Love from Venus: Arc 1, Part 2
Title: Love from Venus
Part: ARC 1, Part 2
Author: Aquarius Galuxy
Fandom: Power Stone
Pairing: Rouge/Ryoma
Genre: Romance/Erotica/Friendship/AU
Rating: varies from PG to NC-17
Word count: 4,222
Summary: Sales representative Ryoma Iwakura's life careens off course when a business deal brings him to a hostess bar, and into the company of hostess and strip club dancer Rouge. A spark of attraction ignites between them, one Ryoma tries to deny. Despite his reservations, he embarks on a scandalous friendship with Rouge that questions his plans for the future.
Author's Notes: Hoho, this chapter was fun! Again, factual inaccuracies abound. Prompts are from 10_prompts.
#6 (10:9 Bright lights)
"C'mon, just give it a try. You don't have anything to lose."
"I don't have anything to gain either."
"Go out and have some fun! Learn to live a little! Geez, Ryoma. Kendo isn't everything. I'm sure you know that."
"I do. And I don't subscribe to your definition of 'fun'."
"Look, the girl's the one asking you out. She's gonna expect you to be there. Will you be happy knowing you stood her up?"
"I'm the one being asked out, not you."
"Fine, whatever you say. I'm just trying to get you to be a gentleman here."
Ryoma found himself trudging along the streets after work on Wednesday night, having dragged his way through dinner. 8.30pm swooped down on him without mercy. Not for the first time, he cursed the part of himself that had decided to heed Falcon, wishing he were home instead. There were things to be done back at the apartment -- dishes to wash, floors to clean. Even replying the letter from his parents that had just arrived the day before.
Street corners turned into streets, which led to yet more networks of roads that would have trapped him like a maze if he didn't live so close by. Vaguely, Ryoma wondered if he was making any headway in his search, and whether Rouge would be offended if he showed up late.
Was she the type to be early? Would she smile that stomach-flipping smile at him again? As quickly as that thought surfaced, he extinguished it, viciously so it wouldn't tempt his traitorous hormones.
A neon pink signboard winked at him amidst a darkened row of shops, catching his eye. There was a fraction of familiarity about it that drew him closer, playing on his thirst to know more. Ryoma gathered his resolve and walked towards the establishment.
Next to the logo of olive leaves cradling a V were the words "Club Venus" sprawled above open doors, also glowing pink. Music thumped so loud from the depths of the club that he could hear it yards away from the place. Ryoma glanced at the gruff bouncer guarding the entrance, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
"ID please." The burly man held out his hand.
Ryoma blinked, thrown off his train of thought. He fished for his wallet and passed his card to the doorman. "Will that do?"
"Yeah." Without missing a beat, the bouncer scanned his identification details and asked, "Your first time here?"
He nodded, collecting his card. "I'm meeting someone."
"Have fun." The doorman cracked a smile, stepping aside to let him through.
Ryoma thanked him and ventured through the double doors, temporarily forgetting his misgivings. Club Venus was an intriguing place -- smoky, noisy, and alive with people. Shadows and colour fought for dominance, from black armchairs crowded around low tables, to neon blue lights lining the tops of walls and gleaming ebony counters extending along one side of the sprawling lounge. A blanket of pink diffused across the place from overhead lamps, mingling with the shine of polished leather and a scarlet carpet that spread across the entire floor.
His attention was drawn almost immediately to the brightly-lit cluster of circular daises in the middle of the club, each with a metal pole connecting it to the ceiling. But what had him halting in his tracks were the scantily-clad, twisting bodies that writhed and wound around the poles, dressed in so little that barely anything was left to the imagination. Girls of every nationality were teeming in the club, either on stage or off, stopping at tables and chatting men up. Men similar to himself.
Overwhelmed and thoroughly shocked, Ryoma made his way to an empty table, sitting down heavily at one of the armchairs. A runner came along moments later to take his order; he asked for one of the stronger drinks he could stand to consume. Thoughts were buzzing around in his mind, crashing into each other and jangling his focus.
A new song had started to play, heralding a fresh set of dancers in different costumes. The switch of girls was smooth and quick. He'd have to give them credit for that. But it still didn't erase the queasy effect that the blaring dance music was wrecking on him. Why had Rouge even asked him here? How was he going to find her in a place as dark and crowded as this?
The answer struck him in the form of a mocha-toned dancer clothed in a gold-sequined bikini. She had a long silky braid draped over her shoulder, ending in a gold bangle that gleamed in the whitish light of her dais. As with the other day, half her face was again veiled. He stared at the richness of her curves and felt his body respond as it had to no other female. She watched him solemnly -- how had she located him in the dimness of the club? -- and broke her gaze when the melody changed.
Ryoma watched as she twirled herself around the pole, bringing the cylindrical surface between her breasts and grinding lightly against it, before drawing her body down its length, pushing her shapely rear up in the air. He swallowed, tried to deny that he could imagine running his hand over her ass, could almost feel the supple warmth of her skin.
The runner returned then with his drink. Reluctantly, he stopped watching Rouge to pay for the beverage, its cost a reminder of why he avoided clubs and bars. Warmth burned its way down his gut with the first sip, soothing his nerves by increments.
