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evilfloralfoolery · 2 months ago

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Lights, Leather, Action!- Part One

Cold-ridden, snzy stripper shit coming your way lol.

Grimm and Indigo are sent on an undercover assignment where neither knows the extent to other's role.

Imagine Indigo's surprise when he's dropped off at the local strip club and his lover is the fucking entertainment. Neither is allowed to break character. Neither can risk allowing their connection to each other to be known. But there's no rule that says they can't pretend to get to know each other as "strangers."

And Grimm loves a fucking challenge. And he's just come down with a the most horrible cold. However will he manage being a sexy AF "stripper" with something like that? -dramatic music intensifies-

Grimm's dance is done to this version of this song.

_______________________________________

“This is absurd.” Indigo finishes buttoning his shirt and glances over his shoulder. “Why would I not be informed of the details of this mission?”

“Because,” Grimm says. “You gotta pretend you’ve never seen me before in your whole goddamn life.”

He gives his reflection the once over and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. Typical black t-shirt. Ripped jeans. Same old boots. Yep, Indigo wouldn’t suspect shit.

Well, except for the fact that he is currently nursing one hell of a cold. Which Indigo is, in fact, all too well aware of. The man had been watching him like a hawk all afternoon.

When he wasn’t forcing Grimm to drink whatever gross-as-fuck tea he’d concocted. Not that any of it had done a damn bit of good. Grimm’s voice already had plenty of gravel, but this is a new level of rough depth. Probably not a bad thing, considering just what he was about to do.

The near-constant prickle in his sinuses surges to a sudden burn and he clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle a shuddering “Hhkg–UHhSSCHu! –uuhHKGISCCHHshu!”

Damn. Should've grabbed a tissue for that shit. Maybe a towel.

“Bless you,” Indigo says, his tone a mix of exasperation, concern, and plenty of “come fuck me now.”

Which would have to wait.

He does, however, pass Grimm a generous handful of tissues. Because this ain’t something a handkerchief handle. Needs a “once and done” kinda thing.

“Thanks, Indy.” Grimm gives himself a much-needed sinus clearing and tosses it into the trash without so much as looking. “Look, I gotta go. Rex is gonna drive you out there.”

Indigo says nothing. Looks cross as hell. Grimm smothers a laugh into his palm. Yeah, no surprise there.

“I’d say ‘don’t worry about it,’ but you’re gonna.” He grabs his partner by the front of his belt and jerks him into a tight embrace. “I’ve been doing this shit my whole life. It’s gonna be fine.”

“I know that,” Indigo mutter-hisses into his shirt. “It is your health that concerns me.”

More chuckling. “It’s just a cold, Indy. I ain’t dyin’.”

“Yes, yes.” Indigo fists a handful of the black fabric, tilts his face up to get a better look at Grimm’s expression. “Regardless of that fact, I would much rather have you in my care.”

“Uh huh.” Grimm smirks. “I just bet you would.”

Before he can so much as protest, Indigo has tugged him into a kiss that has a fuckton of heat and zero concern for catching whatever Grimm might actually have.

“Go on, then.” Indigo brushes Grimm’s hair away from his face. “Do as you must.”

Oh, he would, alright.

Grimm pulls at the fabric of Indigo’s gray trousers with a decisive snap. “Hope you don’t like these pants.”

______________________________

“Rex, where in the name of the gods have you taken me?”

While Indigo is more than familiar with the city and all of its grandeur, this is just beyond its limits, somewhere on the outskirts verging on questionable territory.

“You’re about to find out.” Grimm's associate shuts the SUV off and grabs his keys from the console. “Come on. Just pretend we’re two gay-as-fuck bros out for a good time.”

Indigo huffs. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m so totally serious.”

“Great gods.”

While Indigo has never entered such an establishment, he is aware of its purpose the moment his foot touches the inordinately tacky carpet.

Surely not.

“Rex.” Indigo grabs his arm and presses himself against the other man’s body so as to be heard over the booming absurdity attempting to call itself “music.” “You cannot be serious!”

“You said that already.” Rex runs a hand through his black and blond hair and offers him a lopsided grin. “Come on, Indigo. I’ll buy you a drink.” He throws an arm around his shoulders and leads him through the crowd. “A strong one.”

Well, he would need more than that to cope with the barrage of sensory nonsense currently assailing him. Strobing, multicolored lights. Headache-inducing bass thumping through his entire being. Carpet that looked as if it had been designed by an acid user. Not to mention the hoards of screaming women. And more than a few gentleman as well. To use the term loosely.

And enough naked male flesh on display from both patrons and dancers alike.

Despite being dressed in casual modern clothing, Indigo himself feels as if he is on display, given the lurid gazes of those in the crowd.

