Phenomena [I'm in Love With a Stripper] Kris/Chanyeol
phenomena ['’m in love with a stripper] | kris/chanyeol | nc-17 | 3 875 words | stripper au: wu fan is coerced to go to this popular strip club
did anyone write a stripper au yet? no? good.
Almost forgot: I don’t know how strip clubs work.
□
The last thing Wu Fan wanted to do on a late Thursday night was to be dragged by a very excited Yixing and Sehun to the far and unknown dark alleys in Seoul. Honestly, he’s just got off work, and he had to not only endure several meetings, he also had to translate what felt like millions of long and extremely boring documents from Korean to Chinese, then Chinese to English, and English back to Korean. His feet ache, even though he was sitting at his desk most of the day, and his eyes were exhausted and just looking at signs and menus makes him want to tear at his corneas. So why are his coworkers yanking him by the arm and taking him to a place he has no idea where or what it is, despite his feeble pleas and his resistance?
“Come on, you horse, quit fighting us!” Sehun almost whined as Wu Fan grunted for the fifth time when he and Yixing yanked him to a dim alleyway.
“It’s late and I’m tired.” Wu Fan repeats, level of irritation in his voice rising with each step he is guided down the street.
“You’ve promised us that you’d hang out with us this week,” Yixing says, not letting up and digging his fingers into Wu Fan’s arm as Wu Fan tries to pry free. “And you have been working nonstop and going straight to your flat every day, and you barely spend thirty minutes with us during lunch. You’ve got to hang out with your friends!”
“I go home after work because I’m tired for working from dawn until dusk, which is what I did today, and yesterday, and like always, I’m tired. Exhausted, more like.”
“We need to cut loose and have some fun! Hook you up with some girl or guy!”
“I rather you hook me up with my pillow and blanket, honestly.”
Yixing ignores him and continues to take him farther into this dark street corner, with Sehun behind him, massaging his shoulders and chanting “c’mon hyung, c’mon hyung,” and Wu Fan knows he’s not going to get any rest tonight.
Yixing stops after a moment and he looks up, his silhouette casted by the building’s sign’s crimson glow.
“We’re here.” Wu Fan barely hears his colleague’s nearly hushed whisper and he chances to look up. They have stopped in front of a club, with dark windows that barely show figures and lights inside. The small space is lit up by the giant red sign up front, and in fancy script it proclaimed ‘Inflamed’. For some reason, Yixing, Wu Fan, and Sehun are glued to the spot, and they just stand there for minutes, staring at the sign like it’s some UFO or national monument.
Wu Fan breaks the silence. “Did you lead me to a portal to hell?” He asks.
Sehun looks away and cracks a lopsided grin, which looked more sadistic in the russet light. “This place is so much fun hyung!” He exclaims, pulling Wu Fan towards the door and past two giant bouncers, who seem to know Yixing and Sehun because they took one look at them and just blinked. “We’ll just give you liquor or caffeine, or both, but trust us hyung, you’re going to be glad you came with us.”
“Define trust,” Wu Fan wants to retort, but Yixing and Sehun open the doors and press their palms to Wu Fan’s back, and push him into the dark club.
□
This has got to be one of the nine circles of hell, is one of the thoughts that crosses Wu Fan’s mind when he checks out the club-excuse me- strip club, when he sees a stage bathed in a magenta iridescence, and several poles fixated in the ceiling and floor. There is a scantily-clad person displaying extraordinary flexibility as he or she does a split and slides down one of the poles with ease.
“A strip club?” Wu Fan shouts to Sehun over the blaring techno music. Like that was supposed to soothe his fatigue and onset headache. There are dozens of men in suits, sloshing alcohol among buddies and naked men (or naked women who kind of look like men, it’s too dark to even tell), getting lap-dances and stuffing thousand Won notes into the thongs of strippers.
There are a lot of thoughts running through Wu Fan’s mind right now. I’m going to kill Yixing and Sehun, was the first, then I’m going to go blind because someone decided to start up a strobe light, and Wu Fan could feel his headache form into a splitting migraine. He reaches for Yixing, but his hand hits nothing, and he looks around blindly and notices Yixing has gone off to flirt with, he assumes is a male stripper. Or a patron who just likes to wear shiny thongs to establishments, he doesn’t know.
Wu Fan is two seconds away from grabbing Sehun or Yixing and shrieking like a little girl, begging for them to take him away from his place, when Sehun clamps a hand on his shoulder and guides him to a seat that is right in front of the stage.
“The show’s about to start,” Sehun says as the music quiets down, and the dancer on stage finishes their dance and leaves, collecting their clothes on the way backstage. “Let me get you a drink.”
“What is this place?” Wu Fan has the nerve to ask.
Sehun blinks. “You’re the smartest out of all of us in the bunch,” he retorts, “and yet you can’t tell that is Seoul’s hottest male strip club?”