Rouge was leaning back against the pole when he next set his gaze on her, sliding herself down its length as she spread her legs, exposing the thin strip of cloth at the juncture of her thighs. He was ashamed of himself for staring, but there wasn't much he could do to tear his eyes off her, not when he knew that there was nothing between her bikini bottom and her sex.
Then she spun around, raising her smooth derriere and gyrating it, her movements so slick that his mental faculties ceased to function, redirecting blood to his loins instead.
Ryoma wasn't sure how long he watched her for, only regaining some capacity of thought when the music tapered off and she stepped daintily off her dais, the pressure at his crotch clamouring for release. The next sip of liquor did a fraction of good in muting his desire. He knew he should leave, badly wanted to, but the thought of Rouge anchored him to his seat.
She made a loop around the tables and started in his direction, meeting his gaze. There wasn't any question then that the dancer was headed for him in all her shimmery gold glory. He swallowed nervously in a mix of dread and anticipation.
#7 (9:8 Blindsided)
Ryoma attempted (and failed) to keep his eyes on her face, cursing his desire when his attention coasted down her front, raking over the swells of her breasts. He thanked the gods that her nipples weren't visible today. Simply thinking about them had more heat pooling at his crotch. Just this once, he'd give almost everything he had not to be raging for her like an adolescent.
Rouge was still watching him by the time he dragged his gaze back to hers. He flushed in embarrassment, glancing towards the empty seat at his side. At the very least, Falcon wasn't with him.
She stopped when she was but two feet away, looking down at him with an amused smile quirking her lips. The bottom of his stomach detached and fell to the ground with a clatter only he heard. Ryoma tried very hard to not stare at her gold thong (and failed again), only remembering to get to his feet after heartbeats. "I, uh, didn't expect to see you, uh...."
Surely it wasn't manly to stutter like that.
"I'm so glad you came." Rouge seemed to ignore his discomfiture, glancing down to survey his belongings. He wrenched his gaze from the valley between her breasts. "Grab your things, we're heading somewhere else."
"Where?" he croaked, looking over the various other tables of patrons. It'd be the same no matter where they went. He wasn't even sure that following her was a good idea, not when there was an obvious bulge in his pants if she thought to inspect him closely. (No, he was strictly not going down that lane.)
"Just follow me." She gave him a confident smile and stepped away, towards the far end of the club. Not wanting to disappoint her, Ryoma picked up his drink and briefcase and trailed after her, eyeing the other clusters of men who paid no mind to him. The dancers around did notice, however, and he turned his gaze away, fixing it on Rouge. Her sequin-covered rear swayed enticingly in the low lighting. He licked his dry lips and hurried after her.
Along the last wall of Club Venus was a row of curtained booths that he hadn't spotted on his way in. Within each room was a luxurious, plush leather couch or two, accompanied by a low side table and mirrors on the walls. Some of these booths had their draperies pulled shut, and quite abruptly, Ryoma got the feeling that he didn't want to know -- or experience -- what went on behind those curtains.
Rouge led him to a corner booth, one of two smaller ones housing a single loveseat each. Ryoma paused just outside its designated rectangle, staring uncertainly at the dancer. "Rouge, what's going on?"
She hushed him, crooking a finger towards herself. He decided to wait until she was ready to speak, following her into the booth instead. Besides, it wasn't as if his arousal wanted him to think about matters outside his pants just yet.
Ryoma watched as she drew the maroon-print curtains closed, their metallic hoops hissing along the perimeter of the booth. Her thong glittered and winked at him with each step she took. She turned to him after some moments, taking the glass and briefcase from his hands. His breath caught at the warmth of her fingertips. Their gazes met. Rouge smiled. "So, where were we again?"
"I, uh... What are you doing, Rouge?" he muttered just loudly enough to be heard over the pounding music, keeping his gaze on her as she set his things to the side. In her stilettos, he was certain that she was just as tall as he was.
"Meeting up with you." She turned back to him, smiling warmly. "I didn't get a chance to know you better the other day."
"Don't you already know enough about me?" He stared when she shrunk the gap between them, so that there was just a foot of space left as a buffer. His body reacted to her proximity, even if his conscience didn't.
"Not quite enough," Rouge murmured breathily, tilting her head and bringing her lips close to his. His pulse leaped. He could smell her perfume -- it was the same musky, floral one she had on at the hostess club. This almost-contact was bad for his body. She backed him into the leather couch.
"I shouldn't be here," he protested half-heartedly, swallowing hard when her clothed breasts brushed over his chest. She was going to kiss him, and it was going to be his first ever.
"Part of you wants to be." Rouge grinned and drew away. He inhaled in relief. "Sit." She pressed down on his shoulders, a mysterious smile flitting across her countenance. "And enjoy. This dance is on me."
Dance? Ryoma lowered himself into the cushy seat, curiosity getting the better of him. He watched as Rouge backed away, her dark skin tinted pink under the lambency of the ceiling light. She looked at him with that one visible eye of hers, dragging her hands up her sides and beneath her bikini-clad breasts, stroking over them with a slowness that forced her flesh up, to the point where he thought they might spill from their confines.
But they didn't, and as she began to sway her hips, Ryoma swallowed again, eyes widening when he realised the nature of her dance. It was sinful. He found himself rooted to the seat, gazing upon all she had to offer like a parched man.
