629Prompt: AU Beckett is a stripper, trying to make ends meet. She's constantly surrounded by disgusting men, until she meets Castle, the first man who doesn't see her as an object, at a bachelor party.
A huge thanks to the lovely prosemeds for the cover image!
The overbearing smell of sweat, cheap cologne, and the mix of alcohols fills her nostrils, burns her lungs as she inhales. It's a sensation she's gotten used to, knows now how to tough it and power through the overwhelming urge to cough it out. She's learned that if she takes in a shallow breath, holds it for a few seconds and then lets it out slowly, it's not as bad. It still burns, scrapes at her throat for release, but it does the job. It's worse when it's mixed with the myriad of perfumes the other girls use; the aromas all collect together in the air, threaten to suffocate her.
She's in the backroom getting ready to go out, do yet another show in the hopes that the greasy men in attendance are generous tonight. It's mid February and she's cold, even under the hot fluorescent lights, and the skimpy costume she wears does nothing to help. She's since figured out that she gets more money when she wears this particular outfit - if she can even call it an outfit - so she sticks with it, only wears the others when she knows that it'll definitely be a slow night. It's a plaid mini skirt with velcro on the side, making it simple enough for her to open it and reveal what's underneath - black bikini-like bottoms with cutouts around the hips and in the front. The top is a matching bikini top, identical cut outs across the top edges.
It's time to make her way to the stage and she immediately switches herself over, plasters the sexy, smoky smirk on her face as she saunters out, her hips swaying dramatically as she moves. Heels have always been her thing, but by the end of shift each night her feet have her wishing this job accommodated flats.
She scans the audience of choice for the evening, making it a point to maintain eye contact with them all for a few seconds, give them a look of seduction, a hint of what they want, before ripping it away and moving onto the next. They like the chase, she's learned, and the mystery, the thrill, it draws the men to her. She's good at this. It's not socially acceptable, it's not exactly what she'd call a stable career, but it's all she has right now, and being good at it is what keeps her afloat. She grabs onto the pole, spins herself around it with a perfected ease, a lightness, and slides herself down. The surface is sticky beneath her, residue she doesn't even want to think about adhering to the heels of her stilettos, to every inch of her body when she lowers down.
Men come up to the stage with lust in their eyes, pure desire, and she wags her fingers at them, her features playful.
Look, don't touch.
But they think it's a game. They take her resistance as an invitation to continue, to run their grimy hands on her legs, down her arms and her stomach. She wants to kick them, twist their arms behind their back until they learn how to respect a woman, but she doesn't. She's there as the entertainment, and they see her as merchandise that they can invest in. So she smiles at them, bites the inside of her cheek, and grinds her body down. It works every time, and within a few minutes they're taking stacks of singles from their wallets - she's learned that if she really rolls her hips, they give her more - and pulling at her bottoms, sticking the bills in the front.
Her entire body cringes when they touch her, their fingers lingering at the hem longer than necessary. She glides back, away from their hands, and shields her discomfort as a rehearsed hard-to-get routine.
She hears a distinct whistle in the back of the club and she looks over, her eyes landing on the disgusting grin of a guy that comes by often. Mostly for her. He hasn't showed in a while though, and she was beginning to think he switched clubs. Apparently not. He's a generous tipper, even if he is sleazy, so she keeps him happy. She winks in his direction before making her way down the stairs, sashaying her way to him.
He's staring at her - well, her body - as she places her hands on his shoulders, dipping down until she's level with him.
"Can I help you?" she husks into his ear.
"In more ways than one, sweetheart," he grunts, eyes finally leaving her chest to trail down her body until they land on the front of his own pants.
So he's still gross, good to know.
She doesn't roll her eyes at his words, as much as she wants to, she just lets out a low laugh. Some of the other girls may provide extra… services on the side, but she's not one of them. She straightens up, eyeing him before she turns around and then drops back down, beginning his lap dance if only to shut him up.
He continues to groan behind her, spouting out things she doesn't even think about repeating. But hey, if he's going to give her as much as she knows he will, she can stand his lewd comments. She grinds down in response, rolling her body against his thighs until he's rendered speechless.
