Chapter 50
FIFTY
Blake
Blake stood backstage with half his backup dancers, the other half waiting in the wings on the opposite side of the stage.
He adjusted his headset mic, ensuring it was properly positioned.
A sense of calm washed over him. There was nothing more to do – no more preparation, no more rehearsals.
Now, he could just focus on his performance.
On stage, Madge Maker – owner of The Blind Tiger speakeasy and an icon in the local drag community – was reaching the dramatic climax of her act, a medley of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” and Rihanna’s “Diamonds.” Light played over the Swarovski crystals studding her beaded bodysuit, and her iridescent wig twinkled with shades of green and pink.
To Blake’s right, the red disk on the wall steadily shrank as Madge’s number neared its end.
They’d swapped the standard countdown clock for a visual timer – less risk of Blake getting flustered by having to read numbers under pressure.
The timer’s disk disappeared, wedge by wedge, showing at a glance how much time remained until he took the stage.
Ethan appeared beside him. “Two minutes,” he said, just loud enough for the nearby dancers to hear. Then he held up two fingers to the dancers on the other side of the stage.
Blake took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. His skin prickled with anticipation, a tingly buzz that rose inside him like champagne bubbles before every number.
“Time to show ’em how it’s done,” Ethan said, adjusting the collar of Blake’s raincoat. “If it helps, picture everyone in the audience naked.”
Their eyes met, and Blake smiled. They’d declared their love for each other less than half an hour ago, and now he was going to strip in front of a packed house.
Their relationship might not make sense to the outside world, but to him, nothing had ever felt more right. At least it would never be boring.
On the climactic beat to her song, Madge fell into a death drop, and the audience burst into applause. Blake flexed his fingers and bounced on the balls of his feet.
The last wedge of the red disk disappeared.
Showtime.
Henry took to the stage. “Let’s have another round of applause for the lovely Madge Maker!
She certainly shines bright like a diamond.
With all the light reflecting off that bodysuit, we probably signaled the moon.
Not that I’m one to talk.” He smoothed his hand down his sparkly pink blazer while the audience laughed.
“You’ve been a great crowd tonight, so I won’t make you wait any longer. The time has come for our grand finale – the moment you’ve been thirsting for. I present to you: Blake Larsen and the men of Siren!”
The lighting flashed, and a low rumble rolled through the club. A video of rain shifted and shimmered on the curtain, its soft pattering joined by the occasional boom of thunder.
Blake sauntered onto the stage, every step slow and sultry, as if he were a rain deity materializing out of the downpour. His hair was slicked back with gel to make it look wet, and halos of smoky shadow framed his eyes.
The sound of rain faded out, replaced with the percussive opening notes of “Only Happy When It Rains.”
Blake sang with the intensity of a coming storm, his voice restrained but subtly building in power, booming when he reached the chorus, each note vibrating in his chest.
He threw open his raincoat, revealing the black tank top and shorts he wore underneath. The slinky coat fabric glided down his arms and pooled on his wrists for a moment, before slipping away entirely. Cool air raised goose bumps on his overheated skin.
Blake owned the stage with the energetic choreography that was becoming his signature style, a blend of hip-hop, electro dance, and classic stripper moves. He popped his hips and dropped low, rolling his shoulders, muscle memory and raw instinct driving him forward.
Every move was an invitation to the audience. Look at me. Want me. Let me ruin you.
As the song crested, Blake spun and grabbed the neckline of his tank.
He tore the perforated back with a sharp yank – the fabric rasping against his skin as it gave way – and flung it to the stage.
Under the spotlight, he dropped to his knees, back arched, hands splayed behind him for balance.
He rocked forward and back in slow, rolling waves.
Riding every man in the audience, letting them feel what it would be like to have him on his knees, horny and starving for cock.
He opened his mouth on the final note like he was gasping in ecstasy.
Another crack of thunder echoed through the club, and Blake rose to his feet, turning his back to the audience and tucking his chin to his chest.
The dramatic, disco-infused intro to “It’s Raining Men” blasted from the speakers and Blake struck a pose, legs planted wide, chest heaving from the last number.
