GREEDY | jjk

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The sweet smell of liquor drowned the dim room, 

fog from the dance floor reflecting a mirage of hazed colors that melted together beautifully with the music. 

You shifted in your seat, the cool glass in your hand spun along the granite surface of the bar between gentle fingers. The skin of your legs exposed delicately by a short skirt, leading to pumped black heels that perfectly cradled your ankles. 

Your gaze shifted to a poster on the bar countertop, "EXOTICA" titled in large letters along the top of it. The alluring photograph of a pale man clad in an exposing police uniform grasped your attention; you furrowed your brows.

"We got performers?" You asked your coworker, who was dressed as scantily as you. The music was head-throbbingly loud, prompting you to raise your voice as you spoke.

"Yeah, two days," Nobara called out through a focused expression as she poured off a shot. "Gonna be a room full of horny women, we'll get shitty tips," she groaned, recalling the way men flock to the bar just for a glimpse of the bartenders' bodies. 

Nodding in acknowledgement, you tilted the glass back to let the spirit drown in your mouth. Sliding the emptied glass towards Nobara, you slipped two fingers under the cup of your bra. Grasping a folded stack of cash, you fluttered your fingers through the bills while silently counting through muttering lips.

"$381," you called out, returning the papers to their folded state before slipping them back under your bra. "Not a bad night, especially considering it's only midnight."

Nobara was closing for the night, so she had a few more hours of work on her hands. You'd always admired how easily she could manipulate bigger tips from men, and sometimes all it took was a simple glance or a smile. 

But you were alluring in your own way. The way men were drawn to you was like a dog to the scent of meat; you didn't even have to try, and it played into your benefit each time you worked a shift. 

But despite the numerous men making flirty comments, asking for your number, or using shitty pick-up lines, nobody really piqued your interest. Seeing guys piss-drunk and desperate when they approached you was not a turn on, but you'd admit that it was quite entertaining.

But the man who had just taken a seat next to you seemed much different than the rest. 

He cradled a cigarette between his lips as he muttered a drink order to Nobara, his posture slouched in the stool that gave off an indifferent temperament. The dark length of his hair perfectly framed his face's sharp features, arm muscles completely exposed in the black tank he wore.

You glanced at him in short intervals, taking in the sight of tattoos that riddled his back and the entirety of his arms in angled shapes. Dark taut jeans paired with heavy boots... the man screamed bad news.

His elbows kissed the cold surface of the bar, hands clasped in fists against his chin as he sighed, hot white smoke escaping through his lips sensually.

Dark eyes flicked to the side, his gaze falling on you and tracing soft lines along your scantily-dressed body. One lip curled up erotically between the cigarette cradled in his teeth, his veined, thick fingers grasping it as he huffed.

"What's your drink?" The hoarse tone of his voice spoke years of bad smoking habits, only proven to you through the rasp he emitted. 

Your eyes darted to greet his, your back leaned against the edge of the counter in a nonchalant manner. "Rum."

"Darlin," he called out, lifting two fingers towards Nobara and exposing slivered bits of muscled tendons. "Shot of rum, too."

Taking one last hit from the cigarette, he tossed the end onto the floor and snuffed it out with the sole of his boot as if he had no consideration for the person who had to sweep it up; that person being Nobara.

"You know someone has to clean that up?" You murmured, eyes squinted slightly in a tantalizing manner as you stared him down - curiously waiting for his response.

He kept his fists clasped, craning his neck to the side to fully meet your gaze. "Just a cigarette butt. But we could make a bigger mess, if ya'd like." The smirk he held on his face was intensely childish, his gaze practically eye-fucking you as he followed the curves of your body.

You hesitated with a sharp inhale, taken aback and slightly bewildered. "Cocky, aren't we? You know that shit doesn't work on girls."

Grasping the glass of whiskey Nobara slid towards him, he took a hefty sip before speaking. "See, there's psychology behind it. You might not be attracted to someone cocky, but it got ya thinkin' about fuckin' didn't it?"

Instead of choosing to respond, you downed the shot of rum in attempts to loosen up. It'd take quite a bit of alcohol to make this guy seem any less intimidating.

"But now that you're thinkin' about it, which I'm sure you are based on your lack of response, I'm the closest person in the room, aren't I? What's stoppin' ya, darlin?"

"Everything about you," you muttered, a bit irritatedly. The man exuded danger. He chuckled deeply, as if he found your response to be a joke - though it wasn't.

"Maybe I can change your mind about that. Getou," he rasped slyly, extending a tattooed hand to greet yours in a handshake.

"Y/N," you responded. "And I doubt that very much."

"Hmm," he hummed out lowly in thought, face falling concentrated as if solving a puzzle. "How about ya meet me here sometime? Maybe, two days?" Getou's hand spun the glass in smooth circles; it was almost mesmerizing to watch the way his muscles flexed with each movement. 

Remembering that you worked that night, there wasn't really any way around it. "Sure, I guess."

"Ya could at least pretend to act excited," he spoke through a laugh before downing the rest of the dark liquor clutched in his fist. "But judging by the way your face is flushed, I know ya are."

Getou rose from his seat, each muscle group shifting in movement and making themselves known. The tattoos he bore were even more alluring in the shifting hues of the neon strobe lights. 

Pressing a gentle palm on your bare thigh, he leaned into your neck to speak hotly, small drunken breaths pervading. 

"See ya soon, darlin."