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PAIRING ➩ s1 sammy bryant x stripper reader

WC ➩ 12k

SUMMARY ➩ Sammy is insecure, lost in his marriage and lacking excitement in his life until he meets you, a stripper who misses the thrill of dancing simply because she wants to

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ finally! i love this pair and season one chubby sammy so much! my dorks from different walks of life NOT PROOFREAD

Sammy couldn’t have been more out of his element.

Even when he was younger, long before marriage and the oath he’d taken to obey the law at all times, he never was much of a partier. There was a handful of basement couches he’d lounge on while surrounded by a cloud of smoke but nothing like this.

A few of Nate’s patrol buddies had gone on and on about this new bar they’d been frequenting and he should have known by the emphasis they put on certain words like ‘mind blowing’ that it wasn’t going to be any regular dive situation.

He’d only been half invited which already made him hesitant to come along, even before the string of messages from Tammi being left on his phone as soon as the sun began to set. It was more like a pity thing that happened as an afterthought when they noticed him over Nate’s shoulders, throwing out there that he could tag along.

He was quick to say he was fine and he was tired anyways but Nate, ever the good friend, insisted he was welcomed and just had to come along.

So now Sammy was sitting in the back corner of a sketchy strip club that was very much not a bar. Sure there were still drinks spilled in the suspiciously sticky carpet and loud music playing with crackling interference but the addition of the half dozen naked women on poles made it pretty clear.

Luckily the other guys seemingly forgot he was there after the first hour and he’d gotten away with pretty much sitting completely still and fiddling with the ring around his finger, his gaze pointed at his shoes in a way that he hoped wasn’t insulting to any of the dancers.

It felt wrong to even be there and he halfway wondered what Mariella would be thinking about the fact Nate was a large amount of bills deep in showing his appreciation to the scantily clad bodies around him.

He had no issue sneaking away to approach the bar and ask for a water, leaning against the wood of the counter and glancing back at the group he had came with that was too preoccupied with another dancer offering lap dances to notice he had wandered off.

His stomach was a little tight and he figured he was being dramatic, he should let loose like the dozens of other married men in the building, but it clearly wasn’t working in his favor. The fact he had driven with Nate and his car was currently twenty minutes away parked at the station didn’t make him feel any better, not exactly sure the ones in his pocket would be enough for a cab home.

He was on his third water when you finally approached him, slow and casual like you didn’t even know he was there by the time you rested your elbows on the counter and half bent over.

Then your face turned to the side, eyes locked on him with a clear amount of interest that made his throat dry up. He gave you the best polite smile he could before awkwardly looking away, mostly due to the fact he could see almost every inch of your skin outside of the two tiny pieces of fabric covering your nipples and bottom half.

“Not interested?” Your voice was sweeter than he had expected, his own biases leading him to think you might have a cigarette induced rasp or a permanent seductive purr. You sounded as if the two of you were in line at a coffee shop and not surrounded by drugs and bodily fluids. “In a dance I mean.”

You’d continued after his eyebrows furrowed in confusion but he didn’t really need the clarification, just shocked you were wasting your time talking to him instead of somebody more willing to pay you.

He glanced back over at the group and sighed when he saw Nate already watching him and giving him an exaggerated thumbs up, piecing together that his partner had more than likely sent you over.

“I’m married.” He said and tapped his hand against the bar top, the metal band clinking against the wood.

Your eyes didn’t leave his face for even a second, clearly having no interest in the object symbolizing his commitment to another woman. You had no way of knowing that his marriage was basically a hostile roommate agreement and it made Sammy feel a little deceitful to boast his marital status when it was so awful lately.

But he didn’t think you really care about the specifics considering he was still in a strip club on a random Wednesday night.

“I think you’d have a hard time finding somebody who wasn’t married here.” You replied with an amused grin and he was shocked you’d admit something like that, so clearly announce the wrongdoings of the paying people around you.

He supposed there was no reason to sugarcoat it, he wasn’t going to believe any different anyways. The bartender wordlessly slid a bottle of water in your direction and you smiled in thanks, shifting on your feet like the tight heels you had on were bothering you the longer you stood in place.

Sammy didn’t realize his gaze had dropped down to the curve of your ankle until you cleared your throat, looking slightly pleased when his eyes shot back up a bit more flustered.

You stared at each other for a few long seconds, as silent as it could be in the loud club. He allowed himself to recognize how pretty you were underneath the heavy glitter eyeshadow and exaggerated lip before he mentally scolded the thought.

“You’re a cop.” You said next and it wasn’t a question but he still gave you a quick nod in response to verify.

“That easy to tell?” He shifted against the bar and now it was your turn to let your gaze drift down his frame, although you lacked any of the shame he had held while doing it.

He wondered what you saw when you looked at him, hopefully not the mildly insecure unhappy husband he’d become in recent years. He knew his button up shirt fit a little snug around the stomach area lately and his jeans were more wrinkled than he would have allowed in his late twenties when he had the energy to care about appearances.

It had been a long time since Sammy felt the need to look good for anybody but the feeling was blooming the longer you scanned him.

“Your partner said you’d been stressed.” You take a drink of your water bottle after you said it and he eyes the curve of your throat as you slightly tilt it back.

“He’s an idiot.” Sammy replies with a dismissive shake of his head but he knows Nate was telling the truth and he’s sure you know it too.

You don’t say anything for a long time and he has the teenage like worry that he had ruined the conversation, too awkward or stilted for even a paid stripper to want to continue to talk to him.

Then you’re moving closer to him, abandoning the half empty water bottle on the bar top in favor of letting your palm lay flat on his chest. His breath catches in his throat but he tries to not look as pathetic as he feels, not even able to remember the last time Tammi touched him this simply.

He definitely can’t remember her ever blinking up at him the way you are currently, eyes somehow still full of interest and curiosity despite the lack of material he’s given you to work with.

“You don’t want a dance?” Your voice is lower now like it’s an offer just for him, like you haven’t been more likely than not praying on pathetic married men all night long.

There’s an obvious hesitation, during which he allows himself to shift his gaze from your pretty face to the way your chest is almost pressing against his. You see both, the look he gives you and the way he doesn’t turn you down right away.

