Skip Firmwood was a terrible stage name, Tony thought with a grin as he settled in. ’Firmwood’ was just cliche enough to be alright, but strippers named ‘Skip’ always made him snicker. Poor bastards, scraping the bottom of the barrel for names because all the good ones were taken…though at least it wasn’t the old pet’s name-street name trick. Tony had once gotten a lap dance from a Solomon Silverbridge, which was weird. That was a lawyer name, not a stripper one.
Of course, getting a lap dance from a lawyer would have been a lot less interesting than what actually happened. Because right as Tony got comfortable with his whiskey sour, Philip Coulson came on stage, sexy and seductive and larger than life. So to speak.
Tony’s jaw fell open and his glass nearly fell from his grip. Coulson was wearing nothing but a pair of suit pants - tear-away, Tony was guessing - a nice pair of freshly-shined shoes, and one of those ridiculous bowtie-collars that seemed universal to these sorts of places. Apparently, he had already built quite a name for himself, because men and women alike howled for him, money already in hand.
Once he started, it was easy to see why. Coulson moved with a lewd, sensual fluidity that was nothing like his stiffly professional demeanor in the SHIELD workplace. He rolled his hips, grinding against the air and sinking down to the floor before he stood to dance again - minus the trousers, which he cast away like useless scrap fabric. Tony licked his lips, suddenly aware of a tight, dry feeling in his throat. He took a sip from his drink, watching Coulson like a hawk. Damn. Every body roll was a feast for the eyes, the curve of his open mouth was just so…tempting. Tony could lose himself in a mouth like that.
Coulson looked down, and for a fraction of a second, Tony could see recognition there. But it vanished beneath a seductive smirk, and Coulson slung himself down until he was posed as provocatively as possible. ”Well hey there, hero,” he said in a throaty purr. ”I hope you didn’t come here looking for me.”
"Came here looking for a good time," Tony responded, watching as countless hands pressed money into the thin lines of fabric over Coulson’s body. "So…I guess yeah, I did come for you.” He reached into his pocket and wiggled a hundred-dollar bill in the air. ”What will you say if I tell you I’m up for a lap dance?”
"I’d say I finally have proof that you’re an unprofessional cad." Coulson winked and slid off the stage, straddling Tony. "But then, I’ve always known that, so why the hell not?"
The crowd around them thinned as Coulson set his hands on Tony’s shoulders and writhed. Tony made a small, satisfied noise and asked softly, “So, what exactly brings a good man like you to a naughty job like this?”
"SHIELD doesn’t pay as well as people seem to think it does."
Tony chuckled, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair. ”Tell me about it. I haven’t seen a single paycheck from them since the New York incident.”
"Tony, you don’t work for them. You work with them.”
"Details, details." Tony did his best not to roll his hips, knowing it was considered bad form. "Still…that kind of blows. You work like a dog for them, and you’ve got to take your clothes off for strangers anyway."
"You make it sound like I don’t enjoy it," Coulson said with a playful smirk.
Tony’s eyes widened with amazement. ”You - well, well, well!” He tilted his head forward, resting his forehead on Coulson’s shoulder. ”You are just full of surprises, Mister Firmwood.”
"I suppose I am. Want to see some more?"
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