Venom & Vows

Chapter 3- Dance

⚠️***Spicy! Stealing, and stereotyping (in a good way though)***⚠️

“Okay, so…” Thanit muttered, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he researched the nightclub. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap filled the silence between them.

Nithi sighed, already regretting his decision to enlist his friend’s help. “I told you, I already researched the club,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“No, you did a background report,” Thanit corrected, without looking up. “That’s different.”

“Same thing,” Nithi grumbled.

Thanit finally paused, turning to face his friend. "What good's a background check going to do? Are we just going clubbing, or what?"

Nithi blinked, momentarily confused. “Huh?” He was starting to wonder if his friend had finally lost it.

Thanit leaned back in his chair, the annoyance clear in his voice. “You have to research the club, Nithi! Figure out what roles would give you access!”

The word "roles" clicked into place for Nithi. Of course. Undercover work. He should have known Thanit would have a plan, a meticulously crafted, slightly insane plan. A grin spread across his face. "Thanit, you genius," he murmured.

“What do you suggest then?” Nithi asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued.

Thanit tapped furiously again, muttering under his breath. "You can't be a bouncer. They'd spot you a mile off."

“That would be… inconvenient,” Nithi agreed.

Thanit finally looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Bartender? You could do your thing on your breaks.”

Nithi stared, speechless. "When have you ever seen me drink? Touch a wine glass? Thanit, you know me! You're my friend!" He sputtered, incredulous.

Thanit feigned outrage, throwing his hands up dramatically. “How dare you! I’m not just your friend, Nithi! I’m your best friend! The very best!”

Nithi rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. “Any other…brilliant suggestions?”

A devious smirk spread across Thanit’s face. He leaned in conspiratorially, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “I do. But you’re not going to like it.”

--------

Thanit was absolutely right. No question. But Nithi vehemently disagreed with the plan, requiring a Herculean effort of convincing and pleading from Thanit to secure his reluctant agreement. Thanit couldn't entirely blame his friend's stubbornness; after all, he'd relentlessly teased Nithi every time the idea was even broached.

"I look gay," Nithi sneered, the word carrying a negative weight.

"You are, tonight," Thanit snickered, expertly maneuvering his car into the last remaining parking space.

Nithi glared, a simmering intensity in his eyes. Thanit circled around to open the passenger door for him, only exacerbating Nithi's discomfort. Clad in tights, a glittering blouse over a barely-there white shirt that offered minimal n****e coverage, Nithi was acutely self-conscious.

"What?" Thanit prompted, gesturing for Nithi to get out. But the boy remained stubbornly slumped in the seat, a pout etched on his face. "Didn't you say, to play the character, you have to be the character?"

It was true. Nithi had repeated that mantra countless times before his undercover operations, it had become his personal credo. But this was different. This wasn't infiltrating a gang, a role he'd honed over years of meticulous preparation. This was…undercover as a stripper. His training consisted of a single hour of YouTube tutorials, utterly unhelpful, if not downright terrifying. The intimacy, the closeness, the possibility of being on someone's lap—a shiver ran down Nithi's spine at the thought. And the poles! The sheer physicality of it all. He rubbed his back, picturing the inevitable cracking and snapping if he even attempted such a feat. Finally, he emerged from the car, his glare fixed on Thanit.

As they approached the club entrance, Thanit produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Nithi.

"What's this?" Nithi asked, examining the card.

"Your ID," Thanit explained. "They'll have you go through the back, so we'll probably get separated."

Tonight, Nithi was Som Phuket. He nodded, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Do I look like a Som?"

"Kinda," Thanit admitted, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

Nithi stared at him, his apprehension palpable. Thanit, unable to withstand the intensity, conceded.

"Not everyone looks like their name!" he said, playfully tugging at Nithi's sleeve. "It's just for tonight. You'll be fine!"

"Thank you," Nithi said, his voice sincere, the shift in his demeanor startling.

Thanit's pride swelled, a wide smile spreading across his face. "See? Aren't you glad I helped?" He slung an arm around Nithi, playfully swaying them back and forth. "You'd be utterly lost without me!"

"Identification," the bouncer growled, his face painted with weariness.

Thanit released Nithi, and both straightened, the levity of their previous exchange fading. Nithi presented the fake ID.

