SSM Day o3: Chemistry
Summary: Sakura really didn’t sign up for this. (Or the one where Sasuke moonlights as an erotic dancer to pay the bills his internship can’t cover.)
Rating: T for language and minor sexual stuff (it’s a stripper!AU what did you expect)
Notes: I wrote this at like two in the morning after spending a solid hour doing anatomy studies that somehow all turned into Sasuke. I need an adult. Also, my YouTube history looks really, really weird now.
“Ino, I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with this,” Sakura says, eyeing the flashing neon signs around her. Her best friend scoffs and flips her long, loosely curled hair over her shoulder. “You’re always shut up in that lab of yours, Forehead! You’re twenty-five. You need to live a little. Besides, this place is fine.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re here every weekend,” Sakura mumbles, but she offers no further comment; rather, she can’t, because they’ve arrived at their destination. The bouncer waves them in with barely a glance. They’re clearly of age, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to card them.
The first thing that strikes Sakura is the music—dark, sinuous, and pulsing, almost alive—and the way the red and violet lights create a haze over the black walls and tiles of the bar. It’s an unusual look, but one that fits the club’s name. Insidious is definitely the sort of place Ino frequents; a sophisticated establishment with plenty of live entertainment and well-mixed cocktails. There’s also a long, raised catwalk from the back rooms that connects to a large, circular stage in the center of the room. Her best friend ushers her to a table near said stage, her towering heels clicking against the smooth marble floor. That’s about when Sakura notices a thin silver pole in the center of the platform and realizes what, exactly, its purpose is.
“Ino,” she says slowly. “Did you bring me to a fucking strip club?” Ino bats her eyes in a mockery of innocence. “Not the kind of strip club you’re thinking of, Sakura. You’ll like it, I promise.”
Well. Her day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Sakura looks around again, faintly hearing Ino order a couple cocktails for them both. The whole room has a certain plush feeling to it. Maybe it’s the velvet everywhere. Maybe it’s Sakura’s overactive imagination. The world may never know. The cocktails arrive in a few minutes. Sakura downs hers immediately, vaguely tasting strawberries and vodka. She gets the feeling she really, really shouldn’t be sober for this. Ino rolls her teal eyes for the umpteenth time and shifts so that her low cut dress shows off her cleavage just the right way.
Twenty minutes and another drink later, the room begins to fill. People come in twos and threes, all trying their damnedest to snag seats close to the stage. Sakura can’t help but notice most of them are women. Ino snickers at them and waves down a waiter. “There’s a reason we got here early, Forehead. The most popular act of the week is about to start.”
As if on cue, the overhead lights dim. A smooth, soft piano riff starts up as a spotlight flicks on, catching a tall, lithe man in its glow. Sakura is immediately entranced, because good God is he beautiful. He looks ethereal as he prowls downs the catwalk, the juxtaposition of his pale skin and dark hair striking in all the right ways. Then he reaches the pole and, with what looks like no effort at all, lifts himself up and flips his body upside down in a blatant “fuck you” to gravity and the laws of physics in general.
His muscles move smoothly as he dances, pushing and pulling and creating enchanting patterns of shadow on his skin. He’s barely even breaking a sweat, he’s hitting every beat, and he’s so sensual it almost hurts her to watch. And then he just has to take it up a notch; he climbs up to the top of the pole and drops headfirst towards the floor, catching himself at the last second with his thighs. His THIGHS. Sakura can’t even register the smug look Ino is most likely throwing her because her eyes are locked to the spectacle before her. The dancer throws his head back, arching his spine against the pole, and strokes his hands up the sides of his torso. One rests lightly on his throat, thin, elegant fingers feathering over the curves of his neck, and the other grips the pole behind him. A glint of silver catches her eye as he moves and oh my god he has nipple piercings. Sakura’s mouth runs dry. Her heart is practically throwing itself against her ribs, and she swears he can hear it over the pound of the music.
He meets her gaze, and Sakura feels like she’s suddenly caught fire but can’t entirely bring herself to mind. There’s a flicker of something in those impossibly black eyes, before he blinks and gives her a slow, sexy smirk. He effortlessly levers himself down, twisting as he goes, to land on his knees in front of her. As he leans back, putting his whole body on display, all Sakura can focus on is how beautiful this man is. He’s not bulky, not by a long shot; instead, the cut of his muscles is soft and toned. His beauty is something ethereal and effortless, and the elegance he somehow infuses in every movement only accentuates it. Sakura is no stranger to this; in fact, she can name a few people off the top of her head who can do the same thing.
And then something clicks, and she’s is frozen. Not in a good, aroused way: of course, the attraction is definitely there, but at this exact moment it’s being overpowered by shock and just a bit of panic. She knows that smirk, just like she knows those eyes. Except usually, she sees them in the lab next to hers, on the reserved biochemist she works with more often than not.
Oh my god, she thinks faintly, as Uchiha Sasuke, one of the brightest up-and-coming minds in her oncological drug research course, gives her another tantalizing look to a dark guitar riff, he looks completely different without his glasses.