haya

warnings—mentions of sex work, being a stripper. this fic is not for you if you don’t like it. age gap, oral sex (f receiving). slight angst if you squint. no after care.

word count: 3.6k

you’re a stripper who ends up meeting a customer who flips the switch.

Hazy lighting slid over the bodies of strangers, catching on glittered skin before melting into the red leather booths and chrome poles worn smooth by wandering hands. Cigarette smoke billowing, notes being carelessly thrown and landing at every dolled-up woman who swung gracefully.

Matty sat like the place belonged to him, an arm draped across the back rest and knees spread beneath the chipped wooden table. He was not a regular.

You noticed that.

His eyes stayed on you—sunken and tired but absorbed as if his favourite show was on, even when his greying curls annoyingly fell over his forehead and he didn’t bother fixing them.

You told yourself it did not mean anything. He was solely a customer, just another man in a room full of them. Crisp, clean shirts and the same whiskey. Your manager’s voice sat somewhere at the back of your head: don't get curious bunny, most of these men ain't good.

You let the music take over instead, bass vibrating through your ribs as your fingers curled around the cool metal of the pole. The chill of it bit through your skin, contrasting with the softness of your pale blue manicure and the tiny baby-blue dress that looked out of place under the harsh lights.

“I like what you’re wearing.”

The voice cut through the music.

You stilled for half a second, blinking up through the fluorescent pink glow. You shifted closer on instinct, heels catching for a moment before you steadied yourself.

“Oh,” you mumbled, almost hidden under the bass that reverberated throughout your body. Quickly reminding yourself this was work, you let out a “Thank you,” and a sweet smile, pink lips glittering.

The music was louder and the scent of his cologne filled up the space, even when he kept a normal distance between you both. You let your hand fall to your side, fidgeting with the blue lace trim of your tiny dress. The modesty compared to your colleagues always attracted a few men (even when the dress passed as a top). It seemed to work, you always ended up with a lot of cash..

He grinned lazily, running a hand through his already messy hair before sharply inhaling from the cigarette he had been, ash growing longer than it should’ve been.

“How much to see you privately?”

Smoke fell from his mouth as he spoke, an intimidating sight that made your gut curl.

You blinked, looking around as if waiting for someone to answer for you. Quickly, your eyes flickered back up to him.

You looked like Bambi he thought. Looked too sweet to work here

“Hundred dollars by the hour.” You answered professionally. Somehow, he had ended up standing much closer to hear you over the loud music of the club.

His tongue made a clicking sound—as if in thought. When he knew he would pay ludicrous amounts to see you. It was obvious to him from the moment his eyes caught a glimpse of the way you swung on the pole—shimmering.

Your eyes followed him; hand still curled around the metal pole as the chill had become grounding amidst the body-warmed air. This was good. A new customer.

“C’mon then.”

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The room was quiet, away from the ear-splitting noise in the main area of the club. A neon sign clung to the black wall, the red painting everything in its surroundings the same.

It had been thirty minutes in mostly silence.

You’d learnt his name was Matty. Nothing more. Your manager always said it was better that way—don’t go getting attached.

His lap was warm against your bare legs, firm. He was not doing much beside smoking and looking up at you, occasionally rubbing his thumb against the outside of your thigh. At one point, Matty had got bored of the tie cuffed to his collar, easily letting it go.

“So why do ‘y work here?” He finally broke the silence, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Money.” You replied after a drawn-out hum, a hint of confusion bubbling. Did he not want something?

Your hands were in your lap, playing with the rings there. A low laugh cut through the air, you could feel the vibrations from his chest.

“I know that love,” he flicked the ever-growing ash into the ash tray shaped as a woman's body. A tacky design your manager insisted on. His lips parted, about to speak but decided on a sigh instead.

“You just…seem so sweet. ‘S all.” Matty murmured, his large hand roaming over the small of your back, dipping his fingers into the back dimples exposed by your open back dress. You tried not to shiver.

He thought you looked like you belonged beneath a porch light. Not a neon sign.

“Most people say that.”

The words came out almost as a whisper. Matty’s lip tugged upward but he didn’t make an effort to reply, just a low hum as if it said more than words could.