“No I… I’m good. Thank you.” His words are tighter now and barely escape his throat but he finds himself meaning it.

To your credit, you step back and don’t make another move. You don’t even look upset at his denial even though you’re probably not used to, atleast he assumes so considering you look like that.

You grab your water bottle and he can tell you’re about to leave so he sighs and digs into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out the singles Nate had thrust in his direction when they first got there to insist he had fun.

“What did he pay you?” He’s asking and surprising himself by following the few steps backwards you take so you can’t get too far.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion for a second before he’s glancing at the group of guys, mouth parting in realization.

“Oh I’m on my break.” You say simply and you wave a dismissive hand at the stack of bills he’d pulled out, fully turning to leave just as he freezes up.

Sammy spends the rest of the month thinking about you.

He had hoped he wasn’t the type of guy to be ridiculous enough to believe the stripper liked him more than anyone else just because she batted her eyelashes or did a special spin move on a pole, but he thinks he just might be.

The fact you hadn’t been under any obligation to speak to him, no price tag over his head, and you had even denied the tip he’d tried to add on to the nonexistent total, is warring with any rational he has in his mind.

It’s a little ridiculous, the way he listens closely to Nate and his patrol buddies locker talk in hopes they’ll possibly be discussing another night out.

Another two months pass before the chance ever presents itself.

Sammy’s passing by Nate’s desk when he hears another detective suggest the club for his partners birthday party and he’s embarrassingly quick to RSVP for it once it’s official, earning a suspicious look from Nate at his eagerness.

The looks don’t stop either because when they finally get there, back in the vaguely familiar corner with the uncomfortable red seating, Sammy has his head on a swivel on a constant look out for you.

“You waiting for somebody?” It takes him a few seconds to even process Nate is talking to him and his head snaps to the side, a little flushed from being caught.

He’s sure he looks incredibly obvious with the way his eyebrows furrow and his finger points against his chest in near theatrics.

“Me?” His voice sounds unnaturally high and clearly his partner thinks so too because his lips curl up in a half smile. “Who would I be waiting for?”

“Maybe that pretty stripper you were talking to last time.” Nate shrugs easily like it’s not a big deal, like they aren’t both married, and maybe it just doesn’t matter to him. Sammy starts to think he’s the only guy in the entire building with any actual loyalty towards his wife and then remembers he came to specifically seek you out and he erases the thought.

He makes a point to ignore what Nate had said and tries to be less obvious in the way he’s looking for you but it doesn’t matter anyways because you never show up.

You’re not on the stages, not walking around offering special dances and he even lingers near the private rooms on his way to the bathroom to see if you come or go at any point.

It’s pathetic and he’s starting to feel so embarrassed that his neck is hot so he decides against going back to the group, hopefully too drunk and stupid to even realize he doesn’t come back. He figures they won’t notice anyways as humiliating as that is but Sammy knows enough to tell when he’s the odd man out.

He doesn’t have much time to wallow in his own self pity because he finally spots you as soon as he pushes through the back entrance door, entering out into a small alley with a security guard right outside the building and a designated smoke area.

That’s where you are, leaned against the eroded brick wall with a cigarette pressed between your lips. Your heels look smaller than last time but that’s about the only noticeable difference, back in another outfit that barely counts as clothes with makeup so heavy he can barely tell what your features actually look like.

He gets a few solid seconds of staring before you’re glancing over and you look mildly annoyed at the disturbance at first before your eyes flash with recognition.

He hates that he feels a spark of something he probably shouldn’t at the fact you remember him after such a brief interaction all those weeks ago. Although he figures you don’t get rejected often so maybe he stuck out in your mind.

“Officer.” You greet him warmly, dropping the cigarette on the slightly wet asphalt and driving the toe of your heel into it.

“Sammy.” He corrects softly, finding himself giving you an amused look as he moves closer. He stops a few feet away and also leans against the wall, looking out into the alley and avoiding your gaze all together even though he can feel it on the side of his face.

“Not having fun?” You question and he’s half tempted to check your reaction to the way he immediately shakes his head but he keeps staring at the buzzing streetlights and overflowing garage bins.

You make a soft humming sound at his denial and he hopes you aren’t offended, doubts it considering you’re opting to stand out in the sketchy alley instead of being at work. He has the cop instinct to ask you why you do what you do, find out what led you here and make sure it was something you were doing willingly.

He knows how stupid that would be and he’s sure he’s not the first guy to want to save the stripper, cop or not, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“But you came back.” Again, apparently like most things you say, it’s a statement and not a question.

Now he finally looks back at you which he immediately knows is a mistake considering you’re a lot prettier up close, not that the view from far away is even remotely unpleasant. He just has the same realization he had last time, that you look a lot different underneath all that makeup.

Your eyes looked a lot younger than they did under the glowing stage lights and a lot more tired, much more human in a way that made his throat tighten a little.

“Do you like it?” His voice dropped lower until it was just above a whisper, trying to stop the hovering security guard from overhearing his pathetic attempts at small talk.

You smile in a way that makes him feel stupid, like you’ve heard the same line from a hundred different guys and he knows that’s true. He has half the desire to convince you he’s not like them before you even try to answer, tell you that he’s not being sleazy but genuinely trying to know how you feel.

Maybe you can somehow see that in him or maybe you give everyone the same line, but you respond softly.

“It pays the bills.” Your shoulders shrug and he’s briefly drawn to the glitter adorning your collarbones, accented by the strapless poor excuse of a shirt you’re wearing.

“That’s what people who hate their job say.” He replies back with surprising ease and now your smile grows into something more genuine, his own lips curling up to match it.

“You sound familiar with that.” You say in response quickly and he scoffs in amusement. “Do you hate your job?”

“It pays the bills.” He delivers and now you fully laugh, not the high pitched giggles he’d heard some of the other dancers giving his objectively unfunny coworkers, but a real laugh that spilled out before you could stop it.

It trails off into a slow nod of agreement but he can see the way you’re biting your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling too wide and he feels a surge of confidence he definitely didn’t have the other night.

