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“Do you want to go to the red room?”
He doesn’t even know exactly how he got here, he just knows he has been the most beautiful man dancing on a dancing pole for a long time, and that man is now talking with him at that moment. That makes his inside somewhat melt: The man he totally was focusing all the time since he put his feet inside the strip club, when he was pushed by his friends, content in celebrating a win. His eyes, focusing sometimes on him during the name, so cat-like, combined with the muscular thighs – that showed a little bit black ink on the edge - and the movements he did on that poll, like he was ready for it since the moment he was born, is talking to him, so charmingly in doing so, as if he’s a siren and his whole thing is conquering sailor. He thinks for a moment that is not that far from reality, and he remembers he is now just one more of the sailors, those who fell on the sea, charmed by the siren chant.
Point being, he doesn’t know how to swim. Of course, he can try to do the famous dog swimming, but even then, his arms lose their strength in the middle. So really, this is the event that is going to be his death, sooner or later, and it’s not like he does mind that much. His siren-like-charms are astronomical and work on him, as in he would totally jump on an ocean for the man across him.
Obviously, like everything in his life, the easiness he has in imagining stepping out of a ship, only to drown and be found 300 years after, doesn’t translate on what he actually says. Strippers are not something Jisung is used to seeing, much less some that talk to him. The few strippers he ever saw, he just pushed some money bills where they could see. Hot, sexy people, working so hard to impress the clients, and he was impressed – and horny too, he wasn’t a saint.
But be it the fact that none of those dancers talked to him, he was never strained on his tongue to speak himself. Apparently though, there was a cat hiding in the shadows, that he didn’t see, because it seemed like his tongue was cut off, demoting him of any voice at all.
The thing is: he doesn’t seem real at all, and he has been thinking about that since around the time he first saw him, in those tiny shorts and him dropping lower than he ever could. How he blacked out everything else than him, begging Jisung to focus on him and only him with the powerful moves and how he executed them in perfection (at the very least, they do seem like perfection, but he doesn’t know enough about pole dancing to judge it)
“Hi, I’m twenty-three years old” He responds, by not responding at all. It’s the fog, the grey fog and, at the same time, the blue error 404 that appears in there. It’s a brain short circuit, and everything he can do in that moment is put a hand in his forehead, like someone who’s done with their own shit. Somehow, even if he is displays signs of a loser right now, the man doesn’t seem to be put off by it. In fact, he does a little smile on the corner of his eyes.
“Hi cutie with twenty-three years old” Lino – at least, that was his stage name - clearly picks up on his nerves, and seemingly tries to seem more relaxed “You’re so cute, just like my type.”
He gulps hard, thinking about all that has been happening all night: the way Lino caught his eyes as soon as he got on that stage, dancing like he begged for as much attention as he could. And Han Jisung, like he was promised a cure for a rare disease, just followed all his steps that made him almost drool.
“So, wanna go to the red room?” He repeats the question, with a little smirk on his face, seemingly obnoxiously confident of himself.
“Are you sure?”
Jisung doesn’t know what to do except nodding his head with vigor, because yes, he’s been dreaming about a lap dance with those thighs. “Yeah, I want to go to the red room.” He says, almost like a desperate virgin. He is not even that desperate, or even a virgin, but Lino makes somewhat feel like that.
“Are your friends going to be okay?” Lino tries to check if everything is good to go, and when Jisung looks back, he finds his friends coupled up, chatting about something else. They make a considerable amount of noise that is almost annoying, even if this particular strip club is not that full.
“Hey, I’m gonna go” He tries to say, just to certify himself he is not being kidnapped or something like that. One of his friends whistles to him, even if Jisung is sure he didn’t hear what he has said with that level of alcohol in his veins – he somewhat seemed like he was staring at nothing at all.
He is pretty sure none of them cares, to be honest. Not that they are bad people, just too drunk and too busy having fun with other people.
He doesn’t touch Lino at all, obviously still repeating the austere “You can watch them, but you can’t touch them” from the guard outside the door, inside his head. He just follows his steps, carefully to not step on his high heels. They are long, and honestly, Jisung doesn’t understand how he does something so normal like… walking.
He tried once, and as soon as he took a step, he almost fell to the side, the only savior behind it being the handle that he grabbed in time.