The bouncer's gaze lingered on Nithi, a skeptical frown creasing his brow. "Som Phuket?" he repeated, the name tasting like a question mark on his tongue.

Nithi plastered on a smile that felt as strained as his posture. "Yep, I work here."

The bouncer's assessment was brutally honest. "Can you even dance?" he scoffed, his eyes taking in Nithi's rigid frame. "You look like you'd snap in two."

Nithi’s stiffness wasn't an act; it was the sheer terror of his undercover mission. He'd played thugs, he’d played con men, but never... this. The pressure was a physical weight, pressing down on his chest. An awkward silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Thanit, ever the smooth operator, stepped in.

"He's just nervous," Thanit said, his hand a fleeting, ineffective pat on Nithi's shoulder. The gesture did nothing to quell the storm brewing inside Nithi.

The bouncer’s gaze flicked between them, taking in Thanit’s overly-casual demeanor and Nithi’s rapidly reddening face. A slow grin spread across his lips. "Coming out here to support your boyfriend on his first night, eh?"

The word hung in the air, a verbal punch to the gut. "Boyfriend?!" Nithi sputtered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Thanit erupted in laughter, a sound as uncontrolled and unrestrained as his lie. He nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes, confirming the bouncer’s playful jab.

Nithi’s hand shot out, connecting with Thanit’s ribs in a surprisingly effective blow. "Who would want to date you?!" he hissed.

The bouncer chuckled, the sound echoing the amusement already dancing in his eyes. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "Unfortunately, only Som gets the employee entrance. Maybe he can give you a lap dance later?"

Humiliation burned hotter than any spotlight. Nithi felt his ears blaze as he fled to the employee door, the sound of Thanit’s mocking laughter a painful soundtrack to his retreat.

"Good luck, babe!" Thanit called after him.

---------

The employee door hissed open, and Nithi stepped inside, instantly shielding his eyes. Neon lights pulsed like a frantic heartbeat, assaulting his senses. A throbbing bass vibrated through the floor, a physical pressure against his eardrums. Dizziness washed over him, a strange nausea unrelated to alcohol. He stumbled towards the relative quiet of the bathroom, the music muffled but still a palpable force. Nithi detested bright lights and loud music; they always overwhelmed him, but this was different. This was… visceral. He felt the music not just in his ears, but resonating deep within his chest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in time with the beat.

He took several deep breaths in the cramped stall, then crumpled two tissues, stuffing them deep into his ears, a meager defense against the sonic onslaught. The blinding lights, however, remained his relentless tormentors. He emerged, eyes squeezed shut, his mission clear: get in, get out. He produced a crumpled map from his pocket, quickly scanning the layout before setting off, navigating a sea of gyrating, intoxicated bodies. He nearly made it, but a slender arm snaked around his wrist.

"Dance with me, handsome!" A girl in a scarlet dress that seemed designed to showcase every curve, leaned in close.

"No, thank you," Nithi mumbled, trying to pull away.

"Wait! You came in through the employee door, right?" she persisted, her grip tightening.

He froze. Had she been watching him from the moment he arrived? He reluctantly nodded.

"So you have no choice!" she chirped, suddenly hoisting herself into his arms. "Dance with me!"

Damn it. Maintaining his cover was paramount, but he couldn’t simply walk away. What was the harm? A drunk girl would likely find another partner. But what if someone recognized him? He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Pfft… What?" The girl burst into laughter. "Hahahahaha! That's not how you dance!" She grabbed him, tugging him towards a neon-lit table that pulsed with its own frantic light. She collapsed onto the plush booth with theatrical flair, then sprang up, almost explosively.

"Dance! Dance!" she shrieked, pounding her fist on the table.

Nithi glanced around. Other dancers, their bodies glistening under the harsh lights, performed on nearby tables. The reality hit him: he wasn't going to be dancing. Not a chance.

"Dance!" the girl demanded again.

Suddenly, the risk of exposure seemed secondary to the absurdity of the situation. He might blow his cover, but there was no way he was going to contort his body in imitation of those around him. In a flash of inspiration, he grabbed the girl's slender fingers, pulling her into the swirling mass of bodies.

"That's not where you dance!" she protested, her voice lost in the roar of the music.

