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"I need different fucking friends."
Levi's frown only deepens as he watches Hange nearly choke on their stupid twenty-dollar drink. Erwin pats them on the back a few times with a deep chuckle, sapphire eyes sparking with amusement in the low light.
"That so, Levi?"
Levi would pay any amount of money of deck that shit-eating grin right off of Erwin's smug face.
Hange recovers (much to Levi's chagrin). "Yeah, you let us know how that works out for you."
Levi scoffs, slumped back in his seat, petulant. He's regretting ever letting the two of them drag him out of his quiet clean home and to this dark club with it's sticky floors and music too loud for him to think. The thick stack of one dollar bills that Erwin slipped into his pocket on their way in feels heavy in his pocket, a reminder of just the kind of asinine night he's in for.
He's far too old for shit like this. His friends are too, for that matter, but fuck if they'll let him tell them that.
He glares into his over-priced scotch before taking a long pull. "One hour. And then I'm out of here, I swear to God."
The music quiets as the lights on the stage go up, a man's voice ringing through the PA stem. "Next up to the stage we have the lovely Angel, here to remind you that heaven is a place on earth. Remember to tip your dancers tonight, everybody."
Levi grimaces at the corny line, giving his so-called 'friends' a withering look. Fucking ridiculous. More people flood the front of the stage, filling out the seats next to them.
He gets a whiff of a man as he plops down beside him, already looking bread dead and slack jawed and he feels a flash of pity for the women who work here. No matter how much they're making, it's not enough to be dealing with un-showered filth like him.
The music swells again, some 80s pop song assaulting his ears with it's twinkly electronic tones and obnoxious tempo. Levi rolls his eyes, wondering how the hell he's going to survive an hour of this bullshit.
And then, you appear.
The room feels suddenly quiet as he watches you slink across the stage, manicured fingers hooking around the chrome pole center stage and giving a graceful spin. White fabric glows under the stage lights, or what little of it there is, at least. Levi can't help but think you look like an actual angel in that tiny white top and kitschy halo headband.
He can't seem to rip his eyes away as you languidly spin around the pole, lifting your body with an ease that speaks to an insane strength and dedication. He watches as you bend and contort, pulling your limbs into shapes and figures that make his eyes pop.
You arch backward, plush thighs anchoring you to the pole as hang upside down, smiling brightly into the crowd. You're met with a shower of bills, fluttering like autumn leaves to the ground around you.
And then your eyes lift, and he swears they meet his directly. He feels a pull in his lower stomach, treacherous heat licking up his body as he gazes at your stretched out form.
He feels a nudge at his shoulder and he whips his head around, coming face to face with Hange's annoying ass grin. "Looks like someone has a crush."
He scowls, unsure whether he's more pissed at their smug words or the fact that they took his eyes away from yours. "Fuck off."
He jumps at the sound of a loud clack, his eyes whirring back to the stage to find you on your back beneath the pole, legs splayed in the air with that tiny scrap of a thong leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. You slam the platforms of those pearly stilettos together against with a sound like cracking thunder the shock of it reverberating down your thighs.
Levi's mind wanders into dangerous territory; like how those heels would look next his ears or if he could could make your ass jiggle like that with each thrust of his—
God damn it.
He curses himself. He's no better than the rest of these cretins, hooting and hollering and probably thinking the same nasty thoughts as him. He can hear Hange whispering something unintelligible to Erwin, their laugh just shrill enough to carry over the music. This is all their fault.
And then you're folding forward onto your hands and knees, flipping your hair in time to music. His heart drops into his ass as you lift your chin, those eyes finding him again. He swallows hard as you begin to crawl, slow and sultry until you come right to the edge of the stage, smack dab in front of him.
You bend, forearms pressed against the floor to show off the lovely arch of your back and his eyes eagerly drink you in. One, two bumps of your hips against the floor sends your ass rippling again.
Shit, why do you keep looking at him like that? He can feel his insides twisting up in knots, the slight pressure in his groin that has him praying to gods he doesn't believe in that he doesn't pop a hard on right here, right now.
And then you're shimmying even closer, that wickedly beautiful smile etched on your face as you spin, kicking your legs off of the stage.
Before he can make sense of what's happening, you're leaning forward and his eyesight is completely blocked, the room blotted out as your breasts press close enough to his face for him to feel the warmth coming off of them. He forgets how to breathe as you give your shoulders a good shake, soft flesh coming in contact with his heated cheeks.