“Thought it was the Vestibule to Satan’s Lair, but I was close.” Sehun just frowns at the Chinese man and goes to the bar, and quickly returns with a shot glass filled with amber liquid. Sehun shoves the glass in front of Wu Fan’s nose, and the alcohol burns his nostrils. Is this moonshine? Wu Fan quickly drinks it before Sehun decides to slosh the drink into his nose and he drowns on land.
Wu Fan is no heavy drinker; three shots of soju and he’ll break out into cold sweat and lose all sorts of coordination and coherency. He swallows the alcohol with difficulty, wincing at the burn as it courses down his throat and his vision blurs a bit. Yixing comes to sit next to him, with the male stripper following him and sitting on his lap. Wu Fan notes how Yixing has probably emptied out his wallet and put almost all of his cash into the stripper’s thong. What Wu Fan finds so odd is that there’s got to be some connection between Yixing and the guy, because they’re just having a pleasant conversation, like they’re close friends. There are middle aged businessmen and young workers just like him, tapping the male stripper’s back, thighs, and even ass, trying to get his attention. Wu Fan even saw a guy wave two fifty thousand Won notes in his direction, but the male stripper didn’t even turn to face them.
“A friend of yours?” Wu Fan asks Yixing. They turn to face him and Wu Fan sees that the stripper is Chinese just like him and Yixing. His face is small, with giant dark eyes and short black hair.
“This is Tao,” Yixing gestures to the stripper. “He’s here to learn Korean, but a long complicated story has wound him here, but he’s one of the most popular strippers here. I met him six months back and we practice our Korean together. He could leave this place, get an actual career, but he doesn’t want to.”
“Are you enjoying the place?” Tao asks in Mandarin, and Wu Fan tries his hardest to stare at the younger man’s face instead of his silvery crotch, but it’s difficult because Sehun has returned with another shot of alcohol and Wu Fan’s smart enough to drink it again in one gulp.
“It’s uh, it’s interesting.”
“You’re going to love the next performer,” the Chinese stripper says, excitement bubbling in his voice. “He is incredibly popular here, and did Yixing ge tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Wu Fan looks at Yixing.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, Tao.” Yixing smiles slightly at the guy in his lap. “My friend and I are trying to get him out of his shell.”
“I don’t have a shell!” Wu Fan protests, but then Yixing and Tao shush him as the lights dim and the music kicks up. Wu Fan turns his attention to the stage, grumbling, and the lights suddenly shine a brilliant scarlet.
“Here’s your surprise,” Yixing whispers, and the people around them start hollering in praise and excitement for the next stripper to come on.
Time suddenly seems so slow for Wu Fan, and he feels his heart rate increase and the alcohol in his stomach churns violently. A bead of sweat rolls down his back, even though the air is nearly frigid. He gulps and stares at the stage, seeing the shiny curtain rustle and reveal a young man behind it.
The young man is tall, incredibly lanky, with some defined muscle. In short he’s built like the rest of the strippers here, except that he’s incredibly tall. But what has Wu Fan’s jaw almost unhinging from his mouth and staring almost bug eyed is the completely angelic face of the stripper. Seriously, his face and body are completely mismatched. Round, soft eyes hidden under a mess of auburn curls, supple lips and incredibly smooth skin, the male looked more like an altar boy than a pole dancer.
Wu Fan tightens his jaw and turns to Yixing and Tao, glaring. “You sure this is what I need?” He says. “He looks like he’s twelve!”
“Just watch,” Tao literally reaches over to turn Wu Fan’s head back to the stage and to the tall boy on stage.
He’s wearing tight black pants and a red dress shirt, sleek and harmless. Some heavy rock song begins to play, and it amps up the crowd of businessmen who already have their wallets out. Some are chanting “Yeol,” or something that Wu Fan can’t catch because the music is too loud and the way the boy moves on stage is mesmerizing. Wu Fan expects from the boy’s height that he’d be an awkward mass of limbs that are just as uncoordinated as he is, but he’s anything but. He slides a long leg down, and fluidly rolls his body toward the floor. He’s so smooth and sharp with his movements, and oh god- is he humping the floor?- Wu Fan leans forward and concludes that yes, the stripper is thrusting into the floor, spine curving under that shirt and hips slamming solidly into the stage. Wu Fan has to remind himself that he has to blink.
The boy pushes his body upwards and smoothly stands up, spinning slowly with his hair swishing around his eyes. He makes his way to one of the poles and grasps it, pushing ones of his legs up until his foot is touching the topmost part of the pole. A series of hollers and catcalls erupts in the crowd, and a strangled gasp escapes Wu Fan’s throat.
The boy leans his head back to look at the crowd, lips parting and his right hand reaching upward to the top button of his shirt, causing several men to shout “Take it off! Take it all off!” He unbuttons one, and spins several times around the pole; kicking his other leg up and soon he’s now supporting his whole weight on the pole with just his legs. He’s at the top, and then he slowly slides down it, unbuttoning his shirt until it exposes his smooth chest. Sehun, Tao, and Yixing are clapping around Wu Fan, while Wu Fan thinks he’s drooling and he subconsciously wipes his mouth. He has too much energy for some reason, and ends up slapping himself in the mouth instead.
