Chapter Text
Late October
Steve Rogers was frustrated.
His best friend Bucky had recently fallen in love, and instantly Steve’s life became an urgent race to divest their Art business of illegal ties so that Bucky could begin his life with her.
Together with Sam and Natasha, Bucky and Steve ran an art import business in New York which was extremely lucrative.
Except that it wasn’t really.
“Just wait until I see you tonight, Frumoasă….”
Steve glanced over at his bestie, who was turned away and whispering into the phone with a giant grin on his face. Steve shook his head and looked out of the window of the car that Nico was driving uptown to a meeting. He rolled his eyes.
More phone sex with Bucky and his girl. Great.
“Behave. Or I will make you…”
Steve cleared his throat as he listened to the suggestive chatter and shifted in his seat. Bucky and his girl were burning hot.
All of the time.
It seemed impossible.
“I love you too, Frumoasă.”
Steve needed what Bucky had in his life. At first he thought he was jealous. His best friend had an extremely desirable woman who made him drop the player lifestyle the instant he saw her. It took Steve a minute, but he realized he wasn’t jealous of either Bucky or his girl; Steve was jealous of the feeling.
When Bucky ended the call, Steve tried to continue the conversation they were having.
“Everything good?”
Bucky smirked, a look on his face that Steve hadn’t seen before his best friend met the love of his life just weeks earlier. It was an amazing transformation.
“Everything is great.”
Then Bucky frowned.
“Except this timeline. We need to get clean, Steve. Faster. We’re going to have to travel a little more before the end of the year.”
The blond raked his hand over his face.
“Bucky, I get it. Believe me I do. But we’ve already tripled the rate of divestiture. Are we to quadruple it? Is it really worth the money we’ll lose?”
“I don’t think you get it at all, Steve. But you will one day. “
Bucky gave Steve a look that made him roll his eyes again.
“I’ll take the losses, Steve. You and Sam and Nat will get the agreed upon cut.”
Bucky gazed out of the window.
“Billionaires shouldn’t exist anyway.”
Steve sighed.
“We all agreed to speed up, and we all agreed to an equal split of the profits. And losses.”
The two men shared a knowing look. Steve assented.
“Okay, Buck. Let’s get Sam and Nat on the phone; I just want it all to be square. You know they want this just as much as you and I do.”
Bucky smiled at his friend, the oldest he had in the world.
—--
Early November
You smiled at little Amina, who was trying her best on her pliés. Although she was only four years old she had a determination like no other. Her little tongue was poked out and there was a scowl on her adorable little face.
You came over and smooth her brow and took her tiny chin in your hand.
“Relax, Mina. If you’re not having any fun, it’s not worth it. Don’t force it, sweetie.”
Amina smiled back at you and began to giggle, relaxing into the poses.
“See there! It’s better already!”
You widened your smile and spoke to the entire class of 12 little 4-6 year olds. They were adorable in their uniform black leotards and pink tights.
“Remember dancers, hard work and lots of fun, that’s our motto. And one, two, three….”
Amina’s mom, Michelle, came up to you after class.
“Here’s what I have Ms. YLN.”
She deposited half of what monthly tuition was into your hand and held it for a beat. Her eyes were watery but she had a brave smile on as she glanced over at Amina giggling with her classmates. Then, she lowered her voice.
“I’m afraid this will have to be her last class. I just can’t come up with the funds… She loves it so much… We’ll miss seeing you every week.”
Your heart shredded. You made a knee jerk decision.
“It doesn’t have to be her last class. I will send you the paperwork for the scholarship. I’ll see you both next week.”
You smiled and gave both her and Amina a hug as she skipped over to you.
“Thank you, Ms. YLN. So much!”
You smiled and nodded as they left the dance studio that you rented for your weekly classes. The tuition you collected barely allowed you to pay the rent, much less compensate you for your time and preparation.
But you were determined to help these little ones with their dreams. And to see your own to fruition.