His eyes trail up and down your frame since you’d taken to looking straight ahead for a moment, lingering on the smooth skin of your thighs and the curve of your hips that’s followed by your low hanging skirt.

You half clear your throat and he knows you’re trying to get his attention but he can’t bring himself to look away from you, feeling that almost unfamiliar stirring in his gut that he had almost forgotten the sensation of. He’s sure he looks pathetic when you finally lock eyes again but you’ve lost the alluring smile, lips parted like he’s managed to shock you from the sheer desperation radiating off of him.

He knows that’s probably not true, you’re more likely than not an expert in the embarrassment that comes with being a man.

But he likes the way you’re watching him now, like he’s somehow managed to spark your curiosity despite how overly boring his entire life is.

Coming to a filthy strip club and sitting in the corner like a loser is by far the most exciting thing Sammy has ever done on his own violation. He gets a thrill from his job and he’s seen things most people can’t imagine but none of that is because of him, because he was any bit interesting or rememberable.

So he can’t even feel too guilty about the pull he feels towards you when you look at him like there’s something you’re trying to figure out, making him believe for half a second he has something below the surface level that is worth discovering.

“I think I’d like to dance for you.” You say finally and your voice is softer than it had been earlier, almost sounding like a request if he didn’t know any better. “It’s extra fun when you’re not into it.”

“I’d be into it.” He corrects you immediately, not wanting to give you the wrong idea. Maybe part of him doesn’t like you thinking he’s some sexless man even though the guilt crawls back up at that thought so he pretends he’s saying this to spare your feelings. “Probably too into it, that’s why I don’t want one.”

You eye him for a second, half skeptical and half amused, before your body is turning to face his. Then your hands back on him like it had been all those weeks ago when you touched his chest, this time wrapping halfway around his bicep and squeezing.

“Just one dance.” You’re whispering now and he wonders if it’s because the security guard still lingering behind you or if you’re trying to make him feel special.

He’s ashamed that it’s working.

“Come on.” He lets it leave as a sigh, trying to avoid looking at you but finding it nearly impossible. You were already ridiculously pretty but it’s even worse now that you’ve got this devoted look in your eyes like you’re about ready to beg him for that dance. “There’s a dozen guys in there who would pay you triple what I can afford.”

He isn’t sure how true that is but he imagines you have to be pretty popular with the crowd inside, he can’t think of a single other dancer that has caught his attention the way you had. There was just something about you and he wasn’t stupid enough to think he’s the only one who could feel that.

“I’m not asking you to pay me.” You say back and his shoulders tense, no doubt noticeably because you move your hand off his arm to rub the stiff muscle.

“That’s ridiculous.” He half mumbles because he’s not really sure if it is all that crazy, he’s not exactly up to date on the terms and conditions of a strip club. “Wouldn’t you get in trouble?”

Your eyes brighten and he realizes a little too late that his question made it seem like he was actually considering your request.

“Not unless you tell on me.” You’re back to whispering now and your voice is deadly like that, all soft and private. “Are you going to tell on me officer?”

He watches you for a few long seconds, searching for something on your face that he’s not sure he’d even know how to identify if he managed to find it.

“Why?” His tone is overly curious and desperate for an answer that can help him understand this. He almost wishes you’d just straight up tell him you feel bad for him so he can stop pretending this is something else.

“Dancing used to be fun for me.” You say it with a soft shrug and he’s a bit surprised at how honest that feels. “It would be nice to do something because I want to. And I like the way you squirm.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh at your added on statement, looking away from you for a second in contemplation and feeling a weird zing of warmth when he faces you again and sees you’re back to smiling.

“I don’t squirm.” He’s pretty sure he’s quite literally squirming as he says it, confirmed by how amused you look.

You’re both quiet for a bit after that and he lets out a deep breath, feeling overly ridiculous for the fact he’s considering your offer. Both because he’s married and it should be an automatic no but, on the completely other end of the spectrum, he can’t figure out what kind of guy turns down a free professional lap dance.

He’s not really sure what kind of guy he’s less comfortable being.

“Maybe next time?” His eyes squint a little when he says it, coming off completely unbelievable which clearly you agree with because you give him a tight smile and nod your head.

Sammy has a hard time going back inside let alone leaving the building entirely, the offer lingering in his head until he gets back home and then for days afterwards.

He’s not sure why he can’t stop thinking about it, why he can barely look Tammi in the eyes.

It’s ridiculous to know that a brief conversation with a stripper in a sketchy alley was one of the only times he’s felt listened to in the last ten years. He can’t remember the last time he’d bantered with his wife or complained about his job in a way that didn’t just frustrate her, she certainly didn’t express her wants and desires to him anymore unless it was something she wanted him to pay for.

He couldn’t get what you said out of his head about wanting to do something because you wanted it.

He knew you probably didn’t mean him specifically, he wasn’t sure why that could possibly be the case so it made more sense to completely write it off. But you were willing to make him apart of that equation and that alone felt complimentary.

So Sammy went back to the club.

This time he wasn’t dragged along reluctantly by a group of asshole cops, it was nobody’s birthday or special celebration and he couldn’t hide within a small crowd to avoid being singled out.

Going by himself felt like a whole different experience and he halfway considered turning around as soon as he entered but he pushed further into the dark building, rubbing his sweaty hands against the sides of his jeans and trying to look less awkward when he finally made it to the bar.

It felt like a safe enough neutral ground for him to be able to scan the surrounding areas and try to find you. He felt a little stupid when a few minutes passed and you were nowhere to be seen, wondering for a second if you were even working today.

And then there you were.

He registered as soon as you walked out onto the main stage, center of the club and a little larger than the smaller ones adjacent to it, that he had never actually seen you dance before.

You were beautiful enough that he was sure people paid just to be around you but watching you move around on the pole was a whole new level of things. He wouldn’t be surprised if a handful of men and women went broke just to possibly catch your attention for a second or two.

You moved like you were just dancing for yourself, barely looking out to the small crowd watching you. It was like your own private universe and Sammy was sucked into it, leaning forward on his stool against the bar and wishing he had sat closer to the stage so he could have a better view of you.

