Logs:Cinderfella - A NOLA Fairy Tale

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Cinderfella - A NOLA Fairy Tale


Characters: Kenny and Tris
Date: 2019-11-23
Summary: Once upon a time, Prince Charming met his match (for trouble) at a dance club.
Disclaimers: {{{disclaimers}}}

The bass thrums and vibrates bone. It's like a pulse raging in the ears, the sign that this establishment is thriving, living its best life. With a line that trails down the block outside, no one inside is wasting their experience in this hot night club. It has all the standard night club elements: a dance floor, a sick D.J., a well-stocked bar, tables and VIP areas, and bathroom lines that are always too long; it's everything the young and club-loving could wish.

Departing the writhing bodies, puppeted by noise, booze and highs of every kind, comes a man in his late twenties. The flop of his brunette locks down over his eyes is are a sign of his recent exertions as one of the hoard. His t-shirt and jeans wouldn't be nice enough for a place like this, except that they're Designer and so the they have that little something extra which makes them look just elegant enough to fit in, more or less. The shirt is pinched between fingers as he pulls it away from his body, fanning away some of the built up heat, to maybe dry some of the sweat that would like to make his ensemble less attractive. His lithe movements are as fluid as they were on the dance floor, though without any of the dance-y flourishes. He weaves through bodies to get to the bar, sliding in and leaning forward to shout to the nearest bartender. Shouting is practically the only way to be heard here, but at least the noise drowns out everything but the present, the here and now, and maybe that's why the Beast looks perfectly at home.

--

There might be a line down the block, but Kenny is inside; a tall, skinny man in very tight black pants and a black polo that would almost be classy if it wasn't, you know, mesh and see through. Tonight the only thing that really sets him off as perhaps not a straight dude is that he's wearing eyeliner liberally around his pale green eyes, and a dusting of holographic glitter in his dark curls and facial hair. That and the plastic, but shiny silver tiara on his head. Tris can probably feel him, that supernatural otherness of an apex predator, before he sees the Werewolf. Which is probably for the best because Kenny does not look like an apex predator. Poor thing. "And what do we have here?" he says as he comes up alongside the beast at the bar. "Buy me a drink, handsome, and I'll suck you off in the bathroom." His brows wiggle as he bites his lower lip, but there's an excited tension like Kenny is bracing for violent rejection more than enthusiastic agreement.

--

"Either your drink tastes run very rich, or you're giving me a discount," Tris' reply holds a disarming humor and so does that charming smile. Notice an apex predator's approach? Oh yes. If Kenny was paying attention to this beast, his shoulders gained tension-- ready for a fight? Ready for a flight? It could have been either one. But the offer paired with the... it has to be the tiara, has some of that coiled anticipation easing off.

It isn't until after he's already answered that Tris actually lets his dark eyes take in everything that is Kenny. There might be something perplexed in his expression, but also bemused. "What're you having?" He asks, leaning toward the other man to hear his answer better. That's not necessarily an enthusiastic agreement, nor necessarily an acceptance of the offer at all, but it does sound like he's willing to buy the pretty princess werewolf the drink of his choice.

--

"Maybe I'm shit at giving blowjobs," suggests Kenny like a man who is VERY CONFIDENT that he is not, in fact, shit at giving blowjobs. The fact that Tris does not take exception to his offer eases the tension out of the werewolf, but if he's disappointed about the lack of visceral response, the idea of a free drink is much more important. "Fuck," for having to make a decision. "How about a very tall, very strong Long Island. And no roofies or anything, if you don't mind. I paid good money for the drugs I'm on and I'd rather not fuck that up just yet." At least he's honest. That has to count for something.

--

Tris seems willing to entertain Kenny's suggestion, looking over the other man's face again. "Yeah, you're right. You're probably all teeth and slobber." For all that the words are what they are, it sounds like the man with the wallet is making a joke. He does flash a smile that's nearly a smirk at the werewolf as he produces said wallet and hands bills over to the bartender while he orders drinks.

"Sounds like you know your way around town." The Changeling observes, his eyes straying from Kenny to sweep the room briefly before coming back to Kenny and he leans in again to ask, "What's your name?"