“Don’t sweat it,” Rex says. “They just think you’re pretty.”

Indigo doesn’t inform the man of what he truly sees. Amidst the sweltering throng of humans are Others. At least one for every ten humans. An inordinate number gathered here, indulging in the perversion of sexual excess and libations.

Behind the rims of his glasses, his eyes flash brilliant blue but for a moment before he stills his instinctual overdrive. He is here merely as an observer. A “human” observer.

Is Grimm posing as some sort of bouncer? It was not as if he hadn’t done that manner of work before.

Rex hands him some manner of clear liquid in a shot glass which he does not bother to consume. The level of alcohol it would take to so much as touch his consciousness would cause the demise of several grown men.

It takes him a moment to realize that Rex has guided him to the front of one of several stages, which was absolutely not where he wishes to be under any circumstances.

“What in the name of the gods are you doing?” He starts to stalk in the opposite direction, but Rex clasps his wrist with a firm, decisive grip.

“Nope. We’re standing right here.”

Indigo shoots him a look that could freeze lava. “I think not.”

The deejay’s voice booms over the sound system, announcing the end of one dancer’s routine and welcoming another to the stage.

“Alright all you ladies and gents out there, we’ve got a debut performer for you tonight and goddamn, it’s a good one. Make some noise for Remmington Wolf!”

Indigo rolls his eyes. Honestly, where did these men find these ridiculous–

The raucous, sexual noise of guitars assaults his ears, but it is not the ungodly noise that stops him short.

No, that would be “Remmington Wolf” swaggering onto the stage, clad in leather and straps.

Indigo’s jaw nearly drops before he catches his composure in the midst of crumbling.

Grimm.

Grimm, strutting across the stage like he owns it. Grimm, ripping that black tank top from beneath the straps that cross over his extremely naked and tattooed chest.

And approximately one hundred screaming humans suddenly crowding the stage from every angle.

Great gods.

Grimm drops to the floor, his hips grinding suggestively against a shadow of nothing, body undulating in ways that were never meant for public consumption. A shower of money and frenzied attempts at touch surround him. The “leather” pants are suddenly gone, ripped from his body much like the shirt and discarded who knows where, leaving him standing in the shortest excuse for black spandex shorts Indigo has ever seen.

And the boots. Knee high and covered in straps and buckles that match the ones criss-crossing his chest.

It is then that his gaze locks onto Indigo and he drops to his knees, crawling towards him some sort of lurid predator intent on the certain demise of his prey.

Sweat beads Indigo’s brow at the sexual slink of Grimm’s approach and he stands frozen, unable to retreat or react. Grimm rises to his knees and reaches for him, hand tangling in his hair, the roll of his hips an obscene invitation.

Screaming, hormonal madness in every direction. Grimm’s face so intensely close to his, mere increments from his lips, that lascivious smile curving his mouth. Energy crackles between them, unseen to those around them, but clearly visible to Indigo.

Grimm is a fantasy of leather and sex, his body bending in ways that Indigo did not think him capable of.

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his wandering touch focusing on one of the many women absolutely begging for his attention. Just for a moment.

Indigo doesn’t miss the hesitation in his stride, the way he suddenly ducks into the crook of his elbow, the unmistakable shudder of those broad shoulders.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Heat suffuses his entire being as Grimm’s wandering gaze targets him and that cocky smile curves one side of his mouth.

The bastard. The absolute great bastard!

Everything about his partner has been reduced to strutting, undulant carnal deviance. And all Indigo can do is stare at him like one of the slavering buffoons stuffing handfuls of money down those indecorous shorts.

The music tapers to silence and the audience emits a collective shriek of inane delight worthy of several pairs of earplugs.

Somewhere above it all, the deejay is rambling whatever drivel comes after a performance, but Indigo’s attention is locked onto his partner who is currently at the opposite end of the runway-like stage, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, laughing with raucous enjoyment over something a bouncer has said.

It takes every ounce of control Indigo can muster not to part the crowd with his raging appetency and drag Grimm into the nearest corner and—

“You good?” Rex nudges his shoulder and Indigo blinks, snapping back to reality.

“Yes,” he lies stiffly.

Rex laughs. “No?”

Indeed not. Rex truly has no idea.

_____

Grimm pops the cap off of his third bottle of water and takes a deep swig. That had been a lot of damn energy. Funny, because he doesn’t feel even a little bit tired.

He should, though. Even if his cold was just some garden variety bullshit, that didn’t excuse him from the relentless symptoms.

One in particular.

He snatches a handful of napkins from the bar and barely manages to clamp them over his mouth and nose.

“---UHSCCHHHu! Hhh’uh-KGSSSCCHHuh!”

Damn. Barely any warning. Maybe if it wasn’t so fucking cold in this place. A double whammy for sure.