He thought on what you had said, about not having fun anymore. It was noticeable to him but he figured he was probably the only one paying attention to your expressions and the bored look on your face, the other men leaning forward to try and pass you dirty single bills only focused on the way your top barely covered your nipples and your nearly sheer panties.

Sammy was suddenly extremely happy he wasn’t any closer, especially when you spread your legs teasingly for the men in front of you.

He didn’t feel any sort of jealously watching you give attention to the other patrons but there was a foreign sense of pride. You were good at what you did and clearly that was the general publics opinion too.

He almost felt bad for the girl that had to go on after you, met with a lot less enthusiasm than you had managed to draw out during your short performance. You were still on stage as she came out and got set up, collecting the dollars placed in front of you with a tense jaw and an obvious tightness to your spine.

If he hadn’t already felt stupid for being there alone, then it really settled in when he left the bar in favor of lingering near the stage dressing room exit doors. He wasn’t even sure if you’d leave from there, getting a watchful eye from the closest security guard who was clearly ready to stop him if he got too close to the restricted area.

The feeling was gone as soon as you stepped out and saw him, recognition and surprise clear on your face as you approached him easily like he was an old friend.

“Sammy. You came back.” You sounded soft again like you were genuinely pleased to see him.

“Yeah I…” He trailed off and awkwardly adjusted his collar, feeling a little hot suddenly as he shifted on his feet. His eyes went to your face after drifting around for a few seconds and he was relieved to see you looked patient but far too knowing. “I thought about it.”

You didn’t need to hear him finish before your hand was wrapping around his wrist, making him tense for a second before you were tugging him along with you as you walked. His fingers curled up into a fist repeatedly as the nerves hit him hard, trying his best to not let his gaze drift down to your panties as you led him.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you when it came to this dance offer but it definitely wasn’t a private area in the back of the club. You weren’t in your own room but there were wooden partitions on the back of the booth chairs that blocked you from any viewing eyes.

He stood there stiffly as you had a brief hushed talk with one of the security guards outside the sectioned off area, the large man’s eyes drifting over your shoulder to Sammy before giving you a curt nod and stepping aside so he was also outside the walls.

“Sorry.” You mumbled it out as you let go of his wrist that felt like it was burning from your touch. He was standing there still, a little thrown off by how quickly things had escalated. “Figured we’d talk in here instead.”

He nodded his head but he wasn’t sure he really understood still, glancing around and clearing his throat.

“You’re nervous.”

Again with the blunt statements, leaving him feeling a little stupid at the near pity in your voice so he furrowed his eyebrows. You stepped closer until you had to tilt your head back to look at his face and he stared down at you, curious and so clearly hesitant still but he had showed up so it was too late.

He knew he’d never get you out of his head if he didn’t follow through with this.

“That’s okay.” You were whispering now and he was surprised at how intimate it could feel in this area with you despite the fact the club was still lively around you, just outside the half walls that did very little to block out the sounds and overlapping voices. “Can I help you relax?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak yet so he nodded again, watching you hesitate before your hands were going to the top buttons on his shirt. You undid three of them and stopped there but it was enough to suck the breath out of his chest.

“You can’t touch me, obviously no pictures and videos.” You were still speaking quietly as your hands moved to rub over both his biceps, both helping in relaxing him and also making his head spin dangerously. “Don’t stick any dirty bills in my underwear… although that one doesn’t really apply to you since this is on the house.”

You smiled up at him then and the combination of your touch and the look on your face almost killed him. He couldn’t stand how pretty you were, wishing he could at least request for you to wipe the eyeshadow off of your eyes so he could make out the shape of them better.

It was a weird detail to obsess over, especially since it still looked good on you as is, but he craved to see you in more of a natural state.

Selfish. Something he didn’t allow himself to be ever.

“I want to pay you.” He spoke finally and his voice came out as quiet as yours had gotten, sighing when you shook your head immediately. “Doesn’t feel right.”

“What? Feels more like cheating?” Your eyebrows furrowed and he felt a little thrown by how accusatory your tone suddenly was. He almost countered your claim with the reminder that you had begged him for this but that felt stupid because you weren’t wrong and he had made the choice to come back.

And it was even more true that the lack of exchange that was payment for a service made this feel too real.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” He said back and now it was your turn to sigh, hands rubbing over his shoulders as you shifted closer.

“No I’m sorry.” You sounded genuinely apologetic and he tried not to stiffen too much when you were suddenly kissing against his jaw. It was the first time anyone other than Tammi was touching him in a dozen years and maybe the first actual sign of affection he’d gotten since four summers ago. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He knew right away he’d struggle with not touching you, both because he felt awkward just standing there and because he wanted to desperately.

“I want this too you know.” You whisper next and that hits him harder than any amount of touching you could do, pausing in the soft kisses so you can stare up at him again. “What can I do to help you relax?”

Sammy feels like he can’t voice what he wants, not in general and especially not under these circumstances. But his brain is clearly a traitor because his eyes drop down to your lips before he can stop himself, noting that they’re a little extra shiny from kissing his skin and he’s sure your lipstick is left on his jaw.

“Oh.” You sound breathier than he figured he’d ever hear you get and he halfway wonders what about this is affecting you so much.

Maybe you’re just a very good actress.

“You want me to kiss you?” You’re still whispering but it feels incredibly loud and he’d take a large step backwards if it wasn’t for your hands still clinging to him.

“I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands twitch at his sides again. “I shouldn’t.”

“I didn’t ask if you should, I asked if you want it.”

He watches you for a long few seconds, eyes locked on yours that are too desperate for it to make sense to him. You look about ready to convince him but there’s no need to considering he nods just when he feels like you’re going to pull away.

You don’t hesitate, like you’re worried he’s going to change his mind if he’s given another second to think, pressing your mouth against his.

He’s quick to move against you because he hasn’t felt heat like this in a long time and now he’s drowning in it, taking a step forward so you’re fully flushed against eachother as you kiss deeply. There’s no slow build up or soft movement until you get used to each other, pace quick and needy from the beginning with your tongue already licking across his bottom lip.