Shirt now off, the boy takes it and wraps it around one of the audience member’s necks, gently pulling him forward and their bodies are touching. The lucky businessman has his tongue hanging out of his mouth and stuffing various bills down the hem of the stripper’s pants. He makes a move to grab the boy’s crotch, but the boy pulls away, grabbing the pole once more and grinding up on it.
“Oh god.” Someone yelled in the audience. The boy unbuckles his belt, slowly slides it out of the loops, and tosses it. He removes himself from the pole, strutting down the catwalk and goes to the final pole, the one that is a mere foot away from where Wu Fan was seated. The boy arched his back, the lights reflecting on his pale, sweaty skin, and his hands roam his chest and trail down to the button of his pants. He unsnaps it, and Wu Fan swears he could hear it over the roars and whistles of the crowd. He watches the boys spread his legs and slowly unzip his fly, and all the air in Wu Fan’s lungs disappears when he sees that the boy has no underwear under his pants.
With his pants hanging lowly on his hips, the boy displays amazing flexibility by doing the splits in front of the audience, and pulls himself up on the pole and pushes himself upward to spin around the pole several more times. He slides off soundlessly, hips swaying to the beat of the music. He saunters over to Wu Fan, giant eyes fixed on the Chinese man gaping at him, and smirks.
Suddenly Wu Fan is aware that his ears are ringing and he can barely hear Yixing and Sehun hollering beside him because the stripper is on his lap, hips gyrating slowly and they are touching Wu Fan is about to tear his skin off they are touching. They are so close, the stripper’s breath is hot against Wu Fan’s cheek, and he faintly smells of cigarettes, sweat, and vanilla. It takes a moment to register in Wu Fan’s mind that the boy is guiding Wu Fan’s hand to the curve of his ass, allowing him to squeeze the firm flesh a couple of times. The stripper pressed his body close to Wu Fan’s chest, and he trails his hand down between them to palm the older man’s dick, which was half hard and now he’s achingly stiff. It was then when they make eye contact, and Wu Fan stares at those giant brown orbs that are lined with kohl, and he fears that if he speaks, he’ll start wheezing.
“What is your name?” Wu Fan’s voice is nearly inaudible, but he had to ask.
The boy heard him. He opens his mouth, and he speaks lowly in a voice so deep Wu Fan almost choked on air.
“Chanyeol.” He breathes.
Wu Fan ends up emptying out his wallet- all one hundred twenty five thousand Won- into Chanyeol’s pants. Chanyeol sees this and pulls away gracefully, the music sounding off and the audience demanding more. Chanyeol flashes his ass and lets it all hang out, before turning away and sporting one of the most brilliant smiles on the planet, only to disappear behind the curtain.
Wu Fan has forgotten how to breathe.
□
Wu Fan’s got a giant hard on, an empty wallet, a healthy buzz, and a warped mind. Chanyeol the stripper has long left, and most of the audience has trickled off to either leave, or catch another performance, or go get lap dances or consume narcotics. Sehun, Yixing, and Tao have gone to other parts of the club, or they ditched him entirely. Either way, Wu Fan’s not mad. If that was supposed to be his ‘surprise’, then, he’ll thank Yixing and Sehun for taking him to this place. As soon as he finds them, at least.
Wu Fan gets up, wincing when his erection chafes against his pants. He’s going to have to toughen up and think about old ahjummas and porta-potties to get this hard on down, he thinks. The cool air helps, but not enough, because he can’t get his mind off Chanyeol.
Chanyeol. He doesn’t know if it’s a stage name or an alias, but it just sounds so wonderful when it repeats in Wu Fan’s mind. Chanyeol’s long legs, his curly brown hair, his spine curved as he spins around the pole, Chanyeol’s Marianas’s Trench-deep voice; Chanyeol’s big, innocent smile flashing even after the most provocative dance Wu Fan’s ever seen. Thinking about the tawdry display makes Wu Fan’s throat go dry and he can’t trust himself to swallow spit to alleviate the dryness. It takes him a second to realize that he’s gushing over a stripper, and he almost laughs at his boy-like infatuation, but when he steps out of the club and he walks past the bouncers and into the street, a cold, slimy feeling washes over him and trickles down to his toes.
“I’m in love with a stripper,” He says aloud. “Fuck.”
Desperate to go home now (he really needs sleep) Wu Fan turns right instead of left and hurriedly walks past the strip club and banks right into another alleyway. He doesn’t register the dumpsters when he passes by, but a flash of red catches his eye and he stops and turns and realizes Chanyeol the stripper is outside nursing a cigarette. He’s dressed into a red hoodie and jeans, looking more of a university student than an exotic dancer, but he still has this quiet allure to him. Wu Fan stops a few feet in front of Chanyeol, and their eyes meet.