"Turn around." She doesn't want to have to look at him, but she obeys anyway.
He's leering at her, eyes clouded over with what she knows is probably a mix of drugs and alcohol, and then his hands claw at her hips. They travel, fingers splayed at the open skin of her lower back. She feels him slip a wad of bills into the bikini bottoms, but she stops him when they continue down.
"Now, now, Bobby," she whispers, "You know the rules."
He's pouting like a small child that hasn't gotten his way. "Come on, Kit," he whimpers, "Just this once."
Just this once.
She's heard that before, and she knows for a fact that it's never just this once.
"Uh uh," she breathes, keeping her voice low and playful as she gyrates above him.
His hands wrap behind her anyway and come to her ass, squeezing before he pulls her harder onto him. She gasps at the sudden movement and she falls forward, her body now flush against his chest.
"I knew you couldn't say no," he laughs, holding her there as she tries to get up.
This is not what she needs right now.
"Hey!" Her voice is harder now as she shimmies out of his grip. He looks irritated, mad that she isn't letting him use her as his own personal blow up doll in the corner of the club, but she just matches his stare. She brushes against him in retaliation, leaving him uncomfortable and unsatisfied, and then walks away, fluidity accenting each movement of her body.
She hears him bark as she leaves, yelling something akin to what's gotten into the bitch tonight after her.
The click of her stilettos resounds against the steps as she makes her way back up the stage and to one of the vacant poles. A few songs, a few more dances, and a few more searching pairs of hands later, she's done. The facade sticks to the very last second, but disappears the moment she's back behind the curtain once more. She lets out a shuddering sigh, her body giving out on her as she slumps down onto the bench in the backroom. Her head falls into her hands, her breathing still labored - swinging around on the pole takes more out of her than she likes to admit to, and her arm and leg muscles ripple in pain beneath her skin - and then she stands, collecting the bills she's been given.
Just short of five hundred dollars. Not all that bad considering she only gave one lap dance tonight; Bobby gave her well over a hundred, roughly what he pays every time, even though she cut it short. Normally it's anywhere between 5 and 10, but between it being on the slower side tonight and the lovely Bobby experience, it just didn't happen. She should be disappointed about losing out on that extra money, but she's secretly relieved. The others are excessively handsy, some more than Bobby, and while she goes along with it to keep them as her clients - to a certain extent - she's really not in the mood.
It's alright, though.
She'll make it up tomorrow. There's a bachelor party at the club, a private event for some big shot, probably, and she's one of the dancers that's been hired to attend.
Her stomach lurches as the implications of a bachelor party - she's done one or two in her time so far, and drunk bachelors have proven to be all the same - but she pushes it aside, reminds herself why she's doing this.
She groans when she peels off her costume and can still feel the grimy hands of the men roaming her exposed skin.
Six. That's how many times she's showered in the past two nights alone, how many times it took to wash away the thin layer of disgust that blanketed her body.
It's only temporary, she tells herself as she changes into a pair of jeans and a faded NYU t-shirt. She swings her bag over her shoulder as she says goodnight to the other girls, smiling to the few that she's become friends with. And then she's gone, escapes through the back door, all too ready to collapse into bed.
After she showers.
He's surrounded by a hoard of guys, most from the wedding party, who are already beginning to reek of alcohol and the bachelor party hasn't even started yet. He's the groomsmen for his buddy's wedding, but he's practically co-best man because the actual best man has no idea what he's supposed to be doing.
He managed to set up this party on his own, surprisingly, so at least there's that.
They're minutes from the festivities and are heading to the strip club, a nice place on the edge of town that has a reputation for being the best. Whether that means the best girls or the best service or something else entirely, he's not sure, but he's honestly not all that interested. Everyone's pumped for the strippers, and he's heard mantras of "order the hottest bitches!" from the boys - who are already on their way to being far gone, and he knows this is going to be a night of regrets for a number of them - but he just sighs.