Like a phantom, Nithi melted into the crowd, leaving the girl behind. He sprinted up the stairs, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Pulling out his meticulously folded map, he quickly memorized the next leg of his journey. The stairs led upward, but his destination lay below – the basement. The top floor, however, was strictly for VIPs and staff.

He moved swiftly through the nearly deserted second floor. Most of the club's employees were downstairs, attending to the revelers, a fortunate break in his clandestine operation. He passed several doors, each marked with a menacingly red VIP sign etched in gold lettering. Finally, he reached his target: a heavy door emblazoned with a stark, crimson "Unauthorized Personnel Keep Out" sign – precisely the sign he'd been searching for. He anticipated a lock, already having his lock pick ready, but before he could use it, the knob turned.

Instinctively, Nithi pressed himself flat against the wall as the door swung inward, revealing a sliver of the room beyond. He held his breath, peering through the narrow gap. Two employees emerged, their faces etched with exhaustion.

"Ugh, I'm wiped," one mumbled, groaning wearily.

"Let's see if they still have nachos downstairs," the other, seemingly less fatigued, chirped, already anticipating the popular late-night snack.

Their conversation, focused entirely on the possibility of nacho depletion, provided the perfect cover. As soon as they were clear, Nithi slipped past the door, his movements fluid and silent, and he bolted down the stairs.

He reached the basement, a dimly lit labyrinth designed to disorient intruders. But Nithi wasn't disoriented. His flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating his path as he navigated the map's intricate details. He moved with the stealth of a shadow, his slim frame allowing him to squeeze into tight spaces, disappearing whenever he heard the telltale sounds of patrolling staff or idle chatter. The mission felt eerily similar to a high-stakes video game.

Finally, he stood before a heavy glass door. But instead of a knob, there was a keypad.

"A code?!" he hissed, instantly clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. He waited, tense, listening for any reaction. He seemed to have gotten away with it…until a blinding flash of light seared his eyes. He squeezed them shut.

"Who are you?!" a voice demanded.

Shit. Caught. The mission, his meticulous planning, all crumbling around him because he’d lost control of his voice. But not yet. He still had a chance. He had to become the character he needed to be. Taking a deep breath, he settled into his role, opening one eye while keeping the blind eye tightly closed.

"Hello krub!" Nithi chirped, hands clasped together, his voice pitched artificially high. "Just a quick check-in!" he added, waving his hands with exaggerated flair, a caricature of every gay stereotype he'd ever seen on television. He arched his back, swayed his hips, the performance bordering on frantic.

The man eyed him skeptically. "Who sent you?"

The stress was palpable. Nithi needed to amp up the act. He took a deep breath and, with a practiced flourish, looped an arm around the man's neck, feigning a dramatic swoon. Eyes fluttering, he groaned theatrically. "Ugh… Must you ask such unnecessary questions?" he whined, desperately maintaining his high-pitched voice, though his throat already felt raw. "I'm simply exhausted from all the dancing I've been doing."

He attempted a backbend, still clinging to the man, but a sharp crack in his spine halted the maneuver abruptly.

The man, visibly uncomfortable, shoved Nithi away. "Uh… who sent you?" he repeated, speechless, still reeling from the bizarre spectacle.

"The boooooossss!" Nithi sang, the words dripping with forced enthusiasm, while internally he cringed. His face burned with embarrassment.

The man looked utterly bewildered, unsure whether to believe the preposterous performance unfolding before him. This was good. Nithi had to capitalize. "Well, are you just going to stand there?" he mumbled, attempting a flirtatious tone that devolved into his normal voice. Damn it! He needed to stay in character.

"What?" the man asked, flabbergasted, seemingly oblivious to the shift in Nithi's voice.

"Be a gentleman! Open the door for me!" Nithi demanded, forcing a laugh that sounded strained and unconvincing.

Hesitantly, the man punched in the code, waiting for Nithi to pass. "Thank you, handsome!" Nithi chirped, blowing a kiss.

The moment his back was turned, the charade crumbled. He coughed, his throat raw, shaking his head in disgusted self-loathing. Handsome? He'd called the guy handsome? It had been improvisation, pure and simple, but the words already felt like a brand. He didn't hate gay people; he was simply indifferent. Dating, regardless of gender, was utterly outside his experience. The forced flirtation had been deeply unsettling.

