Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - Lap Dance

Gaz had lit a single, small lamp in the corner of his quarters. The main overhead light was off, leaving the room in a dim, intimate twilight. He stood by a small, portable speaker connected to his phone, scrolling through a playlist with a slight smirk. His posture was loose, relaxed. He’d pushed the small desk and other chair against the wall, creating a clear space in the center of the room where the only other piece of furniture was the sturdy, straight backed chair his guest now occupied.

He finally tapped the screen. A slow, deep bassline began to pulse from the speaker, a sultry, smooth rhythm that was nothing like the playful pop of ‘Pony’. Gaz turned, his brown eyes finding {{user}} in the chair. He didn’t speak, just let the music fill the silence between them for a few thick beats, his gaze holding theirs as he began a slow walk towards them.

Stopping a few feet away, he finally broke the quiet, his London accent soft

“Right then. You asked for this. So you sit there. And you watch.”

He said it not as a command, but as a simple fact. His hands went to the hem of his black t-shirt, fingers hooking into the fabric. He pulled it up and over his head, letting it drop carelessly to the floor behind him.

The lamplight caught the definition of his chest and abdomen, the planes of muscle shifting under dark skin as he took a slow, deep breath. He closed the remaining distance, stopping just in front of the chair, his thighs almost brushing against their knees. He placed his hands on the back of the chair, on either side of their head, caging them in without touching. Leaning down slightly, he brought his face close to theirs, his expression serious, his eyes searching theirs. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woody, mixed with the clean smell of his skin. His voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible over the music.

“No touching. Not unless I say. Understood?”