Theres no question about allowing you access and you make a soft pleased noise when he so easily lets you lick into his mouth, his hands clenching into tight fist while they hover over your warm skin.

Luckily you move your own palm down to grasp his and press it against your body, a silent show of permission that he takes advantage of right away.

He knows you’ll probably take away the privilege once the dance actually starts so he lets himself be greedy, rubbing his rough hands up and down the bare skin of your back and smiling into the kiss when he feels the way you shiver at the touch.

You clearly like it, like him for whatever reason.

You’re kissing for so long that he feels a little dizzy from how breathless he is, tongues tangling more than anything else like you’re drunk on the taste of each other. You’re grabbing anywhere you can, from his arms to the back of his neck and even moving down to press against the softness of his stomach.

He’s not sure how much time passes before you stop and it takes a few tries, pulling off and giving him soft pecks that turn into another full blown makeout session before long and that process repeats a handful of times before you’re lightly pushing him backwards to sit down.

You move his hands down to his sides and he takes the silent direction, knowing he’s technically not supposed to touch you anymore even though he’s feeling pretty confident by now that you wouldn’t exactly mind.

Still, he wants the full illusion of getting a real dance from you so he white knuckles the plush seating beside him and keeps himself focused.

Watching you dance on stage versus having you right in front of him is an out of body experience.

You’re back to being sensual and untouchable in a way that makes him almost needy just from looking at you, back to longing for your attention and feeling like he must be the luckiest guy in the world to have you looking at him.

It’s jarring how fast you can go from desperately kissing him and gripping onto his frame to dancing in front of him, just out of reach like he doesn’t deserve to touch you.

And he really agrees.

You’re torture in human form, especially when you move so you’re almost on his lap but not quite enough for him to feel you. You’re hovering over him, knees on either side of his thighs, and letting your hands run through his hair and down his neck.

It’s brutal and he wishes he could live here like this, willing to suffer at your hands for as long as you still want him to.

“You’re cute.” You say softly and he’d almost forgotten what your voice sounds like, too focused on your cleavage nearly pressed against his face and the feeling of your hands all over him. “You want to touch me so bad.”

“I won’t.” He assures you, needs you to know he’ll listen to whatever rules you set in place for him.

You hum like you’re satisfied by his answer, nose rubbing against his, and if he had a tail it would most certainly be wagging.

The dance last for a few songs but it lingers in Sammy’s head for much longer.

He leaves the club that night a little dazed, feeling slightly wobbly on his feet despite the fact he hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol.

There’s a high that comes from seeing the relaxation on your face when you danced for him, laughing whenever he let out a strangled breath and smiling as you moved to the beat he would surely look ridiculous to if he tried.

Obviously he was still human and apparently still very much a man because he couldn’t get your body out of his head either, the taste of your tongue and the way you touched him in areas of his body he had neglected just like most aspects of his life.

Sammy felt like a terrible husband when he got back home that night, taking an extra long shower to get your lipstick off his skin and throwing his clothes in the washer to rid the them of the body glitter and smell of your perfume. He felt even worse when he climbed into bed with Tammi and spent hours tossing and turning because of thoughts of you.

But he felt noticed for the first time in a long time and it was starting to outweigh any guilt.

He started to go every week.

It made him feel almost nauseous with anxiety the first few times he showed up, you’d never actually invited him back although you had kissed him a few more times before you had to go backstage again.

He wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him again, maybe you’d tell security to ban him or tell him directly to his face that he had gotten the wrong idea and you had just been bored. But you smothered that thought pretty quick, rushing up to him whenever he’d walk through the door and pulling him into dark hallways to kiss him on the days you could spare the time.

Sometimes you were busy with performances and he’d settle in the back with a clear front view of the stage, watching you move and trying to ignore the tightness in his chest when somebody yelled something gross that made you noticeably faltered.

Other nights he got you to himself for a long moment, almost close to an hour a handful of times.

He’d tried to talk to you occasionally and you’d open up just enough to peek his interest without actually letting him know anything about yourself. You’d smile softly at him when he tried to check in on how you were doing like you found him cute for even thinking you’d answer.

You’d dance for him, either for the entire duration of your time in the private booths or just a quick song before you’d settle down next to him and kiss him softly.

He realized pretty quickly how much you liked to kiss.

He noticed that right alongside your interest in his stomach, the size of his legs and how thick his fingers felt when you played with them. Sammy had been smaller in his life and he definitely had put on some weight now that he was spending a lot of his day behind a desk, a sore spot for Tammi who would not so subtly recommend diet meals and calorie plans.

You didn’t seem to mind at all, the complete opposite actually. He was sure you’d pull his shirt off the second he walked in the door if it was allowed, your hands constantly wandering beneath the fabric and unbuttoning it all the way down to his ribs so you could atleast see a part of his chest.

Sammy realized after three months of visiting you almost religiously that he wasn’t as delusional as he thought and you actually liked him.

You’d even broke what he figured was the biggest personal rule in the club, whispering your real name against his mouth one night when he had called you by the given stage one.

It had taken a few seconds to process but the slight nervousness in your eyes made it obvious what you were saying to him.

So of course he couldn’t keep himself away, it would be impossible to even try.

He couldn’t pretend that it didn’t give him a small thrill to sneak around and see you, to tell Nate he was too busy to watch the game or make sure Tammi processed him complaining about having to work overtime.

You were the single most interesting thing that had happened to him probably in his entire life.

Sammy actually was running late tonight and it had already been nine days since he’d last seen you, the longest stretch you’d gone in a long time. He still felt ridiculous to be hurrying to a strip club after a long shift, having to pick up extra hours to help lessen Nate’s workload so he could go home to his baby.

Tammi was growing used to him being busier lately so she’d only thrown a major fit which he was grateful for, having no time to talk her down on the phone considering he was probably going to miss you entirely if he didn’t hurry up.

He was speed walking away from his car towards the entrance when a voice made him falter.

“Sammy?”

Thankfully he knew your voice so well by now, especially the way you said his name, because he almost thought he wouldn’t recognize you if you hadn’t spoke. Maybe he would have passed right by and continued to search for you inside.