—--
“You can’t keep letting these people put dance classes on layaway, Cousin.”
Heat bloomed in your chest. Your favorite cousin, who had everything she ever wanted, whenever she wanted, growing up was joking about layaway. Even now, she had an insanely hot, wealthy guy eating her up. Literally.
“Okay, you know what…”
“Calm down. I will finance little Amina Rickard’s monthly tuition before you cuss me out. You know I love you. And you knew sending me that picture of her was gonna work. Making my ovaries explode.”
You smiled, almost choked up.This was your cousin’s second scholarship student and your family’s 8th overall. You were really blessed, even though things hadn’t come easy for you.
“I think the guy who is trying to breed you all over the place is making your ovaries explode, but okay.”
“Y/N, YLN! I am a demure, respectable–”
“You’re a whore for that man and we both know it.”
“Girl, you ain’t lyingggg! Shit, he’s calling me now…”
“Go get that nut video.”
Your cousin laughed at you.
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, and thanks, Sistercuz.”
“Bye Sweetie. Have a good night.”
Easy for her to say.
—---
The jet was delayed in New York because of snow and Steve was late getting started. After he landed and was sat in Atlanta traffic, he was reminded that he wanted to be in and out of the city, preferably in two days, and on to Kansas City as soon as possible.
Atlanta could be a fun time, with many many beautiful women, but he was on demon time. He needed to get rid of the criminal enterprises in the company. Quickly.
The holdings in Atlanta consisted of a handful of exotic dancing establishments. And the strip clubs in Atlanta were known to be dens of considerable iniquity. He was sure it would be easy to make a decision to offload the five clubs in the area.
On the second day, Steve had quickly turned a profit on the first four clubs, borderline dives with mid-level girls. The drugs and prostitution levels were off the charts and there were plenty of shady characters who wanted a chance at those businesses.
He’d saved ‘the best for last,’ a supposedly upscale club called Regine in midtown.
It was supposed to be a classy place, so Steve decided to just drop in to check it out before making a decision. He arrived a little over an hour before opening, stepping into the kitchen from the back alley where he parked his rental car.
“Hey, yo! You the new bartender? I told you to be here at 2, not 2:45.”
The salutation came from a huge guy with a large belly and lots of teeth. He’d be scary to anyone else. This must be Sully. Steve recognized him from the file. He decided to play along, glad that he’d dressed down in a flannel and jeans.
“Yeah, well. Traffic.”
Steve thought it best to say as little as possible. That way he would get the most information.
“Shit, you don’t have to tell me. I have to drive here from Alpharetta every day. The 400 is hell every morning.”
“We need someone with some experience. Someone willing to be paid in cash tips, nothing on the books. You look like you’d prefer that.”
Steve stared Sully down, not debunking the myths the latter was making up in his mind. Sully kept talking.
“Also may need to do some security. We get into some… situations up in here.”
Sully took in Steve’s stature and unwavering stare.
“A man of few words I see, Looks like you’ll do. Can you start tonight?”
Steve couldn’t believe this joker, hiring someone off the street.
“Sure.”
This place was not looking like a keeper, Steve thought as he followed Sully for a tour. In daylight, it was passable; in the dark with the right lighting, he was sure it looked swank. Sully told him how to water down the liquor and where the firearms were kept. When his 30 minute orientation was over, Sully left Steve to set up the bar on his own.
“Cory just called in, but Mike will be in later. You should make a lot of tips, our girls are top notch.
Steve just nodded, his hands on his hips as he calculated how much Sully must be skimming off the liquor alone as the latter walked away. Sully came back to the bar and asked a pertinent question.
“Oh yeah. What's ya name?”
“Grant Stevens.”
A little white lie would never hurt anyone, especially if this situation got sticky.
“Aight. Nice to meet you Grant. Tips are not the only perks of this job, if you know what I mean.”
Steve shuddered as Sully lumbered away. He wanted no parts of perks.