She dragged her hands down to her midriff, and up to cradle her breasts once more, but this time, her fingers caught on the edges of the tiny gold disks, tugging them so far down that he thought he'd see her nipples. But she released the garment, sending him a knowing smile that had him squirming in his seat.
Rouge turned around and rolled her ass at him, in a movement that forced him to draw a sharp breath, before she ran her hands over her body, tempting him with her touch for long moments. Just when Ryoma thought she couldn't be any more of a tease, the dancer lowered herself to the floor and spread her legs, offering him a view of her concealed crotch. He flushed, hoped that the tent in his trousers didn't show. His blood raced and nagged at him to assuage his hunger, but all he allowed himself to do was anchor his hands to his sides and banish thoughts of seeking release.
As if she could read his restraint, Rouge smirked, gliding her palms over her inner thighs and stroking her fingers lightly over her loins. The hue on his cheeks darkened. She was brazen, and it only fed his interest, aggravated his need.
A significant amount of hip gyrations later, Ryoma froze when Rouge got to her feet, sashaying over to the couch. She lifted first one knee onto the seat, then the other, straddling him so swiftly that he barely had time to draw away from her. Ryoma clenched his fists, pressing himself into the backrest of the couch in the hopes that she would avoid his straining erection.
She did. But what Ryoma had not expected was the way she settled on his lap, her warm weight a constant tease as she caressed her breasts again, leaning in to grind them into his chest. His breathing deepened; he bit down an utterance when her mounds traced a path up to his neck, smelling of lilies. "Don't do that," he gritted.
If she heard him over the volume of the music, she wasn't giving any hint of it. Instead, Rouge reached behind her back and tugged, so that the bikini top loosened around her chest. He coloured again, eyes bulging. Unbidden, his thoughts dipped behind the garment, brushing over smooth skin and dusky peaks. She gave barely a warning before casting her top off, pausing for a moment to let him ogle at her chest.
Damn it. Ryoma stared at her luscious mounds, biting his lip hard when she reached up to caress them, tweaking their pebbled crests. His body lusted for her, protested against his clothes. He managed to yank his gaze to the side then, trying to ignore her sheer expanse of skin. His blood raced.
Two soft globes pressed into his cheeks a moment later, velvety and warm. He gasped, turned his head towards her. What he came to face was her chest, each succulent breast tipped with a dark, stiff nipple. The need at his groin throbbed. Rouge smirked down at him, drawing back to trace her fingertips over her chest. He relaxed by a fraction when he realised that she still hadn't discovered the extent of his arousal.
But Rouge chose that instant to drag her body down his front, stroking her hard peaks over his chest and abdomen. Ryoma stopped breathing. She slid off his lap slowly, pulling herself away before she made contact with his crotch. He exhaled in relief, a moment before she swept her gaze over his bulge and looked back up at him pointedly, full lips twitching in a smirk. Heat scorched his cheeks.
Before he could turn away, Rouge blew a kiss at the apex of his legs, mischief sparking in her eye. He stared at her in shock, nary forgetting the fullness in his loins for a moment.
Ryoma sent a plea to the heavens for her to stop his sensual torture. But it seemed that fate had other plans in store for him, because Rouge rose to her feet, swirling her hips. Within seconds, she had freed her glittery thong, slipping it to the floor to reveal her shaven womanhood.
Ryoma stared. Flushed. And continued to stare.
It wasn't as if he hadn't seen naked females before. Falcon's magazines had plenty of them. No, the real deal was nothing like the ones in print, not if it was a seductive creature by the name of Rouge, that rolled her hips and settled into his lap quicker than he could think. Not that his mind was functioning with how naked she was, rubbing her delicious body into his chest.
Ryoma felt her soft breasts mold against his pectorals through his suit, saw her cup them in offering, a playful smile curving her lips. Then she ground her hips into his loins, pressing her bare pussy into his cock in a way that forced a groan from his lips.
He stared at her, breathing hard, even as she continued to stroke his urging flesh with her sex. She had to have known that his cloth barrier was the only thing preventing their coupling. Hell, he wanted to have her on his very couch, and the pleasure she rubbed into his length only aggravated his lust. Ryoma could imagine sinking into her wet heat, was sure that his intentions were obvious from the way he looked at her. His breath rasped from between his lips.
Rouge trailed her mouth over his ear, sending a jolt through his body. "You feel so good, Ryoma." His hips thrust at her in that moment. She gripped his shoulders and moaned throatily, grinding frantically into him. "Ryoma, I--"
Through the desire-tinged haze clouding his mind and the insistent pulsing of his cock, Ryoma gripped her hips and set her away from him, panting raggedly. "Stop. No more."
He was going to blow if she kept it up, and he was going to regret it. Trying desperately to suppress his hunger, Ryoma glanced away, ignoring the part of his body that demanded him to continue what he was doing, clothes be damned. Rouge, on her part, blinked and stared at him in surprise, breathing deeply. He kept his gaze far, far away from her heaving breasts.
"I think we've gone far enough," he muttered hoarsely. He wasn't supposed to have done this, wasn't supposed to have had any intimate contact with anyone. He'd let himself down, let his parents down, and it was all because of a weakness he failed to hide. Ryoma berated himself savagely, barely noticing when Rouge murmured an apology and slipped off his lap.
