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Birds of Prey
Reply to Nace M.Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list March 15, 2001
Title: Birds of Prey
Author: Nace M.
Disclaimer: Don't own anyone/thing.
The door creaked in a long drawn out manner as she pushed it inward and made her way inside. Her crystal blue eyes blinked in adjustment, as they grew used to the scarcely lit lounge and dance floor. A few heads turned in her direction and took in the sight of her. Blonde hair hung loosely down to her chin, lips curved in a small smirk and painted lightly with the color of raspberries. The silk of her powder blue dress slightly shimmered against the pale yellow lights. Black strappy shoes adorned her feet, accentuating her toenails that matched the blue of her dress perfectly.
In short, she was a knockout.
Eyebrows arched on a few of the patrons as if they were asking themselves what a looker like her was doing in a dive like this.
She took a few moments to scan the crowd. Men in suits and ties gathered at tables or in booths, each with a drink and a forlorn look on their faces. For a second she thought about turning around and going back to searching for a more decent place to prowl.
With a sigh and a shrug she adjusted the strap of her purse slung across her shoulder and headed toward the bar. Setting herself onto a stool and crossing her legs, she shook her right foot back and forth without a care in the world. The bartender was a bearded man of at least forty, by her guess. A few gray hairs streaking through his once black hair and beard. She ordered a scotch and soda and the man grinned as if he recognized her as one of a dozen that tried to slip passed him. He asked for ID, which she pulled from her purse. The bartender's brow creased in concentration as he attempted to scrutinize the authenticity of it.
She rolled her eyes and waved her hand at him. His face went slack, a dreamy look entering his eyes. She had no problem having to mess with a few people's heads every now and then to get what she wanted. But sometimes she grew tired of having to do it. It's because she was small that they always gave her trouble. It's not like it was something she could help.
He turned to fix her drink while she took a minute to scan the crowd once more. Someone tossed a quarter in the jukebox and it crooned a smooth jazzy tune to which a few customers took it upon themselves to dance to. If you called what they were doing dancing. One man looked like a puppet whose strings were being pulled by a hyperactive child, while another merely stood in place and tapped his feet along with the beat. Giggling softly at the display, she turned back to face the bar to find her drink in front of her.
She sipped from the glass lightly, pretending to ignore the body that chose to plop itself on the stool next to her.
"What's your name darlin'?" A rough gravelly voice asked into her right ear.
She grinned at the smooth sound of it and turned to face him, putting on her patented mischievous smile. It faltered when the face her eyes met was the epiphany of infectious human waste. Greasy hair tossed in no particular fashion atop his head. A chubby sweaty face covered in a sheen layer of sweat, god-awful yellow plaid jacket and green tie. Pin hole pupils sat in the middle of speckled hazel eyes, and the naughty gleam in them threatened to turn her stomach.
"Oh please," she muttered. "Like you're even worth my time let alone my company."
Shock flashed across his chubby face for the briefest second. Like he was appalled she would say such a thing to him. His grin overrode the shock and he spoke again.
"Buy you a drink?" He offered.
"Got one," she responded lifting her glass.
"Don't smoke." ' "How about a neck rub sweetie, you're looking a little tense if you don't mind me saying."
She glared at his leering face and took a deep breath. To keep herself from simply frying the slimy.
"You even think about touching me you won't get your hands back," she said sweetly.
His grin grew wider, revealing nicotine stained yellow teeth, and his breath was as rank as his outfit.
"Come on sweetie," he began, only to be cut off by the cold glare of her eyes. Fat, sweat soaked cheeks went slack and a droplet of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.
"Here's what you're going to do," she said quietly. "You're going to wander back over to that booth drenched in the slime that I overheard cheering you on. I'm assuming they're your friends. Whip out what I'm guessing to be nothing special and tell them that I shot you down for having a pencil dick, okay?"
Slack sweaty face nodded in acknowledgement and rose from his stool heading back to his booth. The chorus of shouts from across the room caused her to smile genuinely for the first time that night.
She went back to sipping her drink when she caught the faint scent of something that seemed out of place amongst the hard to ignore odor of stale beer and smoke. It was almost sweet, this smell. Like lilacs. She turned back toward the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone that could possibly possess such a lovely sweet smell. Her eyes were only met with the business suit clad men she'd seen when she entered. Knitting her brow in confusion she looked and the small crowd of people more intently. She was sure none of them could ever possess such a fragrance.
A minute later she gave up. The light was too dim and she felt silly squinting her eyes against it. She turned to the bar once more and watched the bartender wipe water rings from the polished wood. Once again she thought about leaving.
