Desire

Part 1 - lap dance

**NOTE** This chapter does NOT contain smut. Pretty nsfw imo.

WC: 1667

Summary: Tamaki's at the strip club for a friend's bachelor party. Little did he know how nice a good lap dance could feel.

Includes: suggestiveness/teasing

NOT established relationship, F/M, Fem!readerXtamaki

suggested listening: Earned It by The Weeknd & I Put A Spell On You by Annie Lennox

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strip clubs embarrassed Tamaki to no end. They were loud and dark and had ugly carpeted floors to cover up the marks from all kinds of spills. They were filled with girls who were too pretty for Tamaki and they were filled with Tamaki's friends who wanted to say inappropriate things and drink themselves into oblivion.

But he had to go because it was his best friend's bachelor party. Classic right? Strip clubs as a celebration of almost-being-married is something Tamaki would never understand.

"Come on Tamaki, I'll pay", The voice of Bakugo snapped Tamaki out of his trance.

"P-pay? For what"? Tamaki looked at his friend's redder-than-usual eyes.

"Your lap dance". Bakugo nods at the girl standing in front of them.

The girl was possibly the prettiest girl Tamaki had ever seen. She was the textbook definition of gorgeous. Her deep purple lingerie looked like it was made for Tamaki. He blushed and hid his face.

"What do you say? Can't keep a pretty girl waiting", Bakugo laughs, nudging Tamaki's shoulder.

"I-I don't..." Tamaki trails off as Kirishima adds on; "Yeah, Suneater, I might have to steal her".

Tamaki looks up in time to see Kirishima eye the girl up and down like prey. He feels a bit ill. The girl takes a step closer to Kirishima, seeming to like the way he licks his sharp canines while clearly staring at her cleavage.

"I-I'll have her"! Tamaki reaches out for you and sees Todoroki raise an eyebrow at his outburst. Tamakai ignores him. You turn towards Tamaki with a sultry smile. Oh, this is going to be fun. He's blushing so much.

"Hi", you murmur to the boy, approaching him and forcing him to part his legs to accommodate you into his space.

"Hello", he mumbles, looking up at you. His eyes are wide, pupils drowning the rest of his irises.

"Remember the rules; I touch you, you can't touch me". You bend down to one of his pointy ears and whisper; "Got it pretty boy"? You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and then you think for a bit. You tap the boy's red-headed friend with the sharp teeth on the shoulder and whisper to him a command to tell the deejay your song choice. He scurries off and you fight back the urge to laugh. So enthusiastic.

Turning back to your prey you see nervousness written over his soft features. He's clearly being pressured into this. The thought makes you seethe. He's lucky to be getting a lap dance from you. He should be as eager as the rest of his lot. You're a goddamn catch. Who gives a fuck if you're being paid to do this? You smile prettily at him and he lets out a strangled, quiet sound. Just have fun, you remind yourself as the first note of 'Earned it' by The Weeknd plays over the speakers. At the first lyric, the boy's eyes snap upwards. He knows this song. Knows exactly where it's from and he has the cutest damn blush pinking his cheeks. The first beat drop has you bring your hand to his hair, pulling it backwards so his neck is exposed. You leave him like that and then back up a smidge, running your hands slowly down the length on his thighs which are clad in black slacks. Who the fuck dresses up for the strip club? You can't help the blush that creeps down your own chest, hoping he doesn't notice in the dim lighting. A client has never made you blush before. You shake it off, allowing your hands to travel further than the hinge of his hips, bringing them up the side of his torso and over his chest. The touch is tantalizing. The boy's chest is heaving under your touch, legs wide open. So inviting. The music gets more insistent, so you allow your touch to deepen, hands trailing up the side of his face and bringing your pink lips close to his. His lips part and a puff of hot air from his mouth almost makes you shudder. The way he's looking at you. Like his friends aren't sitting right there. You can feel their eyes on you, concerned they're enjoying this a bit more than the boy in front of you.

You turn around between his legs and push your hips backwards into his, grinding on his crotch with the lightest pressure you can manage. It's all about buildup. You hear him gasp and you twist your head back with a smirk to find his eyes glued to your ass.

