DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. I wish I did. I also don't own "Feelin Love" or "Touch It"
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Private Dancer
By Teara


The brunette walks in the smoky club. The bass is pounding as the strains of that old Monifah song "Touch It" fill the air. On the stage a topless redhead grinds against a pole while middle-aged men howl and whistle, waving this week's meager wages that they should be using on their wives and children. Above them some of Hollywood's finest engage in very incriminating acts under the "cloak of invisibility" known as the VIP suites. The dark haired woman makes her way over to a private booth, pausing to nod at the dj who nods in return. She slides onto the tacky red vinyl that makes up the seats of the booth. This is her favorite spot. It allows her to see almost every place in the club. She loves to watch the people. In fact, she's been doing it so long that she can spot a potential client a mile away. Her expressive brown eyes meet the bartender's and she smirks. He already has her drink prepared and a leggy blonde is making her way over with a tray. The blonde reaches her table, her green eyes sparking with interest as she leans over the table, giving the brunette a view of ample breasts practically spilling out of her top. The brunette smiles wickedly as she takes the drink. She nods her acceptance and winks. The blonde tries to play it coy with a small smile, but there's no doubt in the dark haired woman's mind that she could bend the waitress right over the table she's sitting at and have her way with her and she'd get no complaints. Instead, she turns her attention back to the stage and waits for the waitress to move away.

The amber liquid slides down her throat, the burn a welcomed sensation. She's been drinking since she was eight and learned how to pick the lock on her parents' liquor cabinet. She enjoys the familiar comfort of the fire pooling in her stomach. She's had a long week and the earlier events of the day haven't made it any easier to endure. It's not as if she's never been kicked out of someone's house for a lot worst than what she was doing with Julia Mallory. It was that she'd actually begun to like the blonde. She should have known that she was just as fucked up as the rest of Hollywood's "elite," more so because the light was dimming fast on Julia's bright star and the brunette knew this life well enough to know that for every one Julia there were a million other exact replicas waiting for their time to shine. Then where would she go? To Holt? He was a mindless peon, too stupid to realize he was nothing more than the walking, talking personification of what a little publicity could do for a second rate actor. And no matter what that drugged up blonde said, she knew he was the one that had betrayed Kira. God , those two really deserved each other, she thought disgustedly.

She downs the rest of her drink in one gulp, then lifts the empty glass, shaking it to get the bartender's attention once more. He nods again and she sets it back down on the table. Her eyes scan the club, looking for new faces, hoping for new clients and maybe even a replacement for Julia to warm her bed for the night. It seems she is out of luck on both accounts. It wasn't like she hadn't bedded many of girls that worked here, including the blonde that was making her way back to the table with her second drink. She takes the fresh glass from the tray replacing it with the old one without so much as a glance at the waitress. She turns her attention to the stage as a curvy dark haired girl with the skin the color of caramel finishes her set. The brunette smirks as she remembers tasting every inch of that skin. It had indeed been just as sweet as it looked.

Just as she can feel the cool glass of her drink touch her lips, she pauses. Her dark gaze is drawn to another blonde standing only a few feet away. Her head is bent as she addresses one of the dancers, but the brunette still recognizes her. It is the journalist that had showed up at her place, nosing around about Connie Criss. Everything about the blonde screamed narc, but the brunette was very skilled in the art of lying. After all she is one of Hollywood's best-kept secrets. So she'd been prepared when the blonde had began questioning her. She smiles as she remembers the quick kiss she'd placed on the blonde's lips and how off center it had made the journalist. Well that and the drugs, she thought wryly. She watches the exchange and notes that the blonde seems ill at ease. She glances nervously over her shoulder every few seconds and starts when her eyes finally meet the brunette's.

The dark haired woman smiles alluringly before downing her drink and sitting her glass on the table. She crooks her finger, motioning for the blonde to come to her table. She sees the reporter hesitate, but then she reluctantly agrees, taking a moment to finish whatever she was saying before weaving through the tables to the booth. She shifts uncomfortably under the intense gaze of the brunette's brown eyes and the dark haired woman can smirks. She's enjoying making reporter squirm. She takes a drink from the full glass that has magically appeared at the table, knowing that the prolonged silence is unnerving the blonde more than she's showing. Her hazel eyes keep darting towards the exit and the brunette can see her trying to find a way to escape.

"It's Garbo, right?" The blonde asks nervously.

Garbo's smirk grows into a full-blown smile at the question and she nods. "Yeah, and you're…Connie Criss' friend? "

The blonde nods a little too enthusiastically and bounces on the ball of her feet.

As she takes another drink, she lets her eyes trail over the lithe form before her and smirks again as the blonde squirms physically this time. "I saw that article. It looks like your friend isn't doing so well."

"Oh well I wouldn't really know," the blonde admits before she realizes her blunder. "I mean I haven't talked to her since she...went to rehab."

The brunette nods, finishing the contents in her glass. She slides it to the edge of the table. "So, I wouldn't guess this would be your type of scene," Garbo says gesturing around the room.

The question throws the blonde for a moment. She's never going to make it in this business if she doesn't learn to think on her feet, the brunette thinks as she continues to gaze at the reporter.

"Oh, I'm here all the time." The blonde's tone has a false air of nonchalance and Garbo hides her grin.

"Oh?" She arches her dark eyebrow just as the busty blonde waitress carries another glass to the table.

