and filled the air instead. George took in a few deep breaths as he watched his co-worker slowly get off the stage, taking his clothing with him. He grinned at George and patted him on the shoulder.

"You'll do good, Harrison. It's an easy crowd tonight." He whispered into his ear, before giving him one last pat on the back and going backstage to freshen up. George couldn't hear his name being announced, because of the blood rushing through his ears. When he felt Paul place a hand at the small of his back and give him a little push, he took one last deep breath. Determinedly, he moved onto the stage to take his position.

The lights were out and George could see the many men and some women look towards the stage, but they couldn't see him. Not yet. He took one last deep breath and gave a short nod, signalling that he was ready. A second or two later, the music started and the lights went on. One single spotlight was shining right onto him. His vision blackened from the suddenly light, making it impossible to see the audience. Feeling more self-assured, George slowly started to move to the music, circling his hips only every so slightly with the rhythm of the music. Keeping his head lowered to the ground, he let his movements grow bolder, making his rotations larger and slowly sliding his right hand up over his thigh and chest to play with his tie. The corners of his mouth curled up in a cheeky smile as some slightly drunk men already tried to cheer him on.

He lowered his fingers and pulled at the top button of his shirt, popping it loose just as the music stopped for a second, creating tension. He cocked his head up to flash them that grin, licking with his tongue across his false fangs, taking advantage of the atmosphere than hung around the club. Immediately the crowd whistled and a couple of cat-calls were shot his way. Perhaps Paul was right. They did dig his teeth! Feeling more self-assured, he started strutting languidly across the stage, letting all the tension in his body fall away with every step, every rotation of his hips and every button he popped open.

Within a minute he was feeling confident and had fallen into the strange rhythm of the song, making it less and less difficult to give himself over to it and tease his appreciative audience. He smiled broadly at them as he ripped the waistcoat open that was still hanging over his now opened shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. He threw it to a man at the front with a playful wink. The guy blushed heavily, watching George with a stunned expression on his face. He had been so stunned that he didn't even notice it when his friend snatched the clothing piece from his lap and kept it for himself. Just to make it even harder for the man, George bowed forward towards him, his face right before the other's man's and let his hot breath ghost over the man's lips as he let a hand run through his hair, taking advantage of what he knew best, eye-to-eye stripping, as if it were just the two of them. When the guy let out a helpless whine, he pulled back again with a teasing smirk. The guy followed his hand mindlessly, nearly falling forward and head first onto the ground, if it wasn't for the said friend, who pulled him back up with a laugh. George blew him a kiss before he turned away from them and continued his routine, swaying his hips and teasing them with everything he had, feeling a lot better about himself.

               Ringo watched with amusement as the man pulled away from the poor guy in the front row with a wink. The main reason why he rarely sat in the first two rows of the audience was exactly that. He was terrified of being picked out and teased with. It did not matter what kind of show, but especially at stripclubs he tried to sit a table away from the stage - far enough to be save from the performer, but close enough to enjoy the show.

Still chuckling at the guy's misfortune, Ringo sat back a bit and studied the young man on the stage. He wasn't sure what it was, but the young man had caught his eye, which didn't happen often to Ringo. Certainly not at a stripclub! He knew better than to fall in love with a stripper. He had watched the movies. It was all show, even the chemistry someone might feel in the moment with one of them. In the end, it's simply a job for them, a way to make a living. You wouldn't ask a famous pianist to play solely for you at your home just because you're dating him, would you?

He watched silently as the younger man performed, his cock growing with interest as the lad walked over the walkway and further into the crowd. He strutted perfectly, swaying his hips and making his heels clack clearly on the floor, occasionally bending down and wiggling his arse or playing with one of the guys in the crowd, who mostly reached into the back of the lad's shorts to stuff it with bills. The lad would simply smile and wink at them, playing with them and teasing them with his skinny legs and elegant feet, even going as far as pushing them back with his heels, before wrapping his ankle around the man's neck to press the man's face closer to his crotch, making the crowd cheer enthusiastically and the guy blush and stammer as he stared. The whole performance was insanely provocative, but without being too lewd, keeping it mostly to hinting at erotic stuff, than actually doing it and keeping most of his clothes on his body.