From both wings, the sex gods stormed the stage in a blur of slickers and red rain boots.
They circled Blake, jumping into the air every few steps like raindrops springing from hot pavement.
As Blake spun and launched into the first verse, the guys fanned out in formation behind him. He led them through the synchronized sway-step, shimmying his shoulders in time with the music.
On the first thunderous beat of the chorus, the sex gods ripped open their slickers. Bare chests gleamed under the lights, and glitter-studded blue speedos flashed as they thrust and rolled their hips in unison.
The audience ate it up, cheering them on and screaming loud Wooos whenever the guys performed a particularly risqué move.
As the song’s slow, seductive bridge built to a thrilling crescendo, the guys flung off their slickers and hats.
Blake hooked his fingers into the waistband of his shorts and tore them away with a dramatic snap.
The silver briefs underneath hugged his ass like they were painted on, catching the light with every twist of his hips.
Spotlights flared, bathing the stage in white-hot light as the guys clustered around him. Blake moved from dancer to dancer, caressing their chests and skimming their shoulders as he sang. Thank you, he said with every touch. Thank you for believing in my dream.
The music slammed to a finish, and as the sound of thunder crackled through the club, Blake and his friends bolted offstage in a blur of bare skin and flashing lights.
Tenny, Rhys, Hunter, and Gus strutted to center stage in sleek black coats, umbrellas in hand. As the opening rap of Rihanna’s “Umbrella” pulsed through the club, they tapped the umbrellas on the stage to the beat.
Backstage, Blake quickly changed into a pair of briefs so sheer he may as well have been naked. He pulled on a clear nylon rain slicker, its smooth plastic surface clinging to his sweaty skin. Buzzing with adrenaline, he took the stage on the final beat of the rap, sliding into the spotlight.
The crowd roared when he sang the opening verse. He glided across the stage, all graceful lines and sensual rolls, while the guys danced in a funky, robotic pop-and-lock style, using their umbrellas to create eye-catching shapes and patterns.
For the chorus, Tenny and Rhys stepped forward, each taking a side of Blake’s raincoat.
They peeled it off in one smooth motion, and the crowd gasped.
The light shimmering over Blake’s briefs made them transparent.
Nearly nude, he stood before the audience defiantly.
Inviting them to glance. Daring them to stare.
Blake leaned into the sensuality of the song, stroking his chest, then trailing his fingers down his torso until they slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, teasing a full reveal.
Around him, his backup dancers struck bold, dramatic poses, shifting every few beats to create a unique, kinetic backdrop for Blake’s more erotic movements.
Henry lobbed an umbrella from the wings. Blake caught it with one hand and joined the others in choreography inspired by Rihanna’s iconic orange-filter dance, but with a more vigorous, masculine interpretation.
Droplets of sweat streamed down Blake’s chest. His thighs ached. His lungs burned. But the music surged through him, and he fed on the audience’s energy like it was oxygen.
As the bridge built in intensity, Blake prowled toward the edge of the stage, cupping his bulge on the lyric, “Come into me.”
He opened his umbrella slowly, then raised it high as the lights strobed and the backup dancers flung off their coats – revealing leather harnesses and black G-strings. The crowd lost its mind.
The spotlights flared again, and the group broke into vibrant hip-hop dancing. While the guys pulled out all the stops with knee spins and floor sweepers, Blake anchored center stage, striking seductive poses with the umbrella.
The music crested to its climax. Blake tossed his umbrella into the wings and broke into a run, launching into a front handspring. His body arced through the air, and he landed with a flourish at the exact moment the confetti cannon exploded.
The crowd erupted into cheers and loud whistles, leaping to their feet for an exuberant standing ovation.
With confetti and glitter raining down around him, Blake looked to the wings and locked eyes with Ethan. He made a heart shape with his hands and mouthed I love you.
When he turned back to the audience, sweat stinging his eyes, he let the glare of the lights blind him as he stretched his arms out to the side, basking in the roar of the applause as it washed over him.
For a moment, he was that little boy in his mother’s living room again, dancing barefoot in pajamas, dreaming of bright lights and adoration.
I made it, Mama. I’m a star.