He got shakily to his feet, the dampness she'd left on his clothes accentuating his guilt.
"I- I'm glad you could make it, Ryoma." Rouge reached for her outfit and tugged it back on, looking apologetically at him. "And you're right. I shouldn't have gone that far."
"I... have to go." Ryoma avoided her gaze, bending down to retrieve his briefcase as he straightened his suit. "Thanks for your time."
Rouge was left staring as he disappeared past the curtains. By the time she'd composed herself and drawn the fabric aside, Ryoma was at the door of the club, disappearing into the night.
She bit her lip, far more upset than she imagined she'd be. Ryoma was a good man, and she'd let her desire get the better of her. With things as they were now, the man would give both her workplaces a wide berth. This would have been the last time she saw him, too. Cursing herself bitterly, Rouge plastered a smile on her face and headed back into the lounge, looking for tables of patrons without dancers present.
The stout woman who was in charge of the dancers breezed by. "I saw a man leave the VIP area. Was he displeased with your service?"
"No." Rouge shook her head, looking straight at her supervisor. Her gut twisted. "Nothing happened. He just had an urgent appointment he forgot about."
---
#8 (9:9 Never again)
"You look like trash."
Ryoma shut the door and kicked his shoes off, giving Falcon a sullen stare. No optimistic reply came to mind. Instead, he deposited his briefcase by the entrance to his apartment and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing a pile of bills onto his desk. A shower would do him some good. He made his way to the closet.
"Hey, how'd it go?" Falcon asked from the couch. Sounds from the TV paused every few seconds as he flipped the channels. "You screwed up, didn't you."
"I don't want to talk about it." Ryoma frowned at the contents of his closet, pulling a fresh towel out. The deafening music of the club still lingered in his ears. Her scent still clung to his nose. Yanking clothes from their respective piles with more force than was necessary, he closed the wooden door with a flick of his wrist, allowing it to slam shut.
"Whoa, whoa. Something did go wrong." Falcon turned on the couch to scrutinize him.
"I don't need comments on it," he muttered tautly.
"Yeah. You need help." The blond raised an eyebrow. "And as your friend, I fully intend to help you."
"I'm never taking your advice again, Falcon. The whole thing was a mess." Without quite knowing why, Ryoma left his shower necessities in the bathroom and joined his roommate at the couch, sitting down heavily. The angry heat in his middle had settled somewhat on his journey home. "I told you I wasn't suited to things like that."
"First things first. Where'd she ask you to?" Settling back into the couch, Falcon folded his arms and waited for an answer.
Ryoma avoided his piercing blue gaze, bending forward and burying his face in his hands. He hesitated for a long while. "Club Venus."
"Venus? Of all places?" Falcon was gaping at him when Ryoma peeked out from a crack in his fingers. He cringed with the expectation of the blond's next words. "You mean, Venus the table dancing club?"
"Yeah." Ryoma shut his eyes, regretting it when an image of the club's interior flashed by in his mind, fresh with the colours and people that defined it. Thoughts of Rouge traced the edges of his consciousness.
"Why Ven- ohhh, she works there too." He could visualise Falcon's thoughtful expression without looking. Exhaling into his hands, Ryoma reconsidered sitting around talking to him about spilt milk.
"I get why she asked you there now." Falcon paused. "Did she make you pay for a bunch of stuff?"
Ryoma stilled, remembering. "She didn't."
"So she was keener on meeting you than fleecing you for business," Falcon stated matter-of-factly. "You were the one who messed up, weren't you? What went on back there?"
"Nothing. I wasn't the one who messed up." Rouge was. She skewed his judgement, kindled his desire when it wasn't hers to have. Never mind that she felt good against him. The only mistake he made was to have even gone to the club in the first place.
"You suck at lying, Ryoma." Falcon wandered over to the mini-kitchen, grabbing a can of soft drink from the fridge. "You can fool me just as well as an ant does." Popping the drink open, the blond made himself comfortable on the couch, which also served as his bed at night. "Did she kiss you?"
Ryoma glared at him for even daring to suggest that. "No. Fortunately."
"Well, then something else had to have happened to get your hackles up like that. Something worse." Falcon drew a sip, pondered on it, then turned his head so fast that Ryoma was surprised he didn't suffer from whiplash. "Rouge groped you."
The speed at which Falcon deduced these things never ceased to amaze him. Although, technically speaking, Rouge didn't grope him. Not with her hands, at least. A telling heat crept up his neck and ears.
"She is a devil," he finally conceded, keeping his gaze away from Falcon's. Rouge would rob him of every virginity he had and emerge smiling from it. He shuddered (not in pleasure) to think that she might enjoy testing his limits. And she would draw his torture out for as long as she could.
"Aha. She groped you. But for you to get this mad, you had to have enjoyed it." Falcon grinned mischievously and waggled his eyebrows. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Believe what you will." Ryoma glanced sourly at him, making to stand up. "Whatever it is, I'm not going back."
"If you haven't realised it, buddy, you're denying yourself of your needs." The blond watched him in amusement as he headed for the bathroom. "Sex is sex. It doesn't have to be emotional. Hell, even Rouge knows that."
"I. Am. Not. Interested." Ryoma glowered at him.
"Have fun convincing yourself in there, Ryoma." Falcon smirked as the door slammed, returning his attention to the TV.