He stood before the glass case, its contents—the flash drive—shimmering under the lights. A prickle of guilt stabbed at him. He had no idea what information the drive contained, what kind of damage its theft might cause to this club, to someone's livelihood. He didn't enjoy nightclubs, but this was someone's business, someone's income. He pushed the thought aside.

‘No. If it involves Mongkol, it's justified,’ he muttered, a self-justifying mantra to quiet the nagging voice of conscience.

Nithi’s thin fingers gripped the sides of the case, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He lifted it, snatched the flash drive, and fled. He expected the shriek of an alarm, the clang of a triggered sensor, but silence reigned. That didn’t ease his panic; it only fueled it. The flash drive burning a hole in his pocket, he sprinted from the basement, up the stairs, two flights to the second floor. He’d planned to slip out the way he’d come, but as he passed a VIP room, a voice, chillingly calm, snaked around him, stopping him dead.

“Excuse me?”

The voice was a whisper, barely audible, yet it held an authority that silenced the pounding of his blood. Nithi could have pretended not to hear, but his feet were already rooted to the spot. The ash-like quality of the voice, the subtle rasp, sent a jolt of pure terror through him.

Reluctantly, he turned. A man sat on a black plush couch, the smooth, uncushioned surface stark against the opulence of the room. Midnight blue eyes, emotionless and intense, glared at him from beneath messy, dark curls. A freshly lit cigar smoldered between the man’s lips.

“Who are you?”

The gaze was a physical weight, pinning Nithi to the spot. He wanted to crumple, to beg for mercy, but the eyes, burning with an icy fire, held him transfixed.

The man took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar. “I won’t repeat myself.” Smoke curled from his pale lips, his voice deepening, resonating with a low, dangerous rumble. Was it the cigar? Or something far more unsettling?

Sweat beaded on Nithi’s forehead. He swallowed hard, his throat constricting. “I’m a… a stripper…” he stammered, the word barely a breath.

'Get a hold of yourself!' he screamed silently, but the panic choked him.

“Name?” the man asked, his voice a low growl.

'Shit.' Nithi frantically searched his mind. Thanit had given him a business card… what was the name? He couldn’t risk reaching for it; that would be far too suspicious. “S… s…” he began, his mind a blank canvas except for the initial letter.

“You don’t know your own name?” The man’s question, devoid of any real curiosity... He wanted a deliberate game, a slow, agonizing unraveling.

“Som!” Nithi blurted out, grasping at a name he hoped, prayed, was on the card.

“Som?” The ashy voice repeated, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Nithi nodded frantically, pulling out the business card. He offered it with trembling hands, the card a desperate lifeline to this unnerving encounter. But the man didn't take it.

“Here, my business card, krub.” Nithi’s arms ached with the effort of holding it out. He hoped that the sight of the card would somehow reassure the man, that it would bring an end to the unsettling interrogation. It didn't.

Just as Nithi was about to lower his arms, a figure he hadn't noticed before materialized in the doorway. The sudden appearance jolted Nithi, causing him to drop the card with a clatter.

“Jeez…” he breathed, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.

The newcomer stood silently, his gaze falling on the fallen card.

"You want my business card?" Nithi asked, his voice calmer now than it had been moments before, when addressing the imposing figure on the couch. He carefully selected his card and offered it to the newcomer, who seemed to have materialized from thin air.

The stranger began reading aloud, his voice flat: "Name: Som Phuket. Profession: Male Stripper. Contact information…" As the man recited the number, Nithi couldn't help but admire Thanit's handiwork. The card was impeccable, even the phone number—a detail Nithi hadn't anticipated.

"Fake contact information," the stranger declared after a brief pause.

Nithi's eyes widened, mirroring a startled deer caught in headlights. How could this man possibly deduce that from a single glance? He'd only read it once!

Nithi swallowed hard. "Fake? T-that's my n-number!" he stammered, his voice rising in pitch.

"Male stripper?" the ash-colored voice repeated, the cigar swirling lazily in a hypnotic circle. "Are you any good?"

Nithi's breath hitched. "Huh?" Had the man not heard the "fake contact information" comment? Those midnight-blue eyes seemed to bore into him, waiting for an answer.