Wu Fan doesn’t care what he’s thinking about right now, or if anyone is walking in this alley, but he finds his legs walking toward Chanyeol. Chanyeol meets him halfway, half-burned cigarette abandoned, and Wu Fan feels a large hand around his neck and pulling him in for a rough kiss.
When their lips meet Chanyeol wastes no time shoving his tongue into Wu Fan’s mouth, sucking on it for good measure and a moan escapes the Chinese man’s mouth. He tastes of nicotine and citrus gum, a taste that would be suited better for slow and sleepy kisses. Wu Fan parts for only a second to clamp his teeth down on Chanyeol’s bottom lip. He pushes into the kiss and pushes until the younger man’s back is against the wall, large hands roaming underneath the red hoodie.
Chanyeol pulls away, his eyes glazed and narrowed into slits. He looks at Wu Fan and cracks that gorgeous, almost wacky smile again.
“Hi,” he breathes. His bass voice so velvety smooth. He chuckles and stares hard into Wu Fan’s eyes, hand reaching down to rub Wu Fan’s aching hardness.
“I’m Wu Fan.” Wu Fan stumbles and almost says oh fuck, but he composes himself and his fingers brush against Chanyeol’s nipples.
“I’m Chanyeol, but I told you that earlier.” He presses his thumb against Wu Fan’s button, and unsnaps his pants. “Thank you for the big tip-“he smoothly reaches in Wu Fan’s briefs and pulls out his cock, stroking it several times. “That was very generous of you.”
Wu Fan doesn’t trust himself to reply, because god Chanyeol’s hand on his dick feels so great and if he opens his mouth some girly shriek is going to come out instead. He just grunts and presses himself into Chanyeol, leaning into suck the younger man’s neck and bites the junction of the neck and shoulder. Chanyeol curses and his fingers curl harder around Wu Fan’s shaft, tugging with underlying roughness.
“Was this your first time to Inflamed?” Chanyeol continues. “Because I’ve never seen you around before., honestly, you look too straight and narrow to be here.” Wu Fan just replies with tugging Chanyeol’s hoodie and flinging it to the ground.
Chanyeol gets the hint. “You want to fuck me, sir?” He bats his eyelashes, and god is he giggling? Wu Fan glares but he’s not mad, he just can’t control his facial expressions right now.
“I’ve never done it with a customer before, but since you’re so handsome,” Chanyeol’s pants suddenly pool at his feet, and he’s not wearing underwear again. “Easy access to the goods.” He kicks his leg up and props it on Wu Fan’s shoulder.
Wu Fan’s too far gone to worry about stretching and preparing Chanyeol. He hurriedly fumbles with pulling down his pants down to his thighs and he feels Chanyeol’s hands on his shoulders and he just knows to just push in.
There’s so much pent up force in the initial thrust. Chanyeol is so tight, dry and a little rough, and the heat envelops Wu Fan’s dick like a vise. Chanyeol clamps his eyes shut and a mixture of a hiss, a groan, and a whimper comes out of his mouth, and it’s loud and Wu Fan is now aware of where they are and what they are doing. He thrusts upwards, into Chanyeol and burying himself at the hilt. He looks down and sees Chanyeol has dropped one hand to stroke himself, matching the strokes with the rough and needy thrusts. Chanyeol pushes downward to meet Wu Fan’s thrusts halfway, and then Chanyeol just took over started fucking himself on Wu Fan’s dick.
Wu Fan pulls away and pushes Chanyeol’s leg down and turns him so that he faces the wall. He takes hold of the stripper’s hips and slams in once more, fucking hard and fast and Chanyeol is moaning loud enough to wake up anyone in the nearby buildings. Wu Fan buries his cock into Chanyeol and buries his face into the crook of Chanyeol’s neck, muttering obscenities in Mandarin and humping desperately. He presses his palms to the wall and balances himself as Chanyeol reaches back to grab a hold onto Wu Fan’s hip, as if egging him on to go faster.
Chanyeol’s voice goes up an octave and he comes hard on the brick wall and that spurns Wu Fan to tense up and finish into him. He groans hoarsely, his spine feeling like jelly as he comes off his orgasm.
Chanyeol’s face is pressed against the brick, breathing hard on the wall and Wu Fan looks up to see the glazed look in the younger man’s eyes and that goofy smile plastered on his face. He doesn’t want to pull away, but his energy is draining and he feels like he’s going to topple backwards and fall on the ground with his dick in the air and pants around his ankles, so he pulls away and pulls up his pants. He helps put Chanyeol’s pants back on, and he picks up his hoodie and dusts it off with care and hands it to Chanyeol. Chanyeol grins and puts it back on, looking up and Wu Fan looks at Chanyeol the human and not Chanyeol the stripper, and he’s just as beautiful as the latter.
“So will I be seeing you here from now on?” Chanyeol asks, pulling Wu Fan into him once more.
Wu Fan just nods. He starts coming to the strip club once a week to empty out his wallet into Chanyeol’s pants.