------
Part: ARC 1, Part 2
Author: Aquarius Galuxy
Fandom: Power Stone
Pairing: Rouge/Ryoma
Genre: Romance/Erotica/Friendship/AU
Rating: varies from PG to NC-17
Word count: 4,222
Summary: Sales representative Ryoma Iwakura's life careens off course when a business deal brings him to a hostess bar, and into the company of hostess and strip club dancer Rouge. A spark of attraction ignites between them, one Ryoma tries to deny. Despite his reservations, he embarks on a scandalous friendship with Rouge that questions his plans for the future.
Author's Notes: Hoho, this chapter was fun! Again, factual inaccuracies abound. Prompts are from 10_prompts.
#6 (10:9 Bright lights)
"C'mon, just give it a try. You don't have anything to lose."
"I don't have anything to gain either."
"Go out and have some fun! Learn to live a little! Geez, Ryoma. Kendo isn't everything. I'm sure you know that."
"I do. And I don't subscribe to your definition of 'fun'."
"Look, the girl's the one asking you out. She's gonna expect you to be there. Will you be happy knowing you stood her up?"
"I'm the one being asked out, not you."
"Fine, whatever you say. I'm just trying to get you to be a gentleman here."
Ryoma found himself trudging along the streets after work on Wednesday night, having dragged his way through dinner. 8.30pm swooped down on him without mercy. Not for the first time, he cursed the part of himself that had decided to heed Falcon, wishing he were home instead. There were things to be done back at the apartment -- dishes to wash, floors to clean. Even replying the letter from his parents that had just arrived the day before.
Street corners turned into streets, which led to yet more networks of roads that would have trapped him like a maze if he didn't live so close by. Vaguely, Ryoma wondered if he was making any headway in his search, and whether Rouge would be offended if he showed up late.
Was she the type to be early? Would she smile that stomach-flipping smile at him again? As quickly as that thought surfaced, he extinguished it, viciously so it wouldn't tempt his traitorous hormones.
A neon pink signboard winked at him amidst a darkened row of shops, catching his eye. There was a fraction of familiarity about it that drew him closer, playing on his thirst to know more. Ryoma gathered his resolve and walked towards the establishment.
Next to the logo of olive leaves cradling a V were the words "Club Venus" sprawled above open doors, also glowing pink. Music thumped so loud from the depths of the club that he could hear it yards away from the place. Ryoma glanced at the gruff bouncer guarding the entrance, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
"ID please." The burly man held out his hand.
Ryoma blinked, thrown off his train of thought. He fished for his wallet and passed his card to the doorman. "Will that do?"
"Yeah." Without missing a beat, the bouncer scanned his identification details and asked, "Your first time here?"
He nodded, collecting his card. "I'm meeting someone."
"Have fun." The doorman cracked a smile, stepping aside to let him through.
Ryoma thanked him and ventured through the double doors, temporarily forgetting his misgivings. Club Venus was an intriguing place -- smoky, noisy, and alive with people. Shadows and colour fought for dominance, from black armchairs crowded around low tables, to neon blue lights lining the tops of walls and gleaming ebony counters extending along one side of the sprawling lounge. A blanket of pink diffused across the place from overhead lamps, mingling with the shine of polished leather and a scarlet carpet that spread across the entire floor.
His attention was drawn almost immediately to the brightly-lit cluster of circular daises in the middle of the club, each with a metal pole connecting it to the ceiling. But what had him halting in his tracks were the scantily-clad, twisting bodies that writhed and wound around the poles, dressed in so little that barely anything was left to the imagination. Girls of every nationality were teeming in the club, either on stage or off, stopping at tables and chatting men up. Men similar to himself.
Overwhelmed and thoroughly shocked, Ryoma made his way to an empty table, sitting down heavily at one of the armchairs. A runner came along moments later to take his order; he asked for one of the stronger drinks he could stand to consume. Thoughts were buzzing around in his mind, crashing into each other and jangling his focus.
A new song had started to play, heralding a fresh set of dancers in different costumes. The switch of girls was smooth and quick. He'd have to give them credit for that. But it still didn't erase the queasy effect that the blaring dance music was wrecking on him. Why had Rouge even asked him here? How was he going to find her in a place as dark and crowded as this?
The answer struck him in the form of a mocha-toned dancer clothed in a gold-sequined bikini. She had a long silky braid draped over her shoulder, ending in a gold bangle that gleamed in the whitish light of her dais. As with the other day, half her face was again veiled. He stared at the richness of her curves and felt his body respond as it had to no other female. She watched him solemnly -- how had she located him in the dimness of the club? -- and broke her gaze when the melody changed.
Ryoma watched as she twirled herself around the pole, bringing the cylindrical surface between her breasts and grinding lightly against it, before drawing her body down its length, pushing her shapely rear up in the air. He swallowed, tried to deny that he could imagine running his hand over her ass, could almost feel the supple warmth of her skin.
The runner returned then with his drink. Reluctantly, he stopped watching Rouge to pay for the beverage, its cost a reminder of why he avoided clubs and bars. Warmth burned its way down his gut with the first sip, soothing his nerves by increments.
