Ducking into the smoke-lined, perfume fogged hallway nearest the dressing area, you heard the slagging giggles of the bars burlesque crew. Against Reggie’s every stitch of knowledge relating to the category of business, he had agreed to let Ron have his way & bring in the dancers every other weekend. Between the concoctions of the puffing of his cigar, and the fumes of cheap, rosy mists of perfume, you nearly hocked up the wholeness of your own lung as your eyes seared & wept from sensory overload. Approaching the half-opened door which behind all the commotion lie, you heard the cockney sweetness of your lovers voice.

 “Ladies, settle it down now. My Y/N, she ain’t the kind to be up parading around with any likes of this crew. No, no. A sweet, little beautiful bird, ‘at one is.” He reasoned, and replied between inhales of a cigarette. The man would never say a cross, disrespectful word about you, and being his “bird” was actually an occupation you held of great honor. But, in this sense, you felt the title as one of safe, and boring even? And your mind whirled into a million reasons why the ladies would even be using you as a topic of discussion to begin with....

 They were all very beautiful, the lot of Esmeralda’s dancers. And most, never gave you trouble, and smiled whether it was genuine or not when you’d greet them in passing latched on to the arm of your Reginald. But, as in every crowd, there were the few who would turn up their noses, and bite back a spitting insult. You could see the thunderous fits of jealousy looming behind their amplified lashes. They’d change that snooty tune had they known how much you admired their near every quality. The acquired execution of the most perfect & effective smolder. The seductive boldness, and the shameless way they had men fumbling & drooling under their spell. But, the deep-rooted envy blinded them when it came to you. They wanted to hang on Reggie’s arm, and have him doting on their beauty morning, noon, and night.

 Interrupt before the conversation delve into juicer waters, or linger like a mousy detective in the shadowed hall to eaves drop for your name?

 “Reg, the girl is cute & all. But she’s only a girl, love. Is there even a real woman under those aged, up to the neck dresses she’s always wearing? Isn’t she just too.... simple for ya’?” Kitty chimed in, oh so calmly. She was the clubs prized entertainer, if you will. She usually seemed particularly frigid, and downright nasty towards you, so her patronizing insults fell right into character.

 Some chirping laughs ensued in behind her cunning little jab, and your eyes caught Ronnie’s lopsided brow. Your personality wasn’t exactly one in the same with the unpredictable, witty likes of your future brother-in-law, but you saw behind the thick rims of his eyeglasses that he hadn’t taken too kindly of your name being slandered in such a way. His own hand nearly lunged toward the gold of the door handle in a boisterous attempt to bust up the bashing assemblage you so clearly had not been invited to, when the cracking racket of a wooden chair scooted brutishly across the concrete floor.

 “Let me just stop you right there, yeah? You must be proper fuckin’ barmy to think I’m going to sit here and let you go on a runner about my fiancé like ‘at. I hear you talkin’ like that again, or ya’ so much as think a thought like that about her, and I’ll toss you right back into the cold like Ron found ya’, right? Sound like a plan that?”

 Your gangster knight in his custom suit had whisked in with his rotten, threatening, ferociously protective mouth to defend your loving honor, and the sentiment made you fiddle romantically with the gold-banded diamond ring settled around your finger. Reg was the farthest left from lackadaisical when it came to running the cockney streets of the East End. And he held true to those same colors when it related to his mum, Ronnie, and yourself. The holy-trinity of Reginald Kray’s only saving grace.

 A brisk blowback of wind from the swinging door gently parted the wispy line of your bangs as Reggie marched into the golden lit hallway where you paced with his twin brother. His slick, sharp jaw flexed with piping hot anger, but he patted gently down the tailored front of his crisp black suit, maintaining composure while reaching for a smoke.  Your presence rendered him dumbstruck, and Ron, as usual, took it upon himself to brashly break the ice.

 “Sounds like some of the little slags are gettin’ quite comfortable, Reg. If you’d like, I can have a good chat wif’ ‘em, yeah? Make sure they fuckin’ know their place.”

 Reggie kissed your pink stained, alabaster cheek, his minty lips rimmed with rich tobacco sticking to your skin.

 “Cool it, Ron. It’s alright. No need for the name callin’. Most of them are wonderful ladies, I’m sure.” You defended bashfully. Sure, the unreasoned, spiteful things you had walked in on made your stomach pang with hurt, but you were a woman yourself. So, there was a smidgen of your being that felt it was admirable to defend your fellow sex. No matter how unenthusiastically.

