C.R.E.A.M.

Sitting on the slight step outside of the GS25 convenience store, Jimin was thankful for the cool wafts of air-con coming from the building through the automatic doors. The summer heat was considerable, especially when he was still wearing his tracksuit jacket over his tee-shirt. It might just be light and aerated navy and light blue polyester, but that still didn’t help with the heavy blanket of heat that was currently smothering the capital.

At least being close to Han River meant that the air felt a little less suffocating, but he still greatly appreciated the air-con regardless of this fact. Even now, so close to the evening hours, the warmth had yet to lessen by a considerable amount, and he wouldn’t at all be surprised if the night stayed at such a high level of humidity too.

The boombox was blaring from just a few feet away, loud enough to drown out the soft pop coming from the store in favour of loud funk. As a result of the volume and their impromptu cardboard box dance floor, a lot of pedestrians gave him and Hoseok a wide berth and didn’t even look at them. The ones that did watch or stare at them, they liked to do so from across the street instead.

Jimin was more than aware of the fact that a lot of people in the small opposite café liked to stare at them through the windows. At least some of them were nice enough to come over after they had finished their coffee and tea, dropping coin change into the baseball cap that they left to the side of the cardboard as a silent thank-you for providing them with entertainment. Most of the ones that did so were students and young adults, never middle-aged or elderly people, but that was to be expected.

Jimin dragged his gaze away from the opposite sidewalk, so that he could turn to look at his friend and favoured dance partner of choice.

Much like usual, Hoseok liked to spend most of his routine dancing various forms of street dance as a toprock, rather than breaking straight into downrock to drop some power moves. He was by far the best in their crew at popping and locking, for his willowy frame and lean muscles were perfect for the movements, and it was even better when he broke out isolations.

The way that Hoseok could smoothly pivot his ribs without moving his hips or shoulders, or he could lock up his neck and roll his entire body in a wave, took a tremendous amount of control and skill.

Jimin liked watching him popping to the drumline the most, because Hoseok was also fantastic at finding a beat in every song - no matter the tempo or genre. Whilst Jimin himself always needed a second or two to feel the music, Hoseok could just dive right in and start grooving to whatever, whenever.

Today’s mixtape offering just happened to be slightly remixed funk tracks, as opposed to hip hop, which most certainly made Jimin want to grind to the smooth beats. But b-boying? That was a little more tricky, because finding a good way to move to the beats was a part of the challenge.

But he was pretty certain that Hoseok had picked the music for that very purpose, just to try and make him experiment that little bit more; just whilst it was the two of them and he didn’t have to be worried about making mistakes in front of the rest of their crew.

After all, there was no telling what was going to be played at a cypher should someone bring a boombox, and if he couldn’t find a track to jam to, he would be left standing there like a fool whilst everyone else showed off their skills. At least during dance battles they could prepare, as they were more serious, but cyphers were just a great way to freestyle, mingle and find inspiration from other dancers, aspiring rappers and more to get deeper into the underground scene.

Hoseok was doing him a favour in a way, he guessed.

When Hoseok dropped to the cardboard so that he could smoothly transition into downrock, he was still in the act of a body wave that brought him to his knees first and then forward onto his face and shoulder. He positioned his wrists and elbows underneath his chest, spreading his weight onto both of them so that he could lift himself up like entering a handstand. Except he just went straight into the second step of a baby sweep, twisting to the side and kicking and folding his legs in beat with the song.

Jimin whistled out of the corner of his mouth in appreciation, reaching up to fix his sweatband on his brow as he did so.

After feeling the rhythm for a moment, Hoseok lifted the hand he was supporting less of his weight with, and he moved it so that he could enter a handstand. He was anchored much better now, both arms balancing his weight as he brought his back up straight and he tensed tight to hold the position. He spread his legs wide right at the hip, both sneakered feet pointing in opposite directions and perfectly straight as he started his next dance step.

Hoseok was now able to move onto flares, his weight balanced on his wrists and his widely spread legs swinging around as he rotated his shoulders and waist and he stepped from hand to hand. He was quick, taking full advantage of his light frame to really spin around and make the move look a lot more impressive.

“Go, Ho-B, go, Ho-B,” Jimin half-chanted, half-sang over the pounding funk bass coming from the boombox. He moved to the rhythm of the track, rolling his shoulders and bobbing his head to get a feel for it and to show support for the other dancer.

Hoseok, or Ho-B when going by his street dancer name (which was Jimin’s shortened and affectionate version of Ho-Beat) somehow gave him a smile even when he was using up so much energy to pull off the flares. He saw his wide and dazzling grin from underneath the ends of his bucket hat, which was pulled down over his eyes and nose to protect his face from the rough cardboard.

After completing several flares, Hoseok carefully dropped to land prostrate on the cardboard, before rolling onto his back. He got back to his feet by way of a kip-up, bringing his legs up into the air as he rolled his weight back onto his neck and shoulders. His back curved enough for his feet to almost touch the floor, and then he lunged hard to jump up onto his feet. His weight came down on the cardboard with a soft thump, giving a bouncy skip that reverberated through his entire body.

Hoseok finished his routine by way of locking, on his tiptoes with one leg cocked to the side, his head held low, and his hand tugging down on the front of his bucket hat.

The pose was so ‘Jackson’ that Jimin couldn’t help but let out a laugh, lifting his hands to give him a quick applause and let him know how much he had liked the quick routine.

Hoseok relaxed from his locked pose, reaching back to throw the lengths of his open black and white tracksuit jacket back just for that added bit of flair. When he moonwalked right to the back of the cardboard, it was obvious that he was just showing off, but that didn’t make it any less funny.

“I’ve been wondering how to get a kip-up into a routine,” Jimin said, as his friend hunkered down beside him and he tried to catch his breath. “Trust you to be the one to show me how, I didn’t even think about following it with locking…”

“I’m still working on it, Jiminie, but I think I’ll figure out something better than that,” Hoseok said, pulling his bucket hat free and dropping it on his lap so that he could brush his fingers through his thick and straight black hair. “I’m only showing you it though, ‘cos if I break that shit out in a cypher it’s just asking to be copied before the next preliminary.”

“Pft, I think you mean it’s asking to be envied, because I don’t think anyone’s gonna be able to copy that one right now, Hoseok,” Jimin argued, turning his head to look at him. “Has no one else in the crew seen it yet, huh? You being serious?”

“Nope, just you, Jiminie.”

For the best part of a year now, Jimin and Hoseok had been a part of a street dance crew: K-Town. Having met each other in K-ARTS two years ago, Hoseok midway through his choreography bachelor’s programme whilst he had just been starting his dance performance bachelor’s programme, they had clicked with startling ease over a shared love of the arts.

Jimin had spent his childhood learning ballet and kenjutsu, which had joined together unexpectedly into a want to create art with his body that transcended dainty steps and delicate movements. He had wanted to be both majestic and powerful, drawing upon the masculine and the feminine, the classical and the contemporary, to create a dance fusion that felt right to him.

Meeting Hoseok had opened his eyes to the fascinating world of b-boying, which had been like nothing that Jimin had ever seen before. Dance styles of all forms, gymnastics, even martial arts blended together into a style that required strength, poise, skills and most importantly - dedication.

Being a b-boy, Jimin could utilise whatever he wanted from his various skills, and it still worked, which meant that it was never typical or boring for him. Even after a year of being in a crew, surrounded by other talented b-boys and b-girls, Jimin was still learning new ways that he could move his body, and test his limits, and he was obsessed with it.

On the boombox, a new track suddenly came on, and it made Jimin shift on the step. He felt a sudden urge to get up and dance again, having warmed up and practised a couple of steps earlier before Hoseok had started his own routine. So he grabbed the ends of his tracksuit jacket to pull it off over his head, dumping it onto the pavement without a single care.

“Find me something with a good beat, Ho-B. Play some hip hop,” he suggested, snatching the bucket hat up off his friend’s lap and straightening up. He stepped from foot to foot to kick his legs around, rolling his ankles and flexing his knees. “I’ve got something I wanna show you…”

Hoseok skipped through the mixtape by way of hitting the button on the boombox, until he located a hip hop track that Jimin had never heard before, but he liked the sound of. The bass line started off at a decent medium tempo, and it was met by a fast and funky saxophone. He didn’t have a clue what the rapper on the track was saying at the start, but the beat was steady and catchy, and that was really all that he needed.

“Ah, that’s the shit, Ho-B,” Jimin remarked with a quick smile, smoothly sidestepping onto the cardboard and feeling the bass and scratching track underneath the rapper’s verse. “You know what I like, brother.”

“What’re you gonna show me huh, JJ?” Hoseok asked, as he shifted on the step and pulled his legs up to fold them in front of him. His black tracksuit pants rustled from the movement, creasing and bunching around his knees and crotch.

“Just wait and see,” Jimin replied, shooting him a quick wink before he slipped the bucket hat on over his hair and tugged it down to cover most of his face.

Whilst he got a feel for the song, Jimin moved around the cardboard with his usual toprock moves. Usually, he liked to take the time to brag and intimidate during dance battles, because it was the best time to fit in a little cockiness - so long as it was followed by some great downrock moves. As they were out on the street without any rivals or even a crowd, it seemed rather pointless to try and brag, and so he just moved over the cardboard, bumping the beat with his hips and cocked knees whilst the two rappers dropped the first verse.

Jimin pulled a corkscrew drop so that he could get to the floor right as the track picked up with the instrumental. He moved straight into a basic baby sweep when his palms hit the floor, his legs cocked up in front of him and his weight balanced back on his wrists. The position allowed him to swing his hips around in a circle, quickly lifting his hands and repositioning them with each rotation.

After the first couple of swinging rotations with his hips, Jimin brought his weight forward so that his head touched the cardboard. He twisted to his side, his shoulder floating above the flooring and his right wrist and elbow supporting most of his weight. This now meant that his legs were free to kick around, and so he continued doing so without breaking momentum. He cocked his knees in front of him to kick his legs back and forth, and then he brought them together before spreading them wide and slapping the soles of his sneakers together hard.

The baby sweep allowed him to bring his upper body close to the ground, so that he could seamlessly slip into his next position in the routine. He was so used to both baby sweeps and windmills that it was like warming up to him now, instead of part of the routine. He didn’t even hesitate in transitioning from step to step, because he had done it so many times before.

When Jimin’s shoulder hit the floor he entered a windmill, rolling onto his upper back and throwing his lower half up into the air. He spread his legs wide, keeping his knees and hips tight but his waist and ribs loose enough to manipulate so that he could roll over onto his front and then onto his back again like a spinning top.

The bucket hat kept his face safe from the rough friction of the cardboard, because his head was rubbing against it over and over with every single rotation. It could hurt like hell without a bit of protection, which was why he and Hoseok wrenched it down so far over their eyes and noses. He had seen enough grazed cheekbones and split brows from guys that hadn’t protected their heads during their routine to not want to make the mistake himself.

Jimin liked to use his tucked-in elbows to control his rotations instead of his hands or face, which was what had made him first aware of the potential for his latest routine. He had been playing around with the windmill when he had realised that he could advance himself onto another step, with a little bit of effort and plenty of luck. He had never pulled the transition off in front of anyone before, just his own reflection in the dance studio mirror on campus, and so Hoseok was going to be in for a shock when he saw what he was planning to pull off for this routine.

In the middle of his windmill rotation, Jimin brought his elbows up so that he could throw his weight right onto them and switch up to his next move: elbows tracks. It was very similar to the windmill, except his lower body was much more elevated, it required greater skill, and he was now able to hop up from the floor with every rotation and land down onto his folded elbows.

As he straightened his back fully, he spread his legs wide so that they were to their fullest extent. Rather than just simply spin around, elbows tracks required a hop with every single spin so that he could move around the cardboard. His forearms were able to absorb his weight after every hop, his spinning waist and legs still maintaining momentum so that he could spin around like crazy and not slow down.

“Holy- did you just-”

Hoseok dived up at this, still mostly squatted down so that he could stay level with him and watch him intently. His large eyes were wide with surprise, his mouth hanging open and his hands dangling in front of his knees.

Jimin felt his tee-shirt falling down to bunch around his armpits from the position, exposing his midriff and attracting some passing stares. His spread thighs caused his navy tracksuit pants to fold deeply around his buttocks and thighs, clinging to his muscles with every hard clench and flex as he transitioned into the new move.

Elbow tracks required a lot of strength to pull off, because the impact from his body weight slamming down onto the cardboard with every single hop was incredibly draining. He also had to keep his back sharply curved so that his hips were on the perfect angle to keep his feet from hitting against the floor with every rotation. In a way, elbow tracks were harder to pull off than air flares, but his transition had to utilise them first to get him off the ground from a windmill, as air flares were much too hard to just simply jump right into.

Jimin knew that he wouldn’t be able to do too many elbow tracks if he wanted to transition into another step, because he would end up depleting too much energy and tiring out his shoulders. He could get away with a few more just to impress Hoseok, but he was going to have to be quick if he wanted to be successful with showcasing his new routine.

“No! No, you ain’t going for it, JJ! No-fucking-way!” Hoseok cried out in dumb shock, leaning back to ensure that he wouldn’t accidentally kick him in the face. “Are you seriously gonna do it?!”

Jimin’s lips twitched at this but he couldn’t let out much more than a grunt instead of a laugh; breathing fast and heavy as he prepared himself for the next step in his routine.

It was a quick transition to get from elbow tracks to air flares, because if Jimin tried to shift his weight onto his wrists too suddenly he might strain the joint. After he completed another full elbow track, he risked throwing his arm out so that he could get up onto his wrists and move onto the next step.

Just like the last few times that he had attempted it, Jimin felt his sweaty palm slipping on the cardboard for a second as he splayed with fingers out and shifted his full weight onto it.

Luckily for Jimin, his wrist was strong enough to balance his weight, and so he swung his widely spread legs around before throwing out his other hand to complete the hop.

“Go, JJ, go!” Hoseok cheered with so much enthusiasm that he made several passersby stop to glance at him.

Now that he was hopping from hand to hand, he could loosen up slightly and let his spine relax into a straighter position because his feet weren’t as likely to hit the floor from his elevated angle. It was less pressure on his back and waist, but his wrists and shoulders were now taking the brunt weight of every single spinning rotation and hop.

Air flares were often a power move for most b-boys and girls, but Jimin didn’t feel fully satisfied with it. He thought that it was just begging for another move to finish up, something more dramatic and special for every dancer so that their routine was their own. Considering the fact that he had to utilise the more skilful elbow tracks move to get into air flares to begin with, there just wasn’t enough excitement to end his routine with this move. That was why he had been practising this routine over and over again, until he had been able to find the right thing for him, something that allowed him to use his flexibility to his full potential.

Jimin felt his strength starting to flag from the effort needed to complete the air flares, especially in his wrists, and so he needed to finish with a killer power move. He had his special move in mind, but he was still learning the best way to transition into it, and he was scared that he might just mess it up in his attempt to show off to Hoseok.

But when he saw the look on his friend’s face, complete unabashed awe, he just knew that he had to try it out.

Jimin tucked his knees in against his chest fast so that he could change momentum and stop spinning, the sudden movement threatening to spill him right onto his face. He managed to not topple over, but his mind went into complete panic mode as he attempted to move fast enough to finish the move. He had just seconds before he did one of two things: hit the floor hard and injured himself, or froze in his position and ruined his power move.

Jimin felt the toes of his sneakers touching the cardboard as his weight started to drag down on him, and it gave him that little bit of leverage needed. He was able to transfer his weight onto his toes and push off hard, straightening up with a grunt of effort through his clenched teeth. Right before the heels of his sneakers could come in contact with the cardboard, he skipped up and he threw his legs wide to enter the splits.

When he dropped to hit the floor, the other dancer let out a cry and he jumped upright.

“Goddamn!” Hoseok exclaimed, as he threw his hands up and then clapped them down on the top of his head. “That’s it, JJ! That’s the killer move right there!”

Jimin let him pull him up to his feet with a smile, reaching back so that he could give his back a soft massage because it really had been quite the workout.

“You’ve been practising without me, ain’t you?” Hoseok asked with a wide grin, which looked so bright when contrasted against his flushed and dewy tanned skin. “I can’t even imagine what your knees look like right now, Jiminie…”

“Thanks, brother, I’ve been practising like crazy,” Jimin confirmed, pulling off the bucket hat and nodding hard enough for his bleached hair to slip free over his sweatband and brush against the red terrycloth. “My knees are almost skinless.”

Hoseok laughed at this, even when it was practically the truth. Jimin’s knees might still have skin on them, but they were so terribly bruised and grazed from practising this routine and general dance classes. At least he hadn’t twinged a muscle in his thighs or groin doing the splits, because he would take a hundred bruises over something as painful as that.

“Uh-oh, here’s come trouble,” Hoseok said in a quiet voice, his gaze shifting to look over his shoulder suddenly.

Jimin was more than aware of the disapproving looks that they received from older pedestrians, because it was impossible to miss them. When he was dancing, he could block them all out, but when he was waiting on the curb and taking a breather, it was impossible to ignore.

Most of the time, it was sidelong glares from narrowed eyes, pinched lips and softly shaking heads, which all showed that they had irritated some elderly person or conservative businessman. The occasional irritated person might just say a word or three, telling them to lower the music or warning them that they were going to get arrested for making a scene. But usually, they just gave judgment in the form of intense glares.

Sometimes, a fearless elderly woman would walk right up them and start complaining. Jimin had witnessed Hoseok having his bucket hat smartly knocked free from his head by some grandmother nagging that he was dressed like a hooligan, and his own bleached hair had been just as angrily received. One time, a man had told him that if he were his son, he would have shaved his head and hit him with his belt for dyeing his hair to look like a ‘Yankee celebrity’.

Sure, they might be taking up room, but they weren’t in the way or blocking the street. If they weren’t being disruptive, why should they stop dancing? It was stupid, Jimin hated how their artistic expression was completely suppressed for the sake of not offending others - as if it wasn’t already heavily censored on television and in the media already.

This evening’s offering was a grandmother that looked about eighty years old, with a head full of permed grey hair and massive rounded glasses. She had a silken hair scarf knotted around her head and a floral blouse tucked into a pair of loose tan slacks; a sturdy walking cane in hand and a bag dangling from her elbow.

“Hooligans,” she muttered in disdain, moving over to the boombox and stabbing her cane at it. “Turn that horrible noise off! What are they saying? They better not be shouting about drugs and guns! That’s what in that foreign music! Those crazy Yankees!”

Jimin spared a quick look at Hoseok before he decided to just turn off the boombox, lest she actually start hitting the thing with her cane to get it to stop. He squatted down and hit the stop button, just as another aggressive hip hop track started blaring from the speakers.

“I’m sorry, grandmother,” Hoseok said, dropping his head in deference and keeping his arms straight at his sides. “We’re dance students, we were just practising and-”

“Dancing is good, but that’s not dancing, and that’s not music! It’s nothing but noise and foul language. You’re a good-looking boy, but your friend looks foreign with that hideous hair.”

When she pointed the end of her cane right at him, Jimin jerked back in surprise because he was still hunkered down beside the boombox. Luckily she didn’t accidentally swat him with it, but she got pretty damn close.

“Yellow hair,” she said, before tutting out of the corner of her wrinkled mouth. “I thought all of these young girlies changing their lovely hair was bad, but now boys too. What next? Wearing makeup?”

“I’m sorry, grandmother,” Jimin also mumbled, staring down at her flat leather pumps and avoiding her scrutinising gaze. “We’ll stop dancing now.”

The elderly woman thought this over for a moment, looking between the both of them from behind her thick spectacles. Satisfied that she had humiliated them enough, she turned around without another word and she carried on walking down the street.

Jimin watched her going, before turning to look up at Hoseok. His friend dropped his gaze to hold his gaze, and he could see that he was trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral - just so that he wouldn’t get in trouble for being disrespectful whilst she was still in their vicinity.

“Are we actually gonna stop dancing?” Hoseok asked him, his lips twitching at the corners in amusement.

“Yeah, I need something refreshing,” Jimin replied, giving nod at the automatic convenience store doors. “You coming?”

