Chapter Text
Charles knew he was running late. Looking at the watch on his wrist wasn’t going to change that fact, and running any faster wasn’t going to make him any less late to the job he absolutely loved—which he currently was.
“Merde,” he hissed to himself as he scrambled down the dark street filled with clubs already lit up and in full swing for the night. Lewis was going to tear into him for this one. Charles gripped the backpack on his shoulder a little tighter and continued to huff out breath during his sprint.
Charles loved stripping, if he was being honest. He loved dancing in jewel encrusted outfits and flirting with men who had too much money to know what to do with. At the end of the day, his job was relatively simple—look pretty and flirt with the incredibly wealthy, and sometimes dangerous, men that filtered in while wearing heels and lingerie or rhinestone pieces.
Now, Charles wouldn’t say that he was someone who lived paycheck to paycheck or depended on stealing to make ends meet, not at all, but he did enjoy the finer things in life which were sometimes hard to obtain with a stripper’s salary.
If anyone asked him, the tips he earned were fantastic, and he usually found himself stuffing the backpack he brought every night to the brim with hundreds of banknotes at the end of his shifts, so he was perfectly fine financially.
However, there was just something about having a little… more that really made Charles’ nights fun.
Charles knew that he was pretty for a boy and he had no problem using that to his advantage. All it took was a face of natural makeup, a pair of tall heels, an outfit to show off his flawless skin, and a lap dance with lots of flirting to get what he wanted.
He snagged watches, wallets, cards, jewelry, just about anything with any monetary value from the men who didn’t really need those things. Sometimes, he pawned things off for money, and other times, he used the cash or cards directly to buy himself something nice. Shoes were usually his go to guilty pleasure, and he deserved those luxuries, didn’t he?
Slip a hand in a suit jacket? There was a wallet. Pout when they only handed him a one hundred euro note? They’d double it. Touch their hands or wrists? The jewelry was all his. Lando liked to tease him and say he had kleptomania, an addiction to stealing, but Charles waved him off.
“If anything, chéri, I have an addiction to expensive things,” he’d sigh dramatically with a mischievous grin.
Lewis wasn’t a fan of Charles’ actions, but no one had complained about it yet, so he usually was let off with the same warning, “As soon as someone comes in here and accuses us of taking their things, you’re done.”
Charles always nodded along, holding his hands up in faux surrender, and agreed to the terms that his boss and friend set in place. As if anyone was actually going to come back to a strip club in Amsterdam looking for a ring, wallet, or credit card…
Lewis had already told him that the club had been rented out for the night, that it was a high profile, lowkey gathering, and that big money was to be involved. These weren’t people to piss off, yet there was Charles, sprinting to the very thing he wasn’t supposed to be late for.
Charles calmed his breathing as best as possible when he finally made it to BonTon and slinked into the back entrance out of sight of the club-goers passing on the sidewalk. As soon as he managed to get himself into the changing room, Lewis was rounding the corner with crossed arms and a glare on his face.
“You’re late,” the Brit accused. Charles winced at the tone and started to yank off his skinny jeans and sweater while other men working for the night prepared themselves around them. “I know, I know, okay? Fucking alarm didn’t go off,” Charles huffed in annoyance.
He kicked his sneakers off and shoved his things into the locker meant for him before snatching the black and gold outfit he’d had planned for the night off the clothing rack with his name on it. “Turn around, connard, I’m getting naked,” Charles teased with a wink.
Lewis rolled his eyes and did as asked, even though he’d seen Charles dolled up in exotic pieces well over a thousand times. “You know how important this is? If one of them saw you sneak in here? They’d think you slithered in to steal secrets or shit,” Lewis chastised.
Charles looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Secrets? Now that was new.
“Charles, I swear this is Dutch mafia we’re dealing with tonight. I have no idea what to do in this situation!” Lewis complained.
“Well, I’m here now, chéri, so why don’t you let me worry about the scary Dutch men, hm?” Charles shot back with a grin, tugging the black fishnet stockings up his shaven legs.