When he reached the front of the stage, he caught Ringo eye. He was looking right at him and for a second Ringo found it difficult to breathe. He couldn't move in his seat as the lad kept looking straight at him as he walked over to the large pole which had appeared at the front of the runway to rut against, playing with it and teasing it as if it was his lover, rather than actually using it for poledancing. Ringo couldn't look away. His throat had gone completely dry and his cock as pressing against the zipper of his trousers. Then the guy grabbed his shirt and swiftly pulled it off, revealing his naked upper body that was sparkling from glitter in the light as he moved, with now only the loosened tie dangling from his neck. He wrapped the shirt around the pole and pulled himself up against is, wrapping one leg around the pole as he lifted himself, before leaning backward, pressing his cock alongside it. He held himself there for a little while, his hips gyrating to the rhythm of the sultry music as some lads reached forward to fold some more bills along his stocking or into his shorts, their hands stealing touches curiously..

Then suddenly the music stopped and the lad let himself fall to the ground, earning a gasp from the audience. You could only see it for a second before the lights went out, covering the stage in complete darkness, leaving the tension in the air. When the lights went on again, the lad was had already walked back to the stage, where some guys were reaching for him with bills and smiles on their face as the lad danced for them a little more, wiggling his arse right before their face, or almost rubbing his crotch into their faces as if he was fucking their mouths. Smiling and winking happily when the guys gave him more money, which the lad took swiftly from them, once even taking if from some old guy's mouth with his own, winking at him. He teased them all, never staying long by each person and quickly gathering all the money he could get without losing the sexiness of the performance.

He smirked and picked up a bowler hat at the front of stage. He placed it elegantly onto his head before disappearing with one last wink and lick across his oddly long, fang-like teeth. It had been directed at the entire audience, although Ringo could have sworn the lad had been looking directly at him, rather than the crowd. When the lad had left the stage, Ringo remembered how to breathe again and drank the entire glass of beer that had been put down for him during the performance. Ringo hadn't even noticed.

               "See! I told you you were amazing. You always do this, Geo. You always get worked up and than you do that! Honestly, I don't know why you always get so nervous." Paul greeted him excitedly when George made it backstage, trying very hard to get the younger man excited about the performance thing. George didn't try to correct him, though, knowing fully well he had made some mistakes and that he wasn't nearly as good as Paul was. He was out-of-breath and finally let himself go, panting heavily and wiping off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, taking some makeup off with it. Paul chuckled as a white spot appeared right on George's forehead.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up, before Brian starts asking around where we are." Paul said, wrapping his arm around George's shoulder and escorting him to the dressing rooms.

"Shouldn't you be working?" George asked Paul, feeling flustered by the way Paul was mother henning him. He tried to wiggle free, but Paul's grip only grew tighter and when he pressed him closer, George gave up. Even after all the years they've been friends, Paul still felt the inexplicable need to look after him, being the older one. Even though it was only by nine months. Paul turned his head to grin mischievously at the younger man and shook his head.

"Not when a certain John Lennon is making sure you won't be missed by getting off that lazy arse of his and handing the drinks out himself. Besides, this was a little bit my fault. If I had woken you up earlier, we wouldn't have been late. My moral support is my way of repaying you." He told him, and George rolled his eyes and tried to push Paul off him again. This time he caught him by surprise and he managed to free himself, before Paul could pull him back against him.

"Yeah right. You know I don't like people watching me from the back when I'm dancing. It's embarrassing. And no, you are not waking me up any earlier, so I'll start wearing earplugs to be from now on." He told him sternly, quickening his pace when he saw Paul reaching for him again. The older man snickered, but nodded, surrendering. George's eyes narrowed, not trusting his friend at all. Paul wouldn't surrender that quickly.

"Okay. Fine. I won't try to wake up any earlier. Seems like you only take longer then anyway. And I thought you'd like the idea of having me near just is case."

"Well, I don't. I've been doing this for almost a year, mind you."

"It's not my fault you always seem to have a heart attack when you have to go on stage on your own."

"I get nervous. Besides, I know you simply don't want to work and rather be texting your girlfriend all evening." George replied with a knowing smirk. Paul gasped at that.

"How do you know?!" He asked, stopping in his tracks. George turned to look at him.

"You're not allowed to have your phone with you. Brian says it can be stolen." He explained, nodding in the direction where Paul's phone was clearly visible in his tight shorts. Paul looked down and grumbled some curses about how maybe Brian should allow them to wear better trousers instead of banning phones, and George merely chuckled, before grabbing his friend by his arm and pulling him with him.

"I'd put that away if I were you, before Brian sees it." He said and Paul nodded reluctantly, before wrapping his arm back around George now he was close enough and walking further to the dressing rooms, grinning to himself as George started to struggle against him once more.

               "There you two are. I was beginning to worry Eppy had decided to kill the two of you anyways for turning up late." John said with a serious expression on his face as he saw his two friends approach. He put down the glass he had been cleaning and threw the towel over his shoulder. Paul shrugged as he let himself flop onto one of the barstools.