You found yourself studying him; the greying curls, the creases beside his brown eyes, the pinkness of his lips and the single hoop he wore on his right ear. It caught the light when he moved.

Smoke drifted toward the ceiling during , soaked in red from the neon sign that buzzed every so often above them. Absently, you swung your legs in a calming rhythm, your bare foot brushing against his slacks after you’d decided to go without heels for the session.

“You do lots of these sessions then?” Matty finally spoke again, eyes trained on your feet.

“Sometimes.”

He hummed again. It was fucking exhausting, you would tell him to just hurry up and get on with it if it weren’t for your timidness.

“Are they all just old men then? ‘M guessing they don’t do much for you?” He scratched his jaw.

You paused, brows furrowing in confusion at what he was insinuating. Matty laughed again, a boyish grin that showed almost all of his crooked teeth. A sudden urge washed over you to take a picture, but you shook the thought away.

“What?”

“Oh love. I mean, ‘m guessing most men comin’ here only want you to suck their dick.”

The words made your cheeks flush a bright red, grateful for the hack neon sign that covered it. But it was almost as if he could see with the way his eyes bored into you.

“Well it’s what i’m being paid for.” You replied.

It was true. Men came here, they watched you dance, the effortless glide around the pole paired with the sweetness of your big eyes pulled them. A natural magnet. Soon enough, you’d be in this exact room. On your knees for whoever was spread above you with their money held over your head. But Matty didn’t have you on your knees—no, he liked you sat on his lap.

Matty let out another casual hum, as if he knew how much it was getting on your nerves now. It was like he stored the new fact into his memory, a reminder. Of course you kept your mouth shut, pressing your lips together every time your eyes wandered to his slacks, or the tattoo on his wrist. He seemed to not catch you, instead focused on the strands of hair that fell over your back. His finger caught a curl, twisting and twisting and twisting.

Twenty minutes had gone by with the same rhythm; your foot brushing his calf, his hands playing with your hair. Then your back. The goosebumps on your arms were visible, Matty smiled when his eyes caught them

“The session is over.” You broke the silence.

Clients were most likely waiting. It was a busy Saturday night.

“Looks like it.”

You felt him lift his hips, momentarily lifting you with him as he scavenged for his wallet. When he pulled it out, it was a dark leather brown, thick with cards and cash. Just the sight of his hands sent a shiver down your spine. The crease between his brows had gotten more prominent as he methodically counted the money.

“100,” he simply said, handing you the stack of cash. But he never stopped counting. You swallowed when he handed you two hundred dollars.

“My tip.” He grinned cockily, putting his wallet away without breaking eye contact.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

You thought about Matty for the rest of the week. He was like a plague that had infiltrated your mind, appearing in every quiet moment you had. You wondered why he had come. Nothing had happened. It was probably pathetic.

So when your manager told you that you were booked again, you pretended the small spark of excitement in your chest was nothing.

The days carried on like they always did.

You still arrived before opening, still sat in front of the mirror while the girls around you painted their faces and complained about customers. You still pinned back your hair, still adjusted the tiny blue dress that had become almost a uniform. The same lights flickered above you, the same music shook the walls, the same men watched from the shadows.

Nothing had changed.

Except now you found yourself looking toward the entrance more often than you’d admit.

You hated that you noticed the difference between every man who walked in and the one who didn’t belong. Most customers blurred together after a while. The same expensive watches and repeated compliments that blurred into a meaningless hum.

But Matty had been different.

He had asked questions instead of demanding answers. He had looked at you like you were a person before anything else and that alone had been enough to leave a strange ache behind. Your manager noticed eventually.

“Don’t start waiting on people, bunny,” she warned one night, fixing the strap of your dress before you went out. “That’s when it gets messy.”

You giggled and left it at that. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to admit you thought about him.

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

He looked pretty beneath the red haze, the neon softened his features and his greying curls were pushed back with gel, leaving nothing to hide the angles of his facez

“You’re back.” You said softly, settling between his knees.

Matty nodded, eyes half-lidded. The smell of weed clung to him, making you wonder what he’d been doing before he arrived.

“Wanted to see you.” He murmured with the corner of his lip twitching up into a grin as he pulled you closer between his knees—physically unable to.

The faintest hint of pink flushed your cheeks, barely passing by beneath the familiar red flicker of the light in the small room.