□
a/n- yes I finally contributed to the Krisyeol ship, the loveliest and tallest ship there is! yeeeee
-this was actually better in my head but sex scenes are not my forte
-I gotta finish my Skyrim AU aghhhhhhh
-how do you end smut how
web counter
did anyone write a stripper au yet? no? good.
Almost forgot: I don’t know how strip clubs work.
□
The last thing Wu Fan wanted to do on a late Thursday night was to be dragged by a very excited Yixing and Sehun to the far and unknown dark alleys in Seoul. Honestly, he’s just got off work, and he had to not only endure several meetings, he also had to translate what felt like millions of long and extremely boring documents from Korean to Chinese, then Chinese to English, and English back to Korean. His feet ache, even though he was sitting at his desk most of the day, and his eyes were exhausted and just looking at signs and menus makes him want to tear at his corneas. So why are his coworkers yanking him by the arm and taking him to a place he has no idea where or what it is, despite his feeble pleas and his resistance?
“Come on, you horse, quit fighting us!” Sehun almost whined as Wu Fan grunted for the fifth time when he and Yixing yanked him to a dim alleyway.
“It’s late and I’m tired.” Wu Fan repeats, level of irritation in his voice rising with each step he is guided down the street.
“You’ve promised us that you’d hang out with us this week,” Yixing says, not letting up and digging his fingers into Wu Fan’s arm as Wu Fan tries to pry free. “And you have been working nonstop and going straight to your flat every day, and you barely spend thirty minutes with us during lunch. You’ve got to hang out with your friends!”
“I go home after work because I’m tired for working from dawn until dusk, which is what I did today, and yesterday, and like always, I’m tired. Exhausted, more like.”
“We need to cut loose and have some fun! Hook you up with some girl or guy!”
“I rather you hook me up with my pillow and blanket, honestly.”
Yixing ignores him and continues to take him farther into this dark street corner, with Sehun behind him, massaging his shoulders and chanting “c’mon hyung, c’mon hyung,” and Wu Fan knows he’s not going to get any rest tonight.
Yixing stops after a moment and he looks up, his silhouette casted by the building’s sign’s crimson glow.
“We’re here.” Wu Fan barely hears his colleague’s nearly hushed whisper and he chances to look up. They have stopped in front of a club, with dark windows that barely show figures and lights inside. The small space is lit up by the giant red sign up front, and in fancy script it proclaimed ‘Inflamed’. For some reason, Yixing, Wu Fan, and Sehun are glued to the spot, and they just stand there for minutes, staring at the sign like it’s some UFO or national monument.
Wu Fan breaks the silence. “Did you lead me to a portal to hell?” He asks.
Sehun looks away and cracks a lopsided grin, which looked more sadistic in the russet light. “This place is so much fun hyung!” He exclaims, pulling Wu Fan towards the door and past two giant bouncers, who seem to know Yixing and Sehun because they took one look at them and just blinked. “We’ll just give you liquor or caffeine, or both, but trust us hyung, you’re going to be glad you came with us.”
“Define trust,” Wu Fan wants to retort, but Yixing and Sehun open the doors and press their palms to Wu Fan’s back, and push him into the dark club.
□
This has got to be one of the nine circles of hell, is one of the thoughts that crosses Wu Fan’s mind when he checks out the club-excuse me- strip club, when he sees a stage bathed in a magenta iridescence, and several poles fixated in the ceiling and floor. There is a scantily-clad person displaying extraordinary flexibility as he or she does a split and slides down one of the poles with ease.
“A strip club?” Wu Fan shouts to Sehun over the blaring techno music. Like that was supposed to soothe his fatigue and onset headache. There are dozens of men in suits, sloshing alcohol among buddies and naked men (or naked women who kind of look like men, it’s too dark to even tell), getting lap-dances and stuffing thousand Won notes into the thongs of strippers.
There are a lot of thoughts running through Wu Fan’s mind right now. I’m going to kill Yixing and Sehun, was the first, then I’m going to go blind because someone decided to start up a strobe light, and Wu Fan could feel his headache form into a splitting migraine. He reaches for Yixing, but his hand hits nothing, and he looks around blindly and notices Yixing has gone off to flirt with, he assumes is a male stripper. Or a patron who just likes to wear shiny thongs to establishments, he doesn’t know.
Wu Fan is two seconds away from grabbing Sehun or Yixing and shrieking like a little girl, begging for them to take him away from his place, when Sehun clamps a hand on his shoulder and guides him to a seat that is right in front of the stage.
“The show’s about to start,” Sehun says as the music quiets down, and the dancer on stage finishes their dance and leaves, collecting their clothes on the way backstage. “Let me get you a drink.”
“What is this place?” Wu Fan has the nerve to ask.
Sehun blinks. “You’re the smartest out of all of us in the bunch,” he retorts, “and yet you can’t tell that is Seoul’s hottest male strip club?”
“Thought it was the Vestibule to Satan’s Lair, but I was close.” Sehun just frowns at the Chinese man and goes to the bar, and quickly returns with a shot glass filled with amber liquid. Sehun shoves the glass in front of Wu Fan’s nose, and the alcohol burns his nostrils. Is this moonshine? Wu Fan quickly drinks it before Sehun decides to slosh the drink into his nose and he drowns on land.