—-
A couple of hours later, the girls started arriving, most of them greeting Steve with a polite hello, some skipping it with a grimace, some in their phones, and one, you, listening to music and vibing out. You were different than the weary women who’d passed by ahead of you.
Steve was struck at the serene look on your face as you entered the establishment, braids in a bun on top of your head, eyes closed and your mouth pursed as you hummed and bopped your head to the music, bag slung across your back.
Your skin was dewey, free of make up and those lips, well those lips were what made him do a double take. Your neck was graceful and the cropped hoodie you were wearing did not do a thing to hide your full curves, smooth skin, round tits, long legs, and all that ass. Steve’s palms began to itch.
Steve was convinced that the strip of stomach showing between your hoodie and your sweats was more alluring than any stripper outfit could be, because at the sight of it he broke out in a sweat. Your body was calling him to touch, but he didn’t even know who you were.
He was about to find out however.
Steve stepped to the edge of the bar, ready to give a greeting, but you just bopped on by, oblivious and making your way to the dressing room. It bruised his ego, but the sting was soothed by the sight of you walking away. He stood there for a full minute in shock, but then he shook his head and went behind the bar to drink some water.
“Get it together old man,” Steve grumbled to himself as he tried to cool down. He set about talking to the employees in the kitchen to get more intel on this establishment. The sooner he had enough info, the sooner he could put this one to bed and get away from distractions.
Like you.
—--
“Did you see the new bartender? Just put him on stage, I’ll climb him like the pole.”
"Dat azzz tho."
“Right? And did you see those eyes, those lips? Pretty fly for a…”
You frowned at the chatter around you. You really had to pay more attention to your surroundings. You didn’t notice any new bartender. But knowing these ladies’ taste in romantic partners, you’d bet he was overrated.
You sighed and put your earbuds back in; there was no time for nonsense. You had to warm up properly to protect your instrument: your body.
You looked down at your watch and saw that the doors would open in 45 minutes. You had 20 minutes to go and warm up and still have time to get changed. You sat down to trade your Jordans for your stilettos and make your way out to the pole.
—-
When Steve walked back to the bar from the kitchen, there you were on stage under the lights in a crop top and short shorts.
Again, you were oblivious to him.
Steve, on the other hand, was undone.
Your skin glowed everywhere,and he noticed that you didn’t seem to have augmented anatomy, not that there was anything wrong with that. He just knew that if he had a handful of that ass, it would be real. He stepped behind the bar to watch you, a convenient barrier between you and Steve’s stiffening cock.
As he watched, you moved slowly, the motion elegant and mesmerizing in the six-inch heels you were wearing which elongated your beautiful legs.
Lost in your own world under the lights, you looked ethereal, a goddess.
You approached the pole and held on with one hand, walking around and around it seductively, hopping a few times in the heels, making your ass shake with the impact. It was hypnotizing, watching your strong arms and legs, especially those legs, grip the pole as you worked your body around it.
Then, you let your hands slide down the pole, causing you to bend over and showcase your luscious ass and thighs. Steve imagined that they tasted delicious.
Next, you straightened up and walked around until the pole was nestled in between your asscheeks, widened your legs and undulated on it. Never in Steve’s life had he wanted to be an inanimate object until now.
When you turned around and body rolled on the pole was when Steve had to grip the bar. And when you slowly twirled down to the floor and went spread eagle, beautiful legs in the air, was when he felt like vaulting over the marble bar to get to you.
You rolled over onto your knees and started undulating, then started crawling toward the end of the stage closest to him.
Steve knew the exact moment you noticed him.
You froze, looking like a startled feline. Squinting, you moved your hand over your eyes so you could see beyond the lights, then pulled out your earbuds and got to your feet effortlessly.
—--
You thought you were alone with your music and your fantasy of dance that got you in the headspace to strip for strangers. You didn’t notice anyone out in the club until you were almost done with your warm up routine, when, as you looked up from the floor you saw a large figure behind the bar.
