"Strip"

Written By: Dentelle_noir

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: AU, Explicit language, nudity, sexual propositioning, sexual acts, stripping, and lap dancing.

Pairings: 3x4

Summary: Working at a strip club on his usual night, Trowa is approached by a sexy blond who doesn't know the meaning of personal space.

"Strip"

I don’t remember the first time he came in; I see hundreds of faces a week, and I don’t really care. He told me later that he had clients whose signature he needed, and had to track down to our little establishment. Apparently I was dancing that night. And he just kept coming. I didn’t remember that, but I did remember the first time he came up to the stage. I vaguely recognized him, so I figured that he was on his way to being a regular. I may have served him drinks, or I could have just seen him watching from one of the lounge chairs further back. Like I said, I don't really remember.

We were a classy place, and it wasn’t uncommon to have people come just for drinks, watch a few dances, and leave. We tried to make things comfortable up in my lounge—there was a lower lounge where girls danced. My lounge was Wing where only men danced for the pleasure of the ladies and a few gentlemen. I did my thing most Thursday nights, coming up on stage and finding new ways to not get bored while showing off my ass. I was behind the bar on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, too. I made more money working three days there then I ever had working all week at any day job I had before.

I was just doing my thing, showing left, right, flick the hips, around the pole in center stage, when I noticed him coming up to the stage. He looked a little nervous, blushing gently, but I could tell he had some liquid courage in him. This wasn’t out of the ordinary, but I did notice that it wasn’t a one dollar, or ever a five dangling from his fingertips. And for a twenty, I would meet him half way. I could tell that he didn’t want to have to push past peeps row upfront—there was a bachelorette party there, making a scene and getting drunk off their heels.

I flipped a little, strutting as best I could, slinking along the stage (since that was my dance—I was a cat tonight) and I moved away from peeps row to the narrower back of the stage. I laid down there on my back, bracing myself on my forearms, and I flicked my hips upwards and started a full body roll, meowing gently for effect, and making the girls go wild.

The blonde made it there, blushing even deeper as he sought my eyes. I moved to stand on my knees, bent a little to showcase my hips and give him access to my G-sting so that twenty could come into my possession. He moved a little closer...nervously...and bit his lip. It looked cute on him, but honestly? There were other things demanding my time then waiting for him to get some courage. Just as I was about to move closer and take the twenty to do something lewd with for his watching pleasure, he reached out.

Instead of going for the G-string and getting a feel while he was at it, he reached for my neck. Slipping his hand to the very back, he slid the twenty into my collar, tucking it in securely. Then his finger tips, soft like a feather, grazed my jaw line, then moved up and made my breath stop.

He traced the line of my lower lip, his one dainty fingertip ghosting along and making my whole body tremble in its wake. I had never felt a touch that made my toes curl and my eyes close...but that touch....

He walked away, blushing red-hot, and moved toward a little table area further back into the club to sit down. I’ll admit it, I watched him go. I was frozen to the spot by that innocent little touch. I didn't move, couldn't move, until one of the other guys—just back from a lap dance, it seemed—waved his hand and pointed to the pole, sitting vacant as I stared.

I got my head out of my ass, and slinked back up there, curling around the pole, going through the motions of that routine, and when I was done and able to leave the stage, I just about ran. Once I got into the dressing rooms—rooms the whole club shared, no matter what lounge you worked in—I collapsed into my chair and let my fingers move up to my lips to feel where he had touched me. It was electric. I could close my eyes and still feel him there, feel that fingertip, the little hitch of his breath as he did it, the way I opened my lips just a little for him, and I wanted so bad for him to kiss me right then.

That was strictly against the rules of course, rules of the club, rules about safely, rules about professional relationships, and my own personal space rules to name a few, but in that moment I’d never wanted anything more, and it scared the hell out of me.

It was barely a few moments after that that the boss came over to me, “You’re wanted for a lap dance. Table forty-two.” He said before looking over my hunched form. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I took a deep calming breath, and focused my mind, “A customer...surprised me, is all. I’m alright. I just need a minute to settle.”

“It wasn’t a little blonde in a white suit, was it?”