A shaky smile touched Nithi's lips, a mixture of relief and sheer terror. "Yep, I'm a rhino when it comes to dancing," he blurted out, the words escaping before he could censor them. The moment the sound left his lips, he regretted it instantly. Rhino? He wanted to retract the statement, but the trembling smile remained plastered on his face.

The midnight-blue eyes gleamed with a spark of interest; a dark eyebrow twitched subtly. "Dance."

That single word shattered the fragile remnants of Nithi's composure. The color drained from his face. Hell no! He wanted to scream. The rolled-up tissue in his ear muffled the music; how could he possibly dance in sync?

"What?" he choked out. "B-but it's my break. I should get going." A pathetic excuse, a desperate attempt to escape. His last hope.

Suddenly, Nithi's business card was flung back at him by the man he'd momentarily forgotten. The newcomer opened his mouth, his voice clear and accented with a thick Italian lilt. "You can skip your break, sir?” The question had the veneer of a request, but the steely glare in his eyes left no room for doubt. Nithi had no choice.

The dread in Nithi's eyes flickered out, replaced by a practiced smile as he slipped back into character. The midnight blue eyes across the room tracked the transformation. Knowing his back... He couldn't risk any elaborate moves. With a swift movement, he shed his glittering blouse, revealing a thin white shirt beneath. The sudden chill against his skin sent a shiver through him; his n*****s tightened, a surprising and unwelcome sensation. He hesitated, a fleeting impulse to shield himself from the intense scrutiny of the midnight blue eyes, which seemed to hold him captive in their gaze. But no. This unexpected vulnerability—this "little sensation," as he awkwardly termed it—would not break his performance. It was a first, and surprisingly, the flicker of hesitation seemed to intrigue the watching man.

He raised an arm slowly; the movements meticulously rehearsed from countless videos. Each dancer in those videos possessed a seductive ease, a knowingness he lacked. They understood how to build suspense, to awaken desire. Nithi, however, had no personal experience with such things; lust was a foreign concept. He could only mimic the expressions he'd studied, carefully crafting a façade of allure. His gaze, unwavering, locked with the midnight blue eyes, holding them fast. Only then did the other man notice the subtle, almost imperceptible, stillness of Nithi's left eye—a blind eye.

His hips began a slow, deliberate rotation, his body subtly twitching to a rhythm only he could hear, a rhythm that was hopelessly out of sync with the muffled music..

The midnight-blue eyes sneered, taking another long drag from his cigar, breaking eye contact with Nithi. Nithi's face burned. He wasn't going to be humiliated by this man, not after being forced to dance. With a surge of defiance, he stormed forward, snatching the cigar and inserting it between his own lips. He began to sway, his hips moving against the man's with surprising strength and confidence.

The man's breath hitched. Nithi used a finger to trace the man's eyebrow, down his sharp jawline, the touch deliberate, finally forcing the midnight-blue eyes to meet his. Those heavy fingers, calloused and strong, grasped Nithi's thin shirt at the neck, pulling him closer. Nithi didn't flinch. His plan was working; this dance was his ticket to freedom. Excitement thrummed beneath his skin.

The man leaned in, exhaling a slow, steady stream of cigar smoke that burned Nithi's ear. The boy's eyes squeezed shut, a wave of heat washing over him, searing his body. When the smoke finally cleared, the man's voice, raspy and laced with ash, rasped, "Have you ever danced before?"

Nithi, his cheek pressed against the man's slender neck, his own face flushed crimson, stammered, "N-no…" His mind, clouded by the heat and the nearness of the man, had completely forgotten his undercover stripper persona.

"Funny," the man scoffed, his breath still ghosting Nithi's ear. "I don't recall hiring fake strippers."

Nithi's heart leaped into his throat. His eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a physical blow: the man knew. He knew all along. But why force him to dance? That question was irrelevant now. Escape was his only priority.

"Well, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation," Nithi began, forcing a smile. "I'm—"

He broke off, sprinting away before he could utter a lie. He couldn't think of one. The man with the midnight-blue eyes was too unpredictable, and Nithi knew there was no talking his way out of this.

"Get him," the ashy voice commanded, addressing the hulking figure who had initially startled Nithi.

"Yes, Virote," the man – the second in command – replied, bowing slightly before pursuing the fleeing boy. More goons appeared behind him, a shadowy, relentless pack...