𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒 | tokyo revengers/bonten

𖦹 𝐨𝐧𝐞

suggested listening:
house of balloons/glass table girls — the weeknd

𖦹

the music is loud and the air thick as the eight top executives of bonten enter the glass table girls night club.

"good turnout," kokonoi remarks as he scans the room. the bar is full, the stage is littered with bills for the dancers, and the floor seats are all taken.

they head for the vip lounge and take their seats, sending a waitress to fetch them a bottle of cognac.

"yeah, the club's doing really well for a wednesday night," mochi says. the others nod in agreement, looking forward to counting this month's revenue.

ran juts his chin out to the floor, motioning his colleagues to look. "seems like we've got a few new dancers," he observes.

rindou's eye catches something else, though. "look who's here," he smirks. "if it isn't grabby hands mcgee!"

the men all roll their eyes at the sight of their least favorite customer, mumbling things like "what a creep," and "how do those girls put up with it?" they would have banned him themselves if he wasn't bringing in almost fifteen percent of the revenue alone.

sanzu chuckles, leaning back in his seat. "and the new girl falls right into the trap." the others watch along with him as you unsuspectingly make your way towards the creep in subject. "she's about to question if she really is getting paid enough for this shit."

"she's not."

𖦹

"hey sweetie," the man you've just approached greets you with a greasy grin.

somehow, from only his words and demeanor, you're already getting a bad feeling about this client. you try to brush it off as he slips a fifty dollar bill in your lace waistband. tens and twenties are common around here, but fifties and hundreds are something a dancer definitely wants to stick around for.

so without further ado, you begin your lap dance. "good evening, sir," you reply with a sultry smile, swooping low to speak in his ear and give him a nice view of your cleavage.

the man wastes no time in bringing his hands up to grip your waist, attempting to slide them up to your breasts.

internally sighing, you plaster another smile on your face. "tisk tisk sir, you'll need a private room for that." you know there's a strict no-touch policy on the floor at this club, and you have a feeling this guy does, too.

"aw, come on, little girl," the man displays a fake pout on his fat face, slipping another bill into your waistband. a hundred. "why don't you bend the rules a little for me?" he sets his wallet on the glass side table next to his chair and brings his hands up to your body again, this time grabbing your hips and forcing them down so that you're now straddling him.

bonten has been watching this scene unfold from the moment sanzu pointed you out, curious to see how you'll handle it. most girls they've heard of or seen dealing with this specific client usually ended up in tears, causing a commotion and consequently losing their positions at the club. though sometimes the circumstances are unfair, the glass table girls are held to a cutthroat point of professionalism.

at this point, you're fuming. as badly as you want to pummel this douchebag's nose straight up into his tiny brain, you know better than to make a scene. you have a much more devious plan in mind. agitatedly trying not to rip yourself away from this man, you do the opposite and come even closer. rolling your body into his once, you extend your arm to the aforementioned little glass table.

nobody will notice, right? everyone's either at the bar, dancing, receiving a dance, or too busy groping my ass to notice, so...

you quickly snatch the stretched leather wallet and bring your hand behind your back before standing up fully. "sir, if you liked the preview, then i'll be waiting for you in room thirteen." your voice is laced with innocence but your blood is laced with adrenaline. if it wasn't for the loud music, you're sure the sound of your heart drumming against your ribcage could be heard by everyone here.

the eight pairs of eyes on you now turn to each other, exchanging glances with raised brows. takeomi leans over to whisper something to mikey.

swiftly bringing your arm out of view once more as you turn around, you wink to the man over your shoulder before haughtily walking to the back.

of course, you aren't actually planning on waiting for the guy to show up. he doesn't have his wallet anymore to pay for a room now, does he? you're practically sprinting past the private rooms to the locker area as soon as you're out of the floor's eyeshot. you figure you'll just throw the wallet in your duffel and have a water break while you wait for the man to leave.

man, this thing is heavy, you observe, hearing the leather thump loudly into your duffel bag. i can't wait to count that when i'm hom-

"y/n!"

you stop dead in your tracks. "yes?" you choke out. you haphazardly throw your sweater over the wallet in an attempt to cover it before turning around. you almost don't bother... your manager must know.

however, the conversation goes in a completely different direction than expected. "you've got a private client. go ahead and set up in room thirteen, okay? he'll be in in around five minutes." your manager, hana, steps closer, furrowing her eyebrows together. "you okay, hun?"

"mhm!" you're a bit quick to respond, wiping the fearful look off of your face. maybe she didn't witness your offense, after all.

luckily, your manager seems content with your quick answer. she hands you your room key, but that's when it truly sets in. the creepy man really has booked a room with you. he must have backup cash or something, because he can't pay with a card or anything that may leave a paper trail. before she leaves, your manager lifts a finger to your chin, raising it. "perk up, hun, this is one of the most important men you'll ever have as a client. do well, okay?"

swallowing thickly, you head for your room and begin setting up everything you might need. you shiver as you align the bottles of oil, towels, and outfit options. the private rooms are held to an anything-but-sex policy, and clients tend to get creative due to the deprivation. what is this man going to do to you? he clearly knows you've stolen what you would guess to be at least a couple thousand dollars from him. are you going to be in trouble? he's apparently a huge deal.

just as you're finishing up, a quiet but firm knock sounds on the other side of the door. your stomach lurches further forward than your feet as you meekly walk towards it and begin pulling it open. the feeling of dread building up in your chest is archaic, like a stormy rain cloud gathering as much moisture as it can before unleashing a ruthless downpour.

buck up, you've got a job to do. you swing the door fully open. "i see you enjoyed the preview enough to come see me again, si-"

wait a minute. this is not at all the face you've been expecting at all. jaw falling slack, you flick your eyes all over this unknown man's face. unlike the pudgy, sweat beaded face from before, this face is slim and defined, with a long scar running down the right side of it. his sleepy bedroom eyes take the time to examine you as well, studying your face before scanning up and down your mostly bare body.

"oh... hello."

the corners of the man's lips curve up into a smirk. though he strangely doesn't seem very menacing, he definitely radiates an assured confidence as he looks down at you. my, he's tall.

"are you going to stand there and stare, or are you going to let me in, y/n?"