"Good boy", you purr, biting your lip and focusing on the movements of your ass. Gyrating your hips, you arch your back and string your arms around his neck, nuzzling into the warm skin there. His hips shift slightly against you and you open your mouth and let out a well-timed gasp near his ear. A groan leaves his lips. You slide down his body so your arms are slung over his spread thighs and roll your body to the beat of the music, eyes closing briefly.

The music builds seductively and you smile to yourself, standing up and turning around. As you push his legs closed he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You put each of your legs on either side of his, pushing your tits into his face. He holds eye contact with you instead, indigo rims latched onto you. You wink at him and lower yourself so you're straddling him. He sighs.

You can feel the press of his hardness against you and grin internally. Success.

Tamaki feels gross. As you grind on him, it takes every ounce of his being to keep his composure, to not reach out and touch you. Your pretty lingerie and pretty eyes and this godforsaken song echoing over the speakers. You roll your hips against his hard dick in his pants and his face flames with embarrassment. He doesn't dare look at his friends. If he had, he would have seen that their eyes were glued to your ass, not anywhere close to Tamaki or his reactions to what you were doing to his body. Were strippers supposed to make you feel like you were falling in love? Because that's what Tamaki was feeling like. He was also feeling like when this song ended he was going to have a heart attack, a panic attack or he was going to make a complete fool of himself and ask you out, only to be rejected because strippers don't date clients.

He doesn't have a ton of time to mull over the possibilities because you stand from his lap and spread his legs again. He fights the urge to close them, as if there's anything left to hide. You put a heeled foot on his thigh and the stiletto digs deliciously into the meat of his leg through his dress-pants as you yank him by his red tie. He whimpers. Whimpers. Staring up at you as you undulate your body against his, he focuses –or tries to focus– on white-knuckling the frame of the flimsy chair he's sitting on. It's not very helpful. You giggle at him, and it's a wonderful sound, as you pull back.

The song is coming to a close and you let go of his tie, letting his body fall limply back in the chair. You turn around and bend over slowly, exposing your ass to him as you trail your hands down the length of your own legs. Then you snap your hips up and flip your hair over your shoulder, walking around the chair so you're standing behind him. He doesn't even hesitate; bending his neck over the chair to look up at you, a hand already at his crotch, adjusting his pants. You rake your painted nails down his scalp and bend over his face, tits smothering him once again as you trace your hands, palms flat, down his chest and torso. His groan vibrates your chest and you quickly bring your hands back up his hard body to rest on his shoulders.

The last lyrics of the song thrum through your veins and you lean down to plant a light kiss on his jaw before turning around to his friends and bowing. There's wolf-whistles and slow clapping all-around but you can't help but return your gaze to the boy in the chair. He looks fucking wrecked. His hair looks a bit sweaty, legs still spread wide and necktie astray. His pupils are still blown wide and his chest is heaving as if he has just done some strenuous cardio-based activity.

You wink at him and he blushes, shoving his legs closed as if that'll save him from the embarrassment he's about to endure from his friends. You're already walking away, hips swaying. Fuck that.

"Tamaki- man I think you're floating". Todoroki teases him, a blush tinting his complexion, giving away his own feelings about what just went down.

"I'm- I uh..." Tamaki can't even formulate a full sentence, the adrenaline and dopamine from the lap dance still flooding his bloodstream. He's going to fucking dream about you and that song for ages. His eyes stay glued to your figure as you walk away to another group of guys. And suddenly there's another song playing and another guy getting a hard-on from your sensual movements. The disgust Tamaki felt earlier returns.

You look back at Tamaki as you grind on this new guy with blond hair. The indigo-haired boy is staring like a hawk. He blushes but doesn't look away. You throw your head back and moan, rolling your hips hard into the man beneath you but it doesn't feel the same. With this guy it's back to being just for show. No shivers to suppress, blushes to hide or looks to steal.

It's no fun with this guy.

Over across the room though: that's someone you could have fun with.