Rouge was leaning back against the pole when he next set his gaze on her, sliding herself down its length as she spread her legs, exposing the thin strip of cloth at the juncture of her thighs. He was ashamed of himself for staring, but there wasn't much he could do to tear his eyes off her, not when he knew that there was nothing between her bikini bottom and her sex.
Then she spun around, raising her smooth derriere and gyrating it, her movements so slick that his mental faculties ceased to function, redirecting blood to his loins instead.
Ryoma wasn't sure how long he watched her for, only regaining some capacity of thought when the music tapered off and she stepped daintily off her dais, the pressure at his crotch clamouring for release. The next sip of liquor did a fraction of good in muting his desire. He knew he should leave, badly wanted to, but the thought of Rouge anchored him to his seat.
She made a loop around the tables and started in his direction, meeting his gaze. There wasn't any question then that the dancer was headed for him in all her shimmery gold glory. He swallowed nervously in a mix of dread and anticipation.
#7 (9:8 Blindsided)
Ryoma attempted (and failed) to keep his eyes on her face, cursing his desire when his attention coasted down her front, raking over the swells of her breasts. He thanked the gods that her nipples weren't visible today. Simply thinking about them had more heat pooling at his crotch. Just this once, he'd give almost everything he had not to be raging for her like an adolescent.
Rouge was still watching him by the time he dragged his gaze back to hers. He flushed in embarrassment, glancing towards the empty seat at his side. At the very least, Falcon wasn't with him.
She stopped when she was but two feet away, looking down at him with an amused smile quirking her lips. The bottom of his stomach detached and fell to the ground with a clatter only he heard. Ryoma tried very hard to not stare at her gold thong (and failed again), only remembering to get to his feet after heartbeats. "I, uh, didn't expect to see you, uh...."
Surely it wasn't manly to stutter like that.
"I'm so glad you came." Rouge seemed to ignore his discomfiture, glancing down to survey his belongings. He wrenched his gaze from the valley between her breasts. "Grab your things, we're heading somewhere else."
"Where?" he croaked, looking over the various other tables of patrons. It'd be the same no matter where they went. He wasn't even sure that following her was a good idea, not when there was an obvious bulge in his pants if she thought to inspect him closely. (No, he was strictly not going down that lane.)
"Just follow me." She gave him a confident smile and stepped away, towards the far end of the club. Not wanting to disappoint her, Ryoma picked up his drink and briefcase and trailed after her, eyeing the other clusters of men who paid no mind to him. The dancers around did notice, however, and he turned his gaze away, fixing it on Rouge. Her sequin-covered rear swayed enticingly in the low lighting. He licked his dry lips and hurried after her.
Along the last wall of Club Venus was a row of curtained booths that he hadn't spotted on his way in. Within each room was a luxurious, plush leather couch or two, accompanied by a low side table and mirrors on the walls. Some of these booths had their draperies pulled shut, and quite abruptly, Ryoma got the feeling that he didn't want to know -- or experience -- what went on behind those curtains.
Rouge led him to a corner booth, one of two smaller ones housing a single loveseat each. Ryoma paused just outside its designated rectangle, staring uncertainly at the dancer. "Rouge, what's going on?"
She hushed him, crooking a finger towards herself. He decided to wait until she was ready to speak, following her into the booth instead. Besides, it wasn't as if his arousal wanted him to think about matters outside his pants just yet.
Ryoma watched as she drew the maroon-print curtains closed, their metallic hoops hissing along the perimeter of the booth. Her thong glittered and winked at him with each step she took. She turned to him after some moments, taking the glass and briefcase from his hands. His breath caught at the warmth of her fingertips. Their gazes met. Rouge smiled. "So, where were we again?"
"I, uh... What are you doing, Rouge?" he muttered just loudly enough to be heard over the pounding music, keeping his gaze on her as she set his things to the side. In her stilettos, he was certain that she was just as tall as he was.
"Meeting up with you." She turned back to him, smiling warmly. "I didn't get a chance to know you better the other day."
"Don't you already know enough about me?" He stared when she shrunk the gap between them, so that there was just a foot of space left as a buffer. His body reacted to her proximity, even if his conscience didn't.
"Not quite enough," Rouge murmured breathily, tilting her head and bringing her lips close to his. His pulse leaped. He could smell her perfume -- it was the same musky, floral one she had on at the hostess club. This almost-contact was bad for his body. She backed him into the leather couch.
"I shouldn't be here," he protested half-heartedly, swallowing hard when her clothed breasts brushed over his chest. She was going to kiss him, and it was going to be his first ever.
"Part of you wants to be." Rouge grinned and drew away. He inhaled in relief. "Sit." She pressed down on his shoulders, a mysterious smile flitting across her countenance. "And enjoy. This dance is on me."
Dance? Ryoma lowered himself into the cushy seat, curiosity getting the better of him. He watched as Rouge backed away, her dark skin tinted pink under the lambency of the ceiling light. She looked at him with that one visible eye of hers, dragging her hands up her sides and beneath her bikini-clad breasts, stroking over them with a slowness that forced her flesh up, to the point where he thought they might spill from their confines.
But they didn't, and as she began to sway her hips, Ryoma swallowed again, eyes widening when he realised the nature of her dance. It was sinful. He found himself rooted to the seat, gazing upon all she had to offer like a parched man.