You had absolutely no makeup on other than the black smudges stuck on your waterline and some left over glitter adorning the visible skin, a lot less than usual considering you were wearing a large shirt that covered most of your frame down to your thighs.

Sammy had never seen you like this, natural with your hair flowing down your back and a few inches shorter due to the flat shoes you were wearing.

He noticed immediately how much younger you looked when you were bare faced, ashamed to realize he had never actually asked how old you were. He had figured you were over twenty one because you worked in a club but you had such youthful features that he had to wonder if that was even the case.

“Hey.” He tried to keep his voice normal and soft, not wanting to freak you out.

There was a security guard hovering near the entrance of the club but he was out of earshot and you were practically alone in the parking lot. He hoped you felt safe with him by now but he didn’t want to assume, staying as still as possible.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” He sighed out and shook his head, gesturing to where his car was parked like he was going to explain it all to you before stopping, words catching in his throat as he looked at you closely again.

“This is weird right?” Your voice was soft too and thankfully you seemed just as comfortable as normal, posture relaxed as you shifted the bag of things you were carrying in your arms. He figured it was outfits and shoes, maybe even some of your tips although he hoped you stored them somewhere safer.

“No it’s…” He trailed off and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Okay yeah maybe a little bit.”

You smiled lightly at his honesty and squinted your eyes in a half wince like you were contemplating doing something stupid. Eventually you sighed and took a step closer to him.

“Walk me to my car?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod and step closer to you as you fell into sync walking, arms brushing each others as you went deeper into the large parking lot.

He couldn’t stop staring at the side of your face, transfixed by this version of you that he probably wasn’t ever supposed to see. You played a part, constantly performing even though he technically wasn’t paying you for the service like everybody else was. It was still your job and the outfits and makeup you wore were your disguise.

You’d told him your name, kissed him on the mouth while giggling like he was your lover, and now he was getting to see you as you yawned softly and not so subtly played with his fingers as you walked.

“You worked late.” You comment when you finally reach your car and he’s glad you’re not jumping to end the night before he even got a chance to talk to you.

He spends a few seconds in silence, scanning over your car. He’s both checking the state of it and also trying to learn whatever he can from you by looking at the small details he can see, what bumper stickers you have on the back and what type of air fresheners you like to use.

“Nate just had a baby.” He answers and he’s surprised by how easy it rolls off, like he’s talking to his wife about his day and not a clearly much younger stripper. “So I was helping him out.”

“So selfless.” You hum and finally, finally, you touch him. Your hands rub over his ribs softly in soothing circles, your back pressing against your car as he shifts so he’s fully in front of you. “You’re a good man.”

“I’m terrible.” He says immediately and you smile at the statement, shifting and pressing a light kiss against his mouth that he returns eagerly.

He’s missed every part of you but especially this and he knows he’s in deep now, actually yearning for you throughout his days and even more so at night. He’d spent a big part of the last few months picturing what it would be like to see you outside of the club, maybe smiling underneath the sun or cooking dinner with him in a kitchen far more lively than his own.

He feels content with this, still technically at your place of work but far enough removed that he has that special feeling again.

You kiss him for so long his lips go numb and then you’re wishing him a goodnight, and shocking him even more by wrapping your arms around him for a tight hug.

Sammy makes sure he comes back the next day as early as he can, not wanting to make the same mistake and only get a few minutes with you before you leave.

He wants to spend as much time with you as he can, willing to pay an absurd amount if it means you stay with him instead of getting on the stage. It’s a weekend, something he usually avoids, and he’s a little thrown off by how busy it is.

A few patrons give him long looks and he’s halfway convinced he recognizes some of them from his time out on the streets, trying to avoid eye contact the best he can and remind himself that he’s still supposed to be a cop even when he’s off the clock.

Being taken into a private area by a much younger stripper isn’t illegal but it’s definitely breaking half a dozen moral codes, most of all infidelity.

He’s almost worse than the men who come here and pay for full out sex, more twisted than a husband who has a meaningless hookup in a cheap motel. Because he may keep his hands to himself more often than not, but you’re living under his skin now and that’s the biggest betrayal of all.

Right away, he can tell you’re more amped up than usual.

Maybe you feel closer to him after he saw you in such a private state yesterday or maybe you’re happy he’s there so early for once but you practically drag him to the private booth, kissing him before you even get inside which earns you both a sharp look from the security guard.

Your energy is infectious as you eagerly sit him down on the seats, the type of energy he hasn’t felt in years and another reminder of how much younger than him you are.

There’s barely any small talk at all before you’re fully climbing into his lap which is something you rarely do even after all of these visits, always hovering over the fabric of his jeans in a straddle or facing away from him and teasing him with the curve of your ass brushing just enough to drive him crazy.

He makes a strangled sound at the contact that makes you smile right before you kiss him, slow and sensual like you have all the time in the world.

“What’s up?” He asks against your mouth, keeping his hands at his sides no matter how strong the urge to steady you is.

“Nothing just missed you.” You say back and kiss him again, a few more times that get longer and longer each time.

He selfishly wants to hear you elaborate considering it’s only been less than 24 hours since you’d last seen him, but you don’t give him the chance before your tongues licking into his mouth and you’re leaning against his chest.

He wonders how he got so lucky to have you missing him, so excited to see him after a missed day that you can’t even follow your own rules about touching eachother.

You’ve been kissing for a long time before he first feels your hips moving, such small movements that he barely registers it at first before it hits him all at once. You’re rubbing yourself against him and he doesn’t even know if you’ve realized that you’re doing it, soft noises leaving your mouth from the way your tongues wrap around each others.

He knows by now that you like kissing, especially when it’s this filthy and passionate, but you seem genuinely overwhelmed by need.

Sammy isn’t sure how he’s supposed to be reacting during this, his hands fiddling with the loose strings on the seat below him because he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

His hips do lift off the seating for a brief moment to try and follow after yours, an instinctive move he didn’t even realize he was doing until it was too late. You pull off from the kiss finally like you’re only now recognizing the way you’re torturing him.