Rather than lug the boombox inside of the store, they left it outside on the street. There was no need to worry about it being stolen, not on a busy street in an area like this. That meant that they could walk along the aisles between the shelves with ease, him in the lead and his friend right on his heel.

Jimin reached up to grab at the front of his tee-shirt, fanning it in a bid to try and cool himself down as they crossed the store. Underneath the soft squeaking of their sneaker soles on the linoleum, he could hear some popular idol track song playing - H.O.T.’s ‘Candy’, which still seemed to be popular amongst the teenage girl masses even after being released quite some time ago.

Upon reaching the refrigerated aisle, Jimin looked between the colourful rows of drinks before turning his attention to the huge ice box filled with ice cream and frozen lolly ice. He could see boxes and individually wrapped Melona bars just begging to be grabbed: the pale blue and white creamy coconut flavour his favourite choice, along with strawberry.

“Hani thinks that one of us should slip a suicide into our routines, just to get Street Seoulz to back off and remember that we ain’t rivals,” Hoseok explained, running his gaze over the drinks display beside them slowly. “What’d you think about that, Jiminie?”

Jimin stopped fanning at himself, twisting to stare up at his friend and making no move to retrieve something from the ice box.

A suicide would probably be a good idea to get Street Seoulz back in line, seeing as they had been getting incredibly prideful and ignorant over the last couple of weeks at the battle preliminaries. They were just as bad at cyphers, their presence frightening a great many rookies away from flexing their skills even in an open and supportive environment.

Jimin usually wasn’t one to care, but they had been getting highly physical with them, and the last battle that they had been present at had ended with a Hoseok getting shoved around by some wannabe rookies with not even a shred of his talent. If the other crew didn’t start reigning themselves in, someone was bound to get angry and start an actual confrontation, and that would ruin the atmosphere and foster a rivalry much deeper than friendly competition.

A suicide was a move possibly coined by one of two legendary American b-boys, and it contained a rather simple message to rivals: the rivalry stops right now, it’s finished, move on and stay cool.

It involved a b-boy or b-girl dropping to the ground suddenly after freezing in the middle of a routine, sometimes on their back, sometimes on their front. Flips and handsprings were common ways to enter a suicide, as they allowed movement that could be manipulated to look like a dancer had lost control - when they actually had full control over their wild movements.

Suicides were designed to look like an accident rather than a real move, and the dancer would fall still and splayed on the ground to hold position for added effect. It was also supposed to elicit cries of shock from onlookers if it was pulled off right. As a result, suicides took a great deal of training to prepare for - lest a dancer actually injure themselves in the act of pretending to do so.

“I’m not adding a suicide,” Jimin said with a firm head shake, shifting to sit on the edge of the ice box. “One, I actually sprained my shoulder dropping into a reverse suicide the last time that I did it. Two, I don’t like suicides.”

“You’re too full of pride right, Jiminie?” his friend asked, a knowing grin on his face that showed that he already knew the answer to that question.

“Yeah, I’m too prideful, Seok,” he agreed, returning the grin as he folded his arms over his chest. His tee-shirt clung to his slick chest annoyingly. “I just don’t like the idea of doing a suicide in front of a crew member that I’m gonna be better than, just to keep them all in line. My skills aren’t going to be overshadowed by a suicide, no way.”

“I dunno, a suicide takes a lot of skill to pull off,” Hoseok said, giving him a sidelong glance as he did so. “But I can understand why you don’t wanna do it. They started the heat, they should be the ones to bring it back down again, not us.”

“Hani can’t do a suicide, not as the crew leader, they’d laugh at us,” Jimin muttered with a head shake. “Sunhwa’s not strong enough yet, she might hurt herself attempting it, and I doubt that any of the boys are gonna willingly drop in front of a crowd.”

“I can do a suicide, if no one else will,” Hoseok suggested, before shrugging hard. “I don’t care about pride or whatever, and I appreciate the rivalry, but I still think that it helps to give a little slack every now and again. I can pull ‘em off, I know I ain’t gonna pop my shoulder out unlike those fools. But I’m only gonna do it if the gang want me to. It’s not my decision to make, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, brother,” Jimin said with a soft nod, pulling the ice box open to retrieve the coconut Melona bar. “If you want my opinion, it’s that you should do what you think feels right for you first, before the crew.”

Hoseok moved to grab the green and yellow honeydew melon flavour, thinking his suggestion over intently as he did so. Clearly, he was still trying to figure out if a suicide was a good idea or not too.

At the counter, Jimin ended up tearing the packet open to shove the snack between his lips, even as he grabbed some coins from his zipped-up tracksuit pocket to cover the costs of the ice cream bar. The rectangle-shaped bar was soft between his teeth, the creamy coconut flavouring settling on his tongue in a way that made him hum happily around the treat.

“I know you said that I should do what feels right to me, Jiminie,” Hoseok said, also adding a random assortment of coins onto the counter to pay for his Melona bar. “But just be honest with me, what’re your thoughts on the matter?”

“I think-” Jimin said, cheeking a chunk of ice cream and then chewing it, “that you should do a suicide only in a cypher, not in a prelim. Don’t risk it, the last thing you need is to drop a suicide and then lose your place in the next round, Seok. That’s if you wanna do a suicide, that is, which I still think is up to you to decide.”

The cashier accepted their money without giving them a receipt, and judging from his gaze, he was glad to see them going after spending the evening so close to his store and potentially driving away business.

Upon leaving the convenience store, Hoseok went over to the baseball cap on the ground and he hunkered down to pick it up and check it.

“Wow, I think that we actually made enough money to pay for the subway ride back home,” he joked, before giving it a shake - coins rattling around inside of it. “We’ll be rich in no time!”

“Yeah yeah, we wish,” Jimin retorted, pulling the Melona bar free and licking at it to chase after a dribble of melted ice cream.

“Hey, Hani and the girls are arranging a night out over in Seodaemun-gu,” Hoseok suddenly announced, hovering his own green ice cream bar in front of his lips. “Soju, street food - it’s in your neighbourhood so you ain’t gotta travel too far. You down, Jiminie?”

“I can’t, I’ve got, um, I’ve got plans tonight,” Jimin said in a quiet mumble, avoiding his friend’s eyes and staring at his ice cream bar instead. “Sorry.”

“Oh yeah? What kinda plans?” Hoseok asked, as he placed the baseball cap back down on the ground. “Are you up to no good without me, huh? What’s her name, Jiminie?”

A quick glance back over at Hoseok showed him that he was grinning at him, but Jimin didn’t feel like grinning back. Just talking about this subject filled him with a great deal of discomfort, and he wondered if Hoseok could see just how nervous that he was right now.

“It’s not exactly plans, I, um, I’ve got a gig at some club - a dancing gig,” he explained, playing with his sweatband in a fidgeting manner. “It pays good, you know? Or that’s what the owner told me, and she said that there’s tips too, so, that’s a bonus.”

Jimin could see on Hoseok’s face that he had figured out that he was talking about an exotic dancing gig, because why else would he be dancing in a club? Had he have been female, he might just have gotten away with claiming that it wasn’t like that, that he was a hired gogo dancer to entertain clubgoers from afar and just hype up business, but no clubs ever seemed to used male dancers for such a thing.

If he was dancing in a club then he was taking his clothes off too, and Hoseok was clearly aware of this fact.

“It’s a full-time offer, you know, and it’s a couple of hours a night between classes, so, I can still get some rest and-”

“Jiminie?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” Hoseok said with a shrug, as he pulled his ice cream bar free from his lips; a big chunk missing from the stick. “You got a job! I’m so glad that you got a job! So what if it’s a club gig, it’s a job and it’s gonna pay! That’s all that matters, right?”

“Right,” Jimin agreed in a quiet voice, still very much uncertain about the entire thing.

Hoseok was probably right, it was going to pay, and that money could be used to help his parents out whilst they supported him through his university studies. Dancing in a club was a much better gig than something boring, like working in a store or carrying heavy goods around a market, but there was still something about it that Jimin wasn’t sure about.

Jimin was going to be dancing at an exclusive homosexual gentleman’s club over in Itaewon, filled with elite businessmen that could afford to splurge out on the imported liquors that he had seen filling the shelves behind the bar counter.

With that kind of climate came great expectations, not only in terms of talent but other things too. Jimin knew that he was going to have to dance and remove his clothing for paying customers, but he could only hope that said clients didn’t think that he was going to do anything more than that for them.

Jimin wasn’t a prostitute, and the owner, a middle-aged lady called Kyunghee, had been certain to emphasise that the club was ‘classy’, ‘legal’ and ‘respectable’. That meant that the signs on the wall that he had seen about the rules that the men had to adhere to were not to be taken lightly.

Well, at least they were probably going to be older gentlemen that he wouldn’t find attractive. That would make the job a hell of a lot easier, because the last thing that he needed was to spring an erection in his no doubt tiny shorts.

“You gonna head over there, huh?” Hoseok asked, sticking his tongue out to chase after a smear of ice cream and revealing the noticeable freckle on his upper lip.

“Yeah, my shift starts at opening until 2am, but I’ve gotta ready in advance,” Jimin replied around another bite of ice cream. “You take the cash, you can pay me back with a beer at the next round of prelims, yeah?”

Jimin clapped hands with Hoseok and then they moved to bump chests, their usual greeting and parting gesture. His friend laughed at the suggestion, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go again.

Hoseok had to carry the boombox back home with him, supposing that he jumped a subway ride back to his neighbourhood before going to meet the rest of their crew. It was lightweight though, which was a bonus. He was able to lift it up and carry it under his armpit, his bucket hat shoved inside of his tracksuit jacket pocket and the baseball cap pulled down backwards on his head. The coins were safe in his pocket too, whatever amount that they had managed to earn whilst practising jingling around musically as Hoseok turned on his heel and started walking down the street.

Jimin watched him going from the convenience store step, the rapidly melting remains of his Melona bar starting to edge close to his fingers. He lifted it to his mouth so that he could lick at the dribbles, playing over his friend’s words in his mind as he did so.

Jimin could only hope that the job paid well enough to make him feel like it was worth it.

For the best part of ten seconds now, the black line had been right there on the glowing laptop screen in front of him. It was flashing on and off and silently telling him that he had to resume typing, like a beckoning finger.

But Yoongi found that he couldn’t seem to find his trail of thought, for it had quite simply dissipated on him like a puff of smoke on the wind. His fingers were hovering over the dual grey keyboard, just waiting to start hitting the keys at a rapid speed again, and yet he faltered.

“Shit…” he sighed, as he lifted his hands up away from the keyboard and he sat back in his chair.

The more that Yoongi stared at the flashing line, the more that he found that he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of the thought. It was floating out of his reach, dangling like a balloon string so that he was convinced that he could reach it, only to find that it kept getting higher and higher.

Yoongi reached up to rub at his nose roughly, shifting his gaze across the screen so that he could reread what he had just typed. He was hoping that it might just refresh his mind and help him carry on typing, but it didn’t help him in the slightest.

No, the idea was well and truly gone from his mind, and it was a sign that he needed to take a break before he gave himself a headache.

Well, before he made his headache come back, that was.

Yoongi stopped typing with a weary sigh, reaching over to grab his packet of Arirang cigarettes from his desk and thumbing the top open to drag one free. He saw that there was just a couple of sticks left inside, the packet less than half-empty, which really wasn’t a surprise at all.

Goddamn, he wished that they sold cigarettes in bigger packets than this: twenty filtered king-sized sticks. They weren’t enough for him to get him through more than a single day these days. He was purchasing upwards of two packets over the space of a day right now, though he kept saying that he would cut down on his intake and find something else to help with his stress.

Yes, he would cut down on the smoking, just like he would cut down on his five daily cups of coffee and the bottle of imported whisky that he got through every single week.

Sure, he was totally going to fix those habits, and whilst he was at it, he could do himself a favour and just jump out of his office window too. That would fix the problem much better than a stress ball and yoga, he just knew it.

Yoongi twisted his chair around so that he could get out of it and go over to his office window, retrieving his silver flick lighter from his desk. He flipped the top up, snapping his thumb down on the wheel so that he could spark a light and stick the end into the flame. He took a quick inhale to get it to smoulder and then he flipped the lighter shut with a flick of his wrist, shoving it into his heavily creased black trouser pockets to free up his hand.

The view outside of the window showed him that the streets down below were as packed as always, and so he folded one arm against the wall beside it to lean against it and look out across Cheongdam-dong.

Towering buildings took up most of the real estate over in this area of Gangnam-gu: mostly company headquarters, entertainment and media stations, and shopping malls. There were some apartments, but they tended to be situated over on Apgujeong-dong, particularly Rodeo Street, which meant that a lot of this block was filled with designer stores, restaurants, and places for entertainment such as karaoke bars, bowling alleys and cinemas.

As a result, the streets outside were filled with locals and tourists at any and every hour. Shopping bags swung from elbows, coffee containers were clutched in hands, and couples were window shopping and eyeing up expensive jewellery, cosmetics and perfumes in droves.

Yoongi reached up to pull his cigarette free, wetting his lips as he held the inhale of smoke in his lungs. As he exhaled it through his slack lips in a soft puff, he breathed it back in through his nose quickly and he ran his gaze along the wide main road.

Those kids were gone again, the ones that he often caught sight of right at the end of the block. They liked to set up over on Apgujeong-dong, where it was trendy and cool and there might just be a chance that they got spotted by a talent scout, but they seemed to change locations around the block depending on the time or day. He could only ever see them if they were on the main street that ran across the two blocks, and as a result, they were faceless to him - recognisable only by their colourful tracksuits in shades of black, white, red and various hues of blue.

Yoongi couldn’t watch them dancing very well because of their massive distance, as he could only get a hint of their dance steps. Sometimes, he liked to think about going over there on a break to watch them dance whilst he grabbed a coffee or a quick dosirak from the GS25 store across the block, but he never got around to doing so. They were never there in the morning, early afternoon or night, just the evening, and he was far too busy at all hours to just pop out and travel such a distance for such folly.

Why travel across the block and back for coffee and a bite to eat, a trip that would take him ten to fifteen minutes to complete, when he could drink office coffee that tasted like battery acid and not eat anything at all?

Yoongi snorted at this pitiful thought, even when his stomach was hollow and vaguely aching from four days of work with nothing more than power naps, coffee, aspirin and a single hot meal a day.

It wasn’t that he had to work overtime for the money, it was more about proving himself to his department, who he oversaw but still constantly felt looked down on him despite his superior position; to the other directors on the board that were his superiors in age and position; and to his father, of course.

That was why Yoongi worked up to five days a week without stopping or leaving the office. That was why he was constantly hungry, tired and sick, even to the point of once being rushed to a local clinic after collapsing from dehydration. He had ended up on an I.V. drip, but he was pretty certain that his father hadn’t found out about that particular mistake, so that he was a relief.

But tonight…tonight Yoongi was finally going to stop working overtime so that he could go back to his apartment. He could bathe, prepare a hot meal and sleep maybe five hours if he was lucky, before he needed to jump right back to it all over again.

Yoongi dabbed a blob of ash free from his cigarette out of the open window, which dissipated on the breeze into nothing. He shoved the stick back between his lips, shifting to sit back down at his desk and spinning around in his chair. There was a mess all across his workstation: piles of paper, folders, pens and more, and he struggled to locate his ashtray with a series of low mumbles.

“The fuck’s that gone now, huh?” Yoongi muttered around his cigarette, lifting up a sheath of papers so that he could try and locate the tray. “Has it got legs or something, fucking- oh.”

The ashtray was sitting right beside his laptop, on a stack of old paperwork that should really be filed away and stored in a system of some kind. It was currently filled with crushed butts and ash, in dire need of being emptied again already.

Yoongi placed the papers back down again so that he could retrieve it, placing it down on the small section of free space on his desk so that he could use it. Then he turned back to his laptop, squinting through the smoke at his screen and hovering his hands over the keypad. He was just about to start typing something when he caught sight of sudden movement out of his periphery, and he rolled his eyes just in time to see a familiar face.

“Min, the morning newspapers are in,” Sunmi declared, holding his door open so that some unknown intern could heft a pile of daily newspapers from all over the city right into his office room. “Pages 30 to 32, check out the review sections.”

“Hello to you too,” Yoongi mumbled, dragging his eyes away from his laptop screen so that he could watch the intern placing the newspaper pile down.

It was a miracle that the young man could get them onto his desk, all things considered. There was hardly any room left on it these days, considering how much paperwork he had stacked in piles around the place that he never had time to sort out. He could do with an intern of his own, one that specialised in clerical work, otherwise he was never going to sort out the mess in his office.

“What’s this for again?” Yoongi asked, as he grabbed the first paper from the pile, which just happened to be the Munhwa Ilbo. “Gonna need some specifics here, Lee.”

“Go’s newest project, ‘The Red Letter’,” Sunmi explained for him, as he opened the paper and rapidly flicked through it to find the review section. “The reviews are in and, Min, I hate to say that you were right on this but…”

Yoongi only had to scan the first three papers to see what the problem was.

Munhwa Ilbo, JoongAng Ilbo, Kyunghyang Shinmun - they were all heavily criticising the film production and not even holding their punches. To say that the reviewers disliked the film was an understatement, because they were tearing it apart without a hint of sympathy.

On the plus side, Go’s acting performance wasn’t being attacked exactly. The reviewers were kind in that regard, for they specified that she was a good actress, but the script was so bland that her performance was unable to be appreciated in the slightest. In other words, this film was making her look bad, and looking bad was most certainly unacceptable.

“Shit, I knew that film was gonna be a fucking disaster, I told Ahn to reconsider the contract but Go just had to pick that role - said she connected with it or something. I dunno, fucking actors, Lee, they’re all nuts,” Yoongi muttered, dabbing ash off his cigarette into the ashtray hard and then reaching up to rub at his nose with the back of his hand. “Now this mess, goddamn…”

“Well, Go picked the terrible role and now the reviewers are going to eat everyone involved alive if we can’t control this mess. What are you going to do, Min?”

Sunmi shifted to lean against the open doorway so that she could study him intently. She crossed her arms across her thin chest and cocked her head, her high ponytail dancing from the slight movement.

Yoongi thought her question over for a moment, his cigarette dangling between his slack lips and his fingers wrinkling at the edge of the newspaper.

Being the Director of Publicity at EntertainMINt meant that no matter what, if their artists or company could suffer as a result of bad press, it all came down to him. It didn’t matter if Go Dahee had a whole team comprising of an agent and her own staff publicists like Sunmi, if her film and drama projects weren’t getting her good press, it would all come back around to him eventually.

Yoongi had already tried to preemptively stop this fiasco by consulting with the actress’ agent, Ahn, to try and alert her that accepting film offer had been a bad choice. The budget, the director, the writing and target audience - it had all been wrong to him, and he had wanted to keep their current company sweetheart away from the disaster. Except it had failed on him, and Go had undertaken the project only for it to be torn apart by the press.

Now he had to fix this mess and make her look good by the end of it, which was going to be a true challenge.

“Go, she’s dating that guy right?” Yoongi asked, hovering his cigarette in front of his lips again and sticking his tongue out to wet them.

“Who? Kim Sungwoo?” Sunmi suggested, her expression showing complete and utter confusion.

“No, the hot one,” he muttered, searching his mind for the actor’s name that he hadn’t even realised that that had slipped free. “Oh Yoonsuk! Everyone knows that they’re dating, fuck’s sake, they were picked as a power couple on that MBC poll just last month, Lee. They’ve very popular amongst women in their 20s and 30s.”

“OK, so, what’s the plan, Min?” she asked, watching him closing the copy of the Kyunghyang Shinmun.

“What we’re gonna fight fire with fire. Get the two of ‘em to go out on a date, a very public date. Not somewhere expensive though, somewhere nice that fans might be able to go with their own lovers, so they’re relatable and all that shit. Contact dozens of those cheap gossip magazines with a hot tip but for a price - positive press only. Get ‘em to take photographs of our budding power couple holding hands and smiling - let ‘em saturate their magazines with exclusive shots and write sweet captions and whatever, then…no one’s gonna give a shit about a bad film review; mmm?”