"Enjoying the show, handsome?"
Fuck. Those words, whispered close to his ear, are enough to make him abandon all hope of keeping the blood from rushing south. He's so completely dumbstruck, he can barely make out the laughter and obnoxious shouts of his friends.
You reach down, taking hold of his hand and guiding it to your back, just over the string of your bikini top.
"Pull."
He pauses, unsure if he heard you right over the loud din of music. Your eyes flick down to his, expectant.
Fuck it.
He gives the string a sharp tug and watched in awe as the fabric falls away from your body, your tits bouncing free directly in his face. He's held hostage by the sight, his mouth all but watering as he glances between your face and now bear chest.
You pull back, grinning at him before doing another one of those impressive fan-kicks, before moving on to dole out your precious attention to some of the other patrons.
He watches for a few more moments in a complete daze, ignoring the Hange and Erwin's incessant nudging, unable to even make out quite what annoying shit they're likely saying.
He's turned into a total cornball pervert at this point because he's almost convinced he just saw heaven.
He shakes his head, face flaming as he feels his cock twitching insistently against his slacks. Damn it. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the whole stack of ones and slams it down on the stage before standing abruptly.
He barely hears his friends confused calls as he makes his retreat. The world blurs as he shoulders his way into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
He's already pulling his cock out, working on pure animal instinct as he gives himself a few good strokes. He groans against the palm of his free hand, leaning heavily against the door behind him as he pumps his cock to the image of you, bent in every which way. Your voice had been so sweet in his ear, perfectly mischievous and confident. Everything about you was crafted specifically to drive him crazy. He supposes that's probably all in the job description, but that doesn't leave him feeling any less undone.
He has the unsavory thought that he's probably not the first person to do this in here. Probably not even the first one in the last hour. He grimaces, unable to stop the steady rhythm of his hand, finding his pleasure in this filthy strip club bathroom. He's truly no better than the rest of the weirdos here.
Shame settles in the pit of his stomach as he comes into his hand, a broken sound wrenching it's way out of his throat.
He can't bring himself to look in the mirror as he frantically scrubs his hands in the disgusting sink. For once he can't bring himself to care about the obvious lack of sanitation in here. He figures he's just as filthy at this point anyways.
When he finally works up the courage to leave, he doesn't bother looking for his friends as he heads straight for the door. They'll figure it out. He doesn't care. He blames them entirely for all of this anyways.
He passes the bar when he feels a hand wrap around his arm, making him stop. He turns around quickly, ready to tear into whoever dared impede his escape, when he comes face to face with the very woman responsible for his shameful downfall.
"You left so quickly, I didn't get the chance to thank you for your tip."
Your sweet voice snakes its way into his psyche, sinking it's hooks into him and he freezes. He feels like a deer in the headlights, his lips parting and then shutting a few times before finally finding the ability to speak again. "Oh, uh, yeah."
Fucking poetry.
You giggle and he nearly falls to his knees right then and there. "You know, you were my most generous tipper tonight. You gave me more than enough for a private dance if you wanted one."
"No." He nearly chokes on his own saliva, his entire body reacting immediately to the offer. There's not a chance he'd survive ten seconds alone with you.
He sees that perfect smile of yours fade slightly and he realizes how that must of sounded. "Thank you." he adds, scrambling. "I just…I was just leaving."
You perk up, grinning at him once again. You hold up one finger before leaning across the bar to grab a pen and a scrap of receipt paper from the woman behind the counter. Your brow furrows cutely as you scribble something down.
"I have another song coming up." You say, shoving the folded paper into his hands. "But I hope to see you again soon."
And just like that, you're disappearing into the crowd.
With trembling hands, he unrolls the paper and he swears his heart stops. He stares at the scrawled note for what feels like hours, the world gone stock still around him.
It's a number, followed by what he has to assume is your real name and the cutest little heart struck through with an arrow.
"There you are." He's wrenched out of his daze by an arm being slung over his shoulder. "What do ya got there?"
He scowls, shrugging Hange off as he watches Erwin approaching as well with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.
"Fuck off, both of you." he hisses, shoving his hand with the piece of paper deep in his pocket. "I hate your asses."
But as he pinches that precious little note between his fingers, he knows he owes the two of them a bit of gratitude. He's just not about to admit that shit out loud just yet.