His thoughts are a mess, a pile of jumble floating away in space. He tries to focus, but he’s somewhat too nervous to do anything. It’s not like he doesn’t want to do this, but at the same time, he is quite a coward itself.
“Is it your first time? In the red room?”
“Yes? Yeah… yes” He repeats himself because he never knows what to do with his tongue in moments like this, in moments where he is confronted with someone as pretty and hot as him. If Lino thinks it’s not his first time there, maybe he thought he was someone he simply is not, and that thought provokes something akin to embarrassment to settle on his face, accompanied by the way his face can’t seem to stop heating. Lino is out there, dressed up in such little clothes, and that makes him tortured inside. “I thought you knew…”
“Honestly? Yeah.” Lino responds, as if it was only natural. It probably was, taking his state into account. “But it’s fun watching you squirm.”
He is left with his mouth open, not knowing how to respond to that. Lino turns around and stares at him, tracing how he looks with it, seemingly looking smug at him, a little smile at the edge of the mouth. “Exactly like that.”
“Anyways, this is the red room.”
Jisung was never much of a strip club lover, as before mentioned, but he has been – courtesy of his friends- to some ones. Never, in any moment, was he in the red room.
Red room, as Jisung learnt in his night in here, is essentially the code name for a private room, at least in here. He thinks he understands the name, based on how… red everything is. The lights are in a carmesin light, obviously turned on so that people can focus better on silhouette, and the tiny space is composed of a sofa and nothing else.
He tries not to seem like a blushing and walking mess when he talks “So… we’re here, and now?”
“What now?” Lino responds, as if doing anything is a foreign concept and Jisung has grown two heads “I only said for us to go to the red room, didn’t say anything more…”
Jisung is confused with that, because… what? It seemed like he has other intention but to show the architecture of the place, but he isn’t going to insist. Lino stands there, at his feet – still in his high heels, as if they don’t hurt not even a tiny bit, looking at Jisung when he trails his eyes to the room, exploring the little things that they have in there, at least trying to make something out of it. He can do it, but only because the room by itself doesn’t have much of anything, his face burning as soon as Lino’s eyes hit his nape.
“Wow, you’re really think I’m serious, huh?” The stripper snickers a little bit, seeing Jisung appear so focused on the little things – and then, embarrassed.
“I didn’t know” He messes with the strings on his sweater, trying to redirect his embarrassment, and Lino probably focus on that, because on the same moment that his eyes focus on it, he says, with a lust that Jisung was associating him before, the tone dark and huskier.
“No, I wasn’t, like, at all. Sit on the sofa.” He says the little part a little bit softer, even though is clearly an order, and as such, he doesn’t waste any more seconds.
Jisung thinks of him like a prey, but a willing prey, willing to be hunted by the predator that comes in his way.
“Open your legs.” The second command he gives him, on a serious tone, makes him hotter, growing a little excited. Lino looks at him as a piece of meat, from top to bottom, and the look gives him an edge of awkwardness, not knowing what to do with himself. He takes some steps forward, until he gets close enough that he positions himself like a cat, like he will be making biscuits on his shirt with his hands. He doesn’t touch his legs, even though that’s what he demanded to be shifted.
“Have you ever…” He gets closer to him, almost nipping on his left ear, where his hair ends, and makes his whole body shiver with how he talks, so seductive, the words whispered slowly “Receive a lap dance?”
Jisung can only nod, on an absurd demonstration of lying because of nervousness. He didn’t ever, in his twenty-three years, did. Obviously, Lino doesn’t believe it, snickering a little bit with his bottom lip “Why lie? Are you afraid I will judge you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m nervous.”
“Is that the only thing you are? Huh?” Lino obviously knows what is up, so he asks that with a voice that tells he knows what is going about.
“No…”
“Then what?”
“I’m also… kinda losing my mind.”
“Oh?” He smiles, and Jisung, as the pathetic nervous man he is, follows it, even if it is a little crooked one. “Why is that?”
The little sounds that Jisung emits from his throat makes him sound desperate, but it’s not like he can even pass as anything but that at that point, so he tries to talk without blushing furiously “You know, Lino. You’re like—in shorts.”
“And what about it?”
“You knoww~~”
“Maybe I don’t and need someone to tell me straight.”
“Well, straight ain’t me.” He tries to deflect with a joke, one that works based on the little smile that is still on the stripper face, laced with something like fondness. “You’re like, really, really, really hot.”