--

"Oh, sweetie. You look like a man who enjoys some teeth." Kenny clicks said teeth in a suggestive bite toward Tris, but that wallet draws his attention away from that particular tease pretty easily. "Born and raised," even if he only sounds like it sometimes. "Kenny," he introduces himself, a hand briefly touching his chest. "Something in particular you're looking to find, handsome?" The reaches out to settle on the lost's bicep, probably to give it an appreciative squeeze if he can get that far.

--

Tris's laugh comes easily, the look lighting up his already attractive face. He doesn't argue with Kenny's assessment, nor does he seem bothered by the other man's familiarity. That bicep is hot. It's not just that he's pleasantly leanly muscular, it's physically hot. In fact, just coming into Tris' personal space that way has the effect of summer sun heating the personal bubble of space around the man.

"I'm new in town." More or less. "I'm still looking for a lot of things. A hook up would be good." He lets his dark blue eyes linger on Kenny's lighter ones for a beat, two, almost too long before he clarified, "For the drugs you paid good money for, for starters." That's pitched only slightly lower. "I could make it worth your while." That was a really nice wallet, after all. The one he tucks away again. "I'm Tris." He adds it almost as an afterthought. "Want to find a place to talk, Kenny?" He nods in the general direction of the V.I.P. area. Fancy shit here.

--

Look, if Kenny makes a pleasant little sound at the heat of the other man, it's probably drowned out by the rest of the club. But he still looks like he's appreciating all of the whole Tris thing a lot. What's not to appreciate? The mention of a hook up gets a perk of excitement, one that doesn't really go away when Tris clarifies that he's looking for drugs. He even peeks around the broader man toward the VIP area, and he's flashing a smile. "Oh, please. Whisk me off to where the cool kids are, Tris. I know for a fact someone has drugs back there." He could say that about out here, too, granted.

--

The drinks arrive just then, how timely, and Tris will snag both glasses before offering an elbow toward Kenny. "Well, then, Princess, let me sweep you off your feet. It'll have to wait til we're up there, though, wouldn't want to abuse the alcohol," by sloshing it onto the floor. Light humor laces through the Millennial's voice. If Kenny gets to be the princess (given his tiara and sparkles), then Tris obviously will play the part of Prince Charming. At least for now.

If Kenny's all in the way the other man seems to expect, he'll lead them to the stairs where extra security keeps the haves from the have nots by lifting a very effective velvet rope. From thence, the Prince leads on up the stairs and into a dim booth where the music can still be heard, still be felt through vibrations in the metal floor.

He moves to set the drinks on the small table there and then tug some of the curtains most of the way closed, giving the illusion of privacy even if the world continues to spin right out and below the lofted VIP area. There is a nice looking sports coat here, so maybe this is Tris' very own hollow for the night, though there mustn't be anything valuable in the coat or it might not have been left. Only then will Tris move to settle in a size-eating sprawl on one of the cushioned couches beside the low table, cocking an brow at the werewolf, inviting smile present and accounted for.

--

Kenny takes no offense to being called princess. He probably wouldn't be wearing a tiara in public if he was going to take offense to something like that. So he takes Tris' elbow and allows himself to be led up to the VIP area like any self-possessed young lady ought. "Young, hot, loaded." Okay, making assumptions. "Be still my heart, I might have to ask you to marry me," says the werewolf as he sprawls in kind, evidently no particular concept of personal space to speak of. "Is there something specific you're wanting to get your hands on? You seem to know what you're about well enough."

--

"Where's the fun in being young, hot and loaded if you throw it all away by getting married?" Tris quips back as he leans to reach for his drink. He'll even pass Kenny's to him, if he likes, a matter asked with a silent look back at the other man. There's no sign that he's bothered by Kenny's definitions of personal space, but that heat can't seem to help making it toasty in his immediate proximity.

"I'm partial to good weed, but it's always good to have a few things on hand in case I have a party, or just a friend with more exotic tastes." Tris can shrug that all easily. "No hallucinogens," is about the only restrictions on what he might be interested in. "Do you deal, Kenny?" is just about as direct as a cop might be, but with a far different tone. Tris lingers over his swallow of his drink, watching the werewolf, because that question was really 'What do you do for a living, Kenny?' and the Changeling is waiting for an answer.

