Blowjobs behind the Counter // DNF oneshot

Blowjobs Behind The Counter

A/N
This was written when I was still phasing out of the DSMP fandom. I liked the idea at the time, don't really anymore. I might finish this one day or steal the idea for something else, but for now enjoy!
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It wasn't nice, being a dancer at clubs. Dream knew that. The workers had to deal with so much just for a bit of cash. There was the harassment, the grabbing, the stares, just all this mostly unwanted attention and a lot of them were forced into it. Some did join on their own, knowing what was in it for them and making a contract, but others weren't so lucky. They were tricked, forced into thinking they had to take every customer who wanted sex into a backroom.

It was disgusting. Dream had seen it in other nightclubs before, when he was looking for a job as a bartender. He watched all those new dancers get dragged into rooms for an hour and come out wiping at eyes, cheeks tear-stained. He hated it. After a while, he got a job at Pandora's Vault, one of those exclusive clubs. There was one dancer there, a slightly new one Dream had seen at the same time he applied, but he had obviously done his research. He walked in like he owned the place, sunglasses and mask obscuring his face. Dream would be lying if he said he didn't have a fascination with the guy.

The way he danced was so elegant, the way his muscles gleamed with sweat after one of his shifts and how they flexed when he spun. The only weird part was he always wore a masquerade mask, and it never moved. It was blue and covered in swirls of glitter, sequins, anything shiny. There were spots of silver and black glitter that gave it depth that Dream couldn't describe. It was a color that would mesmerize him every other day when their shifts lined up.

The bodyguards became Dream's best friends. They would wrangle any drunk or extra loud customers and kick them out. He made small talk with a few of them, though one truly stood out. His nickname was "Blood God", it fit way too well. Technoblade was a tall dude, always with a mask on. That's probably why he and Dream bonded so well, both refusing to take their own off.

There wasn't a lot to do between shifts once Dream caught a routine. Sometimes he'd go into the backroom and talk to the other dancers. They were nice people, especially the newer ones. They were always so kind. But he never had the chance to talk to the Masquerade dancer, as their breaks weren't lined up.

He started actually getting to know his other bartender co-worker during shifts. Apparently, his name was Schlatt. He could barely do any drink tricks (except tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue but he doesn't like talking about that) but he was a damn good bartender. He did show Dream the ropes, which Dream was very thankful for. It wasn't easy knowing Schlatt, he was loud and brash, but once you did you just kinda loved him.

Now, there were days when the Masquerade dancer was asked for private shows, and on those days Dream was assigned as private bartender. Most dancers had signed a contract that at least one person was to watch over the clients during shows. Dream didn't know why he specifically was assigned, he just knew it happened. And every time, the dancer never looked at the clients. He always kept his eyes shut. Or on Dream.

It was an odd feeling, to be stared at by someone who you've never even talked to. The heat on Dream's face certainly proved that. But when it's someone who can literally lift themselves onto a pole without breaking eye contact, that's when everything spirals.

Dream had his first dream, or nightmare if you want to call it that, the night after one of the Masquerade dancers' private shows. He woke up with a blurry mind, red-tinted cheeks, and an overall gross feeling. There was a heavy air of embarrassment the next morning when Dream walked in and couldn't look at the stage where the Masquerade dancer was doing his routine. He felt eyes on him. He knew whose eyes they were.