Chapter Text
If you’d told Ray even a year before that he would be sitting at a scratched up table in a strip club at noon, watching some skinny blonde with too much makeup inexpertly spinning around the pole and waiting with a dozen other people for his own time up on that stage, he would have laughed in your face and asked what you were smoking. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and his sniper-for-hire career wasn't taking off as quickly as he'd hoped and his shitty apartment wasn't getting any cheaper, so here he is. Sitting at a table with a thousand names and rude words knifed into the top, watching as skinny-broomstick-lady trips off the stage, beaming and oblivious to the look of exhausted exasperation on the owner's face and the barely-restrained derision being sent her way from the head dancer at the ginger's side. "Well then. Thank you for that- performance, ah, Krystal Jemm. That was- thank you. Moving on... Who's next, Jacky-boy?" The dancer tips his chair back carelessly, studying his nails with an air of boredom as Jack shuffles through the pages spread across the table in front of them.
"Next up is- Ray Narvaez Jr. Please give your music to Lindsay and take the stage." His heart jumps into his throat involuntarily- 'what the hell are you nervous about, this is just a fucking shot in the dark, you're mainly doing this to see the look on Kerry's face when you tell him later'- and the chair screeches slightly as he stands up quickly and heads up front; the woman manning the decrepit-looking sound system gives him an encouraging grin and a thumbs up as he hands over the cd.
The lights are nearly blinding as he stands next to the slender silver pole center-stage, throwing the small audience into smudgy shadow and giving him an odd sense of comfort. It's far easier to imagine he's goofing off in his apartment as he toes off his shoes so he's barefoot, using the battered pole that had been a joke and conversation piece when he'd first discovered it in his new apartment but quickly became a way to work off some adrenaline after a successful job; just he, himself, and Brendon Urie as the familiar drum beats echo through the room. He takes a deep breath- and begins.
“Please leave all overcoats, canes, and top hats with the doorman- from that moment you’ll be out of place and underdressed…"
Ray grips the pole lightly and just swings around it gently for a moment, getting a feel for the balance and strength of it, then kicks up to get a little more momentum, one leg curled under him with the other angled in front. He lets himself spiral down to the ground then rolls backward over his shoulder to get back to his feet, stifling a grin at the murmur of interest from his audience. Stepping forward and gripping the pole, he kicks off in one smooth movement to swing around it with just his hands, savoring the subtle burn in his arms and chest as he keeps his body balanced. He slides down just enough to alight on the ground briefly then kicks off again, this time curling his body inward and upward to flip upside down as he spins, legs in a wide 'V' and toes pointed in a way he knows pulls his calve muscles gorgeously taut. The next spiral down is complete with a twisted fan kick to get his feet back on the ground, and he takes a reprieve from the pole to work the crowd a bit, sauntering toward the edge of the stage and unzipping his hoodie slowly. He lets it slide a bit down one arm as he does a slow spin, pausing with his back to the audience to glance over his shoulder with a faint smirk and a wink before he slips the hoodie off completely and struts back toward the pole, now dressed in just his dark wife beater and khaki shorts.
“I’m the new cancer, never looked better, you can’t stand it. Because you say so under your breath. You’re reading lips- when did he get all confident?"
The smooth metal of the pole is cool under his palms as he climbs partway up it, then grips it tightly with his thighs as he lowers himself backward slowly; there's an audible gasp from the darkness beyond the stage as he re-grabs the pole and air-walks back to the floor, enjoying the way he can feel his abdomen working to keep himself steady with each mock step. He sinks to the floor in a split and then rolls back over his shoulder to his feet again, letting the predatory smirk that had been threatening at his lips finally break free as he bends backward in a graceful arch, kicking into a handstand briefly before cartwheeling sideways. In a final show of his skills as the part of the music he was using begins wrapping up, he jumps at the pole and swings himself rapidly, twisting and coiling himself around it in a complicated set of motions before finally landing and striking a triumphant pose.
The room is silent for a long minute as the drum and horns fades out, Ray breathing slow and deep as his heart rate evens back out; a broad grin splits across his face involuntarily as a smattering of enthusiastic applause erupts from the small crowd, hopping off the stage and puffing up slightly with pride at the appreciative look he’s getting from the haughty dancer and the thrilled smile on Jack’s face. He settles back in his chair, winking jokingly at the little chubby brunette at the next table who is staring at him in awe. “That was amazing. Where did you learn to do that?” She whispers as the club people bend their heads together in heated discussion, scooting her chair closer; Ray shrugs nonchalantly.
“Most of it was self-taught. I’ve watched a lot of Youtube videos.” She shakes her head in disbelief, then jumps as they call out for a Melody Sunquist.
“Oh, that’s me. No pressure- not like you’re a tough act to follow or anything.” His laughter causes her to grin before she skips toward the stage, audibly whistling to herself. Ray settles in to watch the rest of the auditions; he’s distracted, however, by the sensation of eyes burning into the back of his skull. He glances around to see a tall, broad shouldered figure leaning against the bar, his dirty blond hair falling into his eyes which are trained unerringly on him. A slow, devilish smile spreads across the other man’s lips, and Ray whips back toward the stage, sinking into his chair as heat steals up his cheeks.
‘I think I could get used to it here.’