“Fuck sorry.” He mutters out but you’re smiling down at him and rocking your hips again like you’re testing his reaction. He groans and lets himself shift one more time, feeling the tent in his jeans rub against the panties that barely cover your core.

“Look at you.” Your voice is like silk and he almost gasps at the sound of it, even worse with your hands suddenly in his hair. “So desperate for it.”

He can’t deny it, knows there’s no use.

A groan leaves him as he shifts again under you and now you finally react, a soft noise falling from your mouth that makes his entire body heat up.

You’ve stopped teasing him suddenly, no more wandering hands or slightly moving against his lap. Instead you’re fully sat down against his hard on and rocking your hips back and forth over it, a cute almost pained expression on your face that he can barely stand to look at.

“You like that.” He doesn’t even realizing he’s talking until he’s said it, a statement and not a question. Your eyes go to his instantly like you’re surprised by the boldness of the claim. “Feel how hard you get me?”

You make a breathy shocked noise before you’re nodding eagerly and really rocking against him, hands moving to his shoulders to support yourself. He can’t stop himself from touching you even if he tried, his hands gently grabbing your hips just to help you move faster.

Now your noises are high pitched and desperate as you rub yourself on him, biting your lip to try and keep quiet as you hump against him.

“Fuck baby there we go.” He’s grunting out and he’s shocked at how unlike himself he sounds, dominant and rough in a way he hasn’t felt in decades. “Make yourself feel good. Just like that, keep using me.”

You’re whining in his ear as your forehead rest against his shoulder and he rubs up your bare back, feeling the shudder that runs through you at the sensation of his rough hands finally really touching you.

It’s got you so pent up and it’s another new side of you he’s getting to discover, whiny and desperate and not at all in control like you were most of time you spent together. You’re burying your face in his neck to try and muffle the sweet sounds leaving you but he can’t stand it, a hand tangling in your hair to tug lightly and get you to let him hear.

You’re not talking, seemingly unable, but you do try to kiss him as you move. It’s sloppy and you can barely keep up with it but he’s fixated on making you feel good so he tries his best to help you.

If Sammy was already obsessed with you, then he was completely screwed now. You’re begging for him to keep going in a high pitched voice and digging your nails into the meat of his arms, calling out his name in soft whimpers when you’re finally releasing for him.

He can’t believe you’re real, can’t believe he’s sitting with you on his lap like this.

You kiss him softly as you’re coming down, arms wrapped around his neck and body completely relaxed against him. He feels a pang of guilt, wishing you were somewhere less noisy and public where he could properly clean you up and make sure you were okay, but you don’t seem at all upset when you pull back to smile at him.

It’s a new development that doesn’t slow down at all, touching each other in a new way almost every time he comes.

You get down on your knees for him, let him feel between your legs and kiss down your body like he has any ownership over it, his fingers in your mouth as you ride against his thigh.

He’d already liked you, would have even content with sitting in the grimy building just to have a meaningless conversation if it meant he got to spend even a second around you.

But now you’d added this new dynamic and he feels like he’s become something completely corrupted, constantly thinking about your body against his and anticipating the next time you’re going to touch him.

Sometimes he stays until the club closes, waiting outside in the alley for you so he can walk you to your car and kiss you up against it.

You talked to him then, maybe feeling safer when you’re not having to play a part. You stand there in your regular clothes and complain about your family in a soft voice, boast about becoming a regular at your favorite coffee shop and tell him about the new neighbors that were a little too long for your liking.

He knows that’s much more dangerous than any amount of touching you can do.

There’s no more sadness when Tammi doesn’t ask him about his day at work because he knows you will the next time he sees you, knows you’ll care and ask follow up questions like you’re genuinely interested in what he does daily.

Sammy craves more, wants to see you under the sunlight more than anything he’s ever wanted before. He wants to wake up next to you and run you a bath after he makes you feel good, come home to you in the kitchen dancing in that free way you do when you feel happy.

He doesn’t dare bring any of that up to you, content with the good thing he has someone acquired.

Something shifts after the sixth month of seeing you almost every week, sometimes multiple times if he can spare it.

You weren’t dancing that night, just sitting beside him and kissing his jaw softly as you asked him questions about his family and how he grew up. He was wondering how much trouble you’d be in if your manager knew how much time you’d been spending with him like this.

He’s started to force you to take some of his money, especially since you’d had to pick up extra private sessions with other guys to make up the difference.

It makes his stomach turn with a possessiveness he shouldn’t have and he knows you agreed because it’s the only time you’d been slightly irritated with him, scolding him in between kisses and reminding him that he didn’t own you.

Telling him over and over that you were doing your job with others still.

The exclusion of him from that statement made him feel a bit better so he shut up and noted to not bring it up again.

Weeks passed before you were sat with him like that, interrupted by his phone vibrating in the pocket of his jeans.

Sammy rarely got calls when he was with you because he’d turn his phone off or stress to Tammi that she had to stop calling him while he was ‘working overtime’. He ignored it like he always did but then it was on its fourth attempt and he started to worry it was important, kissing you lightly and telling you to wait before pulling it out and answering it.

Tammi was hysterically crying, rambling through sobs about how Richter was throwing up all over the house and not acting like himself.

He’d apologized to you a million times, trying not to look at the dejected look on your face as he helped you stand up and left early for the first time in months.

He didn’t really think about it past that, feeling terrible but figuring you would understand.

Then he was back the next week and searching for you, spending an hour in the club without being able to find you. He asked one of the bouncers who was more familiar with him, knowing how regularly he was here to see you.

They told him you’d been fully booked with private dances that night and he felt his stomach turn, knowing you got to select the time slots yourself. You’d left no space for him in your schedule despite knowing what days he’d come by now.

Sammy knew he should just go home and ask you about it the next time he saw you but he couldn’t stand the thought of it being left unresolved.

So he waited.

He spent two hours in the parking lot before you finally stepped out, looking much more tired than usual and speed walking to your car like you had a feeling he was going to be waiting out there for you.

You didn’t look at all surprised when he got out of his car and approached you but you sighed and rolled your eyes, making him falter a little in his pace.

