DISCLAIMER: "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation" and other related entities are owned, trademarked, and copyrighted by Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS Worldwide Inc., Alliance Atlantis Corporation, CSI Productions and CBS Productions. This is fanfiction and is written purely for the enjoyment of fans, and the author acknowledges that no profit is made from the writing and/or distribution of said writing.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Originally written for the lj group AU challenge. But I thought maybe you guys might like it too, since not all of you visit that group. And I swear all those trips to the strip club were research. I swear. ;)
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Predator
By Amy Jo
Dark eyes follow her every move. In fact, many eyes followed her around the stage, but only one pair kept her attention. There is no emotion on the watcher's face, but everything is clearly written in those eyes. Passion and lust; again seen in everyone watching, but that one pair of dark eyes is different from the rest somehow.
Skin glistening under the stage lights her body undulates with ease to the thump of bass in the music. She turns her attention to the others watching, feeling the gaze of the dark eyes as she moves her body for the pleasure of others. Casting a glance in the direction of her prey she sees desire and jealousy burning bright.
The music changes, now slower and more sensual. Showing agility and strength, the dancer moves with ease; arms flexing as she pulls herself up the center pole, reaching the top she wraps her thighs around the cool metal. Body bending backwards; nothing more than the power of her thighs keeping her wrapped around that metal as she slides down, hands caressing her naked body.
Determined to achieve a reaction, when the dancer reaches the stage again she crawls toward those searing eyes. Breaking a rule the dancer pushes back the watcher's chair and straddles the inviting lap. Bending backwards again, planting her hands on the floor below her the dancer gives those eyes a clear view of everything that makes her good at this.
Pushing up she thrusts her midsection temptingly close to the face of the woman watching. Still no reaction except in those hypnotizing eyes. Placing her hands on the back of the watcher's chair she leans her head down and quickly runs her tongue along an ear lobe. Feeling a shudder run through the body beneath her the dancer smiles with satisfaction and moves slowly back to the stage.
The song fades and the dancer's time is done. Prepared to move offstage she looks back at those eyes one last time. A slight twitch of the watcher's lips and she knows she has caught her prey tonight.
Two songs per set. Minimum of three sets per night. Private dances as requested along with what the dancers call 'trolling'; slipping in and out of the crowd, flirting with patrons in an attempt to get more private dances. Dollars from the tip rail don't compare to the money made in the VIP rooms.
Sitting quietly the dancer's prey doesn't show the same desire for anyone that could be seen when she was onstage. The dancer watches her prey's reactions to others carefully, looking for that same spark to see if it was the dance or the dancer that lit those dark eyes up. She concludes that it's the dancer, not the dance, when no one else manages to evoke the same reaction.
She works the crowd, deliberately choosing men near her prey's table for private dances. Sitting in the laps of the appreciative men; flirting, laughing and teasing until they follow her to private rooms. She watches for the look of jealousy when the men return and sure enough every time that look is there. The twitch of a smile she noticed when she walked offstage is replaced with the bitter beginnings of a frown.
Her second set starts with the heavy thump of bass, perfect for her to work the tip rail with thrusts of her hips. She wants to lure the watcher to the rail, to really put on a show for those dark eyes in front of everyone else. Her watcher seems unwilling, remaining seated at table just on the perimeter of the rail; close enough to watch but far enough away that the dancer can't play without breaking the rules again.
She slides up and down the cool metal, knowing the men in the room appreciate the metaphor; as if any of them could be as satisfying. The music changes to slow and sensual again, it's part of the pattern; raw and sexual to grab attention, alluring and coy to keep it.
The dancer is now graceful and somewhat aloof, giving teasing hints of what she could really do in one of those back rooms. Her eyes remain on her prey for the entirety of the second song; coaxing the watcher to give another smile before the song is done.
The End