That perfectly described him, although it left out a few of the best points. He had been gorgeous too, with big blue eyes and the softest touch I had ever felt, but I decided not to tell the boss that. He’d have me committed.

I wasn’t surprised the blonde had ordered a dance, but I couldn’t refuse it. He’d given me a twenty for a touch of my lips, and now he’d ordered a lap dance from me. It wasn’t hard to make the jump in logic that he’d tip me handsomely for it...It would be stupid to say no, just because his innocent little action had made me uncomfortable. Only in this profession could a simple touch of the hand be something that bothered me, while being confronted with someone jacking off to my act wouldn’t even phase me—hell, if he had been doing that, I probably would have given him a wink and dipped low in front of him, just to see his reactions.

With that in mind, I decided to do it. I did this all the time—I could handle a lap dance. I’d just tell him the rules right off the bat, because obviously he didn’t know them. But really, what was there to worry about? I could handle anything a little blonde like that could throw at me.

I walked up to table forty-two, and, no surprise to me, he was sitting there by himself, shredding a napkin in restlessness. He looked up when I got closer, and that light blush he was permanently wearing at being in a place like this darkened again. I sat myself on the table, and looked at him with a little practiced seductive smile.

“I’m going to assume you’ve never done this before...so here’s the rules. You’re hands stay on the arms of the chair. You can ask me things, talk dirty to me, whatever you want, but I don’t have to do them. I’m in control here, got it?” I told him. The blonde nodded and bit his lip lightly, looking almost completely lust-fogged at my lips the whole time I spoke. It was unnerving. Looking at my ass, at my hips, my arms, my cock—fine...but him looking at my mouth was making my defenses rise. I knew he wanted to kiss me.

That old phrase from a movie came to my head: “A kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it” and I knew at that moment that a kiss from Blondie would be dangerous. Very dangerous.

I mounted the chair, turning so my back was to the blonde, and straddled his thin tiny legs. He was sitting up all proper like, and I nearly laughed. He’d get nothing but air that way! I took a bit of pity on the man and turned to look over my shoulder, “Slide down in the seat a bit, It’s called a ‘lap’ dance for a reason; I need your lap. I bet you’ve never done this before, have you?” I asked dryly. I don’t know why I asked; it was obvious.

He blushed hotly, embarrassed, and slid down in the chair like I’d suggested he do, almost moving his hands to embrace my hips. I saw. But he caught himself, and returned his hands to the arms of the chair a moment later. Good. That would have been the end of this dance if he’d forgotten the rules so quickly.

I started with a slow body roll, arching my back and flicking my hips up, rolling like a belly dancer but positioned with my hands on a table and my ass in the blonde’s lap, rolling against his obvious want with my legs and ass. I could feel he liked it but he made no other indication my work was appreciated. C’mon! Was it that hard to give me a little encouragement?

“You can groan, Blondie,” I said with a dry tone, a little spike of anger apparent.

He opened his eyes, blinking through a fog, “My name’s Quatre.”

I didn’t want to know that. Fuck. Did I ASK for your fucking name? I was perfectly fine with thinking of you as Table Forty-Two. Professional. One time. A customer I had to serve. You had to go and fuck that up by telling me your name and breaking down my walls?

“Fine. Don’t expect me to use it. I SAID that you could groan if you liked it. I’m not psychic, I won’t know what you want if you don’t give me a little indication,” I said coldly. Really, though, I was known for that. No one asked me for lap dances if they had any wits about them. I was hot to look at, but cold to the touch.

Quatre groaned once, barely audible, but I ground down on him again anyway, doing a little circle in his lap with my hips. He didn’t move into it, didn’t thrust for more. I had to look at him over my shoulder again, about to say something biting, but as soon as his eyes locked with mine I felt his cock stiffen under me.

Shit. Shit. SHIT! He didn’t want my body. He wanted me. I turned my face and quickened the dance, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. I didn’t care if he’d purchased some twenty minutes of my time, I wanted gone and the quickest way was to get him off. No one complained if you did that and left early, so I ground against him harder, looking to see if it was working.