“Not tonight Sammy. Come back next week.” You said dismissively and he scoffed at the detached tone.

“What?” His voice was louder than he meant for it to be but it got you to stop, turning to face him with a glare. “That’s it? Like I’m just some random customer?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you were taking a few quick steps in his direction, jamming your finger against his chest and jabbing him a few times. He clenched his jaw but didn’t react, swallowing the anger building in his chest.

“That’s exactly what you are Sammy.” You spat and he felt his heart drop, shaking his head in denial before you even got to finish. “I’m a stripper for fucks sake. What the fuck did you think this was?”

Your eyes were full of hurt and he wasn’t an idiot, understanding exactly what this was about.

“You know I’m married. You’ve known that from the second you met me.” His voice is calmer than he expected it to come out, trying to disarm you as he reaches out to lightly touch your forearms and keep you from storming off or touching him roughly again. “I see you more than I do her these days.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You laugh cruelly like he’s saying something completely ridiculous and his face deflates with a sigh.

“You won’t even give me your fucking phone number.” He rubs your arms as he speaks, just trying to get you to understand his point of view. “You want me to leave my wife for you when you don’t want to let me in?”

You harden immediately and he regrets the words, although partially true he also knows you’d shown him parts of yourself that you normally kept hidden away. You had done a lot of letting him in and it clearly hurts you that he acts like it meant little in the grand scheme.

He can only call apologies out to you as you step out of his touch and storm off to your car, roughly slamming the door and squealing out of the parking lot before he can even catch his breath.

Sammy doesn’t see you for two months and every day is worse than the last.

He keeps thinking he’ll get over it eventually, that you were a small chapter of his apparent middle life crisis, but he craves you so bad and he can’t get you out of his head no matter what he does.

He feels dull and lifeless, looking forward to nothing anymore and arguing with Tammi even worse than usual.

The day he breaks is the same day he has to arrest one of the kids he’d taken under his wing, one of the only things he was still able to care about. He sits in his car crying after the arrest for two hours, head pounding and eyes swollen.

His drive starts off in the direction of his house but he remembers the big stupid fight he and Tammi had this morning so he completely changes his plan and heads straight to the club.

He feels stupid as he parks, even worse when he’s getting out of his car automatically at the sight of you. He could cry again just from seeing you in person after so long but he tries his best not to, his head already hurting so bad he’s half convinced this isn’t reality.

You see him and automatically sigh, glancing around like you’re considering getting the security guards attention.

“You shouldn’t be here Sammy.” You say and your tone is just as hard as it was the last time you saw each other.

But then you turn your head to glare at him and your entire body stiffens, immediately seeing how swollen and red his face is and the clear torment on his expression. He knows he’s crying again before your face falls even more, practically collapsing against you when you come closer and wrap your arms around his neck.

You hold him as he sobs and where he’d probably feel pathetic with showing this vulnerability to Tammi, he feels cared for by you.

You don’t make any move to let him go until he pulls back first, keeping his arms loose around your lower back incase you want to step away from him. But you keep him close, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck while you stare up at him with concern.

“Come on.” You say softly, freeing a hand to rub his cheeks softly and clear them of any wetness. “Get in my car.”

Sammy’s quiet as he follows your gentle order, slumping down in the passenger seat and being too out of it emotionally to even inspect the interior like he would have so eagerly a few months ago.

You drive silently, glancing over at him occasionally to keep checking in. He stares blankly out the window, feeling too guilty to even take the sight of you in the way he wants to so desperately.

Any sense of deserving you he might have built up to feeling in your time together was gone now and he was back to feeling overwhelmingly terrible for inconveniencing you.

You stopped outside an apartment building and he was aware enough to know it must be yours, especially given the nervous look on your face as you unlocked the front door and held it open for him to enter.

Your apartment was exactly how he had pictured it, and he’d spent plenty of time trying to imagine what you went home to every night. It smelled nice, similar to the perfumes you wore, and had warm lighting in every corner that was nothing like the clubs electric vibe.

He didn’t get a lot of time to look around because you were back in his space, holding his face and kissing him softly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against your mouth, keeping his hands at his side. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it.” You scold gently, pulling back and rubbing your thumbs against his skin. You scan over his face like you’re really taking in every centimeter of it and he sighs softly, your nose bumping against his. “You can touch me.”

He does but only with your permission, smoothing both of his hands over the small of your back so you’re pulled closer to him. He ducks his head down between your shoulder and neck, breathing deeply to try and make up for all the time he spent away from you even though he knows it could never be enough.

“Talk to me Sammy.” You say gently while he’s seeking comfort in your scent.

You both end up on the couch as he tells you about his day and why he ended up in this state, your own eyes getting teary when he stresses how hard he tried to help the kid and how defeated he felt when the cycle of violence repeated itself anyways.

Your legs are over his, sitting sideways so you can fully face him and kiss the side of his mouth occasionally when he hesitates to speak certain details out loud.

You clearly care so much still and he feels a crippling amount of relief at that, especially when the conversation shifts to your argument.

“It was wrong of me to be so upset.” You say softly and you look mildly embarrassed, making him immediately start to interject to reassure you even though he’s stopped by you shushing him. “I know you’re married I just… hadn’t really had to process it before that.”

He stares at you as you speak, so beautiful and relaxed in your own space as you curl up next to him. It’s something he had hoped for since he first started seeing you, getting to know you in this way.

“And you were right about me not really letting you in but I was just scared.” You confess and he softens even more, kissing you gently in between your statements. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me without all the glitter and allure.”

“This is all I wanted.” He says immediately and those tears in your eyes return as soon as the words hit the air, tilting your head like you’re trying to stop yourself from crying. “Just you.”

You’re really kissing him now and all the feeling he was missing from his life comes surging back, replacing that numbness that had settled over him the last few months. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss back in the way he knows you like so much, tongues tangling and air irrelevant.

He feels like he’s floating, the luckiest man alive to have you here with him like this.

Sammy won’t be stupid enough to take you for granted a second time, knowing he’d need much more than a phone call to ever pull him away from you again.

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