He's been to his fair share of strip clubs, attended more than a few bachelor parties and has had a decent amount of lap dances, but his priorities have changed. He's the father of a young daughter now, and he doesn't really see the appeal. Well, no, he knows what the appeal is, and beautiful girls are still on his radar, but the partying and wild nights out aren't his thing anymore. The twenty something playboy that would scour the scene is long gone. But, it's his friend's bachelor party, so of course he wasn't going to back out on him. He'll join the guys, have a few drinks, enjoy the party, and then go back home.
They walk in the club, voices chanting and fists bumping against each other.
Everything's set up, gag decorations plastered around the walls as per their request, and rows upon rows of bottles lined up along the bar. The required items for body shots, jello shots, and just about any other shot imaginable is at their fingertips, and he has a feeling that it's going to be a long night.
"Alright, alright, gather 'round," Kyle, the best man, calls as he waits for the guests to come in closer, circle around him. "It's our boy's last night as a free man." He nudges the groom with his arm, grinning as everyone starts yelling. "Let's make it worth while, huh?"
There's hooting and hollering, the clinking of glasses, and loud music, the base sending vibrations throughout his body. The club's full now that everyone else finally joined, and the lights seem to have dimmed.
"The strippers have arrived!" one of the guys yells, and his eyes turn to the stage.
It's huge, with a runway jutting out from the middle, a pole at the end. There are three other poles on the main stage, each spread a decent distance apart, and that's when he notices the girls start appearing.
A few are on the floor, and he's pretty sure one of the other groomsmen is already getting a lap dance in one of the far booths. He thinks it's traditionally the groom that's supposed to get the lap dance, but then again, it is a bachelor party. Anything goes, and whatever happens at a bachelor party stays at the bachelor party. It's somewhat like Vegas in that respect, he supposes.
He grabs a glass from the bar and downs it in one shot, welcoming the burn as it tears down his throat.
He bumps fists and bro-hugs a few of his other buddies that show up, and then his attention goes back to the stage. There are three girls up there now - there were four, but he's not sure where the other one went - and they're all beautiful. The blonde's bent over, pulling on the tie of one of the guys closest to her, and he has to laugh at how easily she got him under her spell. There's another girl dancing in the back, but it's the third girl that catches his eye.
She's tall and thin with brunette curls that cascade down her back, flow over her shoulders as she sways. Her leg drapes over the pole and she uses the other to propel her body around it, only one arm holding her up. Her body twists and turns effortlessly as she manipulates it against the pole, like a snake wrapping around a sword, and he can't take his eyes off of her. She lifts her head up and he watches as her eyes catch the light, captivating even half-hidden behind long lashes.
She's… stunning.
She watches the men from her spot on the stage, scanning the rowdy bachelor party guests each time she spins back around to the front. They fill the club, but they all look to be split into different groups. A few of them are surrounding the groom as he does shots, a few are in the back with some of the other girls, and more are bumping around by the bar. And then her eyes land on one guy - he's older than her, but that's not really saying much - wearing a nice suit, a small flower poking out of his suit pocket, indicating he's part of the wedding party.
She thinks he's just watching all of the girls, but then he's still staring at her when she looks again a few minutes later. He's not watching all the girls, he's watching her.
The look in his eyes isn't the same as the lustful desire she normally sees in the men's gazes, and there's a weird flutter in her stomach because of it. She kicks it away and ignores it, because he's probably just better at masking his true desires than the rest of them, and she decides to use this to her advantage. She meets his eyes for the first time and she watches as his widen as he realizes he's been caught, but then she winks, moves her hips around to captivate him.
And it works.
His entire body shivers when she looks right at him, those eyes piercing and seductive as she moves and-
Oh.
She's leaving the stage. She's… coming right towards him. He was not expecting that.
The closer she gets, he notices a few things. She sure does know how to use her hips, she's even more stunning than he thought, and she's also… really young, much younger than the harsh fluorescent lights make her seem. He immediately wonders what brought her to this place but before he has a chance to get any further in his thoughts, she's standing right in front of him, eye level to him in those six inch stilettos.
"Hi there," she says, and her voice is low and raspy. It's different than he pictured it would be, but he likes it.
She smiles at him and it's beautiful, her tongue poking behind a row of perfectly white teeth.