“Wow, three really. I’m impressed.” He teases, once again, looking at him carefully “So, why lie?”
Jisung shudders at having to explain himself, but Lino eyes say that he can not escape right now, so he decides to be truthful “I wasn’t thinking at all, your whispers took me away all the braincells in this brain.” He pets his own head, trying to mimic.
“Good boy.”
All the cells on his body shiver from the tone, the one that tells him that is obviously at his mercy, not empowered enough to do anything against him, but whine pathetically, a whine from the back of his throat that he tries to cover with his hand just after it comes out.
“Take your hand off there. You’re whiny, I need to hear it.” Jisung lowers his hand, desperate to do whatever the man asks of him, but still apprehensive. When he looks out to the corners of the room, Lino seems to understand his concern. “We are alone in here; nobody is going to hear it.”
Jisung nods, mostly because he doesn’t totally know what to do. As if it was the beginning of all this, he still feels somewhat of an anxiety-full person, that has his hands metaphorically tied to his back.
“So you never had someone giving you a lap dance…” Lino reiterates, and Jisung nods enthusiastically this time, obviously avoiding his past mistakes “Well then, such a pleasure to meet you, I’m Lee Minho.”
Lee Minho. The type of name that has the possible syllables that can sound so powerful, as the palate chooses how to form words, then transmitted to the air. The type of name that it was perfect for the man in front of him.
“Lee Minho.” He half whispers it, choosing to appreciate how it rolls out of his tongue.
“Yep.” He closes the gap between them, sitting firmly on Jisung, admittedly not that strong, thighs. “Do you have… any preferences? Would you prefer if I did a specific movement, or what?”
Jisung takes a moment to respond to that. He has an answer on the tip of his tongue, but the humiliation he feels for suggesting that nearly kills him, especially with the way the Minho doesn’t move on top of him, choosing to stay focused on his eyes. “I-“ He gulps, forcing his throat to make a sound “I want to see your tattoo. The one that is on your thigh.”
“Oh, so you’re a thigh connoisseur, huh?” Minho has the audacity to wink at him after the comment, sending Jisung on a spiral, his cheeks never stopping burning. He glances at his own thighs, obviously purposely, feeling Jisung’s eyes following the movement. “Nothing wrong with that. I can show you everything that you want, really. Relax, baby.”
Baby. The word comes out of his lips, and reverbs into all the walls that the red room has, finding a way for Jisung’s ears to somehow reflect on that. He firmly loses what he has of his mind to begin with, not daring to form even a coherent sentence, almost as if the nickname was made of alcohol and he has just drank it. It makes him whine, not knowing how to control how he feels.
Somehow, Minho’s eyes while he does precisely that are what does it for him: he stares at them, and swears he sees stars, shining brightly lights,even if the room is somewhat dark.
“Have you… like…” He begins the phrase, not that focused by the movement that Minho is doing, balancing his hips side to side.
“Have I what?”
“You know… Did you do this with a lot of clients?” He gestures to the room, assuming it will give him more of a context clue.
Minho stops a bit, furrowing his eyebrow. Locking eyes with Jisung – who is now a little more conscious and feels himself a little ashamed by the question -, he seems to ask with his face why the question was made.
“Why? Do you think I go here with every man I meet? Do you think I am a slut?” He asks, nonchalantly.
“Wh-What?? Of course I don’t”
It’s somewhat difficult to believe anything he says, expression too ashamed for it to be believable, his lips parted into a silent reclamation. For some reason, though, they lock eyes and Minho can tell he is being honest.
“Ownn, my little client is worried about the people I bought back here without even caring of what they are going to pay?” Minho cooes at him, and that makes Jisung blushes, trapped in his own game.
Obviously, just like he always does when things don’t go according to what he wants, or is just feeling teased a lot, he pouts, his lips stretched forward.
“It’s fine, baby. I only go here with people that pay me.” Minho resumes what he is saying “Or with tiny people that look like a squirrel with those awfully cute cheeks. I only had one of that category actually.”
Jisung blushes, and to make things even harder, Minho resumes his movement around him, hypnotizing in every move that he does. “And what about you, Jisung?”
“Me? What?”
The stripper does a little smile at that, knowing full well how he couldn’t concentrate that well, and why is that “Did you ever do this with another stripper, baby?”