“Is that all?” You asked, a poor attempt at aiming for casual when the curiosity underneath it was palpable, causing Matty’s smile to widen.

His hands, large and rough, rested on the back of your thighs as he kept you stationed between his knees. You noticed he wore jeans this time instead of slacks, they looked worn in, less like the man you had met a week ago; all proper and expensive.

“You were wonderin’ if i’d come back hm?” He drawled, his voice a raspy hum as he looked up at you with a smirk.

“I wasn’t.”

The answer came too quickly. Too small. Fuck.

“No?” He tilted his head, once again pulling you to sit on his lap—exactly identical to last week. Except he wasn’t only humming anymore.

Instinctively, you folded your arms, attempting to ignore the warmth creeping into your face. “I just remembered you.”

His lap was comfortable and you’d quickly settled, yet noticeably shyer with your neat manicured nails picking at the hem of your uniform.

“Yeah?”

You nodded feverishly, as if you were convincing him and yourself. You weren’t waiting for a customer. That was uncalled for when there was plenty of men wanting to see you already. But Matty just grinned, snaking his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to press a kiss beneath your ear.

Then another.

And another, slightly lower where your pulse beat beneath the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Didn’t know there was a difference.” He murmured.

You tilted your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his soft lips pressing slow kisses, dragging each one out until he could notice more of the rosiness blooming in your cheeks.

Without a warning, Matty had somehow flipped you both within a quick, concise movement. A small gasp escaped your mouth when the cool leather of the couch had hit your bare back, only amplifying the warmth in your gut. Matty had dropped to his knee, looking up at you with the eyes of a deeply earnest man.

He wanted this.

He wanted to devour you.

The light spilled onto your thighs as his warm hands slowly spread them open, revealing the blue panties you had chose for the job tonight.

“Fuck baby,” he grinned, looking up at you devilishly

It was like his words had been cut off, he couldn’t do anything but openly stare, entranced. The damp spot on your panties nearly elicited a whine from Matty, forehead falling onto the inside of your thigh. His breathing had gone all ragged. You didn’t know you would have this much of an effect on a man like him. Although you should’ve known better, he was paying for this without expecting anything back.

“God.” He whispered breathily, cool metal rings pressing into the soft skin there when he dragged his hands—happy to explore something you thought was mundane. His curls had fell over his forehead and lightly brushed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, drawing out a small shiver.

“Matty.”

“Shh.” He murmured, planting feather light kisses to the skin he could reach. You tentatively ran your hand through his curls, like any wrong move from you would stop the whole ordeal.

It was surprisingly easy to be quiet for him. To not ask him what he was doing.

He snaked his hand so the pad of his index finger rubbed your clothed clit, making your hips jump with the sweet circular motion. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, chest rising and falling quicker than you’d expected.

“This alright yeah?” Matty asked, his eyes displaying a hint of softness.

You nodded and whatever softness you caught a glimpse of had disappeared—gone like it was never there.

Heat flushed your cheeks when he tugged the lace to the side, revealing your cunt. Soaking and aching. You didn’t realise how a simple kiss on the thighs had you ruining your underwear. Maybe you did need this after all.

It seemed like words were momentarily gone from his mouth as he stared at your cunt, exhaling a slow breath. You looked so sweet still, even under the sultry glow. His calloused hands grabbed a hold of your ankle, resting both of your legs over his shoulder as he shimmied closer to what he personally called heaven. His fingers found home again, eliciting a sharp whine from your lips as you clenched around nothing and tugged on his curls.

“Please.” You gasped when his touch became faster, pressing harder, zeroing in on your bud with a middle finger.

Matty cocked a brow. “Please what love?” He asked, something like amusement and condescension dripping in his voice as he watched the arousal begin to drip.

You didn’t know what you were asking for. Just for him to not stop, to not pull you out of whatever drunken trance he’d put you in. Matty couldn’t get over the scene, your knees kissing your chest, hair fanning the couch where multiple men had sat. Yet none of them had done what Matty was doing right now; caring for you. The dress you wore was pushed up to your waist, jewels forming a pretty bralette that sparkled when they hit the light as your chest rose and fell.

“Please don’t stop.” You whined, almost sad at the prospect of him pausing the delicious feeling of his fingers.

