Outnumbered // Weasley Twins x Reader

Outnumbered

~ NSFW WARNING ~
This is the last smut warning I'll be including. It's porn with a plot. You know what you came here for.

Fred and George kept their promise to dial back the hovering a little bit. They only visited during one of your weekend shifts every week, or occasionally during the lunchtime lull you'd pick up on a Monday or Tuesday. They never sat in the back row during your sets or slipped you large envelopes full of "tips", and if it weren't for them booking back to back private lap dances between your sets, the other dancers likely wouldn't have had a clue that you were seeing them on a personal level at all.

Those private sessions were a dream, though. Sometimes they'd come in together and the three of you would just sit on that black leather couch at the back of the room, chatting and laughing and stealing heated kisses that never went as far as you wanted.

Other times it would just be one of them. You'd come out of the room with kissed raw lips, their expensive suits disheveled, both of you floating on a cloud that didn't exist before each other.

One particular night in mid December, the lounge was bustling. Men were dressed to the nines and entering in droves, all of them having the same idea of spending their "holiday party" at Nyx Lounge. They ordered their alcohol by the pitchers and booked out all of the private rooms before Fred and George even had the chance to stop by for a visit.

"Sylvie," Fred spoke loudly through the music and chatter as Sylvia helped mix drinks at the bar, "when's Y/n's next break? We won't linger for too long, we know you're busy."

The liquor bottle in her hand met the wood grain surface in front of her and she didn't miss a beat before scooping up the grenadine. Sylvia nodded across the lounge toward a couple of couches that were situated together. "That guy's not buyin'. She can go now."

That guy in question had his hand pressed gently against the curve of your waist. You'd been working him for almost twenty minutes. It was clear that he was made of money, but you weren't interested in men that weren't privy to the game being played here. He wanted you to convince him that you were interested, and truth be told, all of your interest belonged to the two men you were admiring out of the corner of your eye.

George winked at you from his place by the bar and as soon as Fred got his answer from Sylvia, those pearly whites shined in a smile. He curled his fingers toward you in a come hither motion, and that was all it took. You excused yourself from the man beneath you, ready to kiss both pairs of lips that you'd grown so familiar with in the past few weeks.

There were quite a few recognizable faces in the crowds as you strutted through the lounge. London was a popular place for Hogwarts alumni to settle down, and everyone knew that it was mostly wizard-kind that frequented this club in particular. You passed by dozens of men on the clear path that led to Fred and George, your heart beating faster and faster with every step.

You were so distracted by their presence that the statue-esque face of Gregory Goyle, who you would've loved to have never seen again in your life, didn't even register in your mind until he was grabbing your hips with both hands and yanking you onto his lap.

"Too good to greet your old mates these days?" Goyle tsk-ed and then laughed, "Not very hospitable of you. How about a complimentary lap dance, love?"

Despite the fact that you'd always been friendly with Draco, Goyle had never liked you. He had a chip on his shoulder over the fact that his best friend would sometimes ditch him for you, and when you'd bumped Crabbe out of the second beater position ("but she's a fucking girl!", he'd cried to Marcus) his disdain had only grown.