Harry Styles Imagines { Ongoing }

𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫*

summary: in which; you work at Harry's club as a bartender, but he encourages you to try new things and become a dancer.

trigger warnings: sexual content, mature themes, drug use, alcohol consumption.

word count: 4.8k

includes: alcohol, cocaine, fingering, oral (male receiving), sex.

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        "Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?" You offered a smile, placing their desired drinks directly in front of them. The blinding, neon red lights illuminated the word Desire, the radiant glow bouncing off every inch of your skin that was visible to wandering eyes around you. Hundreds of bodies shuffled around the marbled floor, their eyes set on the lovely dancers on the center stage, a soft, sultry song playing through the speakers of the club.

The thick air was intoxicating, smelling only of weed, sweat, and alcohol. The fluorescent, flashing lights shifted colors often, changing the atmosphere easily. "No, thank you." The man was fresh, clean-shaven, offering you a smile before he waved his hand and shooed you away. You left with a nod, letting out an exaggerated breath as you felt the eyes on you walking away, blaming it on the uniform you have to wear to serve at this strip club.

Serving in a club wearing a simple black thong and a diamond-clad bikini top was never where you thought you'd be at this age, but the tips and the pay made it worth it. Plus, who doesn't love to watch women undress during an exotic dance? "Did you hear?" Your attention turned towards your co-worker, behind the bar, your elbows leaning on the damp bar. "The boss is supposed to be in here tonight... and apparently he's some big mafia leader."

        "You're joking." You stood up straight, adjusting the uncomfortable strap on the back of your top. "Our boss hustles on the side?" You couldn't help but snicker, grabbing a warm, damp cloth and wiping the sticky, dried alcohol from the top of the bar.

        "I actually think he's a full-time Mafia leader, part-time strip club owner." You let out a hum of curiosity, topping off a half empty glass to one of the regulars at the bar, taking the money he set out and tucking it into the front of your black panties. "And I heard he's like, crazy hot."

        "Yeah? I can't imagine someone who runs a luxurious, large club like this is ugly." You let out a laugh, turning your attention back towards the gentlemen who just sat himself down at the bar. "What can I get for you, Sir?" The moment he looked up at you, your breathing nearly stopped. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with dark eyes that pulled you in, nearly intoxicating.

        "Top shelf tequila." His eyes were scanning over your body, your breathing increasing at the overwhelming feeling of someone in the male species looking at you like that. "And make it quick, I have some business to attend to." He turned his attention towards the center stage, his fingers pinching at his bottom lip in concentration. His fingers were long and slender, decorated in shiny, silver and gold rings.

You let out a gulp, "Right away, Sir." You turned and let out a breath of relief, taking in the feeling of not being stared at by someone who looks that good. You thought you were pretty average, so it didn't come to a surprise for you when you peeked over your shoulder and noticed he, indeed, wasn't looking at you.

You stepped onto the stool you kept behind the bar, your body stretching as you reached up to grab the bottle from the top shelf. Your struggle caught his attention, his eyes set in stone on the perfect curve of your ass, his tongue running over his dry lips. You let out a huff and grabbed a clear glass, dropping a few pieces of ice in the bottom and pouring the clear, expensive liquid over top. "Top shelf tequila. That'll be $15." He slid a single $100 bill your way, grabbing the glass from the bar and standing up.