breathin' | jikook

Table 10

The walls at Club Royale glow in neon. The pink, and highlight yellow cast a delicate halo onto the customers and dancers. The colors of sex. The atmosphere is sensual as it always is on Wednesday nights. It's Jimin's shift.

Jimin is outside his lockeroom. He's next on the stage. He can hear distinct but feeble cheers, drowned out by the music and the whistling. Adaira, his co-worker reaches him, a tray full of empty shots in her hand. She has her work attire on. A skimpy black so-short-that-her-buttcheeks-are-always-on-display jumpsuit.

"Look out for the lad at ten. Heard he prefers his toys young and expensive. Real piece, this one. Put out. A'int nobody cracked him till now.", she tries to whisper. Tries.

"So Jiminie is finally getting laid tonight?! Oh hell yes! What do you know, god does hear us huh?".  Jimin facepalms. "You should really look around yourself before you spout shit like that. Now this dumbass is gonna be loud again!", Jimin wails like a child. It looks sinful considering the lacy bodysuit he has on.

"I'm not loud. You're just annoyed 'cause you haven't sucked dick in four monmmmmhh!", the dancer has red tinting his cheeks, eyes displaying humiliation as he clamps his hand onto Taehyung's mouth. "I will kill you so slowly, jesus christ. I don't need to get anything. I'm annoyed because you're annoying."

"Whaveverrvvbb vyu shvay."

Jimin removes his hand. He looks ahead and sees Shawn coming back, around twenty hundred-dollar bills in hand, counting with glee. He's next. Shawn catches his eye, and whispers into his ear before strolling inside the dressing room.

"Ten's been asking about you. Heard he has something he wants to give ya."

Now Jimin is intrigued. Who was this guy? He looks at his friend and nods, walking towards the stage. Taehyung gives him a thumbs up. "Go rock 'em!". Jimin smiles. The lights hit his face. He doesn't squint his eyes. He's a professional dancer afterall. A damn good one at that. Time to shine.

The whole club seems to quite down at his arrival. There's a pleased smirk on his face as Jimin holds onto the pole and takes position. The lights dim. The music begins.

His movements are slow at first. He gently twirls around the pole, one hand grabbing it tight as he tilts his head backwards, and gazes at the guests. His stare is sensual, so unnerving that the crowd that was previously loud is shying away. One after another, he looks at them as he swings, one hand sliding up slowly to remove his chokerisque tie. In the middle of the process, his eyes latch onto someone. Someone who doesn't look away. He catches sight of the number plate placed on the table.

Ten.

He looks up again.

Deep brown eyes greet him, a gaze so focused and intense that Jimin looses his bearings for a second. He gulps. And then looks away, hands working their way through his barely-there clothes. The crowd is still holding their breaths, money being thrown onto the polished wooden floors of the stage. Jimin doesn't even notice. His minds seems to be preoccupied with a certain shade of brown. He's still a pro though. So as he removes his vest, he leaves the pole and stalks towards the front of the stage.

The customers are wild now. He bends down, ass hanging in the air long enough for some fingers to slip through and money being attached to his fancy underwear. He sneaks a glance at table ten. Wrong move.

Turns out that eyes weren't this mystery man's only good feature. He can see him clearly now. Striking jawline and mature bone structure. Paired with off course beautiful but doe eyes. He's lean, and tall. Clad in a white shirt with its sleeves rolled upto his elbows,  and black pants, his jacket left on the couch beside him, this man oozes power. Jimin sucks in a breath.