You froze, a moment of something like fear, but more like a thrill, passing through you.
As your eyes adjusted to the area beyond the lights, you saw a tall, muscular body and longish hair. This must be the new bartender. You got up and approached him, trying to analyze your feelings about the situation before you addressed the man.
As you got closer, your temperature seemed to rise. Must’ve been the workout.
His warm denim blue eyes were gorgeous and that dark blond hair and reddish beard were thick and lustrous. Although the beard was a bit wild and wooly, there was no hiding the pink, full lips under that straight, masculine nose.
His body was lithe, but muscular, and you sensed his power. You bet he could pick you up and hold you upside down as that beard scratched the inside of your thighs to lick your…
Wait. Where did that thought come from?
You were objectifying your new co-worker.
That would never, never do. You vowed to be professional.
—-
Steve straightened up as you came near. The look on your face was hard to read. Whatever it was you were feeling, Steve felt like an intruder.
Even though he had the deed to this building in his bag.
“Hi.”
It was all he could think of to say as you stood before him because his mind was empty. With you up close, the only thing he could do was stare. Your scent was like a drug and your eyes were…everything. He gazed into them, a myriad of colors that were holding him captive.
Then that mouth started moving.
“Hello. You the new barback?”
“What?”
Steve leaned closer, pretending he couldn’t hear you, just to get nearer. It wasn’t entirely game; he was quite distracted by you.
The side of your mouth curled up in a sardonic smile and a sudden, funny feeling spread throughout his stomach. He gave you a side grin in response to your side eye.
“Are… you… new… here?”
“Yes, I am working in the bar. I’m Steve…ns. Grant Stevens.”
You extended your hand to him.
“Nice to meet you Grant. I’m Peach.”
“Peach?”
The word gave Steve visions. He stared at your lips, thought of your ass, imagined your juices dripping down his chin.
“Yes,” You smirked. “Peach.”
Steve was speechless.
“It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Since you’re new here and probably haven’t gotten paid yet, I won’t charge you for the private dance.”
Steve’s mind was moving slowly. Like he was drugged.
“That’s a stage name, right?”
Peach. It had to be a stage name. Yet it suited you so perfectly. Suddenly he wanted a taste test.
Steve licked his lips and your eyes followed his movement as you proceeded to not answer him. He unconsciously started stroking the back of your hand with his thumb and gave you his full smile.
You grew even warmer, from the friction of course, and blinked at him as if you were facing sunlight as you pulled your hand from his.
“Forgive me. I’m sorry for eavesdropping? Spying? Watching you dance without you knowing? Don’t know what to call it. But beg your pardon.”
—--
“Don’t beg.”
‘Dont beg here,’ is what you wanted to say.
You don’t know why the vision of this man on his knees for you flashed in your mind. Maybe it was his velvet baritone, or maybe it was the feel of his rough hand on yours that got you all bothered, as if his smile hadn’t already made you wet.
He was tall, a good head taller than you, even in your heels, and a looming presence. In a good way. You wanted to be enveloped by him. But you didn’t even know him.
You had to get it together, but the scent of his cologne was making your mouth water to taste him. You were weak for this man.
You hated this feeling, didn’t have time for it, yet you weren’t ready to end the conversation just yet.
“I mean, I felt some kinda way when I first saw you here, but hell, I don’t own this place. And neither do you.”
For some reason, Grant’s face did a thing. A weird frowny sad thing, but you barrelled ahead.
“You’re a worker, just like me, and you were just getting your work station ready, just like me. Solidarity, man.”
“Yeah. Solidarity.”
Grant cleared his throat.
“Great moves up there.”
—---
You grinned, blinding him this time. Steve’s discomfort that his ‘little white lie’ was spreading to you dissipated when you smiled at him.
He just knew that your smile could heal any ailment, if he were allowed regular doses of it for the rest of his life.
