immoral in a stranger's lap
i have been thinking of writing this fic since the first time i listened to Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain and i just feel like it screams Toji. anyway this might turn into a multi-part thing
wc: 2.9k (ongoing)
cw: nonspecific drug use, drinking, pole dancing, age gap, sexual acts, praise (duh)
The familiar haze began to tingle under his skin as Fushiguro Toji let out a long, controlled exhale of smoke, relaxing into the plush of the upholstered booth beneath him. He vaguely registered that the older man next to him had leaned in to say something over the beat of the music-- he didn't bother to pretend to hear him, he figured it was vile anyway, whatever it was. He'd been coming here for the last few weeks, his little hole in the wall that housed his most beloved treasure: you, in those black stiletto heels and that sinfully tight, black, strappy matching set you wore on the stage above him, making it so easy for him to watch the strain of muscle under the curve of your hip when you dipped to give him a show.
He supposed it wasn't specifically for him, but he could pretend. He wrapped a hand around his beer bottle and brought it to his lips, pausing to regard the way your back arched when you tipped your head back, calves maintaining their grip on the pole and allowing you to bend backwards, meeting his gaze. The corner of his lip turned up in a smirk and he put the bottle down without ever taking a sip. He could watch you for hours, and he did--you'd noticed-- most nights now. He'd very clearly taken a liking to you, if the slight tent of his jeans was anything to go by. You thought he was handsome--the scar was a nice touch--but you didn't give him much thought. There wasn't much that suggested he'd be anything special. You had to suppress the eye roll as his eyes ravaged your body. When you've seen one, you've seen enough, you think to yourself.
You'd been up on your stage for about 30 minutes before you climbed down to take a break. You grabbed onto the bouncer's shoulder for support and he handed you your robe when your feet made it to the ground. "Thanks, Todo," you winked at him, taking his arm as he led you through the crowd, delivering you safely to your dressing room. You squeezed the muscle of his forearm in another silent thanks and walked in, letting the door shut behind you. You were grateful for the way it muffled the bass line that vibrated inside your skull. You sat down at your vanity and allowed your eyes to rake over yourself once, making sure your hair was still in place and your make up wasn't smudged. Good enough, you shrugged, pulling the bills you'd collected out of your outfit. You organized them carefully before running them through your money counter, adding the total to the money you'd earned earlier in the week. It wasn't a terrible week-- it certainly wasn't your best, but you weren't going home empty handed, either.
You'd been at it for at least 10 minutes before you heard a knock on your door. "Come in, Todo," you called, wrapping your robe around yourself. You looked over at him as he had to shuffle to fit his body through the doorframe. You stifled the chuckle as best you could.
"You got time for a private dance?" He asked, his voice a little too loud for your proximity, but you didn't mind.
"Some older guy?" He said like it was a question, "Black hair, scar on his lip?"
You let out a sigh, slumping in your chair and allowing yourself one dramatic eye roll before turning back to him. "Tell him it's double."
You watched him nod as he went, pulling your door shut behind him. You looked back into the mirror, trying to summon the motivation to put on your best stupid, pretty bimbo face on, but you didn't have it in you tonight. You didn't have it in you to care, either, even if it was double-- maybe he'd like mean, men-hating strippers more. You snorted at your own joke. You could already hear the way he'd talk to you. You could hear the way he'd ruffle his own feathers, telling you that he was all you needed, that he'd take you away from there. You thought that was an old line that needed retired-- why would you give up your luxury apartment and $1,500 or more a night just to live with some dickhead that's never washed his ass? No thanks.
You pulled yourself out of your chair, reaching up for a stretch and groaning at the way your spine popped delightfully when you twisted to each side. You shook out your arms and your legs, watching yourself in the mirror. You gave yourself a little smile and a wink, and you could understand why men wanted so badly to be seen by you. You really were very pretty. You spent the next few moments gazing at yourself until you heard Todo knock on your door again. You opened it to find him waiting, arm already outstretched for you to loop your own through. You smiled up at him brightly and did just that, feeling warm at the way he patted your arm with his free hand as he led you through the crowd again.
You liked Todo. He was big and loud and upon first inspection you thought for sure he would be a huge nuisance, but he'd grown on you in the time you'd worked there. You'd developed a kind of friendship-- he was your shadow at work, always knowing where you were and always protecting you. He'd send you funny posts and pictures of his cat on your off days. You were sweet to him, bringing him an energy drink or a snack to help him through the nights you worked together. It was a weird place to form that sort of sibling-esque relationship, but you didn't mind.