The journalist's mouth opens in shock as the waitress leans across the table, making a show of pecking Garbo on the lips. This one had always been a little possessive when it came to Garbo and that had gotten real old real fast.

"Do you work here or something?" Garbo asks, ignoring the waitress' advances. The busty blonde stomps off in a huff, the journalist's gaze following her. The brunette takes a sip of her drink, waiting for the blonde's attention to return to her. When hazel eyes look back at her in surprised confusion she smiles. "Well do you?"

"I'm sorry what?"

"Do you work here?"

The journalist nods and Garbo can see the relief etched on her delicate features. She knows the blonde thinks she's just been let off the hook. Saved from making up some story that wouldn't have fooled the dealer for a second. The brunette lets her eyes trail up and down the blonde's thin frame, taking in the outfit that told her this girl definitely didn't work in a club like this. She finishes her drink and slides out of the booth, taking the blonde's hand. "Good. Come on."

"Wait, where are we going?" The blonde asks nervously as she reluctantly follows.

Garbo doesn't answer. She continues to the back of the club, past a curtain with a posted guard and down a dark hallway. She doesn't stop until she's pulled them into a secluded room and locks the door behind them.

"Wha…what is this?" The blonde's voice is shaky as she eyes the other woman hesitantly.

"What do you mean? This is where VIP customers get private shows. A pretty face like yours must be pretty popular. Surely you've been back here a few times." The brunette's eyes meet the journalist's, challenging her.

"R..ri..right," the blonde stutters.

"Good." The dealer walks over to the stereo system and hits play. Seconds later the smooth beats of Paula Cole's "Feelin' Love" fill the air. The brunette smiles and saunters over to the couch. She sits down, spreading her arms on the back. "I'm ready for my private show."

"I don't know. I mean…I…"

"What? You said you work here, right? Was that a lie?"


"I mean why else would you be here? I know it's not for the show. And judging from that outfit I'd say you were a narc, but we already ruled that out last time, right?"

The blonde nods dejectedly and Garbo almost feels bad. But this is Hollywood and even this journalist, as innocent as she looks, isn't above the fray. "Well then, what's the problem?"

For a moment, Garbo thinks she's gone too far and the blonde might bolt, but instead she sees hips begin to sway hesitantly to the pulsating beat. The movements grow more confident as the journalist's eyes meet and hold hers. She knows the blonde is not going to back down and the brunette welcomes the challenge. Hazel eyes flutter close as the blonde allows herself to get lost in Paula's breathy crooning. Hands find blonde locks and tangle in them before sliding down to the body that is now gyrating along with the song.

The dealer sits back, enjoying the show. She isn't sure what she'd expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't the blonde seeming to come undone right before her very eyes. Slender hands slide over a stomach down to thighs as a sigh escapes the blonde's mouth. Garbo's gaze follows the hand until it moves back up to cup firm breasts and she wills her eyes to look into the journalist's golden eyes that are now almost black with unleashed desire. She crooks her finger, once again beckoning the other woman and the blonde moves closer. Her hips sway enticingly at her eye level as the blonde begins to unbutton her blouse. She lets her hands tentatively but firmly grab the other woman's waist. When she is met with no resistance, she sits forward, letting her tongue trail over the newly exposed flesh. She delights in the little pants and gasps coming from the blonde. When her tongue dips into the journalist's navel, she is rewarded with a moan before being pushed back, a small seductive smile teasing the blonde's lips.

Spinning around, the journalist dips, grinding her ass against the brunette's crotch. Garbo groans. Throwing caution to the wind, she grabs lace-enclosed breasts almost roughly, while nipping at the side of the blonde's neck. As her fingers tease and pinch nipples, she is dimly aware the song has started over. Pushing the bra up impatiently, her fingers continue their sweet torture on pale soft skin, causing the blonde to whimper and moan loudly. Her hand slides down over a taut stomach as she feels hips undulate eagerly against her own, stealing beneath the waistband of the skirt and bypassing panties. Her fingers slip through wetness and tease the bundle of nerves in time with Paula's frantic moans masked with lyrics and the blonde begins to mumble her name pitifully. She earns a whimper of disapproval as her digits move lower, but it is short lived as she teases the blonde's opening before sliding deep inside of her. The journalist's breath comes out like a hiss and her hips rock almost violently against the assault. Garbo picks up the pace, penetrating the blonde harder and deeper and faster, while her other hand teases the reporter's nipple almost painfully. The blonde's breaths are coming out in shorter pants and Garbo can sense she's close. She thrusts one last time, curling her fingers upward and running her thumb over the blonde's clit. The reporter's body stiffens and she makes a sound that is somewhere between a scream and a moan before her body begins to tremble and shake.

Garbo holds the blonde as she calms before extracting her fingers, causing the other woman to shudder. The song restarts itself for about the third time and the brunette helps the reporter to her feet. They stare into each other's eyes for a moment before the blonde shyly turns away, looking down to button her shirt. The brunette reaches out and lifts her chin. Brushing the blonde hair out of hazel eyes, she smiles softly. She leans forward and brings their lips together for a tender, lingering kiss.

"Thanks for the dance." Garbo walks to the door and unlocks it before facing the still silent blonde again. "You have my number. Call me sometime." She winks before turning and walking out of the door.

The End

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