She dragged her hands down to her midriff, and up to cradle her breasts once more, but this time, her fingers caught on the edges of the tiny gold disks, tugging them so far down that he thought he'd see her nipples. But she released the garment, sending him a knowing smile that had him squirming in his seat.
Rouge turned around and rolled her ass at him, in a movement that forced him to draw a sharp breath, before she ran her hands over her body, tempting him with her touch for long moments. Just when Ryoma thought she couldn't be any more of a tease, the dancer lowered herself to the floor and spread her legs, offering him a view of her concealed crotch. He flushed, hoped that the tent in his trousers didn't show. His blood raced and nagged at him to assuage his hunger, but all he allowed himself to do was anchor his hands to his sides and banish thoughts of seeking release.
As if she could read his restraint, Rouge smirked, gliding her palms over her inner thighs and stroking her fingers lightly over her loins. The hue on his cheeks darkened. She was brazen, and it only fed his interest, aggravated his need.
A significant amount of hip gyrations later, Ryoma froze when Rouge got to her feet, sashaying over to the couch. She lifted first one knee onto the seat, then the other, straddling him so swiftly that he barely had time to draw away from her. Ryoma clenched his fists, pressing himself into the backrest of the couch in the hopes that she would avoid his straining erection.
She did. But what Ryoma had not expected was the way she settled on his lap, her warm weight a constant tease as she caressed her breasts again, leaning in to grind them into his chest. His breathing deepened; he bit down an utterance when her mounds traced a path up to his neck, smelling of lilies. "Don't do that," he gritted.
If she heard him over the volume of the music, she wasn't giving any hint of it. Instead, Rouge reached behind her back and tugged, so that the bikini top loosened around her chest. He coloured again, eyes bulging. Unbidden, his thoughts dipped behind the garment, brushing over smooth skin and dusky peaks. She gave barely a warning before casting her top off, pausing for a moment to let him ogle at her chest.
Damn it. Ryoma stared at her luscious mounds, biting his lip hard when she reached up to caress them, tweaking their pebbled crests. His body lusted for her, protested against his clothes. He managed to yank his gaze to the side then, trying to ignore her sheer expanse of skin. His blood raced.
Two soft globes pressed into his cheeks a moment later, velvety and warm. He gasped, turned his head towards her. What he came to face was her chest, each succulent breast tipped with a dark, stiff nipple. The need at his groin throbbed. Rouge smirked down at him, drawing back to trace her fingertips over her chest. He relaxed by a fraction when he realised that she still hadn't discovered the extent of his arousal.
But Rouge chose that instant to drag her body down his front, stroking her hard peaks over his chest and abdomen. Ryoma stopped breathing. She slid off his lap slowly, pulling herself away before she made contact with his crotch. He exhaled in relief, a moment before she swept her gaze over his bulge and looked back up at him pointedly, full lips twitching in a smirk. Heat scorched his cheeks.
Before he could turn away, Rouge blew a kiss at the apex of his legs, mischief sparking in her eye. He stared at her in shock, nary forgetting the fullness in his loins for a moment.
Ryoma sent a plea to the heavens for her to stop his sensual torture. But it seemed that fate had other plans in store for him, because Rouge rose to her feet, swirling her hips. Within seconds, she had freed her glittery thong, slipping it to the floor to reveal her shaven womanhood.
Ryoma stared. Flushed. And continued to stare.
It wasn't as if he hadn't seen naked females before. Falcon's magazines had plenty of them. No, the real deal was nothing like the ones in print, not if it was a seductive creature by the name of Rouge, that rolled her hips and settled into his lap quicker than he could think. Not that his mind was functioning with how naked she was, rubbing her delicious body into his chest.
Ryoma felt her soft breasts mold against his pectorals through his suit, saw her cup them in offering, a playful smile curving her lips. Then she ground her hips into his loins, pressing her bare pussy into his cock in a way that forced a groan from his lips.
He stared at her, breathing hard, even as she continued to stroke his urging flesh with her sex. She had to have known that his cloth barrier was the only thing preventing their coupling. Hell, he wanted to have her on his very couch, and the pleasure she rubbed into his length only aggravated his lust. Ryoma could imagine sinking into her wet heat, was sure that his intentions were obvious from the way he looked at her. His breath rasped from between his lips.
Rouge trailed her mouth over his ear, sending a jolt through his body. "You feel so good, Ryoma." His hips thrust at her in that moment. She gripped his shoulders and moaned throatily, grinding frantically into him. "Ryoma, I--"
Through the desire-tinged haze clouding his mind and the insistent pulsing of his cock, Ryoma gripped her hips and set her away from him, panting raggedly. "Stop. No more."
He was going to blow if she kept it up, and he was going to regret it. Trying desperately to suppress his hunger, Ryoma glanced away, ignoring the part of his body that demanded him to continue what he was doing, clothes be damned. Rouge, on her part, blinked and stared at him in surprise, breathing deeply. He kept his gaze far, far away from her heaving breasts.
"I think we've gone far enough," he muttered hoarsely. He wasn't supposed to have done this, wasn't supposed to have had any intimate contact with anyone. He'd let himself down, let his parents down, and it was all because of a weakness he failed to hide. Ryoma berated himself savagely, barely noticing when Rouge murmured an apology and slipped off his lap.
He got shakily to his feet, the dampness she'd left on his clothes accentuating his guilt.
