discretion
094. radio
(another au, yay!)
Within a couple of months of opening his club, he had begun to notice some regular customers.
Every Friday and Saturday night, there would be one girl—very unique and easy to pick from the crowd, with her bright pink hair and even brighter eyes. She would only dance to the songs that were currently popular on the radio—and when she did, there was often a space left for her on the dance floor. She was petit and thin. Her hair was always let down, and when she danced, her arms would be up in the air, and she would go through several male partners, never once looking at them.
Despite being the manager, he worked at the bar. He liked to see what was happening at his club—and he liked what he saw. When he had the time, he would personally make a playlist for her, full of songs that he knew she'd dance to.
And dance she did. It pleased him greatly.
And one Friday night, he finally passed on the job of the bartender to one of his trusted friends, and sat at the bar as a customer, watching her dance. The colorful lights splayed across her pale skin; signs of perspiration could be seen on her forehead and she was panting hard, but she was still the most captivating thing in the room.
Finally, when he finished his beer, he slipped between the sweaty bodies until he was right in front of her. She flashed him a smile that only lasted for a moment—like a spark, like fireworks—before she pressed up right against him, her body moving against his. His hands fell onto her waist, and he followed her easily.
It didn't take much for him to realize that she was beautiful.
"May I asked for your name?" he whispered in her ear as he bent down. She smelled like alcohol and sweat and maybe even hopelessness.
She looked up at him, eyes flashing. Green, he noted. Very green.
"Names don't matter," she said huskily as she pulled him close, kissing him hard on the mouth. He responded accordingly; only using his tongue when she pried apart his lips, his hands staying politely at he waist. Hers found the back of his neck and only pressed him against her harder.
She didn't even taste like alcohol. She tasted like Sprite. And that only spiked his interest more.
They eventually stopped dancing altogether and they stood there, connected at the lips. He could feel people brushing into them from all around, but all he could do was concentrate on not running his hands through her hair or picking her up off her feet and bringing her somewhere more private.
"Has anyone told you you're beautiful?" And he was surprised, because that was what he wanted to say to her.
"A man, beautiful?"
"Have you never heard of such thing?" Her tone was light and teasing—and he realized that he liked listening to it.
"Usually, men are considered handsome," he responded, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She shivered, but it didn't stop her from dancing. "Beautiful is a term used for women."
"Then you should feel very honored. Men rarely possess the grace of a woman."
They said nothing after that, and began dancing once more. All of his responsibilities for the rest of the evening were wiped from his mind—it seemed like she was the only one who could do that.
"Take me home?" she requested, eyes clouded over.
He watched her for a long moment—yes, oh God, yes—but let his hands leave her waist and hung politely at his sides.
"Maybe another night." He was unreadable as he slipped away between the masses of people.
He just had another idea for a playlist. And if there was anything better than spending one night with her, it would be watching her dance to something he had created.
A/N: I'm not sure how to feel about this. It's been a while since I wrote about clubs and such.
THE NEXT ONE WILL BE EPIC. I PROMISE.