Yoongi sat back in his chair at this, the leather creaking from his weight as he settled in place and raised his eyebrows at Sunmi. He didn’t mean to look smug in anyway outwardly, but there must have been something on his face because her lips twitched ever so slightly at the corners.

“Goddamn, Min, that’s risky,” Sunmi said in an uncertain voice, reaching up to play with her pendant chain.

“Go’s target audience like the couple, I say we give ‘em what they want,” Yoongi retorted with a shrug, breathing smoke out of his nose hard. “Will she lose fans? I doubt it, most of her fans are young women and they ain’t gonna cry over our sweetheart dating an attractive new actor, mmm? They’re gonna start wishing that their fellas start getting serious, start thinking about marriage and all of that nonsense - they’re gonna hope for future wedding shots.”

“Min, you’re absolutely crazy,” she remarked with a head shake. “Only a crazy person could think of something like that.”

“That’s me, fucking nuts,” he muttered, dabbing ash into his ashtray hard. “Just take my word for it, Lee, it’s gonna hide these shitty reviews and y’know why? Everyone’s gonna obsess over the drama that they were in all over again - ‘My Neighbour, the Spy’. Expect MBC to renew the series for evening airing after this news breaks, ‘cos everybody’s gonna wanna watch it again.”

“What about Oh? Should we contact his company in advance to let them know?”

“Oh? Who gives a fuck about Oh?” Yoongi asked in a serious tone. “I ain’t paid to give a shit about his career, let someone else care about that.”

“If you can get Go contracted for another film whilst this mess is still playing in the cinemas, Min, I’ll buy you a bottle of the finest alcohol you take,” Sunmi promised, as she moved to leave his office.

“I take whisky,” Yoongi called with a quick smirk. “Yamazaki, to be precise!”

“So expensive!” Sunmi called back in return, her voice echoing along the hallway.

It took Yoongi a moment to realise that the intern had left the stack of newspapers in his office. The smile died of his face as he stared at the papers, slowly realising that he now had even more of a mess all over his desk. He took a drag off the end of his cigarette as he tried to figure out what to do with them, an idea finally coming to mind after a minute of contemplation.

Yoongi lifted his left wrist to eye his Rolex Datejust 16233. The diamond studded champagne gold face told him that it was 10:35pm, and it was about time that he called it quits for the day.

So Yoongi retrieved his leather briefcase from under his desk, opening it up and placing it across his lap. After saving all of his documents on his Samsung SENS 810 P-133 laptop, he powered it down and he placed it inside with its charger wire. He located his matching Samsung SH-700 mobile across his office room, shoving that inside too, alongside some paperwork.

Inside of an inner wallet of his briefcase, Yoongi stored his headphones and Walkman, which he pulled free and placed down on his desk. It allowed him to fasten his briefcase shut and snap the clasps in place.

Yoongi slipped his headphones in place snugly, holding the Walkman in his hand so that he could hit several buttons on the device. He had loaded just a single CD into it a couple of days ago when he had left his apartment to travel to work, even when the walk didn’t take him much longer than fifteen minutes. But it served another purpose too, because he had another place to travel to first tonight, and that journey would take longer.

The current CD loaded into his Walkman was Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth’s ‘Mecca and the Soul Brother’ - an album that he had located in a record store in Tokyo after reading reviews extensively on the release in imported American music magazines.

Yoongi had just had to listen to it after hearing such good reviews, though it had been very hard to locate it due to the fact that it was already several years old. But his perseverance had paid off, and he had located the legendary hip hop album to go into his collection of CDs, and it was still his current obsession even after a solid month of blasting it through his Walkman headphones.

Yoongi had listened to samples in the store, holding the massive headphones against his head as he had closed his eyes and had absorbed every single note and word that the hip hop duo had delivered: his English skills not good enough to understand a lot of the slang, but still appreciating the sounds of the strange words filling his ears.

After locating his favourite track on the album, Yoongi hit another button to repeat it, and then he found his suit jacket. He slipped it on, shoved the Walkman into the inner pocket, and then he grabbed his briefcase with one hand and gathered up the newspaper pile up into the crook of his arms.

The joy of wearing headphones meant that not a single person tried to talk to him as he left the office floor and stepped into the lift. Sadly, he had to keep his eyes peeled to ensure that he greeted any of his superiors, but he never saw them this last in the evening. They were either working in their offices with the doors shut, at a bar drinking, or on their way back home already.

After riding the lift down to the ground-floor, Yoongi clocked out in reception; hastily jotting down the date and time to ensure that it was noted that he had worked for four and a half days straight and not a single minute less. He could see the night secretary at the back of the reception area, in the act of photocopying something, and he was more than aware of the fact that she was staring at him.

All of the receptionists stared at him whenever he clocked in and out. They all knew he was the CEO’s son, after all, and quite a few of them might just find him attractive - as laughable as the thought sounded.

Yoongi finished signing the check-in book, lugging the newspapers across the reception area so that he could dump them down on one of the tables. Absolutely any early morning worker could take one and read it for free, or the cleaners could toss them away; whatever the case, problem solved.

There was a taxi rank just down the street, and so Yoongi moved to wait at it until a vehicle pulled up and he could climb into the back. He jumped a taxi to get him into Yongsan-gu first, the journey taking roughly ten minutes because of the traffic; lounged back in the backseat with his headphones blasting over the radio and the scent of the driver’s pipe smoke wafting back into his face.

Upon entering Yongsan-gu, the driver rolled across several districts until he had reached his given destination: Itaewon.

Rather than give the exact address, Yoongi felt a lot more comfortable and safer giving a random street instead. It meant walking across several blocks, but he didn’t care about that that much. It meant that he wouldn’t get disgusted looks from the men behind the wheel as he paid them, or the dreaded muttered insults.

After paying the driver, Yoongi retrieved his suitcase, climbed out of the backseat and he slammed the door shut behind him. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs, running his eyes across the sea of strange and predominantly foreign faces in front of him.

Walking the streets of Itaewon, Yoongi always kept his head down for fear that he would somehow stumble into someone that he knew: a family friend or business associate of some kind. It was paranoid and childish thinking, but he could never shake the feeling that something would happen if he let his guard down.

The last thing that Yoongi needed was someone he knew finding out that he liked to frequent Homo Hill whenever he had a break in his incessant workload.

There was no disguising it, no way of hiding the truth. If Yoongi was found to be frequenting that section of the neighbourhood then he was most certainly going to be outed as one of two things: a homosexual, or a pervert. Maybe even both at the exact same time, that was probably one and the same thing for some people.

That was why Yoongi had to keep his head down and not make eye-contact with anyone out on the streets. It didn’t matter whether they were foreign tourists, fellow homosexuals, or even the ridiculous drag queens that were out on the streets to attract people into clubs and bars and pose for photographs - he just had to keep his head down, listen to music and ignore everyone.

Eventually, Yoongi was taking a corner to get to the right street, the building in front of him instantly recognisable because of the glowing neon sign above the entrance door. One sign was the name of the club in deep pink flashing characters, and the other sign was a peach - an obvious attempt at innuendo.

Oh! Boy! was a club that advertised itself as a ‘homosexual gentleman’s club’, though Yoongi had often pondered on if a single customer inside of the place could be considered a gentleman. He didn’t think so, but he was just assuming so based on his experience of being around drunk middle-aged men with plenty of cash and huge egos.

When Yoongi had first started frequenting the club, he had not done so for the sight of the exotic dancers. It had solely been because he had wanted to drink somewhere where he hadn’t been surrounded by female hosts in tiny bikinis like the other gentlemen’s clubs that he had been taken to for business drinking celebrations. He had had bare breasts jiggled his face much to the excitement and amusement of associates, and he had had them try and pay for lap dances that he managed to talk his way out of.

Between watching old men that he had to work with dangling money at young women like they were animals and talking to them in ways that made his skin crawl, to seeing the tiredness hidden away underneath all of their makeup and rehearsed smiles; every single business meeting drained Yoongi of his already limited energy.

As a result, Yoongi had just wanted to find somewhere that he could drink on his own that wouldn’t be remotely like those clubs. A sanctuary of sorts, filled with other men and even women that were just like him, that just wanted to be alone and away from such regular sights that were forced upon them in order to belong and appear just like everyone else.

The problem was that Yoongi had rapidly discovered that most of the homosexual clubs in Homo Hill were packed with young people that wanted to get wasted and half-naked on dance floors to pounding music. That wasn’t his thing in the slightest, he hated the loud music and strobe lights, he was intimidated by the behaviour that he had stumbled across in several of them, and so he had needed to find somewhere more tame.

Which was exactly when Yoongi had found Oh! Boy! after a night of wandering, and he had discovered the right place for him.

Yoongi entered the club by way of the stairs, nodding at the man on the door because he knew him by face and didn’t demand to check any I.D. from him to ascertain his age. After handing over the ₩30,000 door fee to get inside of the joint, he entered the club, the interior lighting hitting him exactly when the music did; the volume loud enough to drown out his own music even through his headphones.

Oh! Boy! was a massive stretch of basement flooring, filled with several areas that were packed with a considerable amount of bodies and traffic.

First, there was the central area which ran from one wall to the next, smooth light wooden flooring on which drink servers walked around to get from the bar to the main area. The bar was to the left, a stretch of red glossy wood behind which a massive glass display filled with bottles, flowers and erotic photographs was located. Close to the bar was the restroom, which Yoongi had never entered before but had always assumed would stink of overpowering cologne and semen.

The main area took up most of the club, a huge sectioned of carpeted flooring in which tables and leather benches and armchairs were placed. This was where the patrons sat, able to get served by male servers of all sizes and degrees of attractiveness in tiny sequinned shorts, and they had the best views of the podiums on which dancers performed. Some stripped down to dancer belts, others pole danced, and some were even drag acts that amused the men with jokes and songs every couple of nights.

The podiums were lit with backlights that varied from pink to match the exterior signs and bar lighting, whereas others were blue, red and purple. It helped attract the eye to each individual dancer for the audience, should they not just get out of their seats to crowd the bottom of the stage and maybe get a cheeky touch and blown kiss from the dancer as a result.

Lastly, across the room behind the stages, there were several private booths where patrons could take dancers should they want their special attention all to themselves. Yoongi had never been inside of a private booth before, but he assumed them to be small rooms with a single armchair for lap dances, along with tacky interior design.

The bar had stools all along the length, but very few men sat at the bar with such wonderful sights like the exotic dancers on display. Yoongi only ever sat there to drink, as he often conversed with the bartender over glasses of liquor and a cigarette or two before leaving; occasionally glancing back over his shoulder to watch the podium dancers but never approaching them.

“Hey, Hyuna, whisky on the rocks, please,” he requested, drawing close to the bar and dragging his headphones off over his head. “I’m gagging for it, honey.”

“Right away, Min,” Hyuna said with a quick smile, moving along the counter to take an order from a drinks server so that she could prepare them all at once.

Yoongi shoved his Walkman back into his briefcase whilst she prepared the drink for him, fastening it shut again with the metal clasps and then retrieving his cigarette packet, lighter and wallet out of his suit jacket pocket. He dumped them down in front of him, slipping a stick between his lips and retrieving a note from his wallet in advance to cover his usual order of drinks.

“Here, enjoy,” Hyuna said, as she moved to place the squared glass down in front of him, a napkin underneath to catch the condensation.

“Thanks, honey,” Yoongi muttered around the cigarette, as he set the end alight and took a quick drag on the end.

Hyuna collected his briefcase from him, just like always; storing it away under the counter for him so he didn’t need to worry about it. Considering the amount of expensive electronic goods stored away inside of it, he really needed to keep it safe whilst he was drinking - not that he ever let the thing out of his sights. As soon as it was stored away, she went back to preparing drinks for the server to carry across the club.

Yoongi breathed the first inhale out his nose, turning to look at the server to see the usual type: thin, short, cute in a boyish way that meant that he might just have a little acne hidden away under the usual layer of stage makeup to combat the harsh club lighting, or maybe even braces. His hair was short and gelled up into little spikes, and he looked bored as hell.

“Hey, you doing a’ight?” Yoongi asked, just for the sake of it considering the fact that he had looked at him for longer than considered polite.

The dancer glanced over at him, his expression looking surprised by the fact that he had addressed him.

Yoongi tried to not snort laughter at this, because it wasn’t really that funny to think about the fact that the young man might be shocked to have been asked such a light and friendly question in the club.

“Don’t mind him, Seunghoon,” Hyuna said with a smile, exchanging the used glasses from the tray so that she could replace them with glasses of scotch, empty shot and rock glasses and bottle of soju. “He’s friendly, maybe a little too friendly for this kinda crowd.”

“You said it,” Seunghoon agreed, his lips just about twitching at the corners. “Enjoy your drink, Master, I’ll be available for private dances later - if you want to be entertained.”

Seunghoon retrieved the tray and he moved to leave the bar, a noticeable sashay in his hips that might just have been for him or maybe even just natural.

“Mmm, I hate the ‘master’ thing,” Yoongi remarked, wrapping his fingers around the glass to gauge the temperature of the honeyed liquid. “Why’d they always say that, honey?”

“Most of their clients request it,” Hyuna replied with a shrug, as she started cleaning the used glasses. “You might as well ask why serving girls and strippers call their clients ‘big brother’, Min, for all the good that it’ll do you.”

“I don’t gotta ask, I hear that shit every single time I get dragged to a drinking session with my colleagues,” he retorted, which made the bartender shoot him a sympathetic look. “Some of those girls are young enough to be their fucking daughters, honey, it’s disturbing.”

Yoongi lifted his glass to take a sip of his drink, letting the chilled whisky sit on his tongue for a moment. It started warming up so that the flavour diffused across his tastebuds and the powerful oaken base notes were complimented by the hints of sweet vanilla that the cold temperature suppressed and softened.

After swallowing the mouthful, he made an appreciative noise and tipped his glass at Hyuna in thanks. It was good stuff, single malt and most likely Japanese judging from the quality. Then he turned on his stool slightly so that he could look over at the main area of the club and resume smoking between slow and deep sips of the drink.

As usual, that section of the club was packed full with people, both patrons and servers and dancers. The businessmen regulars were dressed in suits of black, grey, navy, tan and even brown, with expensive watches and rings on their fingers, and the usual slicked-back hair. Some had facial hair, others were greying in parts, and most of them were sporting cigars and cigarettes.

Yoongi didn’t recognise the dancers that much at all unless they were highly recognisable, like the drag performers. If one had an interesting haircut or even something shocking like a tattoo, it was easier to identify them from the rest, but they were all just nameless and unknown to him as he only liked looking at them from a distance whilst he drank and talked to Hyuna. As a result, he ran his eyes over a dozen or so men that he had no possible way of recalling, until he found something new and interesting.

Yoongi couldn’t help but hone his eyes straight onto the rather young-looking dancer across the club, quite possibly because of the fact that he had such noticeable dyed blond hair that caught the soft pink lighting that he was bathed in.

Dyed hair was a rare sight to see even on television, considering the fact that most celebrities still had to hide their colourful locks whilst performing on music shows as to not offend older audiences. Seeing such a sight in the club was enough to attract his attention for sure, and he couldn’t help but stare at this new face with a great deal of interest.

Yoongi couldn’t see much of his face at all because of their distance, but what he could see looked attractive enough. Mostly, he could see his fully exposed arms and legs, as he was wearing a pair of denim shorts with a white vest that clung to his frame. He was slim but not in a bony way, rather he looked to have some muscle to his compact frame. That was judging from the thickness of his thighs and the soft swell of his chest underneath the vest, that was. Still, he looked to have a small waist, and that just further accentuated his hips and thighs to make them look thicker.

“Good body” was Yoongi’s initial thought, followed by a brief flare of shame for thinking such a thing without even talking to the young man first. As he turned back to his glass of whisky, he realised that it was pretty ironic that he felt disgusted with himself for thinking such a thing about an exotic dancer, but the feeling still persisted.

“Is that a new guy over there, huh?” he inquired curiously, just for the sake of it as he lifted the square glass.

Yoongi didn’t even glance over at Hyuna, however, because he was far too busy watching the dancer back over his shoulder to pay her that much attention right now.

“I ain’t ever seen him before, honey…”

“Yeah, he’s new,” Hyuna replied, before giving a soft sigh. “He’s just a kid, he’s got no experience at all - I feel terrible for him.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you mean?” Yoongi asked, finally turning to look at her and raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve been watching him all night long, to keep an eye on him,” she explained, as she finished wiping up a spill of liquid from the counter and then reached up to brush a sheath of long black hair back behind her ear. “He looks so confused and scared out there. He’s been attracting a lot of attention, but he’s too stiff and nervous to keep that attention for too long. That, and the fact that he’s still wearing way too much clothing for these guys…”

“Smart, guys gotta pay him to see what’s under those shorts,” Yoongi joked wryly, before swallowing another deep sip of whisky.

“Oh? Is that interest I hear in your voice right now?” Hyuna asked with a faüx shocked expression, which made him pause in the act of taking a drag off his cigarette. “That’s a first, sweetie.”

“Not interest, no, no it’s like…”

Yoongi turned on the stool again to look over at the podium, struggling to figure out what exactly it was about the dancer that made him want to look at him. It wasn’t his face, because he couldn’t even see it properly from over by the bar, and so it must have been his body or something else - his aura, perhaps? Something was coming from him that made the words die right on his tongue, his fingers twitching around his glass.

“Refill me, honey, I think I’m gonna go over there…”

Yoongi shoved his cigarette packet and lighter back into his jacket pocket, the smouldering remains of the stick caught bobbing his lips as he grabbed his wallet in his other hand. He pulled the cigarette free to stub it into the tray on the counter, even when it was still halfway smokable.

“What? You go over to a dancer and not just sit at the bar, smoking and complaining all night long like usual?” Hyuna asked, as she retrieved the glass to refill it with ice and a splash of whisky. She let out an amused scoff when she placed his drink down on the napkin, taking the note from him to cover the costs. “Min, I didn’t think that I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Yoongi muttered, as he grabbed his glass and he shifted to get off the stool. “But fuck it, here I am, I’m gonna do it.”

“Good luck, sweetie!” she called, which might just have been a joke or serious; it was too hard to figure out right now.

Yoongi crossed the central area to get to the main area, weaving around servers and dancers that were on the floor. He barely even took his eyes off the dancer, watching him doing that uncertain little dance of his on the podium; his hips loose and grinding to the beat. He almost walked right into a man that was crossing the floor, luckily diving back and not spilling his whisky all over his front or his suede shoes as he quickly stepped around him to get to the stage.

The dancer turned around just as he was in vicinity of the stage, his thighs open so that he could rock his hips to the song and drop them down on the beat, his knees flexing and his back curving. He didn’t drop more than a few inches, never fully down to the stage like the usual dancers did, but the act still had Yoongi aware of his shapely behind, especially in those shorts of his.

As he came to a stop in front of the podium, the dancer twisted on his bare heels and he finally caught sight of him. It was enough to make him slow down his movements and then move closer to him.

“What’s your name, huh?” Yoongi asked, shifting so that he could fold his arms on the low podium and look up at the young dancer. “Do I gotta pay you for that, or are you gonna go sweet on me and lemme know for free?”

“Jimin- I mean-”

Yoongi couldn’t help but snort laughter at this, because it was so very obvious how much of a rookie that this kid was. He had went and told him his real name by accident, for it had just simply slipped free off his tongue before he had realised that he had been asking for his stage name instead.

Cute, that was a cute rookie mistake for sure, and it made Yoongi feel something funny in his chest. It was an urge to almost protect him in a way, or to at least keep an eye on him because he was clearly in need of guidance of some kind.

“I mean ‘Baby J’,” he finished with a rather embarrassed smile, slowly squatting down to get closer to him so that he could hear him over the pounding music.

Considering his elevated angle, and the criminally short lengths of his shorts, Yoongi couldn’t help but stare at Jimin’s lower body as he looked up at him.

The squatting position made his thighs flex to reveal that they were very well muscled, much thicker than they had been when he had been standing upright. The hemline of the tattered denim shorts actually cut into his flesh as a result, creating a dimple in his tanned skin that made him stick his tongue out to wet his lips. Combined with the fact that they snugly hugged his crotch enough to give a defined bulge, Jimin made Yoongi’s mouth feel as dry as his lips had been.