The word baby, once again, is one that meets Jisung needs and makes him whine, pushing his head back. His voice comes hurried and tumbling, like he has to force the breath to come to him “I didn’t. You’re the most beautiful I ever saw, the only one I ever wanted to do this.”
“You’re adorable. I’m going to tell you a secret.” Not knowing how to separate each other, Minho tells him, voice dropped into a lower register. A shy smile plays on his face, as he thinks on how to tell something so personal. He isn’t used to it at all, he isn’t used to pause to give something of him out to his clients, but again, Jisung is not just a client, it’s mostly an addiction, forged perfectly to himself, a sculpture that he must have since the moment he landed his eyes. A man that is, for all his purposes, the ideal one for him. “I’m nervous too, Jisung. I’m not used to have such a pretty boy in here.”
The confession on Minho’s lips makes, strangely, Jisung feel more confident. If nothing else, they both feel the need to do this, even if their bodies don’t know exactly what to make out of that. “Touch me. Please.”
Minho obeys, feeling like a metal to the imen. It starts with a trail from the ears to the rest of his body, telling Jisung to take off his shirt, trailing lightly with his hand a path to his stomach. Jisung flinches at every single touch, maintaining his hands as far apart from him as they can be.
“What is the problem with your hands, baby?”
“The guard… said to not touch the employees. I can’t touch you.”
“Oh, obedient, are we?”
“I just… Don’t wanna cause trouble.”
“Oh, such a good boy, do you want a reward?”
Jisung blushes at that, but he doesn’t have enough time to think about it, feeling the press in his lower abdomen, and the contraction that goes with that. He feels his jeans growing tighter – even more than before “Yes, god, yes.”
“You must not touch me. There are cameras, and they can see what we are doing.”
Somehow, the thought of being caught by the cameras in this space doesn’t seem bad for Jisung. On the contrary, it makes him feel good, knowing that he is about to do something that other people will watch it.
“That’s hot.”
“Hot? Do you think it’s hot how people will see your trembling under my touch, huh? Do you think it’s hot how people will see you begging and screaming while I have your cock at my mouth, baby?”
Jisung can barely reply to that, an even bigger trail of blood flooding his dick. The vulnerability is all that he can process how to do. “Do you want me to swallow all of your cum and make you feel good?”
A beat passes, where Jisung doesn’t answer, fearing that his heart will stop beating, all his blood going to his dick.
“Do you, baby?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” He chants.
“Take your pants for me, will you?” Somehow, that order can be heard on his horny-fog brain, and he does exactly what he is told. A patch of white can be seen through Jisung’s boxers – a pair that reads “Suck me, love me” – and Minho can’t help but snicker at the irony of the situation.
“Tsh. Maybe you were just expecting a situation like this.” He mutters when he reads the message.
He takes his time appreciating the area around his boxers, wandering the not-so-strong-thighs around it. He deposits kisses around it, watching while Jisung loses his mind, his arms firmly at the back as if they were imprisoned by some sort of handcuffs, begging for him to just do it.
“Calm down, baby. We haven’t yet started.”
“I need you so bad, Minho. So bad, so bad…” He continues to almost beg Minho to do something, to approach him and take him into his throat. His voice is trembling, almost as if he can cry out of nowhere in that moment “Can-Can you take your pants too? I need-I need to see you.”
That takes Minho by surprise, but it’s not like he wants Jisung to be the only one that doesn’t receive what he wants, especially when he is such a good boy, so he does exactly that. His shorts drop to the ground, making all his skin visible, the marks around his muscles even more clear.
“Your legs…” Jisung turns to him with a non-focused look, but concentrated on his body, as if it was an automatic response to it.
“What have they?”
“Majestic.” It was the only thing he could say at that point, too dumb to add anymore words to his phrases. Minho uses this as an opportunity to mouth at his boxers, finally approaching what they both want.
“Next time, you can touch it.”
“Yes, please” The educated phrase doesn’t seem educated at all in the way that is said, it seems rushed and not like he’s hearing himself talking, nor that he is hearing what Minho is saying, as if he is just blocking all the noise. Minho basks on that, finding fun in that. He whines, once again, voice that was deep now at least an octave up “Please stop teasing me.”