Wu Fan is no heavy drinker; three shots of soju and he’ll break out into cold sweat and lose all sorts of coordination and coherency. He swallows the alcohol with difficulty, wincing at the burn as it courses down his throat and his vision blurs a bit. Yixing comes to sit next to him, with the male stripper following him and sitting on his lap. Wu Fan notes how Yixing has probably emptied out his wallet and put almost all of his cash into the stripper’s thong. What Wu Fan finds so odd is that there’s got to be some connection between Yixing and the guy, because they’re just having a pleasant conversation, like they’re close friends. There are middle aged businessmen and young workers just like him, tapping the male stripper’s back, thighs, and even ass, trying to get his attention. Wu Fan even saw a guy wave two fifty thousand Won notes in his direction, but the male stripper didn’t even turn to face them.
“A friend of yours?” Wu Fan asks Yixing. They turn to face him and Wu Fan sees that the stripper is Chinese just like him and Yixing. His face is small, with giant dark eyes and short black hair.
“This is Tao,” Yixing gestures to the stripper. “He’s here to learn Korean, but a long complicated story has wound him here, but he’s one of the most popular strippers here. I met him six months back and we practice our Korean together. He could leave this place, get an actual career, but he doesn’t want to.”
“Are you enjoying the place?” Tao asks in Mandarin, and Wu Fan tries his hardest to stare at the younger man’s face instead of his silvery crotch, but it’s difficult because Sehun has returned with another shot of alcohol and Wu Fan’s smart enough to drink it again in one gulp.
“It’s uh, it’s interesting.”
“You’re going to love the next performer,” the Chinese stripper says, excitement bubbling in his voice. “He is incredibly popular here, and did Yixing ge tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Wu Fan looks at Yixing.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, Tao.” Yixing smiles slightly at the guy in his lap. “My friend and I are trying to get him out of his shell.”
“I don’t have a shell!” Wu Fan protests, but then Yixing and Tao shush him as the lights dim and the music kicks up. Wu Fan turns his attention to the stage, grumbling, and the lights suddenly shine a brilliant scarlet.
“Here’s your surprise,” Yixing whispers, and the people around them start hollering in praise and excitement for the next stripper to come on.
Time suddenly seems so slow for Wu Fan, and he feels his heart rate increase and the alcohol in his stomach churns violently. A bead of sweat rolls down his back, even though the air is nearly frigid. He gulps and stares at the stage, seeing the shiny curtain rustle and reveal a young man behind it.
The young man is tall, incredibly lanky, with some defined muscle. In short he’s built like the rest of the strippers here, except that he’s incredibly tall. But what has Wu Fan’s jaw almost unhinging from his mouth and staring almost bug eyed is the completely angelic face of the stripper. Seriously, his face and body are completely mismatched. Round, soft eyes hidden under a mess of auburn curls, supple lips and incredibly smooth skin, the male looked more like an altar boy than a pole dancer.
Wu Fan tightens his jaw and turns to Yixing and Tao, glaring. “You sure this is what I need?” He says. “He looks like he’s twelve!”
“Just watch,” Tao literally reaches over to turn Wu Fan’s head back to the stage and to the tall boy on stage.
He’s wearing tight black pants and a red dress shirt, sleek and harmless. Some heavy rock song begins to play, and it amps up the crowd of businessmen who already have their wallets out. Some are chanting “Yeol,” or something that Wu Fan can’t catch because the music is too loud and the way the boy moves on stage is mesmerizing. Wu Fan expects from the boy’s height that he’d be an awkward mass of limbs that are just as uncoordinated as he is, but he’s anything but. He slides a long leg down, and fluidly rolls his body toward the floor. He’s so smooth and sharp with his movements, and oh god- is he humping the floor?- Wu Fan leans forward and concludes that yes, the stripper is thrusting into the floor, spine curving under that shirt and hips slamming solidly into the stage. Wu Fan has to remind himself that he has to blink.
The boy pushes his body upwards and smoothly stands up, spinning slowly with his hair swishing around his eyes. He makes his way to one of the poles and grasps it, pushing ones of his legs up until his foot is touching the topmost part of the pole. A series of hollers and catcalls erupts in the crowd, and a strangled gasp escapes Wu Fan’s throat.
The boy leans his head back to look at the crowd, lips parting and his right hand reaching upward to the top button of his shirt, causing several men to shout “Take it off! Take it all off!” He unbuttons one, and spins several times around the pole; kicking his other leg up and soon he’s now supporting his whole weight on the pole with just his legs. He’s at the top, and then he slowly slides down it, unbuttoning his shirt until it exposes his smooth chest. Sehun, Tao, and Yixing are clapping around Wu Fan, while Wu Fan thinks he’s drooling and he subconsciously wipes his mouth. He has too much energy for some reason, and ends up slapping himself in the mouth instead.