Oh, those shorts were a blessing to mankind, and that wasn’t the three fingers of whisky currently warming his empty stomach talking.

“Baby J, huh?” he repeated, lifting his gaze at last to look at the rest of him. “That’s fitting.”

“Oh?” Jimin hummed, raising his eyebrows at him.

“I wanna call you baby,” Yoongi finished with a smile that he hoped looked confident and not nervous or unsettling.

This made Jimin bring his hand to his face, covering his lower face as he presumably laughed at his remark. He could hear him giggling under the music, but the sound was sadly almost drowned out by the pounding volume.

“I knew you were new here, ‘cos ain’t no way I’d have missed you,” Yoongi said, as he lifted his glass to take a deep sip of whisky and wet his mouth. He let it stay on his tongue for a moment, watching Jimin lowering his hand from his face to let him look at him again. “Baby J…goddamn.”

“This is my first night here,” Jimin agreed with a soft nod, which made his dyed and tousled blond locks dance across his brow and his earrings catch the lighting to glint back at his eyes. “You’re the first man to come over and say hello to me.”

“No shit?” Yoongi asked, swallowing another sip of whisky too fast and coughing softly. “No one’s come over to say hello to you yet? Not a single man?”

“No, just you,” Jimin confirmed with a nod, shifting to sit down on his knees instead of squatting. The position allowed him to lean closer to him, his weight cocked on one wrist elegantly.

Yoongi felt the most pressing urge to say something else flirtatious to him, even when the first incident had been an accident and the remark had just slipped out. He knew that he should probably not repeat the act, yet he found himself unable to fight the urge because he wanted to talk to Jimin some more.

“Y’know why they ain’t come over, right?” he asked over the rim of his glass, eyeing the dancer intently to see him shaking his head. “They know that they ain’t good enough for you, Baby J.”

“Hmm? So, that means that you’re good enough, right?” Jimin asked in return, playing the flirting game right back at him as he reached over to touch his tie.

Yoongi swallowed a cool sip of whisky at this, freezing up at the contact even when it wasn’t explicitly physical. He couldn’t even feel his touch like he would have if he had touched the front of his shirt or even his face, but it still made a little zing of excitement plummet down into his belly.

“I dunno, I know that I ain’t intimidated by you though,” Yoongi replied with a shrug, eyeing his glass in a bid at looking as cool as the slight remains of his whisky.

“Not even a little bit?” Jimin asked jokingly, his thumb rustling his tie as he stroked at the silk teasingly.

“…‘K, I’m fucking shaking right now, Baby J,” Yoongi admitted with an embarrassed laugh, which made the dancer smile down at him. “A pretty boy like you, talking to me? Who wouldn’t be shaking?”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Jimin almost cooed at him, speaking in a soft tone that revealed that he had a hint of huskiness to his voice. “You don’t mind me saying that, right? ‘Cute’?”

“Shit, you can call me whatever you want, Baby J,” he retorted, lifting his glass to take another deep sip of his whisky and then placing the empty glass down on the podium.

As he savoured the final swallow of whisky, Yoongi finally felt brave enough to look at his face long enough to study his features. He knew that Jimin could see that he was, but he just ignored the little hint of nerves in his belly.

Yoongi could see that Jimin was certainly more than passably attractive now that he was up close and personal with him. He had the kind of face that wouldn’t look out of place on a television screen, especially combined with that sandy dyed hair of his, a face that was most certainly not the usual sight in this club.

Jimin had rounded but heavily-lidded eyes, which could be sweet or smouldering; a slight pointed nose, a hint of bump on the straight bridge when he turned his face to the side; and a pouted mouth with lips so full that they demanded to be stared at.

Jimin’s face was pretty, but it wasn’t soft. It was all sharp angles and full features, which balanced out to perfection with his body. A soft face with rounded features would have made him look too young, especially when he had such a compact frame. But his full lips and intense eyes, coupled with his muscular and gainly limbs, was just the right balance of prettiness meets toughness.

Much like the other dancers, he had a light layer of makeup on, but in the current pink glow he couldn’t see the exact colours - just a glossiness to his lips, a smear of something dusty across his heavy eyelids and cheekbones, and smokey black liner around his eyes.

Yoongi felt his fingers tightening around his wallet, telling him that he could open it up and give Jimin a tip, just for taking a moment to talk to him. Should he tip him for that? Or should he maybe combine the tip with some more, taking him to a private booth so that they could carry on talking for a little longer?

“Ah, fuck it,” Yoongi mumbled under his breath, straightening up and grabbing his empty glass off the podium. “C’mon, follow me, Baby J.”

“Follow…follow you?”

Yoongi respectfully offered him his forearm so that Jimin could hold onto him and climb down off the podium. The young dancer did so, his face showing a hint of confusion but his actions showing that he trusted him enough to follow after him.

A passing drinks server glanced at them and he seemed to notice the empty podium, which he would presumably get filled by someone - either by switching jobs for the night to earn a little extra in tips, or finding someone else that could. The podiums needed to be filled just to make the club look busy and lively.

Yoongi guided Jimin across the club to get to the bar first, the dancer still holding onto his elbow even when he could have let go of him. They passed leather armchairs filled with ageing businessmen, some of whom had young servers and floor dancers on their laps, preparing drinks or giving a little teasing dance just for them.

When he spared a quick glance back over his shoulder at him, Yoongi saw that Jimin was eyeing these other entertainers with a guarded look - particularly focusing on their exposed bodies and the way that they ground and pivoted their hips; notes shoved in the waistband of their shorts and mouths. He was either hoping to get some hints from them, or he was slowly realising that he was going to have to do these things soon enough too.

Upon reaching the bar, Yoongi placed his empty whisky glass down, the ice melting from his warm and slightly sweaty grip.

“Drinks, drinks, gimme a…uh, a bottle of soju, Jinro Gold, honey,” he ordered, before sniffing hard and running his tongue around his mouth.

Yoongi shifted his wallet into both hands, flipping it open to grab a single note to cover the cheap costs of the drink. Jimin lingered beside him as he did so, glancing between the display behind the bar and his profile in turn because he was so hopelessly new to this entire thing that he was like a lost boy.

As Hyuna retrieved a tray on which to place the chilled bottle and a tall and thin shot glass, Yoongi couldn’t help but notice the quick glances that she gave them. He could sense that she wasn’t going to let this go, not when she was aware of the fact that he had requested Jimin’s services in a private booth.

Yes, she was going to mention this little incident the next time that he dragged his ass to the bar and ordered whisky on the rocks - in his wrinkled suit with his swollen eyelids and bleary eyes.

For some childish reason, Yoongi wanted to tell her that it wasn’t like that, that he wasn’t dragging Jimin into some private booth to get a lap dance and maybe try and get a sneaky grope in like the other men might do here.

It wasn’t like that, not at all.

Yoongi was having a nice time talking to Jimin over his drinks, but it too hard hearing his soft voice over the pounding stereo system. The fact that any other guy in the club could have come over and requested a dance whilst they had been talking was something that he wanted to avoid, because Jimin would most certainly take a paying client’s offer over his mumbled attempts at a conversation - and he had every right to do so.

Which was why taking Jimin to a private booth was such a good idea. They could talk, they wouldn’t be disturbed at all. Yoongi would be sure to tip Jimin afterwards, just so he hadn’t wasted his time and he earned some money for the night more substantial than small tips tossed at his feet whilst he was standing on the podium.

Yoongi just wanted to spend a little time in his company, was all. It would be nice, having a few drinks and trying to let go of some of his work tension by talking to this attractive young man. Jimin would smile at him and maybe sit on his knee and flirt a little bit more in that coy but arresting way of his, and it would be nice to just feel good for a little while - to feel normal.

“Enjoy,” Hyuna said, exchanging his note for the silver tray and giving them both a knowing smile.

Jimin retrieved the tray from the counter without being asked, clearly assuming that he was supposed to carry it like a server would. Yoongi would have carried it himself, but seeing as he had done so for him, he just let him carry it as he escorted him across the club again.

Yoongi located an empty booth behind the stages, and so he pushed the door open and gestured for Jimin to enter first. The young dancer did so, his eyes rounded with interest as he eyed the interior and stepped inside.

Just like he had predicted, the private booth was small. It contained a leather armchair with a low back and armrests for dancers to use for balance during lap dances, and there was a heart shaped tacky plastic table to the side on which drinks and trays could be placed. The flooring was carpeted with a thick shag pile, and the walls were covered in tacky wallpaper and mirrors. The final items of furniture consisted of a pole close to the armchair, and a rotating disco ball on the ceiling that reflected the red lighting all over the wall.

Yoongi tugged the door shut behind him, watching Jimin placing the tray down on the table. The other man bent forward slightly to run his hand over the back of the armchair, stroking it as he carried on gazing around the private booth.

“Um, I was told that we’re supposed to call our clientele pet names,” Jimin explained, fiddling with his many silver rings as he turned to look at him.

“Oh yeah? What’d you wanna call me, huh?” Yoongi asked with a quick smile, as he shifted to drop into the leather armchair.

“I don’t know, what do you wanna be called, baby?” Jimin asked in return, shooting him a smile that was both nervous and yet playful.

Yoongi felt his fingers twitching on the armrests, settling in the armchair and looking up at the dancer. Just hearing him say that to him, calling him ‘baby’ so casually, made him feel a funny fluttering sensation in his chest, and he stuck his tongue out to wet his lips.

“I was told to call older gentlemen certain things, like ‘Sir’, ‘Master’, ‘King’: you know, big titles to make them feel…special. I wasn’t told what to call younger guys though,” Jimin continued, cocking his head so that his dangling star earring swung to bounce off his jawline. “What should I call you, hmm? What makes you feel special?”

“…Call me ‘Sir’,” Yoongi requested, dumping his cigarette packet and lighter on the tray.

“Sir?” Jimin repeated, his eyes widening in a way that seemed to hint that he was surprised by this title.

Yoongi didn’t really need to tell him that he wanted to be called that title because it was respectful, and he never really got any respect from his colleagues. Even the staff that he oversaw called him by his clan name instead of ‘sir’, either to be rigidly formal with him because of his father, or because they didn’t wish to extend respect to him enough to call him a direct superior. It wasn’t that he wanted to feel more powerful than Jimin, or at least he didn’t think that it was because of that, but he just liked hearing him calling him such a thing.

“Sir,” Jimin repeated, as if he was tasting the word.

Yoongi pulled a cigarette free from the packet by the tip, lifting it to shove it into his mouth.

“Light my cigarette, Baby J,” he suggested, before rolling the stick into the corner of his mouth to add. “That’s something the regulars here are gonna expect from you when you’re working the floor and private rooms: lighting cigarettes, preparing drinks, the lil things like that.”

Jimin didn’t even question this, rather he just collected his silver flick lighter from the table and he proceeded to snap the lid up with his thumb. He held it out to him, and so he moved to stick the end of the cigarette into the flame.

Yoongi took a quick inhale to get the cigarette to smoulder, breathing it out of his nose hard before taking a much deeper pull and holding it in his lungs. He settled back and watched Jimin snapping the lighter shut, placing it down on the table beside the cigarette packet to free up his hands again.

“Think of yourself as being a kinda host, like the ones in karaoke bars,” Yoongi explained, as he quickly wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “That’s gonna make the difference between a small tip and a generous one, the guys here like having their egos stroked too. Just don’t think of it as acting like a servant, ‘cos they’re gonna sense that right away. You’d be surprised what a friendly smile can do to men, Baby J. So, let’s see that smile, huh?”

Jimin’s lips lifted in a smile at this suggestion, splitting to reveal his teeth. They were white and mostly straight, save for a little crooked slant to one of his front teeth, but it added charm to his face - youthful and strangely innocent in a way. It didn’t fully extend to the corners of his eyes, as it wasn’t a full smile. But Yoongi knew that a genuine smile, or even a laugh, would make his droopy eyelids crinkle deeply until his eyes disappeared into the folds of his skin.

“Nice, you’ve got a sweet smile, Baby J,” Yoongi said, smiling behind his fingers as he looked up at the young dancer through the cigarette smoke. “It makes you look sweet, but I can sense something naughty under that sweetness.”

“Do you want me to be naughty, Sir?” Jimin asked in that coy way of his, and it was difficult ascertaining if he was doing so as an act or because he was still trying to figure out how to behave around clients.

“Why don’t you be what you wanna be, mmm?” he asked in return, cocking his head and breathing smoke out his lips to breathe it in again through his nose.

“I was told that I should be what you want, Sir,” he replied, revealing himself to still be following the rules and filled with uncertainty.

“I see…well, stay sweet for now, that seems more natural to me,” Yoongi suggested, as he wet his lips. “Y’know how to prepare drinks, right? I’ll assume you’ve at least had to serve friends alcohol before?”

“Did you just seriously ask me that question, Sir?” Jimin asked with a smirk. “I’ve served for friends, yeah, I know how to prepare drinks. I’ve prepared enough for myself too.”

“Well, like cigarettes, be prepared to mix drinks for guys, ‘cos the bartender here don’t make drinks on demand,” Yoongi explained for him. “You’re probably gonna have it simple: beer, soju, somaek, scotch - most guys here drink straight, it’s the only straight thing about ‘em.”

This biting joke made Jimin let out a laugh, which finally wasn’t lost under the sound of the pounding stereo system. It was light and sweet, which made Yoongi’s lips lift at the corners in a smile.

“Soju, that’s a simple straight drink, Sir,” Jimin remarked, retrieving the chilled green glass bottle so that he could eye the label.

“Mmm, soju ain’t usually my thing, too simple,” Yoongi muttered, dabbing ash off his cigarette into the ashtray with a hard thump of his forefinger.

“I prefer whisky, but liquor’s so fucking expensive here and I ain’t gonna drink a whole bottle on my own. I’m pretty certain they water it all down here, no offence to Hyuna, but that’s still too much for me to handle…”

Jimin didn’t question this fact as he popped the cap free so that he could place it down onto the tray.

“Sit down, Baby J,” Yoongi said, patting at his left thigh for emphasis. “Lemme get a better look at you.”

When Jimin sat down on his thigh, Yoongi was suddenly aware of how little room there actually was in his lap. The young man almost entirely filled his lap and he wasn’t even sitting in it fully, as he was turned to the side so that he could face him. The weight of his body, combined with the warmth coming through his denim shorts, was highly pleasing, and he briefly wondered what it would feel like if Jimin were to sit right down on his crotch.

Yoongi held the glass in both hands, so that Jimin could pour his first shot out for him and then place the bottle back down on the tray.

“Bottom’s up,” Yoongi jokingly toasted, lifting it up and then bringing it to his lips to knock back the shot with a hard swallow.

When he visited the club, Yoongi usually savoured several glasses of whisky on the rocks at the bar. Depending on how he was feeling, it could be between four to six, but sometimes it was as little as three because his exhausted body got far too buzzed from the small amount and he would end up drunk - which was a bad idea when travelling home alone with his briefcase packed with important paperwork and electronic goods.

Yoongi probably shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of soju, but it was only small, and Jinro Gold did have that enticing aroma that the other brands here didn’t: pure and strong. He didn’t have to drink the whole thing, but he would just have to wait and see how much his tongue needed loosening and wetting over the course of their conversation.

Yoongi sniffed hard, running his tongue around his mouth as he placed the shot glass down on the armrest. Then he settled back against the low back of the armchair, getting as comfortable as he could with Jimin sitting in his lap.

“Mmm, you’re a pretty boy, ain’t you?” Yoongi praised, slipping the cigarette back between his lips. He cocked his elbow on the armrest, resting his cheek against his curled up fingers as he studied the young dancer. “I think you’re the prettiest lil thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Baby J.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jimin replied, placing his hands primly in his lap and looking down at him with a smile. “I think that you’re very handsome too.”

“D’you do that yourself, huh?” Yoongi asked around his cigarette, as he gestured at his own face. “You must’ve spent a lot of time on your makeup. It looks nice, a lot nicer than what the other dancers wear.”

“Do you think it’s nice, Sir?” Jimin asked, giving his powdery eyelids a soft flutter.

“Mmm, it’s very nice, Baby J,” he agreed with a smile. “You look like, oh, I dunno, an angel or something…”

Jimin giggled at him again, dropping his head as he did so in something that might have been a coy act, or genuine shyness. It might just be that he was playing along with him, but Yoongi couldn’t help but sense that his inexperience with the scene, and being flirted with and complimented so much, might just have been the true reason for his shy behaviour.

“Sir, can I ask you some questions?” Jimin asked suddenly, lifting his gaze to look at him.

Yoongi nodded as he exhaled a lungful of smoke, letting the dancer know that he was all ears and ready to provide assistance - should he need it.

“These private booths, they’re for lap dances, aren’t they? At least, I thought that they were for clients that didn’t like being watched when they were being entertained, so that they could relax and enjoy a dance. Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“Yeah, that’s what most of the guys here use ‘em for,” he replied with a nod, his cigarette bobbing between his lips. “A couple of ‘em probably wanna get a lil bit closer too, but that’s just me assuming…”

“Is that what you brought me here for, Sir?”

“I…I just wanted to spend a lil time in your company, Baby J,” Yoongi explained, dabbing ash off the end of his cigarette hard. “You might find that funny, but I didn’t wanna spend another night sitting alone at that bar like a loser. I thought that sitting in here, where it’s quiet, where no one can bother us - I thought that it was a good idea. It’s nice, talking to you like this, even if that ain’t what I’m supposed to want from you.”

“Do you still want to watch me dance? I, um, I don’t really know how to dance for you, Sir,” Jimin admitted in a soft voice, reaching up to give his dangling earring a quick touch. “I don’t dance like this usually, it’s not my style. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I need to learn how to dance sexily and give lap dances for other clients.”

“You’re nervous, that’s all,” Yoongi suggested, hovering his cigarette in front of his lips. “It’s your first night, you ain’t danced for anyone before. It ain’t that you can’t do it, you just ain’t tried it yet. Don’t be scared, Baby J, I don’t give a shit what you do tonight. I just want your company, that’s all.”

“Can I…can I practise with you, Sir?” Jimin asked, his expression turning slightly hopeful. “Can I try out a routine or two, just to find my feet?”

“Baby J, I’m more than willing to watch,” he replied, holding his glass out again for a refill that the dancer was quick to see to.

“I might be bad, oh god, I hope that I don’t look stupid,” he mumbled, placing the bottle down to resume playing with his silver earring.

“Dance for me like you usually dance, mmm?” Yoongi suggested, twirling his wrist so that the soju lapped against the sides of his glass. The soft liquid splashing sound was lost underneath the music coming from through the door: the usual tacky Eurotrash electronic music that seemed to be the thing in clubs right now. “Forget about how you’re ‘supposed’ to dance, and just dance for me.”

“But it’s not…it’s not sexy, Sir,” Jimin said in a quiet voice, lowering his hand and dropping it down into his lap. “I’m supposed to be sexy, and if I’m not sexy then the other men are gonna-”

“Baby J, I just wanna see you dance right now. Fuck being sexy, fuck all of that, and just dance for me, ‘k?”

Yoongi knocked the shot back hard and he held his glass out to him again silently, still in the act of swallowing the soju.

After refilling his glass for him, Jimin got up off his lap and he took a couple of small steps away from the armchair, his head held low as he no doubt tried to think of a routine that he could do.

Whilst Jimin took a moment to prepare himself, Yoongi lifted his glass and he took a sip of the soju. It no longer burnt on the way down, not after the two glasses of whisky and shots, but he was quick to swallow it and not let it settle on his tongue.

When the track on the system changed to an American song, a smooth and sexy r’n’b track that had a deep bass and medium tempo, Jimin seemed to find his feet and he started dancing for him.

At first, Jimin looked like he was going to break out into a modern dance piece, judging from his pose. He folded one leg in front of the other, his bare feet pointed outwards and his arms loose at his sides as he found the rhythm with his soft shoulder rolls. Upon finding the beat, he started performing to it with light sweeping movements of his arms as he rolled his head back and started stepping across the floor.