--

Kenny can get his own drink, thank you very much, man who does not want to marry him. Once he has his drink, he resettles on the other end of the couch, pulling one kneed up practically to his chest while his other leg stretches out. "Good weed, no hallucinogens," he repeats, slightly judgmental. What kind of drug user even are you, Tris? "No, I've just met a lot of them. I can get you in contact, put in a good word. Good quality, safe." Or not, honestly, if that's the preference. He won't judge that part. "I'm a professional people pleaser." It's sounds sweet, right? "I fuck. For money. I dance naked sometimes, too. When the mood strikes me."

--

Well, Princess, who probably is better off without this happily ever after, moving away just gives the Beast a chance to pursue. Tris slides down the couch into Kenny's personal space, "So you were giving me a discount," he observes with amusement. "Just like the idea of pleasing me or just hoping the first-time discount would keep me coming back?" It's still all light humor from the Changeling, even if the drugs are taken a touch more seriously. "I'd appreciate it, and of course can pay your connection fee." It sounds like he's done this kind of thing before. He doesn't seem to mind being judged for his preferences, although he does murmur, "It's hard enough for us to know what we're seeing is real before you make the mistake of adding drugs into the mix." There's a pause before he adds, "You might not have seen one of my kind on shrooms, but you don't want to. It gets messy, fast." That might just be one man's experience.

--

"Little from column A, little from column B," admits Kenny. "Sometimes a man just likes to have a dick in his mouth." Surely Tris can relate, if he's willing to be all up in Kenny's personal space, too. "Suppose so. To be fair, I haven't met many of you. Lived here my whole life and only just started to see one of you here and there. Thought I was seeing things, at first. Never really thought why I never saw you here before, when I've seen you other places." And of course now he's all sorts of curious. "Never been this close. You all so hot?" He probably means the temperature.

--

No, Tris has no problem being in Kenny's personal space. After another drink he'll even lean so that the path of his breath traces along the other man's cheek and down his neck, even if there's no more contact than an arm stretching along the couch behind the werewolf. Maybe this is the way a Beast flirts? Maybe he's just passing the time. "No, I'm hotter than most." That might be a joke. "Some of us are downright frigid." There's a joke there, too, somewhere, but it might be Tris' private one.

He leans back again to take another drink. "I heard something had changed to make it so we could come here, but like I said I'm new. Maybe that was just some opinion said too loudly." He shrugs his shoulders a little. "Tell me about your favorite things here, Kenny." The moneyed man pitches his voice to a little bit of a purr, like he's the one trying to make a sale.

--

Flirting? Passing time? Either way Kenny likes it and he's not shy about that. He also likes Knowing Things, though, so that's where he'll focus for now. The werewolf takes a long drink, then he's tilting his head toward the changeling to study that pretty face, glitter catching the dim light as he does so. "Oh, the tourists by far. You wouldn't believe how many closeted assholes find the time to let loose while their poor wives are shopping or whatever." Is that what Tris meant? Probably not. "There are some exquisite parties." Orgies? "I'm sure once your name gets around, you'll be at them all. If that's your thing."

--

Well, Kenny's glitter isn't the only thing catching the light. In Tris' case, it's a very literal catching. Though the traceries of gossamer scars that run across his forearms are tugging a faint pink and yellow from his time on the dance floor, they and those on his neck, under his jaw and around his ears are all grabbing a faint sky blue and pale green touched with copper in the dim light of the VIP area.

"Less mess with tourists, I'd imagine," Tris doesn't have trouble with this exchange, even if it might not be quite what he meant. He seems comfortable, talking with Kenny, sitting here in a club, exchanging idle information. Maybe he's even done it before. Even the flirting part, although that seems to have fallen by the wayside for the moment, though he does say, "I do like parties," of course. Was there ever any doubt? "I do pay for tips as to the best ones to attend." He might mean less about orgies and more about... well, other things.