"Hi," he returns, holding out his hand. She just raises a sculpted brow, obviously taken aback by the gesture, but shakes the offered hand. "What can I call you?"
"Kit."
It's obviously not her real name, but he didn't really expect to get one. She's staring at him expectantly, one brow still raised, and he takes in her features. Expressive hazel eyes that catch the light in different ways depending on the angle, smokey makeup that's smudged a bit at the edges, defined cheekbones that could cut glass, and an adorable mole under her left eye.
There's something else sparkling in those round orbs, hidden beneath the seductive facade she's currently emanating, and his face softens. He's not sure what it is, but there's something about this stripper - Kit, though he's dying to know her real name - that makes him want to know more, find out her story. As good as she is at what she does, she still looks tired and worn out, like she could use a break.
And, well, he's not doing anything. He can sit down with her, get a drink, maybe talk.
"Do you want to…" he asks, gesturing to one of the open booths behind them.
She nods and grabs his hand, leading him to the dimmed area a couple feet away. He passes a few of his buddies on the way and laughs at the party games they're just beginning; one of them is grabbing a funnel and he can only imagine how well that's going to play out.
He feels her hands on his chest and before he knows it he's being pushed back until he's sitting in the booth, flush against the leather cushions. He looks up and her eyes are on him, a smirk on her face as she climbs up, swinging one leg on either side of his thighs. She's straddling him, her body grounding into his, her hands on his chest, and he stops breathing. She keeps moving and shit she really is good at this, but he shakes his head, grabs her hands to still them.
He can see the hurt in her eyes and it hits him more than it should. She's gorgeous, unbelievably hot even, but this isn't what he wants.
"What's wrong?" she asks, the hurt gone and the sexy exterior back as she shifts her hips again.
His breath hitches. "As great as this is," he waves his hands around her and she blushes. "It's not why I brought you back here."
She furrows her brows and sits back, still on his lap but her hands now planted on her own legs. "Then why am I here?"
"I thought we could talk."
"Talk," she repeats incredulously, her eyes skeptical as they come to his. "There are a lot of things guys want to do with strippers, and talk doesn't even make the top five."
He doesn't ask what she's alluding to, because he's got a pretty good idea already, but it makes him shudder regardless.
"Well, I'm not one of those guys."
She hesitates. "Why did you really bring me back here?"
"To talk," he repeats and then shrugs. "And because you looked like you could use a break."
She considers this, eyes traveling over him as she sizes him up, and then gives a closed lip smile. "That's actually… kind of sweet. Thanks," she sighs, lets her shoulders droop a bit now that he's already gathered her fatigue. No point in hiding it. "Oh."
It's then that she realizes she's still straddling him and she shifts, bringing one leg off and then the other until she's sitting next to him instead. She pushes her hair out of her face, and he admires the complete change in posture she's giving off now. He thinks that this - the calm, quiet girl sitting next to him - is the real her.
"I'm Rick, by the way," he smiles, the action broadening a bit when she returns it.
She nods, but still doesn't give up a name other than the earlier introduced Kit.
"Shouldn't you be like," she gestures to the party, the wild chanting of the guys as they cheer on the groom and his new lady friends. "I don't know, partaking in this lovely show of manhood?"
"Lovely show of manhood?" he laughs, shaking his head when she just nods. "It's my buddy James from college, his bachelor party. I couldn't just back out, but I'd honestly rather be at home with my daughter."
Her eyes widen, something that looks like interest shining within. "You have a daughter?"
His head bobs up and down enthusiastically. "She's six," he says proudly, digging in his wallet for a photo.
She takes it carefully, smiling down at the small redhead whose big blue eyes and toothy grin are staring back at her. "She's adorable," she says genuinely.
"I think so, too," he grins as he tucks the picture safely back into his wallet. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
He turns more towards her. "What are you doing here? That charade you've got going dropped the second I called you out on needing a break. I don't mean it in an offensive way because I respect strippers and the work they put in, it's just… you don't seem like the type of girl that'd be here. I mean, you don't really seem like you want to be here either."
"Got all that from thirty seconds of just being next to me?" She's looking at him curiously, but she doesn't seem offended.