Jimin might have claimed that his dancing wasn’t ‘sexy’, but it seemed that they both had different thoughts on the matter. It might just be that the young dancer was trying to incorporate his obvious love of ballet and modern dance in a way that meant he could appear ‘sexy’ to him, but it wasn’t exactly the moves that Yoongi was thinking about as he watched him dancing.

Jimin was flexible was what Yoongi learned from watching him. He was toned and limber and he could move like no other dancer that he had observed from across the bar. The way that he moved his hips, popping them just right before rolling his waist to make his body rock in a wave, had him tightening his grip around his shot glass.

Jimin wasn’t dancing the stiff and robotic sexual movements that the dancers on the podiums did: completely detached from what they were doing because it was their job and they didn’t have to enjoy it. He was passionate, even in his uncertainty. He danced like he was feeling the music and the beat, not just gyrating his hips around and pumping his ass at him, and his enthusiasm was unlike anything that he had ever seen in this club before.

Yoongi was completely hypnotised by him, tracking every single slight movement of his head and limbs, every single blink and exhale of breath as he tensed up and relaxed his body.

Jimin’s eyes screamed fire, but his fluid movements were like flowing water; his bare feet sweeping and stomping across the carpeted flooring with every single step.

As he warmed his way into his dance, feeling the rhythm and finding his confidence, Jimin started to change his dance steps. Gone were the sweeping kicks and pointed steps, the sharply arching back and dainty folds of his arms, replaced instead by tighter movements that showed him to be into street dancing. He started rolling his chest out, his hands roaming across his stomach to his waist to settle there, his thighs spreading open as he experimentally tried moving his hips more than his legs.

Jimin grabbed the ends of his vest with one hand so that he could start teasing with it. It was a playful act more than a sexual one, flashing him hints of his lower stomach to show that he was toned enough to have dimpled muscles rather than the soft and flat stomachs that the usual dancers and servers had.

“Oh, Baby J, you’re such a tease,” Yoongi remarked, swallowing a sip of his soju and flashing him a grin before taking a drag off the end of his cigarette.

This made Jimin’s lips split in a quick smile, and though the lighting in the private booth disguised it, Yoongi was pretty certain that his cheeks flushed with heat and colour. The mere thought of the young dancer blushing at such a joke was so very endearing in a way that he really didn’t understand right now.

Even when Jimin’s expression showed slight nerves, mostly at the corners of his trembling lips, his powerful gaze didn’t break away from his once in a way that had Yoongi captivated. His eyes didn’t look uncertain, nervous or embarrassed about this little hint of a striptease - they looked to be so caught up in his performance: smouldering and heavy.

This kid, there was something about him, something intense. He was a performer, that much was obvious, and he seemed to enjoy the attention no matter what. That was where his passion for dancing was coming from, a want to be receiving attention from everyone in the room, he was pretty certain of it.

“Are you gonna keep flirting with me, huh?” Yoongi asked, moving to hover his glass over the side table but not placing it down just yet. “I don’t mind, keep teasing, Baby J, it means I can watch you for longer; mmm?”

“Do you like being teased, Sir?” Jimin asked, his voice slightly uneven from exertion and husky enough to make Yoongi feel the familiar stirring heat of arousal between his thighs growing stronger and stronger.

“By you?” Yoongi asked in return, raising his eyebrows languidly as he tracked the next flirtatious lift of his vest and breathed out a lungful of smoke. “‘Course I do. A pretty boy like you, shit, I’d let you tease me all night long. I’d let you do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

When Jimin crossed his arms and he grabbed hold of the ends of his vest to wrench it off, Yoongi found himself holding his breath in something close to anticipation. He had already flashed a great deal of stomach at him over the last minute or so, but now he was going to take it off and show him his entire midriff, which was strangely much more exciting.

As he continued those fluid rocks with his hips, Jimin turned his head to the side and he teasingly pulled the vest up inch by inch. His stomach was flashed first, followed by the curve of his ribs, and then finally his chest muscles and nipples. They looked to be dark, maybe a hint of pink hidden away that would disappear after some teasing and sucking.

Jimin pulled the vest off over his head hard, the act disturbing his bleached hair as he slipped it free and then tossed it aside.

Yoongi felt the tip of his tongue protruding between his slack lips to wet them, even when his mouth had suddenly turned dry on him. He placed his glass down without much thought at all, caring not if any of it lapped over the sides onto the table. Then he cocked his elbow on the low leather armrest so that he could bring his fingers to his mouth and gently brush them across his lips, taking in the sight in front of him hungrily.

The exposed waistband of Jimin’s denim shorts was so shockingly low, dipping below his hips so that the hairless expanse of his entire lower stomach was on display. His stomach curved down from his navel ever so slightly, growing taut and flat between the arched juts of his hip bones, before the shorts sadly blocked the rest of his body from view. Jimin’s waist was thin, pulling in a hint below his ribs before widening out into his hips and then his thick thighs.

Yoongi wanted to hold onto that svelte waist as he rolled his hips at him and stroked his hair. He wanted to feel his muscles shifting under his skin, which he just knew would be hot to the touch all of the time and not just when he was dancing, and he wanted to look up at Jimin and just…bask in that burning gaze of his.

Jimin hooked his thumb down the front of his shorts, holding onto them with his right hand. When he rocked his hips from side to side, he reached up to brush his hair back off his face and he revealed his smooth armpits to him. Though he still had that slightly nervous look on his face, he still managed to shoot him a wink and smile as he dropped with a grinding rotation of his hips and then sucked his lower lip in to bite it.

Yoongi was still pretty certain that he could see the base of his cock every single time that he pulled down on the waistband of his shorts when he grinded; an erotic glimpse at his light thatch of dark public hair making a coil of heat pool in his belly. He struggled to understand if it was accidental or on purpose. Whatever the case, it alerted him to the fact that Jimin wasn’t wearing anything underneath his shorts, and that the bulge in the crotch area was completely him.

Oh, now it wasn’t just his thick thighs that were rippling with every single movement, but his stomach muscles too. His torso looked to be coated in a light layer of sweat, so that it caught the red neon lighting and made his skin glow. Jimin rocked from side to side, he pulled down on the shorts when he dropped to grind, and he even sharply thrust his hips just to make Yoongi shift in his chair that little bit more and struggle to ignore the growing tent in the crotch of his ill-fitting trousers.

Jimin ended his dance by turning around and dropping to the floor in the splits, his legs wide on either side of his hips so that his denim shorts sank into his flesh. They revealed a great deal of his buttocks, digging in tight like his fingers longed to do so, and he curved his back as he leaned his weight forward onto his elbows.

After holding the position for a moment, Jimin turned to look back over his shoulder at him with expectant eyes. He almost looked to be asking him if he had done good, his slick and curved back rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath and he waited for him to say something to him.

“C’m’here,” Yoongi said, lifting his hand so that he could gesture at him by waving his wrist. “C’mon, I ain’t gonna bite you, Baby J.”

Jimin stayed in place on the floor for a moment, still coming down from his performance and breathing hard and fast to catch his breath. He seemed to be thinking it over, but then he moved so that he could get up off the floor. He had to lift his ass right into the air to do so, pulling his legs in hard enough to make his thighs connect with a meaty slap, and Yoongi saw his buttocks rippling from the impact.

Goddamn, what would it feel like to have those thighs clamp around his waist…or even his head?

Jimin moved to stand in front of him again, casting him in his shadow. He didn’t hunker down or sit on his lap, but rather stayed upright and looked down at him. The room lighting played off his sweat-coated skin and glinted in his heavily-lidded eyes.

“Can I touch you, huh?” Yoongi asked in a quiet voice, lifting his gaze from Jimin’s toned stomach so that he could hold his gaze. “Not like that, I mean like this-”

Yoongi lifted his hand so that he could place it on his waist, cupping the slight dip there so that he could wrap his fingers around his side and splay them against his bare lower back. He kept his hand there for a moment, noticing that Jimin didn’t show any outward signs of discomfort at his touch: no hint of a flinch visible on his face, and his fingers staying still and relaxed at his sides.

“Is that ‘k? Can I keep it there for a sec?” he asked in a whisper, more than ready to move his hand away again if it made him uncomfortable. “Mmm?”

Jimin nodded with a breathless sound, his slick chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Yoongi could feel the light layer of sweat on his skin against his fingers, which was cooler than his burning skin. He couldn’t help but glide his fingertips over it, feeling the beads smearing against his skin.

“You’re gonna have to get used to this, y’know?” he said in a quiet voice, slowly brushing his thumb over the soft curve of Jimin’s skin right above his prominent hip bone. “By that, I don’t mean you gotta like it or anything, I mean that you’re gonna have to get used to guys grabbing at you. I ain’t saying it’s…right, but they’re gonna grab you, and touch you too. How does that make you feel, huh? Does it scare you?”

“I’m not bothered about being touched, Sir,” Jimin replied, wiping at his brow roughly with the back of his hand. “I know it’s gonna happen, I’m not scared about guys touching my ass. To be honest, I kind of like the attention a little, so long as they’re not too rough.”

“I ain’t gonna be rough with you, Baby J, you ain’t gotta worry about that; yeah? Sit down again, mmm?” Yoongi half-requested, half-suggested, as he retrieved his shot glass and he checked the contents to see that it was almost half-empty. “Lemme look at that pretty face of yours a lil more.”

Yoongi lifted his glass so that he could take another sip, wetting his tongue with the soju and swallowing the mouthful hard.

Jimin moved to do so, lowering himself into his lap and twisting to the side like earlier. He slipped an arm around his neck as he leaned against him, not entirely relaxed but certainly less nervous than earlier. The weight and warmth of his body settling against his was highly pleasing, but Yoongi didn’t move to place a hand around his waist because he didn’t want to get too close to him and make him uncomfortable.

Getting to touch his waist just a moment ago was more than enough for him right now, especially because he was sitting on his lap too. Maybe, after a few dances and some more time spent together like this, he might just pluck up the courage to place his knee on his knee or thigh? Until then, he was going to savour the heat and weight of his body on his lap, so very close to his stiffening erection to be teasing.

“D’you wanna know something, Baby J?” he asked, running his tongue around his mouth slowly. “If you dance like that for the other men, they’re gonna think that you’re the best dancer in this club - the sexiest one too.”

“Really?” Jimin asked in surprise, his voice uneven as he took quick gasps for breath. “Did you think that it was good?”

Yoongi nodded around another swallow of soju, draining his shot glass again. He had drank quite the amount, almost half of the bottle used up, but he didn’t think that he was going to be able to finish the last few shots. His cigarette was almost smoked down to a stub, and a quick glance at his watch told him that it was edging close to midnight.

“As much as I’d love to stay here all night long with you, Baby J, I really can’t,” Yoongi said in a quiet voice, placing his glass down on the table so that he could reach up to rub at his nose. “I got work, I gotta try and catch a couple of hours of sleep, shit.”

“You look tired, Sir,” Jimin remarked, lifting his hand so that he could give his tie another soft stroke; his fingers and thumb brushing down the black charmeuse silk. “You should rest, you’ve worked hard today.”

“Mmm, seeing you dance like that rejuvenated me,” Yoongi joked with a lazy smile, lifting his gaze from his tie to look at him. “I feel so much better, Baby J.”

Jimin let out a soft giggle at this, letting go of his tie and settling his hand down on his chest instead. The weight and warmth of his palm was highly pleasing, like it would be on his shoulder or his head.

Yoongi retrieved his wallet from the table so that he could pop it open and retrieve his usual stash of money. It was held together by way of a money clip, a silver one. He thumbed through the stash, eyeing the spread of mostly green notes as he carried ₩10,000 for the sake of ease. He folded the notes over his forefingers as he hastily counted them out, thumbing fifteen vibrant green notes down so that he could slip them free from the clip and hold them out to him.

Jimin eyed the bundle of notes with a confused expression, as if he didn’t understand why he was holding it out to him. It might not be the act itself than confused him, but rather the amount that he was offering him for his services.

₩150,000 for a night of entertainment: which had consisted of pouring out his drinks, lighting his cigarette and a single dance? Not even a lap dance at that?

After a moment, Jimin shifted on his lap so that he could lower his head and accept the money from him with his mouth. The act caught Yoongi by complete surprise, and Jimin was able to tug it free from his grip with ease because his fingers twitched to loosen on the folded-up notes.

“Baby J, what’d you do that for, huh?” Yoongi asked him in a quiet voice.

Jimin reached up to pull the money out of his lips, and he quickly glanced at the bundle before looking up at him again.

“Um, my boss said that we should accept money sexily, to entertain clients,” he said, holding the cash in his fingers with an uncertain expression - almost as if he was scared that he had done something wrong. “Didn’t you like that, Sir?”

“No, Baby J, no,” he said with a soft head shake. “Think of the germs all over that cash, mmm? It’s fucking filthy, don’t accept money like that. You ain’t gotta be sexy for that money, that’s the money you fucking earned, right? Accept it how you wanna accept it, fuck entertaining ‘em; they already got their money’s worth.”

This made Jimin’s lips curl up at the corners in a smile, which crinkled his eyes in turn and made him look somewhat more younger. Just like he had expected, it was a sweet smile with a hint of innocence. Even when he was sitting in his lap, clad only in a pair of denim shorts with sweat rolling down the side of his neck to pool in the dips of his collarbones, there was something innocent in that smile of his.

“I really liked your dance, Baby J,” Yoongi explained, hovering the pitiful stub of his cigarette in front of his lips and eyeing him through the smoke. “You’ve got a lot of talent, it shows.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he said in reply, fiddling with the bundle of notes as he held his gaze. “Um, I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but…”

“But?”

“Well…I was scared about working tonight, because I’ve never been in a club like this before and I didn’t know anything about it,” Jimin explained in a quiet voice, glancing down at his tie as he spoke. “I was scared that a client might get angry at me for doing something wrong, but you’ve been so nice to me, Sir. You told me about preparing drinks and hosting, you were patient with me, so, I just thought that you should know that I’m thankful for the advice.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, Baby J,” Yoongi disagreed with a head shake. “I saw you out there on that stage, you looked terrified. How could I just walk away and leave you like that, huh? I’d to do something, but it was nothing, really. I consider getting to watch your dance more than rewarding enough for giving you a lil assistance.”

For a moment, the private room fell silent. Yoongi took a final drag off his cigarette, reaching over the stub it out in the tray with a hard twist, and he breathed the lungful out of his nostrils in a tired sigh. When he looked back up at Jimin, it seemed that the dancer hadn’t realised that he should probably get up off his lap now. It took him a few seconds to realise, and then he shifted to get up off his lap with an embarrassed and soft giggle.

Yoongi reached down to try and discreetly fix his trousers as he stood up, thankful that the loose legs meant that he could tuck his erection to the side and hope to disguise it. It was pretty silly, because Jimin was probably more than aware of the fact that he was aroused - he was in a gentleman’s club filled with exotic dancers and other homosexual businessmen, after all. But he still felt like he should hide it, likely as a result of mingled embarrassment and nervousness.

“My last piece of advice is this,” Yoongi said, as he shoved his goods back inside of his suit jacket pockets. “Don’t do anything that you feel uncomfortable with, Baby J. Some of these guys, they’re gonna say things to you, ask you things and even maybe try to do things to you. You don’t gotta do what they tell you too, yeah?”

“There’s a lot of signs on the walls, but I think that some clients might get more…bolder in private booths like this,” Jimin remarked in a quiet voice. “I’m a little bit worried about that, but I know that I don’t have to do what they tell me to, Sir.”

“Be clear about the rules, be clear to ‘em that if they try anything funny, you’ll report ‘em,” Yoongi suggested, as he tugged on the ends of his jacket and then shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I dunno what good it’ll do in a place like this, but you gotta protect yourself first. I ain’t tryna to scare you, I’m just tryna make sure that you understand the kinda place this is, Baby J.”

“I know,” Jimin said with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Yoongi lingered by the armchair for a moment longer, just holding the dancer’s gaze as he rolled back on his heels. He knew that he should just leave, yet he found himself struggling to take the first step to do so. It took him a great deal of effort to move across the private booth and take hold of the handle to pull it open, hearing the other man moving behind him.

“Are you gonna come back again, Sir?” Jimin asked, leaning against the door frame so that his body curved just like it had when he had been dancing.

“I come here to grab a couple of drinks every couple of nights when I get a break from work,” Yoongi explained, as he turned to look back at him. He slowly ran his eyes down his body, taking in his full thighs and shapely shins, before lifting his gaze back up to his face. “Why? D’you wanna see me again, mmm?”

“Hmm, maybe? Maybe I just know that you’re gonna wanna see me again?” Jimin retorted, and this time, his smile was full and free from a hint of nerves.

The scent in the dressing-room air was a mixture of things, a heavy cloud that Jimin couldn’t help but breathe in with every inhale, even when it wasn’t necessarily pleasant scents.

Mostly it was strong hints of perfume and cologne that filled the air, thick enough so that he could taste the variety of notes on his tongue with every single inhale. Some were strong and masculine, with musky bases and woody cedar, warm amber and unexpected hints of coffee, citrus and spicy cinnamon top notes. Others were feminine with a variety of essences - delicate, sensual, mature and sweet. These perfumes, usually worn by the drag queens and the more effeminate-looking entertainers to appeal to the regulars, consisted of vanilla, floral bouquets, powdery lilacs and violets, and warm plum and honey.

It was nice scenting the various perfumes and colognes in little hints as a naked or mostly dressed body passed him by. But when the scents all blended together into a thick cloud, it could get overwhelming and make his head start hurting. Jimin usually preferred light and clean scents as opposed to powerful aromas, and so his own body was scented mostly from the body lotion that he was moisturising into his bare skin.

But there was also the rather obvious pungent smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the enclosed space, as a great deal of the entertainers had a stick shoved between their fingers and lips as they got ready for the night or finally finished their work shift.

Jimin seemed to be one of the few entertainers here that didn’t smoke, or at least not regularly. The occasional single cigarette every weekend or two, shared over beers with Hoseok and the rest of his crew, kept him away from turning it into a habit for the sake of his stamina. He was used to breathing in the scent of cigarette smoke from being in packed public places, however, and so it didn’t bother him that much. But sometimes, he found himself choking on a thick puff of smoke, especially when it was blown directly into his face by a patron whilst he was hosting for them.

The next pungent scent that filled the dressing-room was that of sweat, but only during shift changes. A lot of the dancers entered coated in sweat, their torsos, backs, arms and thighs wet with a layer from several hours of dancing and standing underneath powerful stage lights. Jimin himself had entered the dressing-room covered in sweat after a night of entertaining, having to retrieve a towel from his locker so that he could pat his skin down and rid himself of the sensation.

The last scents were much softer, like that of the lotions and makeup. They were only detectable when standing close to another entertainer, or when sitting at the dressing table with the dozens of palettes, pots and tubes spread out in front of him.

When the dressing-room door suddenly swung inward, Jimin turned his head to see a random mixture of dancers and servers shoving their way inside - their shifts finished for the night.

“God! I need a strong hard drink!” a pole dancer called Youngbae declared, as he kneaded at his lower back and strutted the length of the dressing-room in his very skimpy silver lame thong. It just about fitted him, and it was bulging with stuffed notes that fluttered and threatened to fall free onto the flooring.

“You just need a strong hard cock, darling,” a server called Sungmin retorted with a cheeky grin, which was met by a loud chorus of cheers and hollers from the other men.

“Oh, are you volunteering?”

Jimin glanced over at the two of them quickly, still in the act of rubbing lotion into his skin. He saw them both getting incredibly close, arms slipping around necks and hands going straight to buttocks and crotches to slap and squeeze.

The sight of Sungmin’s sequinned crotch being firmly groped made Jimin look away again, a sudden flush of heat diffusing across his cheeks that the harsh lighting in the dressing-room might disguise. He didn’t join in with the wolf whistles and cheers at this, like the other men did, because he was still a little flustered by such acts.

Sometimes, it was hard telling if it was all just jokes to amuse the other tired and nervous entertainers, or if it might just be the result of the overflowing sexuality that clung to the air of the club. Whatever the case, he had seen quite a lot of displays like this in the dressing-room since he had started working in the club, and he knew that he was going to see plenty more.