“I’m sorry, you’re just to fun to do it.” Before Jisung can even whine about it, though, Minho pushes the waistband down, letting the flushed cock – already so full of pre-cum - spring free from those. Jisung emites a sound that sounds like at least he has some peace, after the desperation of growing an erection in his boxers, without it going anywhere.
“So flushed for me.” Minho talks, and it’s a mesmerizing voice. It doesn’t seem like Jisung is the only one hypnotized, as Minho does too. He swears he sees a trail of dribble in his mouth, making him feel even redder. “You are so sensitive, baby. I could touch you here.” He makes a point in touch with just one finger to the tip, that makes Jisung trash into the sofa. “And you would be so desperate because of it.”
“Please, please.”
“Alright baby.” He gets closer to the tip, pressing a kiss to it. The image of it makes Jisung on fire, and that much is visible by the cum that keeps being released without his control. A kiss turns into little kisses, distributed all over, and little kisses turns into licking stripes of it. Minho observes the way Jisung flushes and turns all over him, hands still firmly pressed against his back, obviously trying to control himself to advance.
“Good. Don’t touch me with your hands.”
“Yes, Minho, of course.”
“Good boy.” And the licks turn into a cock on his mouth, flattening his tongue to accommodate better the length. Minho sighs, appreciating the weight on his tongue, feeling so high on the sensation. He begins bobbing his head, each one of them taking just a little further.
Jisung tries to open his eyes, but he just can’t do it. The feeling is too strong, and he fears that if he sees how Minho is, between his legs just in his underwear, painting surrounding it, he might lose the grip on his hands. “Fuck, fuck, Minho that feels so good.”
Minho smirks, the same annoyingly hot smirk that he has been doing since they met early in the night. He hopes for everyone to see the recordings in the room, getting to hear and see how Jisung moves, desperate for something, chasing the heat that Minho is giving him.
He can’t move his hands. He refuses to not be a good boy, letting Minho have what he wants to have, following all the rules people have put for him. It’s driving him insane, especially when Minho bobs once again, he feels the way his cock reaches the back of his throat.
He feels the release catching up with him, and his hips presses to further. Minho moans around his cock.
“Fuck, Minho, I’m going to cum” He says between breathless moans, and Minho respondes him with a particular bob that makes him see stars.
That may be the final straw for him to cum, hands still grabbing desperately the sofa behind him, while he lets it all out. He finally opens his eyes, facing with a teary eyed Minho, lips full of cum and sweat, his hair glued to the forehead, multiple drops of wetness visible.
He still looks incredible, and if Jisung wasn’t so done at that moment, he could bust a nut just by it. He refrains from trying to clean his lips as soon as the moment is over, not yet moving his hands from the back.
“Such a good boy for me.” He says, as soon as he engulfs everything in his mouth, devouring it. “Didn’t even move his arms, just like I told him.”
“That’s what you told me, I wasn’t going to do it.”
Minho gives his habitual smirk, the one that makes Jisung feels more like a prey that fell on a trap carefully laid by. “Don’t need help, Jisung. This was for you, right now.” He says, when Jisung directs his look to his boxers, an erection visible in it. “I’m serious, Jisung.”
“Okay, so what should I do?” Jisung resigns, noticing the tone used by him. He still wants to do something to return the favor.
“I think you should come here more often, pretty boy. I need someone to take here to give free blowjobs sometimes, you know?”
“You’re going to let me not pay you?”
To this, Minho doesn’t have the reaction he has come to expect at this point. He doesn’t smirk, or something that feels equally sensual, but instead Jisung sees the instances when his ears grow redder. “This was not part of my job. I- I thought you were cute…”
“Oh.” Jisung feels dirty for thinking it was a part of his job in the first place. “Sorry, I just assumed…”
“It’s fine, baby.”
Jisung doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just stands silent for a few moments. “Well, maybe we could swap phones?” He swears this is the moment where the post nut hits, and all his previous awkwardness fades a little bit – not entirely, because he still worries that this is too forward of him “I just mean, like, I still would like you to show me the tattoos?”
“Sure, Jisung.” The stripper smiles lightly, sensing the tension in the small room “I will show you my tattoo again.”
“And I can trace it, with my fingers.”
“You can.”
“It’s a deal then.”
They begin to meet after that, and, honestly, it’s a blessing that Lee Minho doesn’t need money to see Han Jisung, because if he did, Jisung would be broken in just a few days after that.