The glass doors slid open with a hiss, parting like an expensive secret. Star and Leon strolled in like they owned the air, unbothered by the two tuxedo-armored guards posted on either side.
The guards' black bowties looked so tight they might have been choking on their own professionalism.
Inside was another world entirely. It was so glossy, so decadent, so over-lit that for a second Star forgot there was music at all. Then the bass hit him in the chest like a polite but firm slap, a rhythm he could taste on his tongue.
The club wasn't crowded; it didn't need to be. Its luxury made the air itself feel exclusive.
Ladies... no, goddesses, moved through the glow.
Dozens of them.
They were dressed in identical shimmering gold bras and g-strings that glittered under the neon, their curves bouncing like misbehaving jelly as they danced.
Some swung round chrome poles planted like silver trees, hips winding, hair whipping, their breasts bouncing, their asses clapping to the deep, primal beat that the DJ, perched high on a platform like a techno god wove into the very fabric of the night. In sunken lounges, on plush velvet couches the color of blood, men reclined, their hands roaming over gyrating women ass, as they showered them with bills.
Others still just stood, rocking their hips and letting the music do the talking.
Clusters of couches lounged across the floor like oversized lions. They were long, low and deep enough to swallow three people whole, upholstered in black leather trimmed with golden piping and scattered with cushions as fat as loaves of bread.
In the inner rooms (visible through archways lit in soft crimson), there were more couches, private cabanas, even a sunken swimming pool rimmed with LED lights where a few tipsy patrons dipped their feet.
Above it all a DJ tower glowed, the DJ himself a silhouette bouncing and bobbing behind a glass booth, his hands flying over decks like a sorcerer casting spells.
From the ceiling hung chandeliers that dripped blue light like enchanted icicles. Neon orange strips crawled along the walls.
A giant mirrored disco ball hovered mid-air, turning slowly, spitting rainbows across the club in perfect time to the beat. Every flash of color felt like it was winking at someone.
Leon ignored all this sin-and-sparkle and bee-lined for the bar at the far end, Star trailing after him.
The bar counter itself curved in a perfect glossy arch like a crescent moon. Its top was a sheet of smoked glass so smooth you could slide a coin across it forever.
Along the back wall, a towering glass cabinet displayed bottles like jewels; scarlet wines, emerald liqueurs, glowing neon spirits in shapes you'd swear were alchemical flasks.
Behind the counter a nearly-plump blonde with a short curly bob presided. Her incredible breasts, barely contained by a golden bra, seemed to defy gravity with every breath. A matching G-string left little to the imagination. Over it she had draped a golden-and-white cloak left open so it swished dramatically whenever she moved.
"Man, this place is something else," Star breathed, sliding onto one of the bar stools. The chair was a masterpiece of design, a sleek basket-like weave of dark wicker and polished chrome that cradled his body perfectly, cushioning him so thick his hips seemed to have sank down with a sigh.
He turned to the barmaid.
"Mind getting us a bottle of Crimson Dusk?" he asked (a rich, non-alcoholic red wine so dark it looked like velvet poured into a glass). Star had made Steve a non-drinker, and Star, wearing Steve's skin, didn't either, but a bottle of wine at least looked right in a place like this.
The lady giggled, a soft, weaponised giggle. Star was sure it wasn't for him. Her eyes flicked to Leon, to his dark-obsidian-smooth skin, his neatly trimmed hair, his jawline sharp enough to slice citrus, the way his tuxedo hugged his shoulders. Star was sure the lady likes blacks.
She poured their wine into long, thin-stemmed glasses, eyeing Leon unnoticeably.
"You look beautiful," Leon said out of nowhere. leaning in with his best smile.
The lady blinked. Star noticed the mole of crimson that was shimmering at her cheeks.
"You look absolutely breathtaking." Leon added his voice cutting through the music
She giggled again, not even looking up.
"Really?" she threw back, her tone lightly teasing.
Leon nodded solemnly, then suddenly shouted,
"WOOOUU! Is that a missile?"
Star nearly jumped out of his chair. His skeleton tried to escape his body. The barmaid gasped, looking around wildly for falling rockets, almost spilling the wine.
"Missile? Where?" she gasped, her head whipping around in a panic.
Leon grinned and pointed. "Oh, um… that's just you. I mean, the missile's under that dress."
Star followed his finger and realized Leon was pointing directly at her chest, two golden warheads straining at their bra. He groaned and slapped his own forehead.
The bartender's flustered alarm melted into icy disdain. She placed the bottle down with a definitive thud. She chuckled, but it was a laugh with knives in it.
"Seriously?" she said.
Leon, looking immensely proud of his 'line,' just grinned and nodded.
"I think you should serve yourself from now on," she said flatly, turning on her heel and stalking to the far end of the bar, muttering, very much disappointed.
"God, you're such an asshole."
"I totally support you in that one!" Star called after her, dissolving into laughter.
He brought his glass to his lips, but the utterly crushed, bewildered look on Leon's face; a man who clearly thought he'd delivered poetry, made him burst out laughing again.
Leon's face, though, was priceless. His proud grin collapsed into a crooked, guilty smile, eyes darting like a schoolboy caught writing bad words. If embarrassment were a hat, he was wearing it sideways. Star laughed harder.
"Man, who taught you to toast a lady?" he asked, choking on his own amusement.
Leon puffed his cheeks like a pufferfish.
"Shut up," he mumbled, trying to change the subject.
"Do you mind telling me…you know??... all..." He waggled his head in a way that made him look like a lizard doing a courtship dance. A jerky motion accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows that was meant to imply everything.
Star narrowed his eyes. He knew exactly what Leon was implying but decided to play dumb.
"All… what?" he asked innocently.
"All…" Leon repeated, this time adding a circular gesture with his finger, waggling it around Star's entire body like he was tracing his silhouette in the air.
Star chuckled, shaking his head. The guy was a disaster, but an oddly charming one.
"Well," he said at last, taking a sip and crossing his legs with exaggerated elegance.
"I accepted."
Leon's eyes widened comically. "Accepted what? To fuck slay mamas and get paid or what?"
"Oh God." Star slapped his palm over his face. "Where did you leave your brain, Leon?"
Leon screwed up his face in feigned innocence.
"What do you mean, where did I leave my brain? It's right here in my skull." He tapped his temple.
Star gave him a long, piercing look. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Leon smirked with a shrug.
"Nah. I doubt that. Maybe you left it in the lost-and-found box at the zoo's monkey enclosure," Star deadpanned.
Leon clutched his chest. "Ouch. Yeah, I deserve that. Totally deserve that." He leaned back and raised his glass in surrender.
"Thought you said you'd never accept it, douchebag," he muttered.
Star chuckled. "You know 'douchebag' is not a suitable revenge word, Leon. And yes, I accepted. Now I'm rich."
Well Leon knew about him, everything about him to be precise, and his fathers gifts to him wasn't an exception.
Leon scanned him again, eyes dragging from hair to shoes.
"Man, this is not you. The Steve I know is a 3P-man; pure, pathetic and poor... but now…"
Suddenly, the air shifted.
It was subtle, then all at once. The music seemed to dip for a half-beat. The scent of perfumes was momentarily overpowered by a wave of jasmine and night-blooming flowers.
The very attention of the room, its energy, pulled, like a tide going out. It drowned the rest of Leon's words in his throat.
Star, sensing the change, turned toward the entrance.
It was