 “Ronnie’s right, Y/N. They have no place even speakin’ your name, love. I can only be grateful I’ve found the last women in the entire fuckin’ population of London who’s got some dignity, and grace about her. Sure, they may be good at what they do, but you’re much too beautiful to be trouncin’ about in front of a buncha men like ‘at, dove.”

 Beautiful? A mark in the positive column, sure. You couldn’t recollect a single woman you knew who wouldn’t fawn and spit if the legendary Reggie Kray called them such. But, somehow in your fitful mind of paranoia, you couldn’t help but feel as if maybe the man at your side didn’t think you had the tempting, sensual sex-appeal to do what Kitty and her girls did on that stage. Not that you even wanted to to begin with, per say. Suddenly however, your skin crawled with the spiteful urge to prove your man wrong.

 He fiddled flirtatiously with the delicate dangle of a pearl pierced through your lobe, smiling that romantic, movie-star smile before he primed his lips to gift you with a kiss. The dangerous scars on his fingers created by his dutiful, hands-on approach to the violent aspect of being an East End gangster tugged and stuck to the embellished sequins around the bodice of your red dress. His lashes extended so far from the lid of his benevolent eyes that they tickled with the ends of your own as your mouth danced into the kiss. Ron’s exasperated coughs and raspy growls of disgust broke the intimacy of the moment.

 You broke loose for a breath of unshared air, coughing a bit bashfully at the potency of Reggie’s nicotine you’d sucked in. Ron has seen the two of you fondle and paw each other for years now, but that never quite made you any more comfortable than the time before.

 “Get on wif’ it, the pair a’ ya’. I’ll handle the trollops, Reg. Take Y/N inside to the table.” Ronnie shooed you along, fluffing his hands wildly in every direction.

 You hoped he wouldn’t be too crass, and well… ‘Ron-like’ with the dancers after what they had gossiped about you. You may need the help from a few of them that you did trust with the conniving plan brewing in your head.

 “Go on out, love. I’m going to freshen up a tick. I’ll only be a minute, yeah?” It was urgent you grab a second with the twin of your Kray in secret.

 When the hallway fell dark again after the heavy door to the front room of the club latched behind Reggie, and only the stifled chides of the girls crawled from the closed entrance to their dressing area, you ran to Ron’s side.

 “I need your help, my second favorite Kray.” You pleaded, and uselessly bat your lashes upward to his stoic face. “Keep your afternoons open for me best ya’ can for the next coupla weeks. I’ve got a little scheme up my sleeve for Reggie and those silly girls.”

 He didn’t like it. The plotting behind his dearest friend, and brothers back. But, he trusted you, and loved you nearly as much as Reggie did, in his own little way. So, he only rolled his eyes, and pat the top of your head with a nod.

 ………………….

 “You sure about this, Y/N? I ain’t so sure he’s going to be too keen on it…”

 Behind you, Camille, one of Ronnie’s youngest, and most down to earth dancing recruits, slung and tugged on the whip like laces of your black, silky corset. She had assisted you in every aspect of this particular, unusually sunny Saturday. The stockings you pulled over the creamy, fair tones of your petite, curved thighs belonged to her, and she had so graciously lent you the dramatic, teardrop crystal shaded earrings to tie together your fitting ensemble. Amongst the beauty of material gifts she had offered up, the last two weeks Camille clung to your every beckon call on her every minute away from her bakery day-job. Your uncoordinated, wonky lack of skill at first seemed incurable no matter the talent she had in teaching you. Your elbows were tender and purple from your repetitive crashes to the unforgiving, wooden stage.

 Ronnie, still very much resenting every aspect of the entire fiasco pouted against the back corner, wordlessly disapproving your every move. He had kept his promise, escorting you stealthily to Esmerelda’s every day around the noon hour so you’d have a way inside the locked club. You used your lunch breaks from behind the jewelry counter where you worked alongside your parents to rehearse your routine with Cami, and Ronnie broke away with Teddy around the same given time. Reggie was unchangingly hesitant any time he didn’t have a chaperoning eye over his sometimes ill-minded brother. But nonetheless, the pair of you were able to keep the entire shenanigan under wraps.

 But tonight, was the debut. This wasn’t the scheduled night for dancers, and instead a band was booked for entertainment. But your plans were to blow the roof off the guests, the off-duty hussies who had been very blunt about their perceptions of you, and off your Reg. Your worrisome mind couldn’t sit back idly thinking there was any chances that the man would grow bored of you, and your always graceful, sometimes stuffy persona. You didn’t intend to seem buttoned-up to the collar all the time, but apparently you had some proving of yourself to do.