Jimin gathered another blob of the lotion onto his fingers, scooping it out of the tub so that he could start massaging into his knee and shin. It was a thick lotion, cream-based and filled with tiny hints of glitter so that it caused a sheeny glow to his skin. It complimented his tanned skin tone very well, especially when the sharp contrast of his white vest was taken into account.

Jimin had been told that some regulars preferred lighter skin tones, usually when paired with tiny waists, thin thighs and boyish faces and voices. He might just be short, but he wasn’t exactly boyish in the slightest; from his body to his voice and the way that he carried himself. But he wasn’t big enough to be considered one of the more speciality macho entertainers - the ones that could carry the other dancers in the rare instance that they might do couple dances on the main stage to tease the regulars; the ones with facial and body hair, deep voices and wide and muscular frames that made him stare up at them in awe.

Right now, he was trapped between fitting into a category, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. It meant that he might lose out on attracting patrons with a select favourite type, but he might just make a few of those men start questioning their rigid obsession when they found their eyes focusing on him instead.

Maybe it was better to not fit into a category?

As soon as he was finished moisturising his skin, Jimin grabbed a bunch of tissues to wipe at his slick palms. Then he grabbed his denim shorts off the table so that he could get dressed. He was still only wearing his dancer belt, a thin elasticated black thong that supported his genitals during his dances and also revealed his entire behind for his clients to ogle at.

“…a little tighter, Hyunbin.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna go any tighter, Kangho…”

Jimin turned his head as he pulled his shorts up to his hips to see that a dancer was getting squeezed into a corset, already wearing a full face of makeup, wig and heels. He was clearly a regular that participated in the special drag nights, but he wasn’t in full drag just yet, just a pink dancer belt and fishnets.

Hyunbin, the assistant, was also in the act of getting ready - dressed in the usual server uniform of a pair of sequinned shorts and nothing else.

This was not the first time that Jimin had witnessed dancers and servers assisting each other with costumes and makeup. Over the last few days, he had seen a considerable amount of assistance, on account of the fact that some of the costumes and looks required time to prepare - time that the entertainers really didn’t have.

That was why the dressing-room was so hectic at opening and shift changes, as dozens of men tried to get ready as fast as they could so that they wouldn’t get docked by Kyunghee for being late on their shifts. But luckily for a lot of them, the entertainers finished with their shifts were willing to stay a few more minutes to help them out before getting changed into their regular clothes and cleaning their faces free of makeup and removing any wigs.

The dressing-room was little more than a rectangle room split into two sections: the lockers and the dressing tables.

The lockers were in several rows, in which they could store their clothing and personal goods for their shifts, with benches between them that they could sit on.

The dressing tables were two stretches of tables and stools set against the opposite walls; on which makeup, wigs, jewellery and other items were kept, and the tables were always so busy at all times.

Jimin had seen so many naked men over his first few nights of work, because the other entertainers stripped down to complete nudity without a single hint of embarrassment. He was starting to adjust to it and not stare too much, because it was starting to get surprisingly easy to accept the sight of buck-ass naked men shaving their pubic hair with electric shavers a mere foot away from where he was sitting; and half-hard erections flopping around as they paraded up and down the aisles.

Jimin had seen playful spanking and even more serious fondling between the entertainers, a burst of light-hearted atmosphere inside of the dressing-room that sadly dissipated when they all left it. He had seen guys leaving the club together in pairs only to leave another night with someone else, but he had thought nothing of it really. Now he was starting to think a little differently, because he was starting to see casual hooking-up happening all around him.

Jimin watched Hyunbin cinching the corset that little bit tighter, so that he could start knotting the laces for Kangho. He was already pulling his stomach in to help him tighten it, and he could only imagine how badly it was going to start hurting after an hour or two of work.

Jimin didn’t know how the drag queens could stand to be pulled and squeezed and knotted into such items, because it must hurt them. Between the corsets and the heels, he could only imagine how badly their bodies would feel after a night of work. He was glad that he wasn’t into that scene, because it would be too much for him to handle.

It was as he was in the act of turning back to the mirror to check his reflection out when the server beside him suddenly addressed him.

“Are you gonna wear that outfit every night, Park?” Minseok asked, quickly cleaning the head of a shaver in a glass of water so that he could resume quickly shaving his legs before hitting the floor.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” Jimin asked, pausing in the act of fastening his denim shorts.

“Well, you should start looking through the rack,” Minseok replied, cocking his head in the direction of the long stretch of metal on which multiple pieces of clothing were hanging - a variety of costumes that looked rather cheap. “Your costume says a lot about what you’re going to perform.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it gives you plenty of opportunity to say certain things to your clients. You should try and wear costumes more often, it makes you feel…like it’s more of an act, you know?” he remarked, shaking water off the shaver with a hard flick of his wrist. “I mean, you look like you could be a sexy mechanic in that getup, or a builder. Add a belt, a helmet or a prop, and it’s a good look for the podiums. You don’t have that little bit of flair just yet, but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“I’ll have to try some of them out,” he said in a quiet voice, wondering what exactly he could do with the unusual fancy dress style outfits. “A sexy mechanic sounds good, but it also sounds like I’d need to be oily and dirty, right?”

This made Minseok laugh, a dopey sounding guffaw that made Jimin smile at him as he finally fastened his shorts and he shifted to sit down on the stool.

“If you do borrow a costume, take it home, clean it and then bring it back,” Minseok suggested, dragging the shaver up the final patch of his shin to clean up the cream and get rid of any tiny hints of stubble. “Kyunghee only gets them cleaned once a week otherwise, on drag night. Trust me, you don’t wanna slip into a costume that stinks of sweat and…other things.”

“Oh god no,” Jimin gasped, finding the mere suggestion absolutely disgusting. He had yet to retrieve his vest to throw it on, because he was too busy checking the box of jewellery to try and find some rings to wear - his own ones hidden away in his locker with his other belongings.

Beside him, Minseok hastily wiped at his legs with a towel, and then he gave them a quick stroke. He was clearly satisfied with the results, but he made no move to slap lotion on, lest he have a couple of little nicks in his skin that would start stinging like crazy when it started rubbing it in.

“Park, how do you have such nice smooth legs?” he asked suddenly, as he dumped the towel on the table and then reached over to touch his bare thigh. “You’re so smooth, even your armpits are smooth. I’m jealous.”

“Oh, I’m a dance student, so, it’s so much easier to shave,” Jimin explained, not even the slightest bit uncomfortable from his touch. “With dance tights and costumes, with friction from the different materials and the floor, it really just helps to shave a lot of body hair away. It’s not new to me, I’ve been doing it for so long now that I don’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, but how do you get them so smooth and soft like that?” Minseok stressed, moving his hand away so that he could check his own legs for smoothness again.

“Well, I exfoliate before shaving and I apply lotion every night too. That might be why? I mean, I don’t have thick body hair, so, that’s a relief. I, um, I’m never shaved there though, you know?”

“What, your pubic hair?” Minseok asked, raising his thick eyebrows at him.

“Yeah,” Jimin agreed with an embarrassed laugh, turning away from him to start slipping the thick silver rings onto his fingers. “I’ve thought about it, but I just never needed to shave it. I know a bunch of students that don’t shave any of their body hair, because they wanna look ‘manly’.”

“Well, shaving the balls is pretty hard, if you’ve got a lot of hair there, but otherwise it’s pretty simple to use an electric shaver to trim it right down,” Minseok said without a hint of shame. “It can make you look bigger.”

“Huh? Seriously?” Jimin asked in surprise, just as he slipped the last thumb ring on.

“Wow, that was eager!” Minseok joked, as he got off his stool and he reached behind himself to fix his sequinned shorts and drag them out from between his buttocks. “I guess somebody’s gonna start shaving now, huh?”

“No! Not because of that, no!” Jimin cried out jokingly, reaching over to give him a light thump on the side as he walked away. “Shut up!”

Minseok just gave him a final mischievous look before he shoved past a group of dancers and exited the dressing-room. So Jimin turned back on the stool to grab his vest and he finally dragged it on over his head.

After brushing his fingers through his messy bleached hair, knocking it back off his brow to get it to fall in place, Jimin eyed the spread of cosmetics in front of him. He had brought his own items for the sake of hygiene, and so the choices were much more limited than the wide variety of different makeup that he had seen some of the other dancers wearing - though it was mostly the drag queens that sported interesting and colourful looks.

First, there was a simple foundation and powder, which covered up any tiny hints of redness and the occasional small patch of acne that still plagued him from his teenage years. He spread the tinted cream on in a light layer with a sponge, covering every inch of his face and neck before grabbing a large and soft haired brush to add a spattering of pressed powder on top - finishing off his base.

Jimin lowered the brush from his face, checking his reflection to see that it looked dewy. The foundation had been hell to find the right tone for, most of it greyish and too whitening to sit on his face without looking obvious and rather silly, but he had managed to find something that was almost exact after some searching.

Satisfied with the base, Jimin retrieved another brush so that he could start applying some eyeshadow. He never went too drastic, preferred a soft cream or pastel pink over the vibrant or dark shades, and he swept a nice amount across both eyelids before locating his next item of choice - an eyeliner pencil.

“I look pretty tonight,” he chanted in a whisper, as he balanced his elbow on the table so that he could carefully drag the eyeliner pencil across his upper eyelid. “I look so pretty, they’ll all want me to entertain them.”

Jimin ringed his upper eyelid and then he applied it to the corner, before lightly smearing some against his lower lash line. He moved to apply it to his second eye, which was always more difficult because of the angle and his nose getting in the way.

“They’re gonna compliment me, they’re gonna get nervous because of me,” he continued, pulling the eyeliner pencil away to check his reflection for a few seconds. He quickly added a little hint against his lash line again, just to even it out, and then he placed the pencil down. “They’re gonna stare at me…”

Jimin rested his chin on the backs of his fingers for a moment, studying his reflection intently.

Ever since the first night, when he had entertained his still nameless and friendly client - the one with the nice but tired smile, crumpled suit and Rolex on his wrist, Jimin had found himself entertaining others too. He was still learning, but he was starting to gain confidence in his skills so that he didn’t get so nervous leaving the dressing-room every single night.

Mostly, he had been on serving duty as a way of earning small tips and observing the other dancers to learn the trade much better, but he had also hosted at tables filled with men. They had all passed him around from knee to knee, wanting him to play with their ties and smile at them, to tell them how amazing their jobs were and that he liked their cologne, between lighting cigars and pouring drinks.

Sure, some of these men had squeezed at his buttocks and had whispered filthy things in his ear, which he had had to play off with giggles and soft chest slaps, but on a whole it had been bearable.

Overall, it hadn’t been as terrifying as he had expected, but the tips had been nowhere as good as the money that his first friendly client had given him. Some nights, Jimin didn’t even come close to that amount, even after an entire shift of working hard without a break, until his cheeks hurt from smiling the entire time.

It meant that he needed to find another client that wanted a private dance, and it also made him want to see the friendly man again, but not only for the cash.

Jimin had found him interesting, the young chain-smoking businessman who had flirted with him even when he had seemed nervous doing so; that had asked him if he could touch his waist rather than placing his hand right there and holding onto him. There was something about his behaviour that had struck a chord in Jimin, something that he didn’t quite understand but he liked regardless.

The man had been more than content to spend the evening drinking and smoking with him on his lap, rather than demand a lap dance from him. There had been something soothing about his deep and slow voice, a lilt to his accent that had made him think of Daegu, perhaps, and Jimin had felt almost hypnotised by his words and the way that his lips had pouted out around his cigarette.

It had just been a nice exchange, Jimin thought. He had been friendly and respectful, he had given him some tips to try and help him adjust and lessen his nerves, and he had paid him a great amount for a striptease dance and nothing more than that.

Yes, he would like to see him again, so that he could show him how much more skilled he had gotten through practise, and so he would smile at him tell him that he was pretty and so very talented as he sat on his lap.

Jimin added his final touch to his makeup, grabbing a small tin of lip balm that he applied with his pinky finger. He smeared the gloopy mess across his lower lips, pressing them together to spread it and then parting his lips in a rehearsed smile.

There, he was ready for the night, and it was time to hit the floor.

Jimin got off the stool, he fixed his clothing in place and rubbed his glossy lips together, and then he crossed the dressing-room to start his shift.

Working the floor, Jimin had learnt that the best way to earn tips was to entertain the men in more ways than simply serving drinks and bending over to jiggle his ass for them. Quite a lot of these men, who may or may not end up requesting lap dances, liked to be entertained by smutty jokes, innuendo and being touched, and what he did would result in tips.

Just something as simple as sliding onto a man’s lap to give him a cheeky grind and whispering something lewd in his ear could result in a ₩5,000 note instead of a ₩1,000.

After all, a lot of these men might be closeted and married in their regular life, and so being in the company of other rich homosexual men at last, they craved the chance to look dominant and powerful. If he was lounged on their lap, attracting attention and looking so very attractive, then that pleased these men a great deal. It was some form of strange masculinity ritual, but if it could get him better tips, then Jimin was more than happy to act in such a way in front of them all.

At first, he had been uncertain and nervous about this, because he had never done such a thing before. But after several evenings of hesitant experimenting and plenty of observation, Jimin had started learning how to put on a face and sexy presence to mask his nerves.

Now he was no longer uncomfortable flirting with a bunch of middle-aged and elderly businessmen, even if he much preferred dancing on the podiums and accepting tips from the men that approached him to get a teasing performance - like having their heads and ties stroked, like having him clamp his thighs around their necks and rock his hips at their faces whilst moaning and pulling forced orgasmic expressions.

Working one of the four podiums was risky, as there was no guarantee that a dancer would earn tips. But Kyunghee had a system going that all dancers that did so received a set payment from the door entry and drink fees. Each dancer was entitled to ₩30,000 even if they only worked on the podiums for the night. But a failure to do so meant that they didn’t get the payment and would be left with only their tips. Several bouncers inside of the club were left in charge of ensuring that the system wasn’t abused by dancers trying to slack off for pay, and they jotted down details in small notebooks that Kyunghee examined every single night at closing hours.

Failure to show earnings or to complete the allotted podium time wasn’t the only thing that entertainers could be docked for. If dancers were caught drinking without the permission of the man that they were entertaining, they were using house liquor, and they would be docked 10% of earnings. If they were found using drugs (as shocking as the thought was to Jimin, even when Itaewon was apparently flooded with drugs), they would be docked a whooping 25% for risking the business being raided by the police.

Kyunghee ran a tight system, but Jimin had no fear about breaking these rules and losing out on his pay.

Therefore, a dancer could at least earn a little amount of money for a night of work, even though the ₩30,000 was pitiful compared to the money that she was bringing in on alcohol sales, cigarette vending machines and entrance fees every single night.

But that was just how business worked, and Jimin knew to not complain. It was just better to take full advantage of floor time and pray for a lap dance or private session to make up for such small earnings.

Jimin’s bare feet padded on the wooden flooring as he moved to enter the main area, his eyes scanning all around him to find an empty table that he could swoop in on.

Sometimes, Jimin felt a bit like a shark as he glided around servers on the packed flooring, his eyes wide and hungry for the sight of an empty lap and a glass that needed topping up. Other times, he felt like a big cat, stalking through the darkness between the tables and ready to pounce on his prey of choice. There was always a rush of exhilaration mingled in with his nerves, which made him breathe fast and shallow; his heart pounding against his ribs.

His first prey was too easy, as he saw a fresh table of men waiting on drinks. The sight of small gaggles of businessmen all around the floor wasn’t at all surprising, because they had to be making deals and partnerships somehow. Finding fellow homosexual and bisexual men to escort to this club, to drink fine imported scotch and whisky and enjoy the exotic dancers, was just like how heterosexual businessmen undertook deals in strip clubs too.

Jimin loved parties, because that meant that he could focus on multiple men at once. Sometimes, jealousy resulted in a man tipping him more to have him stay on their lap and warm their hardening erections.

So Jimin moved straight for the table so that he could host for them, eyeing up one of the men that was glancing in his direction as he made his way over. The man was puffing away on a cigar, talking to his associates and yet staring right at him.

Jimin plucked the cigar right out of his lips, bringing it up to his own to hover it in front of his lips as he lounged in his lap and spread his thighs wide enough to flash the other men a wonderful view of his crotch.

“Oh! Can I feel more cigars in your pocket, Master?” he taunted, grinding down right onto his crotch and then popping his hips forward to make his associates hungry for his attention too. “Are they Cuban? Oh, they feel big and expensive!”

The man’s associates roared laughter at his salacious act, and so Jimin twisted to pop the cigar back into his mouth. He gave it a teasing stroke, feeling his victim of choice sliding money into the front of his shorts waistband even as he fondled at his thigh with his other hand.

In the time that it took for a server to bring over their drinks, Jimin had moved from lap to lap, stroking egos and crotches and flirting without stop. He had several notes shoved inside of his shorts, and he was feeling pretty confident in his abilities to entertain these men for awhile. When the tray was brought over, the server also luckily getting a tip, he shifted to start preparing drinks for the men.

“Who ordered the cocktail?!” Jimin exclaimed with a grin, taking the glass in hand so that he could point it at the men. “Who likes cock that much, huh?”

Jimin filled up shots glasses with soju and whisky, he filled tall glasses with beer and knocked shots of soju into them to make bombs, and he mixed soju with fruit juices in the ice-filled mixing cup to serve to the businessmen. He hosted to perfection, just like the previous night, and he lit cigars and cigarettes and he gave them little dances to woo them.

By the time that he was finished with them and ready to move on, Jimin had a nice amount of notes in his shorts and he was hopefully going to earn even more. He was in the act of scanning the floor when a familiar voice called out to him.

“Oh, Angelcake!”

Jimin recognised this regular because he had entertained him a couple of times already. He was a hopelessly camp fashion photographer he knew of by the name ‘Joo’, and he was friendly without being creepy or disgusting to him. He was lucky enough to be camp and flamboyant in his profession in ways that a lot of the men here weren’t allowed to, which might just explain why he was upbeat and fun rather than frustrated and controlling.

Sure, he said some sexual things sometimes, but Jimin didn’t mind being told that his body was a temple, or that his ass was the stuff dreams were made of. Joo managed to make his sexual remarks sound like jokes, like the drag queens did, rather than graphic remarks that made him uncomfortable.

“Coming, handsome!” Jimin called in return, sashaying his way over to his table to make Joo laugh at his campy antics.

There were three other men present with him this evening, dressed in suits and brightly patterned shirts. One was bald, one had spectacles, and the other man was slightly chubby and had a moustache. They were either friends, or involved in the fashion and photography industry.

“Honestly, it should be illegal for this boy to wear a shirt!” Joo declared to the three other men, right as Jimin came to a stop at their table. “Wait until you see his body. Angelcake, give us all a little look at your sexy body, mmm?”

“Oh? What about this, handsome?”

Jimin wrenched up on the ends of his vest to flash his stomach at the table - which resulted in a burst of excited cheers and laughter. Clearly, his friends were just as amazed by his body as Joo was, and so he did a slow spin on his heel to let them take the sight in: back, hips, buttocks and all.

“I love how he’s got such a lovely waist, but look at those veins!” the bald man declared, gesturing at his lower stomach rather than touch him, even though he could have done so. His accent sounded stilted, like he might just be foreign.

“I wonder what else is veiny?” the spectacled man asked, before they all started cackling again.

“It’s veiny alright…”

Jimin grabbed at his hand to bring it to his stomach, pressing his palm down so that he could feel the rippled hints of veins right at the waistband of his shorts. When he gave the man a wink, he was surprised that he didn’t drop from a heart attack right there and then.

Unsurprisingly, Jimin found himself making cash with ease with this table of self-professed queens just by letting them touch his biceps, thighs and stomach. They seemed to like feeling his muscles more than wanting to touch his crotch or buttocks, which might just be a sign of their own fixation for muscular guys. He knew that some men really liked fondling muscles, were able to get aroused just touching them, and he much preferred having a hand wrapping around his flexed biceps than trying to shove its way down his shorts, any night.

“Tie my vest up for me, handsome,” Jimin suggested, as he moved to stand right in front of Joo and he spread his thighs wide around his lap. His hands were on his shoulders, holding onto his silken shirt, and he squatted ever so slightly so that his friends could get a great view of his ass.