Shirt now off, the boy takes it and wraps it around one of the audience member’s necks, gently pulling him forward and their bodies are touching. The lucky businessman has his tongue hanging out of his mouth and stuffing various bills down the hem of the stripper’s pants. He makes a move to grab the boy’s crotch, but the boy pulls away, grabbing the pole once more and grinding up on it.
“Oh god.” Someone yelled in the audience. The boy unbuckles his belt, slowly slides it out of the loops, and tosses it. He removes himself from the pole, strutting down the catwalk and goes to the final pole, the one that is a mere foot away from where Wu Fan was seated. The boy arched his back, the lights reflecting on his pale, sweaty skin, and his hands roam his chest and trail down to the button of his pants. He unsnaps it, and Wu Fan swears he could hear it over the roars and whistles of the crowd. He watches the boys spread his legs and slowly unzip his fly, and all the air in Wu Fan’s lungs disappears when he sees that the boy has no underwear under his pants.
With his pants hanging lowly on his hips, the boy displays amazing flexibility by doing the splits in front of the audience, and pulls himself up on the pole and pushes himself upward to spin around the pole several more times. He slides off soundlessly, hips swaying to the beat of the music. He saunters over to Wu Fan, giant eyes fixed on the Chinese man gaping at him, and smirks.
Suddenly Wu Fan is aware that his ears are ringing and he can barely hear Yixing and Sehun hollering beside him because the stripper is on his lap, hips gyrating slowly and they are touching Wu Fan is about to tear his skin off they are touching. They are so close, the stripper’s breath is hot against Wu Fan’s cheek, and he faintly smells of cigarettes, sweat, and vanilla. It takes a moment to register in Wu Fan’s mind that the boy is guiding Wu Fan’s hand to the curve of his ass, allowing him to squeeze the firm flesh a couple of times. The stripper pressed his body close to Wu Fan’s chest, and he trails his hand down between them to palm the older man’s dick, which was half hard and now he’s achingly stiff. It was then when they make eye contact, and Wu Fan stares at those giant brown orbs that are lined with kohl, and he fears that if he speaks, he’ll start wheezing.
“What is your name?” Wu Fan’s voice is nearly inaudible, but he had to ask.
The boy heard him. He opens his mouth, and he speaks lowly in a voice so deep Wu Fan almost choked on air.
“Chanyeol.” He breathes.
Wu Fan ends up emptying out his wallet- all one hundred twenty five thousand Won- into Chanyeol’s pants. Chanyeol sees this and pulls away gracefully, the music sounding off and the audience demanding more. Chanyeol flashes his ass and lets it all hang out, before turning away and sporting one of the most brilliant smiles on the planet, only to disappear behind the curtain.
Wu Fan has forgotten how to breathe.
□
Wu Fan’s got a giant hard on, an empty wallet, a healthy buzz, and a warped mind. Chanyeol the stripper has long left, and most of the audience has trickled off to either leave, or catch another performance, or go get lap dances or consume narcotics. Sehun, Yixing, and Tao have gone to other parts of the club, or they ditched him entirely. Either way, Wu Fan’s not mad. If that was supposed to be his ‘surprise’, then, he’ll thank Yixing and Sehun for taking him to this place. As soon as he finds them, at least.
Wu Fan gets up, wincing when his erection chafes against his pants. He’s going to have to toughen up and think about old ahjummas and porta-potties to get this hard on down, he thinks. The cool air helps, but not enough, because he can’t get his mind off Chanyeol.
Chanyeol. He doesn’t know if it’s a stage name or an alias, but it just sounds so wonderful when it repeats in Wu Fan’s mind. Chanyeol’s long legs, his curly brown hair, his spine curved as he spins around the pole, Chanyeol’s Marianas’s Trench-deep voice; Chanyeol’s big, innocent smile flashing even after the most provocative dance Wu Fan’s ever seen. Thinking about the tawdry display makes Wu Fan’s throat go dry and he can’t trust himself to swallow spit to alleviate the dryness. It takes him a second to realize that he’s gushing over a stripper, and he almost laughs at his boy-like infatuation, but when he steps out of the club and he walks past the bouncers and into the street, a cold, slimy feeling washes over him and trickles down to his toes.
“I’m in love with a stripper,” He says aloud. “Fuck.”
Desperate to go home now (he really needs sleep) Wu Fan turns right instead of left and hurriedly walks past the strip club and banks right into another alleyway. He doesn’t register the dumpsters when he passes by, but a flash of red catches his eye and he stops and turns and realizes Chanyeol the stripper is outside nursing a cigarette. He’s dressed into a red hoodie and jeans, looking more of a university student than an exotic dancer, but he still has this quiet allure to him. Wu Fan stops a few feet in front of Chanyeol, and their eyes meet.
Wu Fan doesn’t care what he’s thinking about right now, or if anyone is walking in this alley, but he finds his legs walking toward Chanyeol. Chanyeol meets him halfway, half-burned cigarette abandoned, and Wu Fan feels a large hand around his neck and pulling him in for a rough kiss.