The multiple leather garters around his waist with dripping golden chains highlighted the fact that Charles had curves like a woman did, and the black panties beneath were thick and tight enough to keep everything in place while also keeping that hidden.
Thigh-high black boots were the finishing touch that he’d just bought last week after snatching some older man’s credit card. How kind of him, no? Charles left his upper body completely bare but switched out the barbell in his left nipple to a gold one instead of silver.
“There, happy?” Charles asked, overly sweet and exaggerated just to irritate Lewis a little more. His friend gave him a once over, trying his best to purse his lips and act angry, but he gave in easily and sighed, nodding.
“Fine. Yes. Now go out there and do what you do best, yeah? Just dance, flirt, don’t say a word—and for your own sake, try not to listen to what they’re talking about. The last thing we need is for you to disappear in the middle of the night and be found dead the next morning because you heard something you weren’t supposed to,” Lewis sighed.
Charles nodded dutifully and started to push past his friend before Lewis shouted after him, “And no fucking stealing!” The Monégasque just giggled to himself and ran a few fingers through his hair to roughen it up a bit as he headed in the direction of the makeup room next.
“We were wondering when you’d show up,” Lando greeted as soon as Charles entered, the younger boy sauntering past to one of the makeup tables in his own lingerie set.
It was clear everyone was a little frazzled based on how quickly they were doing their makeup and making last minute fixes to their outfits. “Alarm didn’t go off. I need to steal a ring or something to get a new phone,” Charles explained in faux exhaustion.
“Kleptomaniac… A few of us are already out there, so hurry up, yeah? They’re downing all of our alcohol and throwing cash like it's nothing,” Lando huffed. Charles nodded and watched as the younger boy put on an extra coat of mascara before leaving the room.
Charles always kept it simple with his makeup—mascara, shaped eyebrows, clear lip gloss, and a bit of blush. He finished within minutes and stood after dousing his face with a good amount of setting spray, then took a deep breath to steady himself before turning in his heeled boots to head for the floor of the club.
That was always the trick with these things. If he just batted his eyelashes, said the usual flirtatious lines to get them interested, then accepted a few notes for a lapdance, he wouldn’t catch anyone’s negative attention and could go home a bit richer.
Charles was pretty, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that his lips were full, his lashes were long, he legs were lean, his body was curvy, and his features were sharp. If he used those to his advantage to get some money and nothing else, then it would be fine and everyone would be happy.
Well, as long as they didn’t find out about his skilled fingers…
Charles took in one more deep breath to steady himself, hearing conversations in Dutch mixed with the overhead music through the red curtains before him, then stepped out of the hidden dancers’ hallway to reveal himself to the club.
Almost immediately, eyes were all over him as he wove his way through the club in the direction of one of the single stages that wasn’t being used. A few hands reached out drunkenly to push a banknote into one of his several garters just for walking past them, and Charles worked his magic by thanking them in French with a wink in hopes they would seek him out later and offer up more.
He swayed his ass skillfully, approaching the single stage before him, and elegantly stepped up in his heeled boots only to grab the lone pole in the next instant and leisurely dance around it. The three men sitting around the stage seemed more than thankful for his new presence.
He kept to himself, grinning whenever banknotes were pushed into the leather garter belts around his waist with a whistle or drunken compliment. A few other men stumbled over to watch, each nursing alcohol, until another man joined the solo show and leaned forward on the stage, cocking his head to the side with a grin.
His skin was golden, black hair curled, and Charles noticed a rose tattoo on the side of his left thumb. “Going to stare or tip me, chéri?” Charles asked with a raised eyebrow when he went down in a squat to show off his inner thighs.
The man shook his head and jerked the tattooed thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the private lounges. “Not me, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “My boss, however, would be more than happy to fill those belts of yours with euros for a bit of your time in the back lounges?”
Australian. Interesting.
Charles swayed his hips, still trying to give a show, and glanced over the man’s shoulder towards the dark lounges at the back of the room sectioned off by suede belts. “And what exactly is this boss of yours wanting from me?” he questioned, laying on his accent as thick as possible for an extra flirtatious edge.
