You didn’t know how your friends convinced you to go out. Or how they convinced you to come to this place. Or how you had returned. Once. Twice. Three times… Four?
You just knew you kept going back, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t know why. The reason had a name… a stage name, but still. A name, a face and a body like you’d never seen before.
The man wearing a red balaclava, dancing around a pole, shirtless, sweaty, dirty, filthy. The whole reason for your presence in a place you’d never thought you’d go to in the first place. The Red Hood.
They said he never took his mask off. But that time, but with you, he did.
It was your third or fourth time going. After your first, when your friends dragged you out of your apartment telling you to be more social, to have more fun, to drop sulking in your bed to romance books and turkish dramas, it took you a while to return there. The Red Hood had caught your attention more than you were proud to admit, but he was stuck in your head, so you had to return.
And then you went again. And again. And you noticed he saw you. He had to, his eyes didn’t linger over anyone for that long.
Then, he called you on stage. He sat you on a chair with a kiss on your hand. He performed his regular routine, but this time just for you. You remembered how your blood boiled watching him dance for other girls. But now he was all yours.
You sat facing the crowd, but it was like they were not there. The stage lights blinding your sight. Their gasps and screams going from one ear through the other. Only him in your mind.
He danced. He teased both you and the crowd. He kissed your neck and his hands travelled through your body. He took off his shirt, earning louds screams from the ladies around. He sat on your lap, he leaned down, his warm breath hitting your neck, warming up your core and sending shivers down your spine.
You were dumbfounded. You could bet anyone seeing your face right now would be laughing at it. But he had completely hypnotised you. He looked like an angel. A filthy angel, with wings made of light and a devilish smile. And when his raspy voice reached your ear, it left you petrified. “Take off my mask” he demanded.
You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You just stared at him wide eyed. So, noticing your state, with a playful smile on his lips, he slid his hands down your bare arms, feeling the coldness of the night through them, and grabbed your smaller freezing hands in his to bring them to his face.
When you felt the soft fabric on your fingers, it took you a while to react. Then, slowly, you revealed his face.
Chiselled jawline, plump lips framing his dangerous smile, gorgeous blue eyes staring down at you like a hungry dog and a white streak adorning his fluffy dark hair. If everything that had happened didn’t make you dizzy, seeing his face had certainly done it.
You felt the floor vibrate with excitement, gasps filling the air and necks stretching out to see his face, but sadly being unable to. This sight, as heavenly as it was, was all yours. He had his back towards the others, and his eyes fixed on yours.
You felt trapped in his gaze, your breathing suddenly heavier, thicker, and your heart beating faster than it ever did. Briefly, for a moment so fast you could’ve sworn you were imagining it, his eyes lingered lower at your lips, as you nervously bit on them.
Leaning closer to you once more, his right hand went up to rest at the nape of your neck, tangling your hair between your fingers and tugging at it just enough to get your lips parted. His left one took one of your arms, the one holding his balaclava, and trapped it firmly behind the back of the wooden chair.
Again feeling his hot breath hitting your neck, the tip of his nose touching the spot just below your ear and his lips hovering ever so close to your skin, you felt three million types of inappropriate thoughts about the man sitting on top of you fly to your head.
You were intoxicated by him, his smile, his touch and his smell.
“A private view for my favorite regular” he told you, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.
Your free hand on his tight, you felt how hard his muscle was, and how a full hand wasn’t enough to cover it.
His warmth giving space to the cold air of the room, he stepped out of your lap, hood in hand and threw you a wink. Before putting his mask back on, he leaned closer one last time, fingertips playing with the thin silver chain on your neck. “The name is Jason, and I’ll see you tomorrow”.
Putting the mask back on, giving you one last wink, he turned towards the hundreds of other girls in the club after making you feel like all warm on the inside. Ready to come back as many times as needed.
a/n: a magic mike live gotham series, anybody?