 You swiped a bold trace of velvety red lipstick over the curve of your round lips while Millie, as you addressed her, placed the final pins into the soft curls of hair that tickled down your back.

 “You can’t forget this little number, Y/N. You’ll have Reg teased into a fitful mess!” She loosely looped the feathered softness of full, pink boa around your neck, stepping back to admire her handywork.

 Over her shoulder, you revered your own foreign reflection in the dusty mirror. To your vain satisfaction, you nearly didn’t recognize the done-up, sensual eyes looking back at you. Kitty would undoubtably eat bitter crow once she laid eyes on your usually hidden luscious curves. And as for your Reg? Well, let’s just see how sweet he thinks his little bird is after all. You felt a glimmering tickle of audacious fire ignite inside your belly. It seemed the lipstick had poisoned you with mischievous sensuality.

 “I better get out there next to Reg. Somebody ought to be there when he loses his fuckin’ mind and starts shootin’ every man in the fuckin’ place for makin’ eyes at ya’.”

Ronnie greased back a loose strand of his oiled hair, straightening his tie and once again unbashful with a whine of his objections. You promised him your lips would be sealed to his leading role in the matters behind the scenes when it came to explaining things to Reggie. Ronnie’s circle of trust wasn’t exactly one of open-invitation, so you cherished your seat at his table.

 The booked band played a hefty setlist, and you were becoming a fidgeting disaster backstage, afraid somehow you’d be found out. As far as Reg knew, you were tucked away into bed, nursing your ill-stomach and resting for a new day tomorrow. Another little fabrication chalked in your column, and you hoped his forgiveness would be easy to come by.

 Alone in the dressing room, you heard the erratic clacks of dainty heels approaching. Two knuckle pats on the door, followed by the sound of a riled Camille.

 “Showtime, Y/N. The band is on their last number, and Ron is keyed up for your intro. Are you ready?”

 Adjusting the overflowing swell of your bust in the lacy corset, and double-checking the buckle of your patent leather stilettos, you choked hysterically for a deep breath. Sure, to you this was just a dash of innocent, maybe spiteful, fun and entirely harmless. But, would your soon-to-be husband see it that way through his breathtaking, yet jealous and territorial eyes? What was he going to think of your ‘little to the imagination’ attire, and hedonic, calm sway of your hips in front of a room packed with strangers, and even some of his so-called colleagues?

 “Y/N, are you in there? We’ve got to get you out there now, dear.”

 You quickly remembered Millie’s presence at the questioning muffle of her voice outside your hideaway. It was now, or never and all you could focus on was the slurring insults of Kitty and her gormless crew. Your thoughts went black, and you marched brazenly to make your curtain call.

 “Alright, alright you foolish tossers. Before you go home to the wives you don’t love and the children who you barely fuckin’ know, we’ve got one more little piece of pleasure for your evening, right.”

 Your teeth chattered with a cold sweat behind the heavy, plush curtain as Ronnie trailed on with his brash nonsense, and a frown of second-guess danced over your red, kissable lips. It wasn’t exactly the way you had hoped he would unveil your calculated surprise for his brother, but he did refer to you as ‘pleasure’ so it wasn’t all bad, right? You could perfectly envision the look of pure worrisome terror of Reggie’s curved brow as his brother rambled unpredictably in front of a room of paying customers.

 Suddenly, the rhythmic patter of a tinkling cymbal arose, and the lights dropped to a seductive shade. The opening curtain wafted a chilly breeze over the milky skin of your back, and you could instantly feel the pointed stares of a crowded room without even seeing a single face. It was like the eerie feeling of waking from a dead slumber to the sensation that someone is watching you from the corner. A few erratic whistles from the mostly male gallery ignited at the sight of your barely covered rump accentuated with the airy feathers of the boa Millie had given you.

 You stretched to grab the bone of your ankle, painting a tickling hand up the span of your leg deliberately highlighting the display of uncovered flesh. Turning about face toward the viewers, you clamped your eyes shut for a second to purposefully avoid whatever glimmers of disappointment or humiliation lingered upon the face of your Reggie. Peeling back the glimmering shade of your lids, you opened to see a very generous crowd in attendance. Through the smog of smoke from expensive cigarettes, and the unforgiving glare of a spotlight, you allowed yourself only a glance in his direction. It was anger or rage you saw as much as confusion, and wonderment.