"Yeah, he tried. We could only just escape. We've locked him in a cupboard to wait until the police arrives." He said, playing along with John's stupid game. George sat down on a stool next to him and leaned his hand under his chin on the bar.

"Want me to call them?" John asked Paul, still not giving up on his game. Paul couldn't help but snickered before answering.

"Nah. George set of the fire alarm. They should be here in a few."

"So, want a drink for while we wait? I promised George a free beer." John asked, bending down to get George his beer. Paul nodded.

"Yeah. Whiskey if you have it. I need a little something if I want to survive another two hours of dirty arse pervs squeezing my bottom." He sighed, faking a smile. John laughed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a glass for Paul.

"For you always, Macca. And you do have a very pretty arse." He said and Paul shot him a glare. John simply stared back as he poured him his drink and handed it to him, before opening the two beer bottles and sliding one into George's opened hand, who thanked him.

"So Georgie, dancing went well, didn't it?" John asked, as he drank some of his own beer. George hummed in agreement before following his example. From the corner of his eye he could see Paul looking around the club, smiling and lightly flirting when some man passed him by with lust-hungry eyes. He could see that John was watching Paul as well, his expression surprisingly blank, although George could see his knuckles growing white as he grabbed the towel from his shoulder again and started to dry off some more glasses.

"How do you even deal with that every night?" John asked his friend, who merely shrugged as he drank his whisky and continued to stare into the crowd.

"You know that man, George?" Paul asked after a few seconds, pointing with his pinky at a table a little at the back of the club. The man that was sitting at the table was alone and didn't seem older than twenty-five. When the man turned his head shyly in their direction, George recognised him right away. It was that handsome blue-eyed man he had seen in the crowed when he had been dancing. When the young man saw him looking into his direction, he quickly averted his eyes and George did the same.

"No," He answered Paul's question, "Never seen him. Why?"

"He was watching you just now. Until he noticed me looking. You sure you don't know him?" Paul asked, looking away from the blue-eyed man and turning in his seat so he was facing the bar and had his back facing the crowd, not wanting to deal with any more hungry looks while he was taking a short break. George frowned and looked at him again, but shook his head.

"No. I know he was watching me dance." He answered, looking away as well.

"Maybe he likes you?" John brought in, drinking half of his beer in one go. George blushed at that and shook his head.

"Doubt it."

"Why? You're cute. Why wouldn't he like you?" Paul asked, sounding genuinely surprised. George shot him a look as he drank some more beer as well. "What? It's true. Right, John?"

"Oh yes. I'd fuck your arse anytime, George." John teased with a wink, laughing when George almost choked on his beer. Paul patted his back when he started coughing, trying to get the burning alcohol out of his lungs.

"Very funny, John." Paul scolded the older man, who only smirked, enjoying himself far too much.

"He doesn't like me. He likes the fact that I'm half naked and he only has to whip out a five pound bill and I'll be all over him. It's the power that does it." George explained, his voice a low growl.

"And they say he's the naive one of the two." John chuckled, offering Paul another whisky as a peace offering, not wanting to have him sulking at him for the rest of the evening. Luckily, Paul excepted and they left the conversation at that. Still, George couldn't help but occasionally glance at the blue-eyed man from the corner of his eye. When he looked the last time and noticed he was gone, he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

               The three of them chatted for a little while longer, starting to feel more and more at ease as the alcohol started to numb them a little. When John offered Paul a third glass, Paul refused. And George refused the third beer John offered him.

"We'd better get back to work." Paul told John with a half-drunken smile, nodding with his head into the direction of the door that led to the backstage area. Brian Epstein was standing in the doorway, his little notebook in hand as usual as he took in every detail of the club. George felt himself tense up at the sight, knowing it would be bad if he spotted him and Paul chatting rather than stripping, especially now they were already late. He nodded and watched as Paul walked away to find someone to entertain. He looked up at John expectantly and waited for him to place some drinks on a tray for him to bring to the right customers.

Just as Brian's gaze fell on them, George took the tray and started to walk off. As he caught the manager's eye he smiled at him, trying to act as casually as possible. Brian was not a suspicious man. Besides, over the last year they had grown quite close even. If they hadn't been late, he wouldn't have minded one bit if they had decided to take a small break. Brian smiled back at him shyly, his eyes lowering unintentionally to George's arse. They shot back up as soon as he noticed and looked the other way, making George chuckle.

When he walked past the table where the blue-eyed man had been sitting, he couldn't help but check if he hadn't left him a number or something, which happened about four times a week. Mostly they were guys too desperate and ugly to consider and only wanted sex anyway. Most of the time it was insulting, but this time he hoped his had. When he didn't see anything, he sighed and cleared the table.