Somnambul gets a kaleidoscope of clientele. From plain faced salarymen who want an escape from their mundane lives and vanilla wives to fat, greasy slobs who are desperate enough to pay for the attention of of just one beautiful dancer.
It's named the most popular club on this side of the coast because Midnight markets to all men and their weird types and fetishes by not just hiring slim, young girls in their prime. They hired boy like Yuga---one of their most popular dancers---who's primp and proper and just as popular with straight men as he is with gay men because he's so fucking pretty.
Then there's Katsuki, who's gorgeous but bratty and will one-hundred percent cut you if you test him. For some reason, men love that. And so they empty their wallets to see him.
Some like to be degraded---love how insignificant Katsuki makes them feel and he can get behind that with no qualms at all but the others---oh yes---they like to try and tame him. They enjoy the challenge of trying to make him submit and they leave disappointed every time.
Tonight, Katsuki doesn't seem to be dealing with either.
The man crooks a finger at him with a sense of come hither, glass poised between his fingers with the intention of bringing it to completion just as soon as he gets what he wants. A few seconds go by and he visibly sighs, patting his lap to reiterate his earlier request.
Though it seems like a lot more of a demand than a suggestion.
The blonde slinks toward him with that trademark, shit-eating grin plastered to his face as he artfully sits his bare cheeks down in the lap of this stranger.
Up close, he sees that the dusky, dim lighting of the room does him a great atrocity. He's all sharp jaw line and muscle, hair groomed to show off that immaculately handsome face in all the right ways. His body is all hard lines and lean muscle, sturdy and warm as Katsuki cuddles up against his side. The bags under his eyes do nothing to take away from the classic sort of handsome that he is.
It pisses Katsuki off---how attractive he is.
Katsuki plucks the glass from the stranger's hand and drinks it down, wrinkling his nose at the harsh burn.
"Fuckin' whiskey? You didn't even get the good shit." He says with a snort, tossing the glass somewhere on the other end of the sofa. The man cocks his head to the side, either incredibly amused or bordering disinterested.
He decides on the former.
Katsuki expects as much. His bratty, entitled and rude demeanor is his selling point, after all.
"While Balvenie is quite an aquired taste, I can assure you it is, to borrow from you, the good shit." The man says, leaning back into the sofa while an arm snakes around Katsuki's slim figure to grip his thigh with callous hands.
His voice is like something out of Katsuki's wettest teenage dreams.
"Yeah? It tastes like spicy dishwater."
"It's 50 year old single malt scotch whiskey. Someone with a simple pallette wouldn't appreciate it."
"Did you just call me uncultured?"
"I'm saying that you don't look like you're old enough to even know what good whiskey is."
Katsuki wants to be offended but he's tipping more towards being impressed. He's never had someone pull his card like that right out of the gate. Besides, the he isn't wrong.
"Fuckin' whatever." He opts for instead of his usual string of insults. He's not sure he wants to run off a potential meal ticket just yet.
"What's your name?"
Katsuki rolls his eyes.
"Didn't you read the door plate? My name is Kat."
Mystery man's free hand reaches into his pocket to procure a cigarette. He quickly follows up with a lighter once it's clasped between his lips. He's courteous enough to exhale in the opposite direction at least.
"Mhm. What's the name that your mother gave you?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Because I asked."
Katsuki pauses. "Are you the feds or some shit?" The man scoffs, almost like the question itself is laughable. "Do I look like a cop to you?"
"Don't answer my question with a question, fucker!"
"You mean like you just did to me?"
Katsuki sputters indignantly, arms folding over his chest. There's a mirthful gleam in the other man's eyes that kind of makes Katsuki want to punch him in the throat. "You're not paying me to talk." Katsuki finally counters.
Another scoff.
The stranger taps the ash from the butt of his cigarette. "I'm paying you to do whatever the fuck I want, kid. So let's try this again. What's your name?"
Katsuki considers defying him.
But for some reason, he can't.
"Katsuki."
"Hitoshi."
"I didn't ask."
"I'm well aware." Another drag. The room is becoming a bit hazy from his smoke. "You're what? Eighteen?"
"I'm twenty-one." It's a lie. He is eighteen.
"What's the difference?"
"Fuck you, that's the difference."
A chuckle. "Cutie." Hitoshi ashes the cigarette, tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that's much too sinful to be innocent---Katsuki decides.
"That was quite the dance you did in your last set. You wanna do that routine for me again?"
"That is what I was supposed to be getting paid for but you wanted me to come sit my ass on your lap instead."
"What can I say? It's a nice ass." Hitoshi emphasizes by groping a hand full of it. "I couldn't resist after watching you bounce and twirl it around like that."
"Pervert."
"Pervert?" Hitoshi parrots him.
"Isn't the point of going to a strip club to watch the show? Didn't you wear that skimpy little outfit with your ass cheeks out specifically so I would look at your ass? And since I'm paying you for a lap dance, wouldn't you have ended up in my lap anyway?"
Katsuki bristles. "Yeah, well, what kind of weirdo lecher pays for lap dances just to chat up teenage strippers?!"
"To be fair, kiddo, you spoke to me first and I followed up to be courteous. I'll admit that I'm a little curious about you, though." Hitoshi admits, leaning back against the sofa to get comfortable. "Also, I figured you'd be appreciative to get off of your feet for a while after working all night. You seem really uncomfortable in those shoes. Am I wrong?"
Observant bastard.
"Why do you care?"
"I don't, particularly."
"You're fucking hard to follow, you know that?"
"So I've heard." Hitoshi raises his arm, presumably to check the time. He sighs, leaning forward again with a tired grunt.
"Well, it's been fun, kid, but I've got somewhere to be. I booked you for the next hour, but I've already paid in advance to make sure you get paid in full so don't sweat it." He pats Katsuki's backside and the blonde stands, confused and a little disoriented with the way the night's events have gone.
"Wait, you're going to pay me even though I didn't take anything off or dance even a little?"
Hitoshi shrugs, another cigarette already clasped between his lips as he stands and digs through his wallet. He flips through a few bills before he takes them out and tucks them under the straps of his outfit, fingers brushing against the cool metal of Katsuki's nipple piercing as he pulls his hand away.
"Consider it a tip. I'm paying you for your time. I can tell that you hate working here. Hopefully I made it a little easier for you, if even just for tonight." Within the same instance, he lights his new cigarette and turns his back to Katsuki with a wave.
Katsuki...for once...is grateful to have taken one last client.
"Thanks, lecher."
Hitoshi doesn't even pause in his steps, just offers Katsuki a snort of laughter.
And with that he's gone.
Katsuki just stares at the door, unsure of what to do with the rest of his shift since the client who paid him for it had, more or less, abandoned him to go do God knows what at three in the morning. Should he go home?
Nah, he wouldn't want his check to get cut short.
He toes off his stilettos and plops down onto the sofa with a sigh, finally able to feel his toes again.
"God, working doubles is such a pain in the ass."