"It's kind of what I do," he says. "I speculate about people's stories. You know, why they are where they are, why they're doing whatever they're doing, what's happened to them, stuff like that." He shrugs. "Occupational hazard."
"What occupation is that?" she asks, leaning her elbow onto the small makeshift table in the center.
"A writer," he tells her, notices the small flash of recognition on her face, but then it's gone as quickly as it came. "But enough about me. Tell me about you. How old are you?"
"Twenty two."
He narrows his eyes with a small laugh. "I'm sure that's what the ID says."
She rolls her eyes, looking back at him. "Alright," she breathes. "Twenty."
Ah, yeah. That seems more likely; he believes that one. So young.
"I know I already asked and you avoided it - expertly I might add," he starts, watches her smile. "Why are you here?"
She lets out a sigh, lowering her head. "It pays the bills," she shrugs. "It's what's helping me get through my last year and a half of college." She pauses, rests her chin in her palms. "It's not where I thought I'd be right now, definitely not the job I ever pictured myself in, but it does what I need it to."
She doesn't say that she has the money to pay her rent, to put towards school, but she's using it to pay for her father's rehab treatment instead. Her father has no idea she's stripping to make extra money, or that she's using the money they put away for her on him instead. He'd tell her not to do it, because education is the most important thing, but she's more worried about his health. If she has to endure a few more months or maybe a year of this, then she will. She's making it work.
He just nods thoughtfully. "What are you studying?" he asks, and there's not a hint of judgement or pity on his face.
That's new.
She's not used to people just taking that in for what it is without adding their disapproving two cents, without saying how she's a whore for taking off her clothes in exchange for money.
He didn't do that.
It's refreshing to be talked to like a normal human being, have a normal conversation without being just the stripper. It's nice.
"Pre-Law," she says finally.
"Ah, a lawyer. I can see that, you look like a lawyer." She raises her brows. "Well, maybe not in this exact outfit," he laughs.
She laughs with him and shakes her head. "Something like that."
"For what's worth, it's really admirable what you're doing," he starts. "Toughing out a job that's probably not as glamorous as it's made out to be to get through college. You're determined, you've got tenacity - I can see it in your eyes. You'll make it through."
His gaze is on her and he watches as she lifts her head, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes finally meet his, sparkling, and they might be even more breathtaking now than they were earlier.
"Kate," she whispers. "My name is Kate."
"Well, Kate," he says as he stands, extending one arm out towards her. "What do you say we get out of here, go get a burger?"
She looks at him hesitantly, contemplating her options. "You're a groomsmen, shouldn't you stick around?"
He turns towards the party where he sees the rest of the guys with more jugs of beer, some body shots, and eating what looks to be like slices of cake shaped in the form of boobs. No one has even seemed to register the fact that he's not out there.
"Uh, no," he laughs. "They won't even know I'm gone." She chews on her bottom lip. "If you're worried about getting in trouble, I could always say this is a personal job? I could pay you?"
She smiles at the gesture. "No, that's okay. Thank you." She grabs his hand and stands up, pointing to the back. "Let me go change?"
He nods and watches her leave and disappear into a side door behind the stage. He got her name. Kate - it fits her, he thinks. She seems really sweet, and it amazes him how she can switch from the girl he watched on stage to the girl he was just talking to about college and his daughter.
She stalks back out a few minutes later in dark skinny jeans, a short trench jacket, and boots, a cross body bag slung over her shoulder. It's the same girl, but she looks so much more relaxed now.
He even thinks he finds her more attractive like this than he did in the bikini outfit. That was appealing, of course, but there's a casual, beautiful sense about her now that's alluring.
"Okay," she says as she bounces up to him.
"How do you feel about Remy's?" he asks, and if the beaming smile that she tries to suppress is any indication, he thinks she likes the idea.
She nods. "Incredible burgers."
"And shakes," they both add at the same time.
He laughs, grinning at the blush on her cheeks. "Remy's it is," he decides, holding his arm out at his side.
She takes it and hooks her arm into his.
"I'd like that."
Leaving this as in-progress because I've gotten a lot of requests to add a follow up part, and though I don't know when that'll be, I think I'll probably do it.