#the cyndi lauper fic™

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun // Teaser

Stripper! Matty x Corporate! Girlie

content warnings: allusions to smut, just mdni I beg, lingerie, fem matty, vague descriptions of a lap dance

It's like you can see the flashing neon lights vibrating along with the bass, pulsing music making the whiskey in your glass ripple slightly. The crowd is thin, people leaving slowly as the night nears its end. Yet you see the DJ still playing, mixing and grinning wildly as the music makes its way through the room. You watch him for a few minutes, his long blonde hair falling right above his shoulders in loose waves, white shirt clinging to his sweaty chest. 

Your eyes scan the room lazily, taking a sip of your drink, the alcohol burning deliciously on the way down, numbing the constant feeling of stress, even if for only a little while. Purple and pink blurs your vision as you down the rest of the whiskey, running a hand through your let-down hair, unbuttoning one of the buttons of your shirt. 

Preoccupied with looking for a waitress to refill your drink, you don’t even notice the lingering glances from the figure to your right. The clicks of a pair of heels is the first thing you hear, impossibly loud even in the midst of the music, it's all you can focus on. Your eyes wander up his body as he nears you, skin glistening with sweat and glitter, his eyes glinting in the colorful lights of the strip club. 

Raking over his frame, you watch him sway his hips, one hand pushing his hair up, messy curls falling well past his ears, ends dipped in pink dye, mixing wonderfully with the chocolate brown framing his face. You can see a ring in his lip from where you’re sitting, but that isn't what captures your interest. Trailing down, you see a glittery belly button piercing, standing out beautifully against his pale skin. It makes your breath hitch, your knuckles white around your glass. 

Twenty, fifty, hundred dollar bills are held in place by the waistband of his skimpy lace panties, so sheer they leave most nothing to the imagination. Your lips part at the garter belt hugging his body, holding up fishnet stockings you swear you’ve only seen in your dreams, the thin straps of his heels tightly clasped around his ankles. That man was now standing in front of you, lips pouted and a hand on his hip, nails chipped black. 

You can see him more clearly now, bracelets and necklaces covering him, audible whenever he moves, entrancing you fully. Dark blue eyeshadow frames his eyes, now looking down at you from his position between your parted legs, smiling coyly. With your shirt half unbuttoned and untucked, your hair down and refilled whiskey in hand, you eye him up and down for what felt like the fourth time that night, biting your lip when you land on the lace barely covering him.

“Fancy a dance, love?” he speaks, words coated in thick honey, his glossed lips moving in slow-motion as you raise your eyebrows at him, a sly grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You see him suck in a deep breath as you pretend to ponder, your tongue swiping along your bottom lip for good measure. Nodding slowly, you move your hand away from your lap, freeing up space for him to straddle you, thighs on either side of yours. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a club?” Ha asks, lips pressed so close to your ear you can feel his breath against your skin. He smells like posh cologne, a stark contrast to his otherwise feminine, almost soft appearance. “Work stress, you know how it is.” you mutter, eyes focussed on his chest, transfixed. 

“I don’t, actually.” he giggles, resting his slender fingers on your shoulders. He uses his new position to start grinding down on you, rolling his hips against your body. His movements are fluid, practiced, sure. “Tell me your name, doll.” you half ask, half demand, the lustful look in your eye unmistakable. The curly haired man wraps an arm around the back of your neck, bringing your faces impossibly close, your lips almost touching. 

“Matty. The name’s Matty.”