"I- I'm glad you could make it, Ryoma." Rouge reached for her outfit and tugged it back on, looking apologetically at him. "And you're right. I shouldn't have gone that far."
"I... have to go." Ryoma avoided her gaze, bending down to retrieve his briefcase as he straightened his suit. "Thanks for your time."
Rouge was left staring as he disappeared past the curtains. By the time she'd composed herself and drawn the fabric aside, Ryoma was at the door of the club, disappearing into the night.
She bit her lip, far more upset than she imagined she'd be. Ryoma was a good man, and she'd let her desire get the better of her. With things as they were now, the man would give both her workplaces a wide berth. This would have been the last time she saw him, too. Cursing herself bitterly, Rouge plastered a smile on her face and headed back into the lounge, looking for tables of patrons without dancers present.
The stout woman who was in charge of the dancers breezed by. "I saw a man leave the VIP area. Was he displeased with your service?"
"No." Rouge shook her head, looking straight at her supervisor. Her gut twisted. "Nothing happened. He just had an urgent appointment he forgot about."
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#8 (9:9 Never again)
"You look like trash."
Ryoma shut the door and kicked his shoes off, giving Falcon a sullen stare. No optimistic reply came to mind. Instead, he deposited his briefcase by the entrance to his apartment and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing a pile of bills onto his desk. A shower would do him some good. He made his way to the closet.
"Hey, how'd it go?" Falcon asked from the couch. Sounds from the TV paused every few seconds as he flipped the channels. "You screwed up, didn't you."
"I don't want to talk about it." Ryoma frowned at the contents of his closet, pulling a fresh towel out. The deafening music of the club still lingered in his ears. Her scent still clung to his nose. Yanking clothes from their respective piles with more force than was necessary, he closed the wooden door with a flick of his wrist, allowing it to slam shut.
"Whoa, whoa. Something did go wrong." Falcon turned on the couch to scrutinize him.
"I don't need comments on it," he muttered tautly.
"Yeah. You need help." The blond raised an eyebrow. "And as your friend, I fully intend to help you."
"I'm never taking your advice again, Falcon. The whole thing was a mess." Without quite knowing why, Ryoma left his shower necessities in the bathroom and joined his roommate at the couch, sitting down heavily. The angry heat in his middle had settled somewhat on his journey home. "I told you I wasn't suited to things like that."
"First things first. Where'd she ask you to?" Settling back into the couch, Falcon folded his arms and waited for an answer.
Ryoma avoided his piercing blue gaze, bending forward and burying his face in his hands. He hesitated for a long while. "Club Venus."
"Venus? Of all places?" Falcon was gaping at him when Ryoma peeked out from a crack in his fingers. He cringed with the expectation of the blond's next words. "You mean, Venus the table dancing club?"
"Yeah." Ryoma shut his eyes, regretting it when an image of the club's interior flashed by in his mind, fresh with the colours and people that defined it. Thoughts of Rouge traced the edges of his consciousness.
"Why Ven- ohhh, she works there too." He could visualise Falcon's thoughtful expression without looking. Exhaling into his hands, Ryoma reconsidered sitting around talking to him about spilt milk.
"I get why she asked you there now." Falcon paused. "Did she make you pay for a bunch of stuff?"
Ryoma stilled, remembering. "She didn't."
"So she was keener on meeting you than fleecing you for business," Falcon stated matter-of-factly. "You were the one who messed up, weren't you? What went on back there?"
"Nothing. I wasn't the one who messed up." Rouge was. She skewed his judgement, kindled his desire when it wasn't hers to have. Never mind that she felt good against him. The only mistake he made was to have even gone to the club in the first place.
"You suck at lying, Ryoma." Falcon wandered over to the mini-kitchen, grabbing a can of soft drink from the fridge. "You can fool me just as well as an ant does." Popping the drink open, the blond made himself comfortable on the couch, which also served as his bed at night. "Did she kiss you?"
Ryoma glared at him for even daring to suggest that. "No. Fortunately."
"Well, then something else had to have happened to get your hackles up like that. Something worse." Falcon drew a sip, pondered on it, then turned his head so fast that Ryoma was surprised he didn't suffer from whiplash. "Rouge groped you."
The speed at which Falcon deduced these things never ceased to amaze him. Although, technically speaking, Rouge didn't grope him. Not with her hands, at least. A telling heat crept up his neck and ears.
"She is a devil," he finally conceded, keeping his gaze away from Falcon's. Rouge would rob him of every virginity he had and emerge smiling from it. He shuddered (not in pleasure) to think that she might enjoy testing his limits. And she would draw his torture out for as long as she could.
"Aha. She groped you. But for you to get this mad, you had to have enjoyed it." Falcon grinned mischievously and waggled his eyebrows. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Believe what you will." Ryoma glanced sourly at him, making to stand up. "Whatever it is, I'm not going back."
"If you haven't realised it, buddy, you're denying yourself of your needs." The blond watched him in amusement as he headed for the bathroom. "Sex is sex. It doesn't have to be emotional. Hell, even Rouge knows that."
"I. Am. Not. Interested." Ryoma glowered at him.
"Have fun convincing yourself in there, Ryoma." Falcon smirked as the door slammed, returning his attention to the TV.
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