Quatre’s eyes half-closed and he groaned again, his hips moving up against me. Good. He was starting to get into it. Actually, when he had his eyes closed and his mouth open just a bit...and his little groan...it was kinda hot. He was really good looking, like, a perfect ten that shoulda been on the pole and not in the seats, and that nervous goody-two-shoes look worked for him. I kinda liked that. And I liked blondes. I ground against him again, feeling him react, looking over my shoulder to watch him. I started getting harder myself...turning the dance just a bit so I was rubbing myself against his leg for a little pleasurable tingle myself.

I stopped rolling like that and stood on the chair, reaching up high to brush the low-sunk ceiling with my fingertips delicately—there was something about feeling the rough texture of the plaster, something about the hard nicks and smooth paint that I liked to feel. Flicking my hips to the left, to the right, rolling them so I was twisted to the side and he could see my hips moving up close and personal, I moved so my legs were reversed and I was looking at him full-frontal. It was a little circle, really—I moved in an imitation of my show, flick flick, turn, then I dipped, dipping really low my legs moved open and forward for this one, putting knees then hips then belly button, abs, chest and then shoulder right as his eye level until I was seated on his lap again and grinding against him.

He liked that position better, I could tell, and I didn’t mind it as much because when I ground against him I was feeling little twitches and whispered touches of pleasure every time I accidentally brushed against his chest as I danced. It was...kinda nice. I leaned back on my forearms, splaying myself out and showcasing my abs of steel while I rolled against him, my own breath beginning to speed up as the ‘accidental’ brushing of myself against his stomach became a little more frequent.

He was looking at me again, his breath coming in pants, heat in his eyes. It was smoking hot...and he licked his lips, “M-may I, kiss—"

“No.”

“—your stomach?” Quatre finished, blushing hotly.

I reconsidered for a moment...and then nodded. I don’t know why I did. Maybe because I was enjoying this even though I didn’t want to admit it. The guy was a fucking ten, he really was, and I was like any other human in that I wanted more of what felt good. I nodded.

He leaned over, almost touching my sides again, but stopped himself short once more, then he pressed his lips to the spot just below my belly button. His lips were like his fingers—butterfly soft with a whisper of breath. I couldn’t help the groan he pulled out of me, and I knew I went rock hard...my head dropping back and my eyes closing. I felt the touch of warmth and moisture and the slow soft drag of his lower lip as he moved away, leaning back in the chair, respecting my distance again. I was panting for it now, shivering from my core in wanton lust. I was going to rock this guy’s socks off and go home and jack off to this for days, I knew it, so I ground deep and hard against him wantonly.

Then he killed it all.

“Trowa...” he whispered, and then I felt his fingers on the sides of my hips.

I jumped away faster then a coke dealer seeing a badge, eyes wide and nearly stumbling over a table. There was a bouncer over there in a moment, ready to kick him out.

“How do you know that? How do YOU KNOW MY NAME?!” I hollered, freaked out, angry, feeling more upset then I’d ever felt. The whole club was looking at us.

Quatre glanced to the left, and I knew before he even opened his mouth he was going to lie.

I was gone, moving past the bouncer and to the back, grabbing my bag and my trench coat and breaking out of the backdoor and into the alley, covering my G-string clothed self with the coat and digging for a smoke, my hands shaking like a leaf. I lit it after a few tries and sucked back hard, taking in the smoke and then exhaling in a thick white stream, letting it relax me and I took another puff as soon as I could.

I began to move around a little to keep myself warm. I had some sweatpants and a Tee in my bag, but I wasn’t about to change into them. Pacing helped me focus too, and I began to stroll up and down the alley quickly, humming to myself as I walked to dull my racing thoughts. And the smoke burnt to my finger tips—it had probably been about fifteen minutes out in the cold, but I just lit another, not ready to go back inside yet. I was a mess.

Headlights brightened the alley, and stopped. I saw the shape of someone coming towards me and nearly rolled my eyes. It was like a bad movie that just wouldn’t end! Of course it was Quatre, and he looked a little roughed up. The bouncer must have physically kicked him out. I wanted to escape back into the club...but for some reason I just took another drag and let him talk first. I didn’t like to talk first.

