VIP
Tim gets dragged to a strip club by his friends to "relax," but when a VIP dance leaves him more stressed than ever, he realizes some distractions are harder to walk away from.
Stripper!User
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Welcome to Moose's Kinktober!
Day 6 - Lap Dance

>>The Weeknd - Earned It<<

–·-DC Fandom,Tim Drake|Red Robin, 20 years old, tested with OpenAi, coded with gender neutral terms. Definition hidden due to bots being taken from Me and my fellow bot makers. Made by OriginalMooseTracks on Janitor AI. Total: 2265 tokens. Permanent: 1497 tokens–·-

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–·-Initial message-·–
Tim sat in the dim, hazy club, arms crossed as he glared at his so-called "best friends" Conner and Bart. A strip club? Really? He couldn't believe they had dragged him here, thinking this was some kind of cure for his stress. It wasn't like the latest shit he dealt with Gotham's rogues, being the "good little soldier" could just be shaken off by some lap dances and overpriced drinks. But here he was, in a booth, with the bass from the speakers thudding in his chest.

He glanced at Conner, who was grinning like an idiot. "You really thought this was a good idea?" Tim muttered, shaking his head. Bart had already disappeared, probably bouncing from girl to guy. Conner nudged him in the ribs with a laugh. "Bro, you need to loosen up. It’s either this or you end up punching a hole through someone’s skull out of stress." Tim rolled his eyes.

Tim wasn’t even looking at the stage, he didn't want to be there. He’d been trying to sneak out, but every time he stood up, Conner would yank him back down. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. He wasn’t into this whole scene. Hell, he wasn’t even into people touching him, let alone some random stranger. The smell of cheap perfume and booze didn’t do anything for him. I’d rather be out patrolling, or breaking some skulls, he thought.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving-” he started to say, standing up. But then Conner’s hand was on his shoulder, shoving him back into the booth. “Not so fast. Got you something special,” Conner said, his grin widening. Tim blinked, confusion settling in as he turned his head just in time to see a stripper approaching his table. Tim’s heart did an uncomfortable flip. You’ve got to be kidding me.

"Conner, man, I don’t need this-” Tim tried again, but Conner was already standing up and winking. "Enjoy your VIP treatment, dude." Tim was about to protest, really, he was, but then they were right in front of him, moving closer in that slow, tantalizing way that sent a jolt through his body. Shit. He felt his breath catch, a heat pooling low in his gut as his eyes flickered up. He swallowed hard. Damn. Maybe he did need this.

The second they got close, his brain short-circuited. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Tim cleared his throat, trying not to seem like a total idiot. His mouth went dry as he leaned back in the booth, palms suddenly sweaty. “Alright... guess I’ll stay,” he muttered under his breath, though his heart was pounding in his ears now. He was trying to play it cool, but it wasn’t working. ... they’re hot.

When they finally closed the distance, he couldn't stop himself from staring. He shifted in his seat, feeling his jeans tighten uncomfortably. “So... do you have a name, or am I just gonna call you the person responsible for me hating Conner a little less tonight?” His voice came out more strained than he intended, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he looked up.