The Aussie just grinned a little more and raked his eyes down Charles’ fishnet and gold chain covered body. “Just keep dancing like that,” he offered.
Charles bit deep into his lipgloss covered bottom lip and smirked. “Alright. Give me a minute or two, won’t you, chéri? I’m sure your boss won’t mind,” he informed smugly before lifting himself back up to a standing position to finish off his dance. The Aussie chuckled, slapped the stage lightly, then turned away to head in the direction Charles would be moving towards soon.
To say Charles was a little nervous by the encounter wouldn’t be a lie, but he managed to finish off his dance confidently with batted eyelashes and a few more banknotes earned. The boss? As in… the Dutch mafia boss? Or just some random boss that worked for the big boss?
Charles didn’t even know who he was supposed to be dancing for. The Australian would hopefully tell him.
He stepped off the stage after blowing air kisses to the men who’d given him enough attention and sashayed across the room expertly in his heels boots. Charles knew he should probably be a little afraid that he was going to be dancing for the boss himself if he was assuming right, but all he could think about was—
No. Lewis said no stealing and these weren’t people to steal from. Even if they didn’t need the money…
“Charlie,” Lewis’ voice suddenly cut through the crowd and stopped him in his tracks, halfway to the private lounges that were too dark and smoky to really get a good look at. “Pierre is off the main stage in ten, I want you to take his place, yeah? Where are you headed?” His manager asked when Charles glanced towards the lounges again.
“I’ve just been asked to give a personal dance for someone’s boss or something,” Charles admitted plainly, untangling one of his golden chains that had been caught on the Chanel logo in the front.
Lewis did a double take when he realized what Charles had said and quickly looked at the lounges before flicking his eyes back to the dancer. “Well, there’s only one boss here tonight and that would be Verstappen. Do not, and I mean do not do anything stupid, Charles. I mean it. Not this one,” Lewis warned seriously.
Charles blinked, a little surprised at the information and how stern Lewis was, but he nodded quickly and assured his friend that he would be on his best behavior. It took him a second to get back into character after Lewis let him go, then he was striding back towards the lounges with a sway in his step.
So it was the Dutch boss, then. Someone named Verstappen.
Rich. Definitely rich.
Fortunately, the same Australian man that had sat at the stage earlier met him just a few meters away from the suede belts hiding the individuals sitting behind them in the dark. He offered up a smile and reached out to take Charles’ hand in his own, giving it a respectful kiss, before asking, “Have you got a name, sweetheart?”
“Charlie,” he lied easily, making sure it started with a ch sound instead of the expected sh. Lando had taught him that tip.
“Daniel. A pleasure to meet you, Charlie. Max is in the middle and the others will leave once you’re let in, but I’ve got to give you some ground rules before you dance for him, alright?” Daniel explained, slowly guiding them closer to the suede belts, but not yet close enough for Charles to identify any faces in the dark club.
He raised an eyebrow in interest but said nothing.
“Right. Don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t touch unless touched first, and don’t repeat anything you hear to anyone. If we find out you do? I won’t be as friendly as I am now, Charlie. And if Max wants you to stay longer or leave sooner, it’ll be better for everyone if you just do what you’re told,” Daniel said exasperatedly.
Charles was slowly starting to feel more inclined to steal from the Dutch bastard based on those rules alone, but he smiled flirtatiously and nodded in agreement. When he glanced over Daniel’s shoulder, all he could really take in was the fact that the men sitting in the lounge wore perfectly tailored suits with rings on their fingers and gold chains around their necks—that was all.
Smoke clouded their faces and the lighting fucked up shadows. He’d find out soon enough who Max was, he supposed.
“Alright, come on,” Daniel instructed once he decided Charles was good to go. They started to walk again and passed through two bodyguards before finally reaching the belts themselves and stepping into the secluded area at the back of the club.