“Thanks, friend. They make me a lot of money three nights a week.”
You pushed off the bar and started walking back to the locker room as Steve chuckled at your immediate friend zoning.
“And if you like that, stick around for the show.”
You threw a look over your shoulder that made him want to follow you anywhere.
As he watched you leave again, Steve Rogers knew that he needed a little more time to figure this place out.
—----
Steve was concluding that Regine wasn’t the worst, but nothing extraordinary. The women in makeup and costume looked good and the tips were flowing; he could see how this was a money maker.
He had his suspicions about Sully, but he still had little evidence about the quality of the place. He needed to see all of the dancers.
Steve wanted to see you dance. For research purposes.
He was busy at the bar all night, so much so that Sully had to come by and made four money drops. This place made much more profit than was being reported, that much was clear as Steve’s eyes followed Sully back to his office with the cash.
He was about to follow him when you brushed by him, ensconced all in white.
“Excuse me. Gotta get to the stage, Comrade.”
Your wink distracted him from the fact that you were wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat and boots.
Wait.
Were those spurs?
Mesmerized, Steve leaned on the bar to watch your show.
The stage went dark while the guitars started. There were whistles and stomps from the floor, cries of Yesss! Peach! Go Peach! Ride me Cowgirl, and Pour some liquor on me honey tooooo! reverberated in the room.
These were grown men and women.
And by the time the first line of the song played, “This ain’t Texas…”, the crowd was in a frenzy and in the palm of your hand.
Steve suddenly understood the customer’s enthusiasm.
The way you moved on the stage, your props, the way your body captivated everyone in the place was astounding.
You were brilliant.
You were what made Regine extra ordinary.
—---
You were bone tired by the time 3 am rolled around and the club closed after two full sets. You’d made $700 dollars in tips, not bad for a Tuesday, considering that you didn’t do any private dances. You were yawning as you passed the bar and Steve stopped you to say goodnight.
“Hey Peach. You were fantastic tonight.”
He shook his head.
“It was the first time I’ve seen that prop used on a dance club stage…”
Steve’s eyes glazed over as he replayed the image of you spinning on the pole with the stick of the hobby horse between your legs.
You spared the handsome blond an appreciative glance and a tired laugh.
“Thanks, Grant. I try to be original. Hope you did well tonight.”
“I did pretty good.”
Steve smiled as he would if $500 dollars excited him.
“Hey, one of the customers at the bar told me to give you this. Said he was shy?”
You looked at him warily as you took the envelope. Inside was $1000.
“Holy Shit!”
You looked up and covered your mouth, your girlish piety endearing to Steve, who chuckled at you.
“There’s a stack in here.”
“Whoa! Cool.”
Steve tried to look as if he didn’t know there were exactly 10 hundred dollar bills that he’d put in there.
“Guy must really like you. Could it be a regular? A special friend? An ex perhaps?”
Steve was not being very subtle, but he didn’t have much time. You were smirking at him in that way again.
“My regulars are regular shmegular degular, and cannot afford to tip me one thousand dollars. Must be a high roller rolling through the A.”
You smiled, but decided you needed to be tough. You straightened and gave the most menacing glare you could manage.
Steve thought you were adorable.
“I don’t know who would have done this. I don’t have any special friends or exes in this city. I’m all work. NO play. In any way. Especially at work.”
You hoped your hard look worked. Grant was certainly watching your mouth as you spoke, so he must have caught what you meant, right? When his eyes flicked up to yours, your knees got weak so you decided you should go.
“‘Night, Grant.”
You turned and walked out of Regine, a certain warmth in your chest. Must the $1700 in your bag. Or the chicken wings. Nothing to do with the beautiful man you knew was watching until you got into your car.
Steve made sure that you drove off safely, and then followed you home as he thought about how efficiently you’d curved him.
Once you went into your apartment, Steve called Bucky and told him that he needed a little more time on this enterprise.
This one was a peach.