(no subject)

[evolutionaryimperative]

Gabriel hadn't originally planned on coming back. It was smarter to just let the experience they shared the night before be a one night thing. So why was he here? Even he wasn't sure, but he felt the need to see her, the way he hadn't needed to see anyone in a long, long time.

As soon as he finished the last watch for the day he had closed up the shop and headed up to the apartment above it. He had changed out of his glasses and sweater vests into one of the outfits he wore off the job. Black slacks, a white shirt, and the same leather jacket he had worn the night before. Nothing special. It was never anything that could make him stick out.

After that he had headed out and before he knew it he was here, at the strip club where Elle worked once more. He made his way inside, sitting a little closer to the stage than he normally did. He tried to tell himself himself he wasn't making sure she would notice him, but that was a lie.

He leaned back and ordered a scotch (his usual), dark eyes scanning the area for her as a familiar song began to play for the next dance.

Comments

[electrocutesy.livejournal.com]

Elle had rolled out of bed late that morning in the little squalor of her apartment--for all her cash and nice clothes and shoes and bags, her place was small, and usually a mess. She slept there, and watched TV, but that was it. It was quiet, and that's why she spent most of the time at the club. She didn't like the quiet, didn't like the time to think and remember.

She liked this. The club.

The stage, the men. They were all easier to deal with than her apartment. They whistled, they catcalled, and if they got grabby, she kicked them in the shins and the bouncers, the sweethearts, threw them out.

And it was fun. She commanded the whole room when she was there--not just one, two, three men. All of them tripped over themselves, and they definitely were tonight. She was wearing boots, black ones that hugged halfway up her thighs, and a simple matching black lacy set. Dressed to kill and already on her fourth lap dance of the night.

He was some pudgy guy in his forties, and he smelled like socks and cigars.

Yes, her life was glamorous, and she couldn't wait for the song to be over, even though it had just begun.