((Okay I'm so so so so so so so so so so so so so so tired. It's pretty late here but I wanted to get this chapter done for you guys. KiraKraus I kind of screwed up bc this chapter was only meant to be 1000 words and it's over 2000 so I'm going to split it into two, but give me 1 more chapter, okay? ))

"Ollie!" Scott couldn't stop a grin from stretching over his face as he gave the Mexican a shove, "You sneaky son of a Chihuahua! What the heck was all that about?!"

Oliver laughed and slung an arm around Scott's shoulder. He pulled the twenty-dollar note out of his pocket and handed it back to him, "You really think I was gonna let your money pay for me, carino?"

"Alright, we get it," Vincent rolled his eyes, skipping slightly to catch up with them and walk beside them, "Oliver cheated a perfectly nice bouncer out of twenty dollars and got into a club illegally while we paid. Big deal."

"Hermano, you need to seriously chill out," Oliver put his other arm around Vincent's shoulder. "Like I said, I'm interested in being in a relationship with Scott, sure, but I'd never leave you out."

"Please do not touch me," Vincent shrugged off Oliver's arm.

"That's what Scott said," Oliver mumbled under his breath, giving a devilish grin towards Vincent. "Fine, fine. First round of drinks are on me." He pulled out his wallet which had his entire savings in it, and fished out five dollars.

"No you don't," Scott insisted, taking the note from Oliver and putting it back inside his wallet. "I am not having you pay for us. You're hard-pressed for money as it is."

"True, but you can't stop living just because things go wrong," Oliver pulled out the note again. "You never know. They have a position open for a bartender here. Maybe I might just score a paid job." He wiggled out of his spot between Scott and Vincent and disappeared.

Vincent watched him go, then looked down at Scott, "I don't like him."

"I do, so deal with it," Scott looked back at him. "Honestly, Vincent, please. Relax. I don't want to go on a date with you all tense like this. I want to be able to have other male friends without you getting all jealous. I mean, it was flattering at the start, and... well, kind of hot. But now it's just..." Scott shrugged. "Annoying."

Vincent blinked at him for a second, and then sighed, pulling him closer and wrapping an arm around his waist. "I can't promise I'll be less protective of you, but I won't make such a big show of it, okay?"

"Well, that's a first step," Scott smiled, wrapping his own arm around Vincent's waist and leaning his head on his shoulder. "It's not a gay bar. Are you sure everyone here's okay with 'us'?"

"Who cares?" Vincent said. "This is the best place in this city, anyway. At least they have both male and female strippers. It's so boring when there's only girls."

"Uh..." Scott looked over to his right. Across the dancefloor, which was pulsating all different colours and full of smoke-machine smoke, there was in-fact a stage, where two girls and two guys were pole-dancing. Scott's eyes widened and he blushed, "O-oh... That's... um. That's the first time I've seen male strippers."

"Really?" Vincent looked over at the stage. "Hm~ Well, lucky we came to the place with the best show in town."

Scott looked back at Vincent, "You really are comfortable with that? I mean... they're stripping. You're comfortable being... y'know. Turned on in public?"

"Why? Are you turned on?" Vincent's eyebrows raised.

"No! No, I didn-I never said that," Scott looked away quickly.

Vincent chuckled, pulling Scott closer to him and kissing the top of his head.

Scott smiled, nuzzling into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"I'm back," Oliver came into view, carrying a tray with three glasses of whiskey. "And they're going to try me out for the bartender position!"

"That's great, Ollie!" Scott smiled, taking one of the drinks from him.

"Don't drink it yet," Oliver warned, as Vincent lifted his cup to his lips.

"Why not?" Scott asked.

"We're gonna play a little Latino drinking game," Oliver said. "It's something mi amigos play all the time at home. "C'mon, let's go upstairs. It's always deserted up there."

He took off, next second you couldn't see him in the press of bodies. Scott had a feeling he might have gone ahead so Scott and Vincent could have a little more time to themselves if they wanted to.

"I've never played any good drinking games before," Scott said. "All the ones Mike play are rubbish. So let's go!" He grabbed Vincent's hand and - balancing his drink carefully in the other - started pulling him towards the upstairs area.

The area was like a little balcony over the dance floor. It was filled with cushions and little seats, but was only a very small area. The floor was made like a dance-floor in the sense that it ebbed different colours, but nobody danced on it. There was hardly anybody up there, and Scott could tell why. As well as being cramped and away from the music, it was also really, really hot. All the heat from the building rose to the top and accumulated up here, it seemed.

"This is where the strip-dancers come when they're not dancing," Oliver walked over to a beanbag and sat down. "Naturally, only the worst place is left for them."

"I'm sure you would know, from your years as a stripper," Vincent joked, walking over to a two-seater opposite Oliver and sitting down, pulling Scott down with him.

"Pff," Oliver scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, "Years? No, amigo, it was only a couple of months, tops."

"Wait," Scott's eyebrows hiked, "You used to be a strip-dancer?" He tried not to imagine it, but images flooded his mind regardless. And let's just say, Oliver was extremely photogenic.

Oliver shrugged slightly, "Needed a bit of quick cash; I was getting desperate. During the day, I'd go job-hunting, begging anyone to take me. At night, I'd go to clubs and... perform. Useful skill, though. I used to be able to pole-dance pretty well." He glanced over the balcony to the stage below. "I got pretty fit."

"When was this?" Scott asked.

"When I was nineteen," Oliver grinned wildly, looking back at Scott to wait for his reaction.

"What?!" Scott spluttered, his drink almost sloshing over the side. "You-You worked doing... doing that at nineteen?! What did your parents think of that?!"

"I dunno," Oliver blinked at him. "I don't remember much about my parents."

Scott reeled back slightly, his expression softened, "Oh. I'm sorry. Did... they pass away?"

"Nah, they're alive somewhere," Oliver smiled. "When I was a kid it was my life's dream to work until I could become the president of Mexico and then find them." The smile slipped off of his face. "But..."

"But...?" Scott asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes wide.

"But... I learned my place," Oliver smiled again at Scott. "You're tryna get me to spill my life story again. You're a burro terco. Not gonna happen, querido. That's a story that's dear to my heart, and I promised myself I'd only ever tell somebody I devoted my entire soul to. It's what keeps me going at night, you know? Knowing that I have to stay alive so that one day I can share my story with someone I truly love."

Scott frowned slightly, alarmed by Oliver's morbid thoughts, but nodded. "I guess that makes sense. Still, it must have been pretty harsh to grow up in an orphanage."

Oliver laughed out loud, "An orphanage? If only I was that lucky, carino."

"You mean... your parents just left you?!" Scott gaped at him.

"No. Scott, listen, my parents were lovely people. They wouldn't do something like that. Let's stop talking about it," Oliver said the last part a little forcefully, and then broke out into a huge grin, "And start drinking!"

And so they did. The drinking game of Oliver's was extremely entertaining. It involved having to ask each-other stupid questions that could only be answered with yes or no. If the person failed to answer, they drank. If the questioner gave the person a question that had already been asked, they drank. If anyone laughed, they all drank.

They laughed a lot.

A small pile of empty glasses grew around them as the slightly more ridiculous questions got thrown in slightly more slurred voices. They weren't drunk, no. Far from it. But they were tipsy for sure.

Finally, the decision was made to go downstairs and dance.