--

Oh, Kenny is looking at the scars, fascinated but surely aware enough that there's a time and a place to talk about that sort of thing. Right now probably isn't it. "Clients are clients in the end, I guess." He's probably not expecting Tris here to become one of them, not like that at least, or he might not be so candid about it. "Tourists are difficult to build a relationship with, but they can be a fun adrenaline rush. Some of them really hate how much they want you." And apparently Kenny gets off on that. "What's your thing?" If not orgies. And not psychedelics. "Kinky shit? Cage fighting?" Kenny has been around the block, apparently. If all Tris wanted was to dance and smoke weed, he wouldn't need tip offs on where to go.

--

That last prompts Tris' easy laughter. He takes a moment to let his eyes rake across Kenny - LOOKING IS FREE, KENNY - and then he grins. "I'm not sure you'd be interested," he tells the professional people pleaser. "But if you want to give me your number, I'll keep you in mind next time I'm in the mood." It's not quite a promise, but he does look like he could at least make good on payment.

"Aside from what you could help me with," on a personal level, "cage fights are good. Anywhere emotions run high. Tell me, Kenny, did you hope I'd hit you?" He didn't miss the anticipatory excitement then, when the werewolf approached him at the bar. Before there's even an answer he leans in to ask in a purposefully rough voice, "Are you a troublemaker?" As if that were something he might be called to the principal's office over. Maybe Tris likes kinky shit after all? Even if it doesn't appear that he's offering to be that principal or anything.

--

Networking is about making connections that might lead to future benefits. That's good enough for Kenny. He pulls a card out of those tight pants, black cardstock with only a white phone number. Discreet, obviously. "You can call me any time you want, gorgeous. Well, text, maybe." Look, they're of that generation. Kenny'd probably prefer to avoid actual phone calls when possible. "I also accept all dick pics. Very confidential." As for the rest? "Look, I enjoy drama as much as the next gay. And I'm in a position to take a few hits and fight back when I find it. Win-win, as far as I'm concerned." So that'd be a yes. Kenny is definitely a troublemaker. And he's damned proud of that label, too, judging by that predatory glimmer in his pale green eyes.

--

The scarred man shifts enough to take his wallet out again to pocket away the card after a quick glance. "Oh, I think you can count on it. It sounds like we might become the best of friends, Kenny." Tris' humor is wry, but there's a ring of genuine enjoyment there. "I'm a good wingman for trouble. Maybe that's my think." He winks rakishly at the prostitute before taking another swallow of his drink. "Which would only leave... what would you like out of it?" Friendship? Maybe he means transactional friendship. That seems healthy.

--

"I like the sound of that." Kenny lifts his drink up slightly, then takes a substantial gulp out of it. "It's usually more fun to get in trouble with someone else than all by your lonesome." Not always but usually. "Let's see how good of a wingman you are first, and take it from there," teases the werewolf. There's a gesture to where Tris put away his card, then, "Text me later and I'll send you some of those contacts. Just tell them Kenny sent you and they'll hook you up. I can also babysit if you want to try something new." Just in case Tris wants to get really fucked up or something.

--

"Very kind," Tris replies, dryly, despite the fact that babysitting is a very valuable service in its own right. "I'll keep it in mind." That much is genuine. Evidently wait-and-find-out is an alright approach by the Millennial because he's returning, "Once you have my number, text me the next time you're planning to make trouble and want a wingman. I'll meet you." It doesn't seem to matter to Tris where that might be.

He finishes off his drink before he's setting his glass on the table and shifting to stand. "I'm taking off. But I'm glad I met you, Princess." He'll even dramatically sweep down to a knee, angling to take Kenny's hand and press his knuckles to his lips, only to flash a playful grin at the werewolf before he's back up and reaching for his jacket. "At least with your number I won't have to work my way through a foot fetishist's dream to find you again." It doesn't sound like that is up Tris' alley at any rate.

"Enjoy the room as long as you like," this VIP space. Not that Tris can control what happens after he leaves, but he offers that last over his shoulder as he heads for the stairs. He'll even send another drink Kenny's way on his way out. What else do you do with boatloads of cash but make good friends into better ones?

--

"You have my word," Kenny assures the other man like this is a much more serious matter than it is, even if he's grinning like he's already looking forward to it. With Tris on his way out, sweeping down on a knee to kiss Kenny's hand, the werewolf feigns all sorts of fluster. "Until we meet again, my handsome prince." And they'll definitely be meeting again if Kenny has anything to say about it.