Joo took hold of the lengths of his vest, pulling it up to his ribs so that he could knot it into a crop top for him. As soon as he had done so, he grabbed a note from the table so that he could teasingly brush the ends against his exposed midriff and then hold it up to his face.

Jimin accepted it with his teeth, quickly taking it out of his mouth just like how that nice guy had told him to. Then he gave his behind a series of rapid and hard shakes, his buttocks bouncing enough to make the other men reach over to touch him with more shrill laughter. Ah, that was enough to make the notes get shoved into his shorts, especially when he bent forward to touch his toes and he flexed himself to his full extent.

“Oh, he makes me wanna run off to Hawaii with him as my muse and fill galleries with erotic photographs!” Joo declared, fanning at himself and holding up his shot glass. He was no doubt into double figures by now, judging from his flushed and dewy face. “Angelcake, you’re too much!”

Jimin blew him a kiss and a wink, letting his friends shove wrinkled notes into his shorts waistband before he left their table to resume searching for his next prey.

As he made his way around the floor, Jimin went between pouring drinks to dancing. Just like usual, the men slipped the notes into his waistband or down the back pockets of his shorts for him. That was where he stored the money usually, so that he didn’t have to walk around with the notes sticking to his sweaty skin and getting heavily wrinkled. It took a lot of energy to keep up this routine, in a way it surprisingly took more energy than it took to dance, because he had to keep smiling and laughing and talking to entire time.

But knowing that his shorts were filled with notes in shades of purple, orange and green, let him know that it was worth it. His sweat-soaked skin and his dry throat were just the price to pay to go home tonight with a decent amount of money to his name.

“Cute stuff!”

Jimin twisted to look over his shoulder at this as he walked along an aisle between the tables, seeing that a dancer on one of the podiums was waving at him to get his attention. So he moved closer to the edge of the stage and he got up onto his tiptoes.

“Uhuh?”

“I’m finished for the night, you want to take over and fill my spot?” he asked, squatting down to get closer to him so that he didn’t need to shout over the music. His own tips were shoved into his dancer belt, a decent amount for a night on the podium.

Jimin had gathered a tidy amount of notes together already, though most of them had been ₩1,000 and the rare ₩5,000 and ₩10,000 notes that wouldn’t add up to too much. He guessed that he could take the podium for a little while, to let other dancers entertain the regulars. After all, there was nothing stopping the men that liked him from approaching him whilst he was working the stage, and he would earn a minimum pay of at least ₩30,000 for working the podium from Kyunghee tonight.

“OK, sure!” he replied with a vigorous nod.

Jimin held his hands out to him, offering to help him down so that he didn’t need to take the steps at the back. He was able to support the other man’s weight because he was rather willowy, lifting him up and placing him down again.

“You’ve worked hard tonight,” Jimin said, giving him a little burst of support just for the sake of it.

“You too,” the dancer replied with a thankful smile, as he roughly wiped at his sweaty brow.

The bouncer a few feet away made sure to make a note of their exchange, jotting down their stage names so that Kyunghee would know that they had both worked hard and not slacked off for the night.

Just like that, Jimin got up onto the stage, unknotting his vest so that he could let the wrinkled lengths drop down and cover his stomach. Now it was time to dance, bathed in the deep purple floor lighting and all warmed-up and ready to go.

When he was on the podium, Jimin tended to just dance like he had done so for his very first client. He blended modern dance with hints of street and stripping; teasing with his vest and eventually pulling it free should a guy approach and tip him good enough. He rolled his ribs in isolation, so that his muscles flexed under his skin, and he gyrated his hips in tight circles before popping them hard. He dropped to grind and hump the smooth floor, and he didn’t stop moving for longer than a second or two. He even rolled around the floor, his back curving and his hips weakly pumping just so the men drinking down below him might be gracious enough to throw some tips at him.

Jimin was in the act of scanning the floor whilst he was pumping his hips when he noticed that a businessman was eyeing him from one of the tables. He had a server sitting on his lap, who was preparing drinks for him, and yet he was staring right at him as if the other entertainer didn’t even exist.

Oh, he had found his next target for the night when he was finished with the podium.

Jimin held his eyes just as he started rolling his hips, slowly building it up until he dropped to rapidly thump his hips down on the flooring. He rolled his head back, blinking sweat out of his eyes and rolling his tongue out to wet his lips as he stared at the businessman.

Yes, he had most certainly hooked the man in, and now he just needed to wait for another entertainer to take his spot.

Upon climbing down off the stage half an hour later, Jimin found his feet guiding him right over to the businessman from before, the one that had been staring at him. He was so very certain that he might just be able to clinch a deal with him, a private dance perhaps, but something more than a simple flirtatious exchange whilst he sat on his knee. So he dragged his vest back on over his head, quickly fixing his sweat-clumped hair in place and running his fingers through it to try and mess it up sexily.

As he drew closer to his table, the man turned his head to stare right at him. Jimin was able to look at him more clearly now that he was closer, seeing a middle-aged man that looked to be physically in shape, with facial hair, a side parting and a nondescript face that was neither ugly nor handsome - just average. Black suit, white shirt with a patterned silken tie, the usual display of glinting rings and a chunky watch on his wrist with a cigar perched behind his ear.

Ah yes, the rich businessman, potential executive or even a CEO; though he didn’t look old enough for the position.

Jimin had most certainly located a good target for the night, and he found his lips curling up at the corners into a wide smile and a more powerful swing growing in his hips.

“Go,” the man ordered, slapping the server’s behind hard enough that Jimin heard the contact even over the pounding club music. “Bring a fresh bottle, same label.”

Jimin recognised this server as Hyunbin, the helpful assistance from the dressing-room. He quickly got off his lap and loaded up the tray with the used glass and bottle, balanced on his forearm so that he could leave the two of them alone.

“Be careful,” Hyunbin whispered, as he passed him by, his words catching him by complete surprise and making him twist to follow his departure.

Jimin felt his brow furrowing at this, playing the two words over in his head as he tried to think about what the other man had meant by such a thing. Another entertainer had never said such a thing to him whilst they had been working, for they had always said quick supportive things or guided him to tables to accept drinks whilst he was serving.

But ‘be careful’? What could that possibly mean?

Jimin shoved the thought away and he quickly moved to get to the man, getting his usual service-friendly and flirtatious expression on his face.

“Good evening, is this seat taken?” he asked, shifting to sit right down on his lap and giving him a mischievous grin. “Oops, it is now.”

“I thought that you were going to stay on that stage all night long,” the man said, placing a hand right on his behind so that he could cup it and hold onto him. “I was starting to get impatient, I’m not used to waiting for the things that I want.”

“Oh? Well, I’m worth the wait, Sir,” Jimin retorted, giving his tie the usual playful stroke and tug. “I liked you watching me too much to stop dancing, it made me feel sexy. I liked being watched.”

“You like being watched, hmm?”

“Mmmhmm,” Jimin purred, leaning close so that he could breathe in his cologne and whisper. “It excites me, Sir, I want you to watch me do other things too.”

“Ah, you’re a naughty boy,” the man remarked, reaching up to give his face a quick touch.

“Naughty boys have more fun, Sir,” Jimin agreed with a wide smile, which might just have bordered on predatory.

“Let’s go to a private booth,” the man suggested, just as the bottle of scotch and glass were placed down on the table again by Hyunbin. “It’s too noisy out here, and I don’t like other men looking at you.”

Jimin was more than aware of the quick look that Hyunbin gave him again, but he tried to ignore it as he retrieved the bottle, opener and rock glass from the table. Then he followed the man across the club, having to do so because he had his arm around his waist and he was more-or-less escorting him. He was now aware of the fact that the man was taller than he was by a considerable few inches, but he didn’t pay it any heed as a lot of men were taller than him.

Upon entering the private booth, Jimin placed the items down on the usual tacky heart-shaped table, watching his client moving to get to the armchair.

“Call me ‘Master’ now,” the man demanded, as he settled in the armchair and he sank back in it with a grunt. He grabbed his glass to hold it out to him. “Pour me some scotch.”

“Right away, Master.”

“Are you going to drink with me, hmm? That’s very good scotch, the finest that they sell here. I know that you wouldn’t have tasted such a fine scotch, because you couldn’t possibly afford it. But I think that you’re sexy enough to share it with, so, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t drink scotch, Master,” Jimin explained with a soft head shake, as he snagged the bottle opener on the rim of the cap and heard the metal crunching as he pulled it free.

Not only was he telling the truth, he was also pretty certain that he wasn’t supposed to accept alcoholic drinks from his clients. He wasn’t paid to drink on the job, nor did he feel like drinking was a smart and safe idea. He knew that he couldn’t drink something like straight scotch, though he might be allowed a watered down or soft cocktail, should it be bought for him by a client.

“Oh? Then what do you usually take?” the man asked curiously.

“I prefer beer, Master,” he replied, as he started pouring the vibrant and fragrant scotch into his glass for him.

“You would like that; wouldn’t you, slut?”

Jimin froze at this, the man’s words and the hint of disdain in his voice catching him by surprise and cutting him right to the bone. He managed to recover after a few seconds, luckily not spilling any of the scotch onto his lap. He placed the bottle back down on the table, awkwardly dropping his empty hands to his side as he looked down at him.

Was he supposed to play along with this, or was that going to encourage his client in a way that would only result in him having to stop him from breaking the rules? Was it smart to play along with such an attempt at roleplay, if it was one that was so very degrading from the start and would therefore only intensify if he encouraged him?

Jimin really didn’t know, because he had just been told to entertain the customers. So far, that had been simple enough, but now he was facing a dilemma of sorts - his first unpleasant client. He hadn’t been told what signs to look out for, save for inappropriate touching and solicitation with money. All that he could do was hesitate for a moment before giving him a coy smile.

“I like what you like, Master.”

“Clearly not, you like beer, which is cheap and disgusting,” Master retorted, giving him a quick look up and down. “I suppose that’s fitting.”

Jimin sucked his lower lip in at this, because he knew that the man had just insulted him for no real reason at all. All because he had turned down the offer of a drink, which he was didn’t like nor want.

Should he just accept a glass of it, even if it was a bad idea? Just a couple of sips for the sake of it wasn’t that bad, right?

But then Jimin realised that such thinking might just result in him thinking that other things weren’t ‘that bad’ either. He needed to not cave to such a demand so easily, especially when he really didn’t want to drink the alcohol. It was far too strong for him, and one glass might just turn to two, and three, and four…

No, he going to stand his ground and not accept a glass of scotch, and his client was just going to have to savour his expensive liquor all by himself.

Too bad.

Jimin watched him swallowing the serving of scotch, swallowing hard and then dumping the glass onto the table without a single care. He looked to drunk it greedily, rather than savour it - not like that friendly client of his that had sipped at his whisky.

The man gestured at him, and so Jimin moved to lower himself onto his lap, his legs tucked to the side and his arm instinctively settling on his chest so that he could play with his tie.

Master reached up so that he could pull the cigar free from behind his ear, bringing it to his face. Rather than place it between his lips to bite the end free, he just gave it a sniff and then he held it out to him.

“Smell that? That’s quality - Cuban imported,” Master declared, dragging the cigar underneath his nose almost as if he would know the difference between a good and bad cigar. “Only one company imports cigars to this country, and I have mine delivered personally to my office.”

“That’s amazing, Master,” Jimin said with a smile, running his hand down the back of his head to his shoulder. “You must have a lot of money. What do you do? I’ll bet that you worked so hard today.”

“I’m a top executive at a broadcasting company,” he replied, slipping the cigar back behind his ear rather than smoke it. “There are many young and eager interns looking for positions in the company, but none of them are as sexy as you are. I wish that you were an intern, I would very much like to have you serve me coffee every morning, and let me pound that ass of yours on my desk.”

Jimin forced out his usual tittering laugh at this, giving his tie a stroke as he avoided his gaze. That was most certainly the most sexually explicit thing that he had been told by a man in this club, but it wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last.

“Wow, a top executive, that’s amazing,” Jimin said in a husky tone. “That makes you the most richest and powerful man that I’ve met in this club. I like that a lot, I like you a lot too.”

The man’s hands were large, with coarse hair on the backs and knuckles and his fingers blunt and thick. The sight of his hand settling down and squeezing hold of his thigh filled Jimin with a wash of revulsion, but he managed to swallow it down and smile at him.

“You’re so powerful and rich, Master, it turns me on just thinking about it.”

“Take your clothes off and you can have some of that money,” the man retorted, reaching over to grab at the front of his vest so that he could wrench up on it. “Come on, I’m waiting.”

Jimin gasped in shock, recovering after a moment so that he could lean back and remove his vest without the man’s aggressive assistance. He wrenched it off over his head and dropped it on the floor, his hair falling across his brow in a mess.

“Are you going to keep those shorts on the whole time too?” he asked, his gaze greedily running up and down his body and his fingers squeezing at his thigh. “Take them off, now.”

“OK, Master, I-”

When the man moved to try and grab at his shorts, just like he had done so with his vest, Jimin had to knock his hand away from his crotch with an uncertain smile. Not only because he didn’t want him touching him in such a way, but also because it was against the rules of the club to allow clients to directly touch their genitalia.

That was a lesser degree of prostitution, and it was highly illegal and could get the establishment shut down if it was to found out to be allowing such behaviour. Jimin didn’t want to engage in such acts, not only because it was against the rules, but because it wasn’t a part of his job. He was a dancer and a host, nothing more than that.

If his client touched him through his clothing that was acceptable. If he grabbed at his buttocks and kneaded and slapped them, that was also fine, but he wasn’t allowed to let him touch him intimately. There were signs all over the floor that advertised the rules, along with rather informative illustrations, and yet this ‘master’ didn’t seem to understand them very well at all.

But Jimin didn’t even want this guy touching the parts of his body that he was allowed to touch, because the idea of coming into contact with his body was enough to fill him with revulsion. Nor did he want him touching him through his clothing either, not if he could help it.

“I can’t dance for you if I take all of my clothes off first, Master,” Jimin explained, resting his hands on the denim waistband but making no move to unbutton them. “Don’t you want me to give you a striptease? Wouldn’t you like that, hmm?”

“No, I want you naked,” he retorted, holding out his glass for another splash of scotch. “I want you completely naked and I’m willing to pay you extra to take everything off.”

Jimin swallowed hard at this, retrieving the bottle of expensive scotch so that he could pour the drink out for him. As he filled the glass up, he wondered if getting naked was against the rules, because he had seen no signs on the walls saying that it was. But that didn’t mean that he was going to strip down to bare skin just for this client, even if it was allowed.

Master swallowed the second serving hard and fast just like the first, letting his breath out in a sharp hiss and pulling his lips back from his teeth.

If the man didn’t want him to dance, then he had no choice but to move straight onto a lap dance so that he could get paid and be free from his repulsive company. Jimin suddenly realised why he had wanted to take him to a private booth now, because that meant that he was stuck with him and he couldn’t just walk away at will and leave another dancer to put up with his behaviour.

Jimin shifted to get off his lap, unbuttoning and unzipping his denim shorts so that he could let them drop to his ankles. He stepped out of them, hesitating for a few seconds as he looked down at his dancer belt. After a moment of contemplation, he moved to climb onto the man’s lap again, deciding to keep the black thong on and not remove it.

Jimin took hold of his shoulders, straddling his hips with his knees and getting into position. As he did so, the man grabbed hold of his buttocks to knead and slap at them, not at all gentle or shy with him. He tried to not react to his touch, moving one hand up to the back of his head and softly rocking his hips from side to side as he looked down at him.

Had he been any other client, Jimin might just have tried to talk to him. He might have asked him questions about how his day had been, if he was feeling alright and such, but he didn’t really want to engage with him right now. He made him uncomfortable, and even if it was bad service, he really just wanted his session with the man to be over so that he could be free from his unsettling gaze and presence.

Jimin dropped his hips down to sit on his lap, rolling his head back hard and slow with a soft sigh as he lifted his legs up to spread them wide and cock his knees up in front of him. As he planted his feet on the armrests, he shifted his weight back onto his wrists, curving his back and lifting his hips up to thrust at the man’s chest and face.

“How much do I have to pay you to put your balls in my mouth?”

Jimin shifted on his lap at this, only to discover that the man had reached over to grab hold of his hips. That meant that he couldn’t move away from him, couldn’t do much more than lean back and avoid his gaze.

“Please, Master, I’m not allowed to do that, I-”

“Just your balls, shush, I didn’t ask about your cock,” the man spoke over him, lifting one hand to make him shut up so very rudely. “What about the tip, hmm? Would you prefer that? I’ll bet that you’ve got a cute cock. What’s the shape like; I bet that it’s fat. Is it pink?

Jimin’s heart was pounding in his chest so fast that he couldn’t seem to breathe, every single gasp for breath almost whistling so that he was so very certain that his client could hear it thumping against his ribs.

How could the man not see how much that he was frightening him? Was he that unobservant that he hadn’t even noticed his constant discomfort, or was he finding said discomfort sexually exciting - as horrendous as the thought was to Jimin?

“If I give you my watch, can I play with it?” Master asked, lifting his hand so that he could twist his wrist and flash it at him.

The red lighting reflected off the champagne gold metal and glass, catching it like a precious jewel. It was a Rolex, the model unknown to Jimin but worth so much money that he could hardly believe that it was being brandished at him like this.

The man was offering him a fucking Rolex like it was a tip, just so he could play with him.

Was he supposed to be flattered that the man viewed him in such high regard that he was willing to give him a watch just to touch his cock? It was an unthinkable amount of money, and he wasn’t even asking for him to fuck him, just to play with him for a little while - which was a sign of just how badly that he wanted something from him; anything from him.

Or was he really supposed to realise just how greedy he was, like a magpie hungry for anything that gleamed and sparkled - desperate enough to sink to the man’s level so that he could snatch up the Rolex. It would no doubt amuse the man to tell his other homosexual business partners about how he had managed to get some new rookie dancer to let him shove his hand right down his dancer belt, to let him suck on his cock and testicles, for an expensive foreign watch.

“Master, I think that you should stop asking questions and let me finish my dance,” Jimin finally managed to say, even when he knew that he should be more strict than that with him.

If he was too gentle with the man, he wasn’t going to stop. He was going to keep going until he caved in to his demands from the pressure or he started crying in fear, and so he needed to get him to reel himself in.

Yet Jimin did no such thing, taking hold of his face so that he could resume grinding down against his lap and look down at him with a faüx expression of pleasure. He cupped his bristly cheeks, hoping that the close contact might satiate him a little and get him to stop asking such questions.

“But I want this,” Master said in a rather spoilt fashion, reaching down to grab at him again because he clearly wasn’t getting the hint. “I know that sluts like to tease, but this is too much.”

“I’m not teasing, Master, I’m not allowed to do that,” Jimin replied, gently knocking his hand free and taking another quick gasp for air. “Just let me dance for you, OK? Let me entertain you the way that I can, hmm?”

“Sit up, close to my chest,” his client suddenly demanded. “Don’t pretend to be shy or new to this, I can tell that you’ve taken cock before. You’ve got that look to you, just like every other slut.”

After settling his weight down on his chest, Jimin spread his thighs over the man’s shoulders and he lay back on his lap. He could feel his erection digging into his lower back, the swollen bump of his cock filling him with a shudder of revulsion. He hated how close to his client’s face that his crotch was, because he couldn’t help but worry that the man might do something whilst he resumed his dance.

“Like this, Master? Is this how you like it?” Jimin asked, as he anchored his weight onto his heels so that he could start rocking and lifting his hips up for him.

“You’ve got a great ass,” Master remarked, eyeing his crotch and buttocks from his current angle. “That ass was made for cock, look at it.”

Jimin wanted to roll his head back and look up at the rotating disco ball, rather than look at him. But he couldn’t do that. He needed to look at the man, not only to please him but to ensure that he could keep an eye on him. He shifted his weight up onto his elbows so that he could hold his head up to do so, the position making it easier to move his hips too.

After several slow and hard circles, his hips snapping up to simulate thrusts, the man moved to shove his face between his widely spread thighs.