She had places to go, men to manipulate, and take advantage of. Far better men than this place had to offer. Tossing a five to the bartender, she slung her purse over her shoulder and spun off her stool.
An involuntary gasp escaped her lips when her eyes locked with the other woman's across the room. She sniffed the air slightly and smelled that sweet lilac scent. She felt the smile stretch across her lips. Maybe tonight wouldn't be such a bust after all.
The other woman was attired in a short, sheer purple dress, the material shimmering in the dull light much the way that her own did. Brunette hair coifed atop her head, bangs hanging just past her chin. Chocolate brown eyes sparkled from across the room, they seem to stare straight into her. A mirror image smile danced on her lips, as their eyes seemed to travel up and down each other's bodies.
She flushed at the sudden attention paid to her without the leering intent of a quickie in some cramped back seat of this yuppie crowd's BMW. There was something else in those eyes the seemed to be feeding off the mere sight of her. Recognition. A small appreciation of what she was. What they were.
It was blatantly obvious to each of them. They were one in the same.
Birds of prey.
Circling for their next kill.
They weren't here for the company or the service.
They walked in unison from their spaces across from each other.
Sizing each other up.
Her shoes tapped against the stained wood of the dance floor, but she paid the sound no mind.
They circled each other slowly, eye contact never broken. The connection never wavering.
The approach was slow. It wasn't clear who initiated the move, but she didn't care anyway. They didn't walk toward each other, not so as much as gliding into each other's arms. The music coming from the jukebox was slow. A saxophone wailing its song accompanied by heavy bass and light drums. The brown-haired girl's fingertips traced along the skin of her upper back, and she gasped. Those dark eyes gleaming at the reaction.
"What brings you here?" She asks into her ear.
"Same thing as you."
"Of course," she replies. "Does my competition have a name? Or can I just call you Blondie?"
"Tess. My name is Tess."
"Oh, quite a lovely name you have there Tess."
"Thank you. What about you?" Tess inquires.
"Ah, sometimes a gal wishes to remain a mystery," brown hair replies.
Tess gives her a smirk and rolls her eyes. Yes, they prefer to remain mysteries to the men they seduce and extort. But to each other? There must have been some kind of code against this sort of thing.
"Liz," the brown-haired girl whispers into her ear.
Tess shudders and her eyes close from Liz's breath tickling her earlobe. She hears Liz laugh softly and Tess opens her eyes to find almost the entire clientele of the bar staring from their seats, gaping in wonder.
"You'd think they were at home jacking off to the Playboy channel," Liz says.
Tess laughs and wraps her arms more firmly around her petite companion. She breathes in that lilac scent melded into her hair. She runs her fingers up Liz's neck, wanting to touch that hair, being careful not to mess it up. The brunette strands feel like the silk of her dress.
"What is it with men and seeing two women together?" Tess asks airily.
"Oh please," Liz says with a grin. "Fuel for shower fantasies, you know that."
Tess nods in agreement and leans a bit closer to press her cheek to Liz's. Her skin is so soft she has to squelch the urge to taste it.
"What say we give them a real show?" Liz asks, a naughty gleam in her eye.
Tess grins, her blue eyes shining in anticipation.
Liz's hands slide to the back of her neck, fingers running gently across the skin, causing the hairs to rise. Slowly, teasingly, she pulls her closer. Liz's smile is no longer one of voyeuristic intent. It is a smile of desire, a smile of longing. Tess can see that she does not want to kiss her for show value. It was a mild excuse. She simply wants to kiss her.
Tess has no complaints.
Liz's lips are supple and soft, her arms strong and silken as she throws them around Tess's neck. The kiss has more fire than a raging inferno, yet is gentler than a tender caress. Liz's tongue urges open Tess's lips, and a soft moan escapes her throat. Fingers move into each other's hair, bodies press themselves closer as if a mere millimeter was simply too far apart. Their lips move anxiously against each other, their tongues dancing wildly with one another. The passion grows and the crowd is forgotten.
This kiss is for them.
Birds of Prey.
One of a feather flock together.
Tess nearly cries out when Liz lets her go, but she notices that Liz still had that gleam in her eye. She wasn't done. She had just grown tired of the hooting and hollering surrounding them. Liz grabs Tess's hand.
"I say we get out of here."
Tess grins and nods as Liz pulls her from the dance floor and out of the dank, seedy hellhole.
They are made for each other.
Birds of prey.
On the hunt, circling for their next kill.
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