“I...I didn’t get to give you your tip...?” he said, wringing his hands nervously as he got closer to me. I think I scared him. Made him nervous. Well GOOD. Cause he was making me feel nervous, too.

I responded with my trademark dry retorts, “If you think I’m going to open my jacket to let you put it in my G-string, you’re deluded. It’s too fucking cold for that shit.” I took another puff.

He shook his head no sadly. “I-I don’t want that...I don’t wanna make you like me just because I have money,” he said sadly.

What the hell was he? Must have been deluded.

“Look. Dude. I don’t know you from a hole in the ground. Why ELSE would I like you? If you’re here to give me my tip, then give it, or get out. You’re making me nervous, and I don’t like it,” I hissed, realizing a moment later I was giving away my emotions. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Quatre walked up to me, and I would have walked away, but he held out a crisp one hundred dollar bill. No TWO on hundred dollar bills. For that I didn’t bolt. For that, I let him come closer.

He bit his lips lightly, and took the edge of the bill and put it to my temple...and dragged it down the side of my face, across my lips, making me shiver at that feather light slow seduction. He was smirking wryly, disdainfully, and sighed, “Money can’t buy you love...but it greatly improves your bargaining position.”

And after that he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. I shouldn’t have let him come that close, but for that kind of money I had, and now that kiss was even deadlier…because he meant it.

That spark, that same tingling electricity passed between us, and I was a gonner, closing my eyes while my defenses came crashing down all around me. When he brought his fingers up to touch my sides this time I didn’t push him away or glare. I moaned in encouragement, and let my hands come up to grab at the shoulders of his expensive white suit and clench there, my nails digging into him, pulling him closer, and when I did my fully body roll this time, I felt my knees go weak as the pleasure shocked through my entire body.

He pulled away just a hair, and I could feel his breath, feel the brush of his lips against mine, and he whispered, “I knew your name because I’ve wanted you for a long, long time. And I always get what I want.”

I felt every word run through me like electricity.

Normally I’m the kind of jackass who would say ‘not this time’ just to spite a person’s self love. But this time I clenched harder against his arms. I was the type who usually got what I wanted to. I knew how to use my body and my head to manipulate people into giving me what I wanted...and so was he. One of us had to break first.

And it was going to be me. I leaned in and closed the distance between our lips, feeling that electric desire shoot through me again as Quatre’s lips were just as warm and sweet and passionate as I had ever imagined. He brought a hand up and wound in through my hair, and I groaned, pulling him closer, and then flipping us so I had him pinned against the wall and could ravish him with kisses and body grinds. He just clutched my hair harder, digging his nails in and letting out the most wanton moan I had ever heard.

I dropped to my knees and tugged at his fly. Fuck the rest. I hardly knew what the hell I was doing, but at least I was smart enough to grab a condom from my bag and slip it on him before I swallowed him with fervor, sucking hard and bobbing hungrily. He groaned, clenching those fingers in my hair. I could feel every nerve ending in my body exploding as he moaned and let his head fall back and his eyes close. I wanted to finish what I’d started in the club.

“Trowa. Trowa!” he moaned. “Trowa stop st-stop. I want you to fuck me, Please, oh god please,” he begged, his fingers digging in.

I moved off his cock and let my eyes run up his body and to his face, flushed, panting, and looking straight at me, as if I was the sexiest, more important person in his life, and I said the word the changed me for the rest of my life.

“Yes.”

I still work in the bar of the lounge Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and Quatre hates it. He discretely came in and bought the place so he could make sure no one saw me naked but him ever again. And Thursdays? Thursdays are always special. Quatre always call it ‘anniversary’ night, and we always do something a little more exciting or daring. I went home with him that night, and I didn’t leave again until work on Tuesday. He came to pick me up, too, in his brand new Jaguar. That was six years ago, and we’re still going strong. I’ve never even seen him so much as look at another man, and it boggles my mind how he could have so stubbornly and truthfully fallen in love with me before we’d really even met. But it doesn’t really matter, because I love him too, and I still feel that electric shock when his fingers drift over my skin, when I feel one touch melting that coldness inside me, or when he moans a breathy “I love you, Trowa” just for me in the middle of the night.

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