Jimin tensed up, every single muscle in his body hardening as his heart shot right up into his mouth. His initial instinct was to shout out in shock, to tell the man that he had to move his face away from his crotch, but he realised that telling him to stop had yet to work so far.

Maybe, just maybe, this client got off on such a thing.

As he tried to figure out he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to get out of this unpleasant situation, Jimin heard something unexpected.

Oh god, he had just sniffed him.

The man had just shoved his face right into his crotch and he had breathed in deeply enough for him to hear it, as if he was scenting him like some kind of wild animal.

Jimin felt a soft sound escaping him, a disgusted little grunt that he couldn’t hope to suppress. His fingers curled up against the leather armrests as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the way that his client was sniffing and rubbing his face against his crotch.

What was he supposed to do? Knock his head away? Carry on lifting his hips and dancing, even when that meant that he would have to rub against his face?

“Do-do you like that, Master?” Jimin asked, his voice uneven as he lifted his hips again in a soft rock. “You want me to-to fuck your mouth, don’t you? With my pink cuh-cock?”

Between his taut thighs, Jimin felt and heard Master rumbling something that sounded like approval. Clearly, he had wanted him to say something like that to him all along - dirty talk to excite him seeing as he wouldn’t get too physical with him.

“It’s so…fat and pink,” Jimin continued, squeezing his face up as he brought his hips upwards; hating how aware he was of the man’s erection digging into his upper back. “It’s-”

“Is it small? I like small cocks.”

“It’s so small,” Jimin agreed, saying exactly what he wanted to hear to get him to hurry up and finish - in more than one meaning of the word. “My cock can fit right in your mouth, Master, you could suck on it so easily and-”

“I want it in my mouth. Oh, you’re such a bad slut.”

“I’m so bad, I’m so naughty, Master!” he whined, forcing the words out as his fingers sank into the leather.

Jimin clenched his jaw and he brought his hips up rapidly, pounding his crotch against his face until he heard his client grunting in a way that hinted that he might just have made him ejaculate into his trousers.

“Get off me,” the man ordered, lifting his head up from his crotch and spanking him hard enough on the thigh that he had to swallow a cry of surprise. “I’m done with you now, slut.”

Jimin had to sit up first so that he could get off his chest. He didn’t want to look at his face as he did so, he didn’t want to hold his eyes because he was disgusted with himself for saying such things to him. But he found his eyes accidentally locking onto his as he sat up slowly. He wished that he hadn’t seen the smug and satisfied look on his face, but he sadly had.

Talk about playing right into the man’s greedy and sweaty hands…

After climbing off the other man, Jimin took a step away from the armchair and he found himself playing with his rings anxiously. The businessman sat upright and he retrieved his money clip from his suit jacket pocket so that he could pay him.

Master pulled the cash away just as he was about to take it from his fingers, however - a cruel trick that made Jimin’s lips quiver as his fingers closed around thin air.

“You satisfied me, but you need to work on some things,” the man said, hovering the money in front of him like one might tease a dog with a treat. “One, you talk too much. You should stop talking, I don’t want to listen to you, I want to look at you. Your voice irritates me. Two, looking at you, I can’t help but notice that your body could do with some improvements. You’ve got a great ass, but it’s not firm enough, it looks fat - just like your thighs.”

“Fat?” Jimin repeated in a whisper, feeling a horrible sinking sensation in his chest that made his blood run cold.

“Lastly, no one gives a fuck about the rules. You want money for being a slut? Be a slut. Take off your clothing, let men touch you, it’s what we pay you for,” he added, his lips turning down at the corners in disgust. “You’re not as good as you think you are. You think that you’re so good that you can turn rich men down whenever you like, but you can’t. You think that you can fuck like a man too, but you can’t do that either. You need a real man to teach you where you belong. I could teach you, you’re beneath me in all ways.”

Before he could move to accept the money, Master shifted to shove it down the front of his dancer belt. Then he gave him a rough squeeze that caused a horrible ache right between his thighs, his testicles screaming out for fear of getting crushed between his tight grip.

Jimin cried out in pain, twisting away from him and dropping his hands to cover his tender crotch, but the man had already gotten out of his seat without another glance at him. He snatched up the bottle of scotch and he crossed the room to leave the booth, pulling the door shut behind him hard. The loud bang made him jump in surprise, his shoulders shooting up to almost touch his ears and his heart shooting up into his mouth again.

After several seconds, Jimin looked down at his dancer belt, eyeing the notes that were still sticking out of the waistband. He reached down to pull them free, seeing just several notes that he hastily counted.

₩50,000.

Jimin eyed the crumpled green notes in his fingers for a moment, realising that his pay had been only slightly more than a night of serving with tips. The man had just sniffed his crotch after insulting and manhandling him, and he had paid him such a small amount.

That was enough to make his fingers twitch around the notes, crumpling them even further as he let his breath out in an uneven sigh.

Jimin slipped back into his denim shorts, shoving the notes down in the back pocket and snatching up his vest from the floor so that he could hastily race out of the private booth.

Jimin had to get out of this place, but he couldn’t leave whilst he was still working his shift. There was but a single place that could be considered a sanctuary in this club, and that was the dressing-room. He found his feet guiding him in that direction, his gaze focused on the carpeted flooring so that he didn’t make eye-contact with anyone. He heard voices echoing across the floor, possibly aimed at him to get his attention, but he blocked them out until he reached the door and he shoved it open.

Hyunsoo, the man on the door, gave him a quick glance but he didn’t say a single word to him. Why should he, after all? It was his job to just ensure that no patrons tried to get into the dressing-room, because that was off-limits. He probably didn’t even see the way that he was emotionally unravelling on his face, seeing as he was trying his very hardest to look cool and collected.

There wasn’t a single entertainer inside of the dressing-room currently, just him, and so Jimin sank down onto one of the stools that lined the tables. He folded his arms so that he could drop his head onto them with a ragged sob, his eyes flooding with burning tears.

Even when he didn’t want to, when he knew that it was weak to do so, Jimin burst out into tears because he couldn’t control himself. He was just so shook up that he couldn’t help himself, his entire body shuddering from the force of his sobbing as he buried his face against his arms to try and suppress the noise that he was making.

Oh, he was still shaking from his fear, his skin cold and yet slick with sweat that had broken out all over his body since his client had started asking him all of those unsettling questions. His stomach felt all funny, loose under his ribs, so that he might just gag if he didn’t find a way to calm himself down. It even hurt to breathe right now, as there was a sudden crushing pressure around his ribs that he longed to be free from.

His client had told him that he shouldn’t act new or shy around him, because he just knew that he had had sex before, except he was so very wrong with his disgusting assumption.

Jimin had never had sex.

Whatever it was about him that had given the man that vulgar idea, he didn’t know. He had never ‘taken cock’ nor had he ‘given cock’, and he had little more than a dozen drunken kisses and playful fumbles through clothing to his name. Yet the man had called him a slut and he had seemingly believed that he was incredibly sexually active, and that was something that Jimin was struggling to understand.

Was he upset right now because the man had intimidated him: with his language and actions, with his inappropriate and sudden touching? Or was he upset because he had insulted him in more ways than one: by calling him fat and a slut, by telling him that he was below him?

Jimin really didn’t know, but he felt like it was both reasons right now. The insults were connected to his behaviour, after all, because they both showed just how unpleasant the man had been. If he had been a nice man, he wouldn’t have done either thing, and so he should have known that he was trouble when he had started talking to him in such an unsettling way.

But the fact that Master had made him say such filthy things to him in return, like he had been desperately vying for his approval and money even when he had treated him so cruelly, made him want to cry too. Jimin felt so gross for saying those things to him, but it was too late to regret it now.

“Hey, honey, are you OK?”

Jimin jumped at the sound, twisting to look back over his shoulder to see that there was a very familiar face just a few feet away.

Jaesuk was one of the few entertainers that donned full drag for weekly comedy and song performances, but when he was working the floor he preferred a less dramatic look.

Currently, he had a blunt-cut bobbed wig on his head and heels on his feet, but save for his face of makeup, he wasn’t dressed much differently to some of the other dancers. He was currently wearing almost sheer black tights that were stretched over his thin but long legs, underneath a matching black leotard that was no doubt tucked right between his perky buttocks. A pair of towering stiletto heels were on his feet, and his wrists were covered in bangles that jangled whenever he moved. Lastly, he had heavy dark eye makeup and red lipstick on, with a fake beauty spot dabbed onto his high and sharp cheekbone.

“Um, yeah, just a-a client,” Jimin explained, swallowing down a hiccup as he reached up to wipe at his cheeks and finding that they were wet to the touch. “He kept…he kept saying disgusting things to me, and he kept trying to make me engage in-in sexual acts with him, even when I told him that I’m not allowed to.”

“God, I hate it when they can’t read,” Jaesuk muttered with a dramatic eye-roll. He huffed hard enough to disturb his wig, a lock of plastic-looking hair fluttering back down in place. “I can read just fine and yet here I am, and those lazy motherfuckers can’t read but they’re the ones running companies - figures, huh?”

Jaesuk always seemed to slur his words in a way that made Jimin believe that he was maybe taking something stronger than alcohol, but he still liked the other man regardless of his fact. He had helped him with his makeup, to find shades that matched his skin without making him look like a kid painting his face for fun; he had given him opinions about his sexy pickup lines and had been sure to give him little tips here and there about serving.

So fucking what if Jaesuk might just be getting Propofol injections at the cosmetic surgery clinic across the block before rolling over to work for the night. The thought of being empty-headed and numb was highly appealing to Jimin right now, in a way that it hadn’t been when he had started working earlier.

“Oh, you’ve gotta fix your face, honey, your eyeliner’s running. Come on, let me fix it for you, yeah?”

“Thank you, Jaesuk,” Jimin said with a thankful smile, even when his lips were still quivering at the corners.

Jaesuk moved over to him, walking very steadily in his heels in a way that Jimin thought that he never could. Upon reaching the stretch of tables, the other entertainer retrieved a packet of wipes so that he could pull several free and start cleaning his face, so that he could reapply a fresh layer of makeup for him.

“But come on, honey, be honest with me - what happened? I know that’s scary, especially the first time that it happens, but tell me everything, yeah?” Jaesuk suggested, pressing the damp cotton down on his eye so that he could sweep the smeared mess free with a couple of soft rubs. “Trust me, I’ve seen it all before.”

“Um, my client started calling me a slut, I didn’t like it, it made me feel…” Jimin paused for a second to think this over, opening his eyes so that Jaesuk could wipe at the bottom lid too. “He just kept calling me a slut, and then he asked me if I’d…if I’d put my balls in his mouth.”

“Oh, that’s the usual request,” Jaesuk remarked, folding the soiled wipe up and moving onto his other eye to clean that one up too. “They all wanna suck on your balls. Sometimes, they call them cute things, like, ‘your little pink or brown balls” and sometimes they’re just fucking nasty and they say “choke me with your salty balls, baby”!”

“Oh, Jaesuk,” Jimin muttered, giving him an exaggerated look of disgust as he wiped at the slight smears of makeup on his cheeks. It was hard not laughing at his theatrical declaration, especially as a little bit of his queen self had slipped free - dramatic and fantastic.

“Hmm, I’m just telling you the truth, honey,” Jaesuk retorted, casting the wipes aside so that he could retrieve a brush and an eyeshadow palette. “Apparently, my girlfriends in the karaoke bar across the block get asked to let their clients suck on their tits, but those nasty bitches give footjobs, so, they can’t fool me when they say they don’t let them do that.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin mumbled under his breath, wishing that the other entertainer hadn’t filled his head with such thoughts.

“OK, so, he asked you to let him gargle with your balls…what else happened, honey?” Jaesuk asked, gathering a small amount of peach eyeshadow onto the brush so that he could spread it across his first eyelid.

“Um, I gave him a lap dance and he kept saying disgusting things to me. Then he-he shoved his face into my crotch and he sniffed at me, Jaesuk. He sniffed my fucking crotch when I was lying on him.”

“A sniffer, oh, I’m shuddering,” Jaesuk muttered, even giving a shiver as he got more eyeshadow onto the brush to apply it to his second eye. “They’re so fucking creepy, honey, I’m so sorry that you ended up with one. I’ve been asked if I’ll sell my panties by sniffers, which is fine. But sniffing my actual ass…are they men or dogs, huh?”

Jimin snorted at this, very much certain that the answer to that question was ‘dogs’.

“When I was done, he waved the cash around and he called me a slut again, and he said that I’m fat too…”

“Are you kidding me, honey? All the boys here are so jealous of your body, because they think the guys are gonna pick you for the night instead of them,” Jaesuk remarked, switching the eyeshadow palette for an eyeliner pencil. “You’re about as fat as that guy’s dick.”

“I felt it, it sure as hell wasn’t fat,” Jimin muttered, as the other entertainer gently rolled his head back so that he could lean in close and start applying his eyeliner.

Jimin stopped talking so that he could stay still and let him apply the eyeliner for him. He didn’t want to accidentally end up getting stabbed in the eye, because the last thing that he needed tonight was to get his eye poked out. So he placed his hands in his lap and he stayed still and silent for Jaesuk, to allow him to carefully ring his upper and lower lids with the kohl.

“OK, honey, almost done here,” Jaesuk declared, as he switched the eyeliner pencil for a makeup brush and a tin of lip balm. “Luckily for you, you’ve got such a pretty face already - you don’t even need half of this shit. Anything else you wanna get off your chest, hmm? Not your vest, that’s already off - thank god!”

Jimin laughed softly at this, watching the other man popping the lid off the tin and gathering a smear of lip balm onto the stick so that he could apply it to his mouth for him.

“I just wanna dance,” Jimin muttered under his breath. “Serving drinks and all of the hosting shit, that’s fine, I don’t mind that. But I just wanna dance, Jaesuk…”

“Oh, honey, you’re in the wrong profession,” Jaesuk declared, as he got another blob of lip balm onto the end of the makeup brush and he proceeded to apply it to his lips for him. “If you wanna dance, become a gogo dancer, not an exotic dancer. You can dance on tables and in cages all night long, no man’s gotta lay a hand on you then, hmm?”

“I thought that I was applying to be one here, but Kyunghee kind of…tricked me into it,” Jimin explained, before rubbing his lips together to spread the balm. “She sold me this idea that I’d be dancing in front of an audience, but she didn’t really tell me that the audience is gonna be a single guy, and that he’s gonna ask me to do sexual things to him. Stupid, I know. I should’ve known better. But I’ve never been inside of a club like this before, so, I thought that she might have been telling the truth. You know?”

“Listen, if a guy’s being a total dick to you, tell Kyunghee, she can get him barred from coming back here,” Jaesuk explained, spreading another hint of balm onto his lower lip for him. “I mean, it all depends on how bad he was and if he’s rich or, like, super rich, but she might still sort him out for you. But you’ve gotta be quick enough to get him collared before he leaves, which I doubt you can do tonight.”

“A client said that to me too, the first one that I entertained,” Jimin explained, as Jaesuk shifted back to look down at him and study his face. “He said that I should put myself and my safety first, but I don’t wanna cause trouble, Jaesuk. What if she gets mad at me, what if I lose out on clients because they find out that I’m getting creeps barred from the place? I think that I’ll just have to avoid that man if I see him again, and learn to avoid any other creep that tries to solicit me during private dances.”

“You’re gonna have to go back out there, honey, even when you don’t feel it,” Jaesuk said, sighing theatrically. “But let’s be real here, who does feel it? Save for me, but I’m an old whore!”

Jimin laughed softly at this joke, just knowing that he would break that out during his next full-time drag performance for some cheap laughs.

“I’ve got a bit of advice for you, honey, so, listen up.”

Jaesuk placed the makeup brush down onto the dressing table so that he could place his hands on his narrow hips and hold his gaze. Jimin looked right back up, giving him his full attention to let him know that he was listening to him.

“You need to think about what these men are coming here for, OK? These men, they don’t want to watch you dance, not like that. Oh no, honey, what they want is to indulge in their own sexual fantasies using you and your body as an object to satisfy that,” Jaesuk said, vocalising every single thing that he really didn’t want to hear right now, but really had to hear no matter what. “If you don’t like that, you need to quit right now whilst you still can, before you get sucked in too deep and you can’t back out.”

“I know, I know that…” he whispered, as he played with his rings.

“What you need to do is start learning to give them what they want without even thinking. Take off your clothes, shake your ass that little bit more, bounce on their laps like a fucking bouncy castle - just give them what they want, take the cash and find someone new. Don’t do anything sexual, but do everything else that you can to get that money, or else you’re never going to make it here. Some other cute thing’s gonna be willing to do what you won’t, and that’s the sad fact.”

“How do you do it, Jaesuk? How do you go out there like that, without being scared or feeling…disgusting?” Jimin asked in a soft voice, hoping to not offend him with this question.

“I do it because I have to do it, it’s what I’m good at,” Jaesuk replied with a shrug, his bobbed wig bouncing around his jawline. “This isn’t a job that I picked because I had nothing else, because I was desperate for a job and I saw this as the final straw. I picked this job because I can handle it, and I can live with myself. But, honey, can you?”

Jimin turned his head to watch the other performer go, until he disappeared through the door back out into the club to resume his shift.

Jaesuk had a point, he had taken this job as some desperate clutch at getting work like it was better than nothing at all. But maybe he shouldn’t have viewed it as such a thing, as something lesser to be looked down on and snubbed if he had had the chance. Maybe he should have thought about what it was going to take in terms of strength and tolerance to get through every single night, and realised just how difficult this job actually was.

Maybe Jimin didn’t have what it takes to make it as an exotic dancer, but should he just give up that easily? After less than a week of working, after a single unpleasant encounter that had frightened him? Surely it wasn’t that bad, was just a rare unpleasant situation that he shouldn’t let upset him too much and just carry on working so that he could make more money?

Jimin shifted on the stool so that he could look at himself in the mirror in front of him. He rested his jaw on his palms, running his gaze over his reflection to see that Jaesuk had left a little heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheekbone, close to his lower eyelid in a way that was actually pretty cute. It made his lips lift in a slight smile for a few seconds, before he dropped the corners again with a weary sigh.

That guy, the one with the Rolex and the tired but soft face, he wouldn’t call him a slut like that. He wouldn’t grab at his dancer belt and try and shove his hands down it even though it was against the rules, because he had been courteous enough to ask if he could touch him in the first place. He wouldn’t ask him something disgusting, like if he would put his testicles in his mouth for his watch - he just knew it.

Jimin didn’t know why exactly he hoped that he would come back to the club, but he supposed that the fact that he had tipped generously and had treated him with respect might just be the reason why. Or it might just be that he had done something that none of the other clients had done so so far: he had watched him dancing with a rapt and intense level of interest.

The young man had told him that night that he had just wanted to spend some time in his company, and Jimin was convinced that he really would have just let him sit on his lap and talk to him over drinks - dance or no dance. It was almost as if he had gotten the gentleman’s club mixed up with an actual host bar, which Jimin knew were very popular in Japan.

Oh, Jimin hoped that he would come back again soon and just let him know if he had what it took to carry on working this job. Just a single hour or so in his company, talking over drinks and soft waist touches, could help him forget about such unpleasant incidents like the one that had just happened tonight. It would provide a little bit of relief for him, and it would make up for the pitiful amount of cash that he had made over the last few nights.

Jimin dropped his hands onto the table, so that he could tap his fingers on the surface in an off-rhythm beat as he stared at his reflection.

Jaesuk was right, he had to go back to work now or else he was going to end up with one of two problems: he was going to lose out on making money for the night, or he might just get in trouble with his boss and risk his pay being docked for wasting time.

“I look pretty tonight,” he said in a whisper-soft voice. “I look so fucking pretty, they’re all gonna stare at me and compliment me - I’m not a slut, I’m-”

Jimin pulled his lower lip in with a sharp gasp, trying his very hardest to not nibble at it. His nails scratched at the table top as he did so, until he managed to let go of his lip and continue his mantra.

“I’m pretty, I’m talented, and they’re gonna want me to entertain them,” he finished, as he shifted to get to his feet again.

It was time to go back to work.

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C.R.E.A.M.

sugamins (orphan_account)

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Chapter 1

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