He takes a moment to struggle into some actual leather pants, which doesn’t do a goddamn thing, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got better shit to do.

Making his way through an ocean of admiration is only moderately weird, but he’s interested in one particular target and that’s the one currently giving Rex an earful. Fuck, he can only imagine. The kid is laughing, which probably isn’t the smartest thing, but at least Indigo doesn’t look too pissed. “Frustrated” is definitely the best word for that look. He’s seen it pointed at him more times than a firing squad.

As if sensing his approach, Indigo ceases whatever he’s dishing out to Rex and turns to face him, expression neutral, posture proper but deceptively normal.

Grimm isn’t buying it. Not for a second.

He adopts all of the cocky bullshit he can muster and puts a deliberate swagger in his stride.

Rex excuses the hell out of himself before Grimm reaches the edge of the table where neither Indigo nor Rex had actually sat, leaving Indigo to fend for himself against whatever advances he might make. That is, if he tried to do that shit.

“Hey.” He tosses his dark hair over his shoulders with all kinds of ridiculous finesse. “Saw you watching. You like what you see?”

Indigo arches one perfect eyebrow with such an air of boredom, Grimm almost buys it.

Almost.

“Perhaps,” he says.

Hmm, he’s good.

Grimm steps closer, the fingers of one hand grazing the sleeve of Indigo’s shirt with a feather-light touch. “You got a name?”

His partner does not so much as flinch. “I do, but you may call me ‘Ice’.”

Grimm almost chokes on the laugh that bursts out of him before he can even do a damn thing to stop it. “Hmmn, okay, Ice.” He lowers his head just a touch, a gleam in his eye. “Guess you heard who I was since you couldn’t take your eyes off of me.”

“I believe I missed it,” Indigo “Ice” says. Like he’s so goddamn disinterested, he can’t stand himself.

Well, now. This shit is gonna be fun.

“Remmington,” Grimm says. “You think something that long will fit in your mouth, Ice?”

Indigo lifts his chin. “I suppose it would depend on if you prefer ‘Remming’ or not.”

Did he just . . .

Grimm leans against the column beside the table. “You’re a real smartass, aren’t ya.”

“You are not the first to accuse me of such a thing.”

Maybe Grimm would have said something equally smartassy back, but standing under an AC vent has won over a spicy comeback. And this is way better.

He brushes a knuckled finger against his nose with a cringe, makes a show of standing there for a moment, fights against it with more visuals than necessary. Indigo’s gaze is cool and steady, his posture now straight, but not rigid.

Grimm’s expression begins the descent from brash to desperate, his breath hitching with an uneven, almost ragged stammer.

“Hhh-huuh! Hhuuh. . .! UHCHSSHu! Hkgh’UHSSCCH’u! —Uhh-KGSSSSSH!”

To hell with covering. He leans to one side and gives Indy the full fucking show, right down to the full body shiver. Which he can’t help anyway, but fuck it.

“Goddamn,” he says with a shake of his head. “Fucking freezing in hee-hhhuh! Hh–NXGT–shhuh!” He leans against the support pillar with a thick, congested sniffle. “Fuck. Excuse me.” He flashes Indigo a lascivious smile. “Might have a cold or some shit.”

“Bless you,” Indigo says with such polite indifference that Grimm laughs like a stupid asshole. “Perhaps this would be of some use to you?”

The icy bastard waggles a folded handkerchief at him, holding it between two fingers, and Grimm smirks. “You won’t want it back when I’m done with it.”

“I had no intention of wishing for its return,” Indigo says.

Grimm takes a step towards him, his fingers sliding to clasp the thing, but caressing the edges of Indigo’s pale hand in the process, taking his time to pull it free of the proffering grip.

Just in time, too. Grimm buries his nose in the folds with a dramatic disaster of an encore, doing nothing to stop himself from unleashing hell from whatever the fuck his sinuses are doing right now.

“UHHKGSSCH!-UHSSCHu! UHH-KGISSCHHUu! Good goddamn.”

Indigo’s expression softens just for a split second and Grimm nudges the tip of his dress shoe with one boot.

“Bless you,” Indigo says, the frost in his tone warmed for the briefest instant, a context clue no one but Grimm could possibly decipher.

“Thanks,” Grimm says. He barely manages to stop himself from saying “Indy.” He recovers with another, more subdued nose blow and pockets the handkerchief. “Wanna buy me a drink?”

Indigo “Ice” chuckles with a thread of something wild. “I suppose I might.”

(TBC....)

#EFF writes #Grimm and Indigo #Sexy Exotic Dancer Grimm #With a super sexy cold #Absolutely flustered Indigo #LOTS OF SEXINESS #Gods this is fun to write #I hope this brings a spark of joy to those who need it most #🩵🩵🩵

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