When their lips meet Chanyeol wastes no time shoving his tongue into Wu Fan’s mouth, sucking on it for good measure and a moan escapes the Chinese man’s mouth. He tastes of nicotine and citrus gum, a taste that would be suited better for slow and sleepy kisses. Wu Fan parts for only a second to clamp his teeth down on Chanyeol’s bottom lip. He pushes into the kiss and pushes until the younger man’s back is against the wall, large hands roaming underneath the red hoodie.
Chanyeol pulls away, his eyes glazed and narrowed into slits. He looks at Wu Fan and cracks that gorgeous, almost wacky smile again.
“Hi,” he breathes. His bass voice so velvety smooth. He chuckles and stares hard into Wu Fan’s eyes, hand reaching down to rub Wu Fan’s aching hardness.
“I’m Wu Fan.” Wu Fan stumbles and almost says oh fuck, but he composes himself and his fingers brush against Chanyeol’s nipples.
“I’m Chanyeol, but I told you that earlier.” He presses his thumb against Wu Fan’s button, and unsnaps his pants. “Thank you for the big tip-“he smoothly reaches in Wu Fan’s briefs and pulls out his cock, stroking it several times. “That was very generous of you.”
Wu Fan doesn’t trust himself to reply, because god Chanyeol’s hand on his dick feels so great and if he opens his mouth some girly shriek is going to come out instead. He just grunts and presses himself into Chanyeol, leaning into suck the younger man’s neck and bites the junction of the neck and shoulder. Chanyeol curses and his fingers curl harder around Wu Fan’s shaft, tugging with underlying roughness.
“Was this your first time to Inflamed?” Chanyeol continues. “Because I’ve never seen you around before., honestly, you look too straight and narrow to be here.” Wu Fan just replies with tugging Chanyeol’s hoodie and flinging it to the ground.
Chanyeol gets the hint. “You want to fuck me, sir?” He bats his eyelashes, and god is he giggling? Wu Fan glares but he’s not mad, he just can’t control his facial expressions right now.
“I’ve never done it with a customer before, but since you’re so handsome,” Chanyeol’s pants suddenly pool at his feet, and he’s not wearing underwear again. “Easy access to the goods.” He kicks his leg up and props it on Wu Fan’s shoulder.
Wu Fan’s too far gone to worry about stretching and preparing Chanyeol. He hurriedly fumbles with pulling down his pants down to his thighs and he feels Chanyeol’s hands on his shoulders and he just knows to just push in.
There’s so much pent up force in the initial thrust. Chanyeol is so tight, dry and a little rough, and the heat envelops Wu Fan’s dick like a vise. Chanyeol clamps his eyes shut and a mixture of a hiss, a groan, and a whimper comes out of his mouth, and it’s loud and Wu Fan is now aware of where they are and what they are doing. He thrusts upwards, into Chanyeol and burying himself at the hilt. He looks down and sees Chanyeol has dropped one hand to stroke himself, matching the strokes with the rough and needy thrusts. Chanyeol pushes downward to meet Wu Fan’s thrusts halfway, and then Chanyeol just took over started fucking himself on Wu Fan’s dick.
Wu Fan pulls away and pushes Chanyeol’s leg down and turns him so that he faces the wall. He takes hold of the stripper’s hips and slams in once more, fucking hard and fast and Chanyeol is moaning loud enough to wake up anyone in the nearby buildings. Wu Fan buries his cock into Chanyeol and buries his face into the crook of Chanyeol’s neck, muttering obscenities in Mandarin and humping desperately. He presses his palms to the wall and balances himself as Chanyeol reaches back to grab a hold onto Wu Fan’s hip, as if egging him on to go faster.
Chanyeol’s voice goes up an octave and he comes hard on the brick wall and that spurns Wu Fan to tense up and finish into him. He groans hoarsely, his spine feeling like jelly as he comes off his orgasm.
Chanyeol’s face is pressed against the brick, breathing hard on the wall and Wu Fan looks up to see the glazed look in the younger man’s eyes and that goofy smile plastered on his face. He doesn’t want to pull away, but his energy is draining and he feels like he’s going to topple backwards and fall on the ground with his dick in the air and pants around his ankles, so he pulls away and pulls up his pants. He helps put Chanyeol’s pants back on, and he picks up his hoodie and dusts it off with care and hands it to Chanyeol. Chanyeol grins and puts it back on, looking up and Wu Fan looks at Chanyeol the human and not Chanyeol the stripper, and he’s just as beautiful as the latter.
“So will I be seeing you here from now on?” Chanyeol asks, pulling Wu Fan into him once more.
Wu Fan just nods. He starts coming to the strip club once a week to empty out his wallet into Chanyeol’s pants.
□
a/n- yes I finally contributed to the Krisyeol ship, the loveliest and tallest ship there is! yeeeee
-this was actually better in my head but sex scenes are not my forte
-I gotta finish my Skyrim AU aghhhhhhh
-how do you end smut how
web counter