He led you down a hallway to the last door on the left, opening the door for you and meeting your gaze before you walked inside. You nodded at him, squeezing his arm in understanding before letting go--knock three times on any surface of this room, and I will come in, you recited in your head. A silent understanding of safety that you were grateful for. You'd only had to do it a time or two, but Todo was true to his word, and watching him pick up a grown man with one hand and toss him into the parking lot had been cathartic. You shot him a toothy smile before straightening your face and walking into the room.
Your guy was there, arm stretched over the back of the couch and rather relaxed as he met your gaze. His lip turned up in a smirk, yours did not. You walked past him to the bar, pulling out glasses from a cabinet underneath. "You drinking tonight, big guy?" you called to him over your shoulder, not bothering to fix the pitch of your voice.
His eyes grazed over your body, drifting up over the curves of your legs and settling on your ass. You had a heeled ankle crossed over the other, leaning your weight against the bar in front of you as you looked through the bottles. It was all he could do to stay rooted in his seat, to keep himself from dropping to his knees behind you and shoving his tongue between your cheeks. He hummed noncommittally, eyes roamed up the rest of your body to settle on the curve of your neck, which stretched deliciously when you leaned your head to the side as you poured the drinks. "Wasn't going to actually," he said, and his voice was low and gruff, "but if you're already half way there, I won't refuse you."
You held back the snort that almost slipped out at that, like he hadn't been drinking all night anyway. You supposed it was nice that he wanted to at least attempt sobriety for you, but you almost wished he wouldn't-- if he passed out, this would be over quicker.
You turned to face him, his body still relaxed as you watched him look you up and down. You walked over to him slowly, skilled and intentional about the pauses between the clicks of your heels against the floor, handing his glass to him as you took a seat next to him. His body didn't move to face you but his head did, eyes meeting yours as he took a sip of his drink. You noticed how he didn't ask you what it was.
You brought your drink to your lips, nearly spitting it back into your glass in surprise when you he said, "You're probably sick of guys like me, huh?"
Your eyes met his and you scanned his face for some sort of tell, some sort of sign that he was testing you. His expression was unchanged-- relaxed, with a smirk on his lips. You weighed the consequences of telling him the truth-- that yes, you were, actually. You answered it with your own question instead.
"And what kind of guy would you be, exactly?"
"An old pervert with deep pockets that wants to buy your time."
You coughed out a laugh at that, bringing your drink to your lips again. At least he was honest.
"Ah, I don't mind that guy much," you tell him honestly, still wary but more willing to talk with the liquor warming your belly, "it's the guys that think they're buying me that get tiring."
His eyes scanned your face and you met his gaze. Finding whatever it was he was looking for, he grunted in agreement. "Somethin' tells me you're not someone who could be bought so easily."
You let yourself smirk at that, head tilting to the side as you looked at him. "There's not a man alive that could afford me."
"Ah," he grinned, taking another sip of his drink, "I don't doubt that."
You looked at him for another moment, curiosity spiking. "So," you started, testing the waters, "are you an old pervert that buys my time just to talk to me?"
He laughed at that, baritone and husky and settling somewhere deep in your gut. You grinned at him as he let his head rest against the back of the couch, rolling to look at you.
"Unfortunately not, darlin'," his lips curling upward at the sight of your own, "S'just not fun for anyone if I come in here like an asshole, is it?"
"Well, too late for that," you muttered into your drink, head snapping up when you'd realized you'd said it out loud. He turned to look at you, eyebrow cocked but the rest of him otherwise relaxed, chest rumbling with laughter. You let you eyes drift down to his fitted, black T-shirt. He'd told you he was old, but his body certainly didn't look it-- he was cut, you'd give him that.
He shook his head slowly, smile wide and genuine as he swallowed. You caught yourself staring at the bob of his Adam's apple.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed out, adjusting in his seat, "didn't realize I'd paid to get my feelings hurt."
"Figured I'd give you something to think about in bed tonight," you told him, feeling bold and also a little sorry for him, but mostly still curious.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, meeting your eyes, "you've given me more than enough to think about tonight."