 Careful not to miss your marks, you playfully pranced around the confines of the thrust stage, pouting and nibbling over your lips. Winding your hands around the tied confines of your soft robe, you pulled loose the knot, letting it fall to the floor as you swayed to the vibrations of a piano. You’d toss a wink here and there, shimmying the handful of your breast towards Teddy as he sat perched and giggling next to Ronnie’s side. If there was anyone you could get away with when it came to some meaningless flirting, surely it was him. Everyone knew he only had loving eyes for Ronnie. Before you settled in for the most risqué minutes of your little number, there was a particular stop you needed to make somewhere in the room.

 Arms crossed in her cheaply sewn dress nearest the bars end, Kitty observed you, not hiding her lack of amusement. Her nose crimpled in an ugly snare, you pointed one foot in front of the other, clicking your shiny shoes in her direction. What you really wanted to do, was slam the knife-like point of your heel into her knobby shins, but you wouldn’t dare risk staining the expensive silk of your outfit with her injuries. So instead, you tickled her displeased face with the end of your boa, making it a point to smear her makeup with the tip of your nail, and helped yourself to the swig of champagne she held in a fluted glass with an innocent giggle. The deed pulled a huff of laughter from the patrons sipping on their Guinness mugs, and whiskey tumblers, which only fed the growing monster of your confidence.

 The melody of your song was soft, matching your shadowy, languid sways so you could hear the raspy whispers as you explored the floor. You knew by now that Reggie was quite sure who it was trouncing about the lounge of his club, but you wanted to seem like a stranger to him. Like the self-assured, sultry, mystery of a woman he hadn’t had yet the pleasure of meeting.

 You weaved through the crowded room ruffling the hair of a few men you recognized as familiar with Reggie and wouldn’t dare ever make a move out of place when it came to you, strictly out of fear. As you neared only a few feet from the man of the hour, you pulled out a secret weapon Millie had taught you, fancying it may give Reggie a laugh. Extending forward to push out your breasts and curve the bow of your back, you knowingly popped the top button of your snug corset. You painted a fabricated look of virtue into your doe eyes, covering the naughty gape of your opening mouth. You pretended to be oh so humiliated by the near malfunction of your dressings, and fell right into the broad lap of Reggie Kray and his polished tuxedo, like a needy mess that needed his valiant rescuing.

He smelled like a heavenly poison of desire and aged liquor when you curled into his lap. You felt the cloud of your fear dissipate when he grinned and chewed on his plump lower lip. You straddled the warmth of his crotch, massaging over his reddening ears as you ground your hips deep into his, and strings of curses and groans escaped him. There was a welcomed twinkle of naughty indulgence in his eyes, and you hungrily welcomed the pleasing forms of so-called ‘punishment’ you may face when he had you locked away inside his flat later. The growing touch of hardness beneath you tickled your fancy apparently as much as you were ticking his.

 Gripping tightly to the silk lapel of his jacket, you prepared for your own form of finale. The finale suitable for the public eye, at least. You dipped your head back, letting your torso bend towards the sticky floor, and you felt the scorch of Reggie’s paws on you like feverish vice grips. He was typically the man to keep such lustful exchanges behind private doors, but clearly your new-found brashness rendered him out of control. It was clear by his bruising clutches that he was teetering the edge of sanity.

 Slowly, you eased one leg upward, pointing the open-toe of your heel straight as an arrow toward the ceiling. The other, you then curled around the thick length of his neck, releasing your sweaty grips on his coat. You were left dangling around his neck by only the voluptuous squeeze of your thigh around his shoulder. His hitched breaths felt like water and fire with his mouth now perfectly centered to your eager sex, and you wondered if he could smell your desire.

 “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. Where ya’ been all his life?” Ronnie joked, sucking back the closest thing he knew to a smile.

 Once the music ceased, and your hearty round of applause came to an end, you brought yourself to meet Reggie’s lips, unbothered by the traces of red lipstick you’d leave on his tanned cheeks.

 “What was that you said about little bird, love?” You purred menacingly into the crook of his ear, nibbling gingerly for good measure.

  “Hold it now, dove,” he wrapped his fingers into the curled ends of your hair securing you close. “You’ll always be my little bird, right. Only now, you’re just my little minx, too.” 

A/N: Creds to the always wonderful @torialeysha for her help in pushing me into gear!