A group of men were seated in a half-circle shaped booth, the black leather beneath them glimmering underneath the red lighting and smoke. Each held a glass filled with dark liquor loosely in one hand.
Every single pair of eyes shifted to focus on him when Daniel approached by his side, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who exactly he was supposed to be dancing for.
In the very center of the group, clad in a pitch black suit with a white dress shirt unbuttoned to just below his pectoral muscles, sat the most handsome man Charles had ever seen. His dirty-blonde hair was swept to the side, perfectly tousled, and the thick gold rings he wore around his fingers winked at him beneath the club’s lights.
Piercing blue eyes gazed back at him in a silent challenge to see how long Charles would openly stare and thick lips quirked up into a smug grin once Charles realized what he was doing and quickly looked down as bashful as possible.
Sell it, don’t just give it away, Charles.
“Sir, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Mr. Verstappen,” Daniel introduced to break the silence. Charles gave a very small curtsey, dangerously looking up from beneath his mascara coated lashes to meet those beautiful blue eyes once again. To see the way they darkened at the provocative eye contact sent a shiver down Charles’ spine.
Max cocked his head to the side and took his sweet time raking his eyes over Charles’ barely covered body before beckoning him over with two fingers. When he snapped just before Charles could completely stand in front of him, the rest of the group that had been sitting with him suddenly stood and left without a word.
Left with the man in charge, then.
Daniel left as soon as Max gently wrapped his free palm around Charles’ cinched waist and tugged him onto his lap with narrowed eyes. It was like he was daring the Monégasque to protest.
Charles just smirked and trailed the pad of his index finger down the exposed skin of Max’s chest between his opened button up. “You know I was having such fun dancing for your friends before I was called to you over here,” he teased, already breaking the first rule Daniel had told him.
Max’s grin only grew and the hand he had around Charles’ waist tightened with confidence. “Is that so? You know you’re very beautiful, hm?” the Dutch man stated back once Charles met his intense gaze with heated eyes.
Charles reached up to tuck a stray lock of dirty-blonde hair behind Max’s ear before leaning in and whispering through gloss-coated lips, “Croyez-moi, Monsieur, je le sais.”
A groan of turned-on disbelief slipped out of Max’s thick lips while Charles pulled back and splayed his hand out over Max’s chest. “Now, you are wanting me to dance for you, no? Or would you like for me to stay here and do it?” he asked cheekily.
Max reached out and tugged at one of the golden chains dripping down Charles’ lean thighs with a deep inhale. “As much as I would love to see you dancing in front of me, schatje, I would much rather you stay right here on my lap.”
“Oui, monsieur,” Charles replied flirtatiously. He used the hand on Max’s chest to push the Dutch man down into the leather before bracing himself on the back of the lounge for leverage. He started with a deep grind downwards and reached out to carefully take Max’s drink only to set it to the side so that the Dutch man could grab his hips.
“I was drinking that,” Max growled with dark eyes. The Monégasque rolled his eyes playfully and murmured back, “I don’t care.”
“You should,” the man beneath him shot back. Charles raised an eyebrow, expertly swirled his hips directly into Max’s hardening cock beneath him, then giggled when Max hissed in pleasure. “Fuck, you’re good,” the apparent Penoze boss breathed out.
“You were saying?” Charles challenged playfully. Max’s hands slid down to grip Charles’ ass and draw him even closer to where the dangerous man wanted him most. The Monégasque knew that Verstappen’s wallet was in that sleek suit jacket; he could feel it beneath his chest whenever he brought himself forwards just to rock back.
He slid his hands down from the back of the lounge and pushed them into the jacket to move it down Max’s shoulders. “You’re too overdressed, monsieur. Making me feel insecure up here,” Charles pouted.
The signature stick out of his glossed bottom lip only made Max’s blue eyes darken further to the point that they nearly looked black out of lust alone. He pulled his arms out of the jacket and situated warm palms back on Charles’ waist elegantly covered in golden chains.
“Do these come off?” Max asked gruffly, pushing an index finger underneath one of the black garters still stuffed with banknotes from the dance he’d been torn away from.