You'd be lying if you said that his words didn't fizzle under your skin at least a little bit. You let your eyes rake over him now, knowing he was watching you ask you did. Spread out like this on the couch, arm draped behind it and head turned to look at you, you could appreciate his allure. You ignored the way his lap started to look a little inviting and pulled your eyes back up to his, ready for the snarky comment from him. It didn't come.
"Been watchin' you," he told you earnestly, and you thought that if it had been anyone else it would've been creepy.
"I know," you muttered around the rim of your glass, eyes still on him, "why is that?"
He sucked in a long breath through his teeth, hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck, for support instead of out of anxiety--he was still completely at ease, dark eyes drinking you in. You watched the muscle in his bicep ripple, and your throat felt a little tight.
"Mm," he hummed, low and hungry, "you look so sweet up there. Couldn't help wantin' to find out if you're anything like how you are in my mind."
This was new, you thought, trying to be slick about the way your thighs pressed together just a little bit at the tone of his voice. Despite his intimidating appearance, there was no bravado to this man. He was honest, and his praise was warm as it pooled in your belly.
"Oh? And how am I there?" You asked, a little too breathy for your liking. He smirked at you and it was sinful.
"Let me show you," he said, nearly a purr as he patted his lap, other hand still over the back of the couch.
Something carnal twisted inside you at the sight of him patting his lap for you, and your body moved without thinking. You straddled his big thigh, knees coming down to hover over it. Your hands came up to steady yourself on the back of the couch, caging in his head that was still resting back there, and your gaze held his.
"Want to kiss me?" You were surprised to hear yourself ask, looking down at him through hooded eyes. His lips turned up and he shook his head slightly.
"Not yet, princess," he whispered, his hand coming to wrap around the thigh trapped inside his, pushing down on it slightly so you could sit properly above his knee, "just be patient for me, yeah?"
You nodded, brain nearly short circuiting as his hand travelled up the skin of your thigh, stopping at your hip to squeeze gently. A thrill lashed through your spine at the knowledge that he could bruise you if you asked. You shook away the thought.
"So soft," he cooed, mouth suddenly right next to your ear and both hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the skin that stretched over the bone. You hands flew to his shoulders at his close proximity, but you dug your nails into the fabric that covered them to hold him there instead of shoving him away. You felt a rumble in his chest at the scratch.
You shivered as you felt his breath over the column of your throat, head tipping to encourage him to keep going. "So good, just for me."
You wanted to laugh, to deny him, but he was absolutely right. You felt one of his hands come up to rest at the nape of your neck, the other curved around the fat of your ass. You sucked in a breath when he squeezed the flesh there, kneading it between his fingers. He pulled gently on your neck and you dropped your head with it, letting yourself be led wherever he wanted you. His eyes met yours again and he tilted his chin up, bringing his mouth closer to yours, that smirk still plastered on it. The hand over your ass pulled you closer, and you let out a little gasp at the pleasure of being dragged over his thigh. You had to fight not to grind yourself back over it.
"Whadd'ya think, princess?" he murmured, lips inches from yours, "Worth all the trouble?"
Your lips parted but no sound came out, and you couldn't miss the way his eyes fell to them. You felt yourself lean forward, inhibitions gone and your entire body buzzing.
There was a sharp knock on the door that made you nearly jump out of his lap. You let out a shaky breath and a curse, and the man below you chuckled, leaning back now with his hand still on your ass. "Time's up," Todo shouted through the door. For the first time, you wanted to throttle him.
Strong hands reached under your thighs and lifted you up, depositing you gently back onto the couch. He stood up, raising the long-forgotten glass to his lips as he drained it's contents in one swift motion, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The action left you throbbing between your legs. He hummed, eyes meeting yours as he moved to loom over you, one hand propping him up on the back of the couch. "S'nice to meet you, darlin'," he spoke low into your ear, and you shivered, "see you next time, yeah?"
You nodded dumbly, eyes meeting his as he straightened up, giving you a wink as he turned to go. Your brain caught up and you called after him. "What's your name?"
He looked at you over his shoulder and smiled. "Toji," he stated simply, turning back and walking out the door, Todo coming into view as his eyes scanned you, making sure you were alright. You cleared your throat and ran a hand through your hair, trying to pull the frayed ends of your consciousness back together. "I'm good," you told him, smile sheepish as you stood up, willing your legs not to wobble as you walked toward him. As you walked back to your dressing room, you thought of Toji, and you found that your pulse thrummed against your chest at the possibility of a next time.