“Course not,” he murmured with the hint of a smirk, licking and nipping your thigh meanly before soothing the sting with a kiss. “Going to make you feel good. Make you forget any customer who doesn’t pay for this.”

God he was cocky.

Without a warning, he dipped his head so his hot tongue licked at your clit pointedly. The quick swipes had your jaw falling slack, squirming beneath him and uncontrollable moans being strung out.

“I-oh god.” Your legs trembled from where they rested on his shoulders, the bottom of your nine inch heels dragging slowly down his back.

Matty took this as an invitation to try something else, fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread open—as if he knew you’d attempt to shut them. His tongue found your entrance while he resumed the quick swipes on your now swollen clit with his fingers. You rolled your hips against his mouth mindlessly, chasing a delicious feeling that felt close.

It felt like years ago since the last time you’d been eaten out—or laid for that matter. Being a stripper meant meeting hungry men all the time. But no one clicked, no one was there to make you feel good; which was understandable, it was their money.

“That’s it,” Matty coaxed gently, looking up at you before pinching your bud meanly. You cried out, hips bucking pathetically as you tried to lock your knees together.

“Ah, ah” he raised his brows, spreading them open for him like he had every right to take what he wanted. You shook, grinding your hips against the warm air for more. He seemed to get the hint, dipping his head back down to lightly nip and suck on your clit.

For some reason, you didn’t mind doing what he wanted, succumbing to his orders. Maybe it was because you were clearly younger. Or maybe it was the fact he was quite literally paying for this.

Heat was quickly swirling in your stomach, building up the pleasure as every stroke of his wet tongue took you somewhere. Liquid pleasure dripped down your spine and bloomed hot in your veins. You’d never felt this good in a long time.

“Matty.” You whined, eyes fluttered shut as more ragged breaths escaped you.

He could tell you were close with the way you fingers had curled tighter at his curls, tugging and tugging like they were some grounding form of magic. You rolled your eyes when you felt him smirk against you, then jerked when he decided to use his rough thumb to make quick swipes at your clit. The sensation contrasted his soft tongue and had you crying out, the thread a second away from untying.

“C’mon baby, come for me.” Matty murmured, quickening his movements and applying more pressure.

That seemed to be what you needed. Your head tipped back against the couch, a string of cries leaving your mouth that Matty thought were the best he had ever been blessed to hear.

It felt like a euphoric constellation of stars had bursted behind your lids. A place Matty was proud he’d got you to.

“Fuck!” You trembled, the leg resting on his shoulder kicked absently as Matty continued his attack with his all knowing mouth.

“There you go.” He said while littering a few kisses on your inner thigh as your hips

You let out a relieved breath, eyes fluttering shut as your body melted like wax, all your muscles felt floaty. The red lighting from the neon sign only amplified the satisfaction. Matty grinned. You waited for him to put your panties back on, glancing down at him with damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead. But instead, he’d shoved the lace into his pockets, flashing you a knowing smirk. It was only so childish for someone like him.

“I need those.” You spoke up, instantly shutting your legs while your eyes trailed his movements.

He shrugged cockily, running a hand through the curls you had just been tugging on as he pulled out the same wallet. Dark brown, cracked leather. It looked older than you.

You let out a huff but couldn’t pretend you didn’t like it, attracted to the simple idea of Matty having fabric that belonged to you. Maybe he would forget about it and never come back. You didn’t mind. He cared enough in the moment to steal it.

“Okay then.” You mumbled quietly, sitting up to slip your heels back on.

The lingering question of ‘will I ever see you again?’ almost left your mouth. You mentally cursed yourself for the thought, for caring more than you should. To Matty, he knew he would be back. His mind drifted there as he absently counted the dollars in his hand.

Matty was already elsewhere, attention drifting as he thumbed through the notes in his hand with practiced ease. He counted them once, then again, barely looking at you.

“There.”

You smiled, glancing at up at him instead as he lit a cigarette with easy movements, the smoke billowing out of his mouth before he nodded. Your mouth opened to say thank you, but he had already left the private bubble of scarlet glow.

“Oh.” You mumbled dumbly to yourself, blinking slowly at the door before glancing down at the stack of money on your lap and counting each note.

Three hundred dollars.