“Mmm, maybe at the end of the night. For a price, of course,” Charles whispered into Max’s ear as he leaned forward again to give a direct grind of his own cock into the Dutch man’s nearly fully hard one. Max groaned again and let his head fall back with parted lips, ring covered fingers digging into Charles’ soft skin.
Perfect.
Charles was quick when he slipped his hand into the suit jacket behind Max and found the jet back wallet within the inner pocket. It only took him a second to open it with skilled fingers single handedly and retrieve the silver debit card from one of the side slits.
Putting it back was simple enough, but getting the card into his garter was always the tricky part. Charles slid his palm down Max’s forearm, making sure the mafia boss still had his eyes closed in pleasure, then tucked the card beneath the garter that was extra thick with the golden buckle.
By the time Max focused again on Charles’ lap dance, the Monégasque had fully hidden the stolen card and batted his eyelashes innocently at the Dutch man with an extra flirtatious bite to his bottom lip.
“Charlie!” a familiar voice called from behind him. Both of them shifted their gaze to find the person who had called for the exotic dancer and Charles had to admit he was a little relieved to find Lewis standing on the other side of the suede ropes.
“You were supposed to be on center stage two minutes ago. Apologies, Mr. Verstappen, but we have a rotation at our club. I’d be more than happy to call one of our other dancers over if you’d like?” Lewis asked after explaining the situation.
Charles slipped off of Max’s lap, gently tapping the hard cock trapped beneath Max’s slacks with a wink, then adjusted his thigh high boots while the Dutch man all but glared at Lewis. “No, thank you though,” he gritted out.
Oh, daddy was angry, wasn’t he? Charles mused in his mind. “Stay here and wait for me?” he asked sweetly after Lewis nodded, gave a meaningful look to Charles, then strode away. Max ran a hand down the outside of Charles’ thigh and nodded slowly, though it was clear to tell his mood had soured somewhat. “Don’t be long,” he instructed cooly.
Charles winked at Max in agreement and left for the main stage before Max could realize anything had happened. He hadn’t stolen his wallet, so he wouldn’t know anything was wrong until he had to use his card, but Charles was determined to be gone before then.
“Oh, Lando, please will you cover my main stage choreo? Think of it as paying me back for that favor I did for you,” Charles begged when he spotted the other dancer walking the floor. Lando huffed at the request, knowing he couldn’t really say no, and gave in with a grumble. “Thank you, chéri!” Charles beamed.
Lando just waved him off while Charles spun around and hurried to the changing room where Lewis was talking with Esteban who’d just come in. “Hey, no! What are you doing back here?” Lewis cried as soon as he spotted the Monégasque.
“Ugh, I think I rolled my ankle walking to the stage… Lando is covering for me. It really hurts, seriously. I think I should go home and sleep it off,” Charles whined terribly. Lewis’ entire face went slack in disbelief and the stare he gave Charles nearly made the younger man crumble.
“Honestly, why I keep you here is beyond me,” Lewis finally mumbled, however, and shooed him towards his locker after dismissing him. Charles knew that Lewis understood it was a lie, but he really hoped his friend just thought he was leaving early because he was spooked from the lap dance.
No, Charles had a date with a new pair of heels.
He changed quickly back into his sweater and skinny jeans, hanging his outfit for the night back up on the clothing rack where it belonged, then headed out with a fake limp and a wink to Esteban who just rolled his eyes.
Charles stuffed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans as soon as he left the building to retrieve the silver debit card from within and admire it with wide eyes. He doubted Max would even notice a charge for heels if he checked his banking statement. The man didn’t seem the type to check that shit.
So he walked back home with a bounce in his step, knowing that he’d just pulled off another small heist in his mind. Maybe Lando was right—maybe he was a kleptomaniac—but Charles couldn’t be bothered to care as he thought about what heels he wanted to buy. A pair of red bottoms sounded nice.
How was he supposed to know that Max didn’t pay in cash?