The Fabulous Ladies Night Club (6/8)
Title: The Fabulous Ladies Night Club
Author: ubiquirk
Rating: R
Genre: genfic: action-adventure, humor, drama
Word Count: ~14K
Character: Xander
Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.
AN: Set between S3 and S4 of Buffy. Written for
spring_with_xan . Lots of thanks to my lovely beta,
firefly_124 . There’s a Spanish Glossary to have open in another tab for easy reference.
Summary: The road trip that wasn’t. After graduation, Xander only makes it to Oxnard before his car breaks down, and he finds himself washing dishes at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club. Forty miles to get back home might not seem that far, but sometimes, it can take a lot to cross.
Previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
6.
Kit’s eyes are the most incomprehensibly perfect things he’s ever seen. Looking into them, it’s as if he can feel the planet whirling away from him beneath his feet, the only fixed point her, and if he gets too far from her gravitational sphere, he’ll lose his balance completely, be flung off into the void.
Her hands offer cool shivers of delight when her fingers graze his flesh while putting dollar after dollar into his waistband. Xander can’t even be sure he’s moving on his own anymore - everything a reaction to her.
The teasing bite of white teeth into plump lower lip as she looks up at him through her lashes enough to make him hope there’s enough money in the g-string to hide his burgeoning erection.
Ungh …
The music swells into the final chorus, twice as loud as usual, and his head snaps up. Doris! He immediately raises his arms and swivels his hips as she’d told him.
He turns from Kit. Kit who is beauty and fear and sex and anger all bundled together into the tightness of his chest as he tries to breathe through his confusion. What in the world did she do to me? I mean, it’s not like I’m the world’s biggest thinker or anything, but that … that was just all invasion of the brain snatchers. Man, when Giles said Drusilla could do a mind thingy with her eyes, I never imagined …
Drusilla and the coolness of Kit’s fingers conflate: Vampire! Vampire with mind thingy!
Dancing off the rear of the stage without looking back, he wonders if ignoring her will be enough to keep Kit from waiting for him.
~~~
“There you are.” She’s standing right by the stage door. “I waited for you.”
“Yeah.” He runs a nervous hand over his hair and then down the front of his best blue shirt, all the time looking somewhere above her right shoulder. “Doris, she laid into me pretty good for messing up the end of my act.” He walks around her to get away from being trapped in the corner, skin vibrating at her nearness.
She follows a half-step behind on his left. “You messed up your act?” Her voice sounds just as husky as he remembered, only now layered with coy playfulness.
“Yeah. It was … it was your beauty that did it.” She must be used to guys feeding her this kind of line.
Her flirtatious giggle comes right on cue, and she touches his arm, a tingling rush flashing through him. “You’re so sweet. Want to get out of here?”
No! But then, I’ll never know what happened to Jorge if I don’t. He clears his throat and smiles at the wisp of wine-colored fabric crossing her right collar bone. “Sure, how about a drink first? All that dancing makes me thirsty. You want one?”
“No, I’ve already had my fill of alcohol, though I might have something else later.”
He shudders yet smiles, wiping damp palms on jeans. Did I just say thirsty to a vampire? Can I also say duh?
When they get to the bar, Carlita frowns at him, slamming glasses onto a tray.
“Hey. You still got any Shanghai Slammer left?” He pushes a few of his hard-earned singles across the bar.
Carlita’s expression turns into brow-scrunched puzzlement as she pours the remains of the blender into a glass and slides it towards him. It’s the first time he’s ever had a drink at The Fabulous.
“Chopsticks!” It squeaks out, and he clears his throat. “I mean, could I have it like it’s an official drink and all? Special night - I’m with my best girl.” He gives Kit a quick little side-hug with his left arm, shivering at the contact, the coolness of her skin under his hand.
Eyes squinting with anger, Carlita jams the pieces of wood into his glass hard enough to slosh liquid out onto the bar top and turns her back on him.
Whatever that’s all about, it’s something that’ll have to wait for later. If there is a later.
Picking up the drink with his left hand he lifts it in Kit’s general direction in what he hopes looks like a toast. His right hand takes the chopsticks out before he drinks, and he slides them down his side and into his pocket, feeling them soak wetness into his jeans even as he hopes they don’t show. And how does Buffy always hide stakes in those outfits she wears? It’s like she’s got a mini TARDIS on her or something.
The first gulp burns, beer with Jorge not preparing Xander for the sting of vodka, but he makes himself drink about half of the slushy, sweet liquid so Kit won’t wonder why he wanted it in the first place.
The glass clacks back onto the bar, and he straightens, fighting not to look at Kit with her eyes so hot on the side of his face.
Vocal cords singed, he waves goodbye to a Carlita who’s not looking and continues the movement, morphing it into a gesture to Kit that it’s time to leave, hand finally lighting on her lower back, keeping her and her dangerous stare ahead of him.
A low throb of sexuality pulses up his fingertips where they touch her, and a small part of him whispers to give into it, to look into her eyes, to take all that she offers.
Oh, God. I’ve got to keep as much control of the situation as possible. As soon as they step out into the cool night air, he pulls his hand from her to root for the keys in his left pocket. “Can I drive?”
Kit laughs. “There’s no driving, silly. We’re already here.”
He almost looks directly at her as his head snaps up in surprise. “Here?” Even her left ear is pretty.
Tugging on his arm, she leads him into the dark alley on the right side of the building, one he’s never bothered to even look down. It’s filled with old crates, and newspaper and other trash has been blown and caught wherever the air currents eddy.
The door set into the dark, dirty brick of the side of the club blends almost perfectly with the wall, the knob dulled by a covering of black matt paint. Yet it makes no sound as she unlocks it and pushes it open to reveal wooden stairs leading down.
“There’s a basement? Why do we have stuff piled to the ceiling in the storage room if there’s a basement?”
Kit’s laugh resounds around him as they head down. “Because it’s mine, silly.” She stops to open a door at the bottom. “Mine.” Sharp black edges crackle in her voice, but she smiles up at him, and he’s not quick enough to completely avoid her eyes as he snaps his eyes down to his feet.
Suddenly, he feels nauseous for a reason that has nothing to do with being on stage: his mind ping-ponging between a dark morass of fear and the brain-hazy wonder of wanting her.
When the wooziness passes a few moments later, he makes it to the bottom of the stairs and at her wave precedes her into the room, not meeting the questioning stare he can feel beat against him, moth wings of intent striking the light bulb of his being.
The door clicks behind him, followed by the scrape of key in lock.
Echoes of military training make him check for exits. There are none - not a single window in the brightly lit space, and the one door sits open enough to show it’s just a bathroom. But there is a large bronze-colored curtain hanging across half of the room, so it might hide another way out.
As he takes in the plain walls and uncarpeted concrete floor dominated by the big bed covered in burgundy satin - And what is it with vampires and dark satin? Do they all get ‘setting the right gothic mood’ booklets when turned? - Xander also notices one other major point.
No Jorge.
I’m too late. Too, too late. Not good enough Xander, that’s me. His shoulders droop as air gushes from him in shocky defeat, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not quite sure why he’d thought he’d be able to save his friend.
Kit’s voice slices through him. “Dance for me.”
“What?” Anger boils up like a flash of lightning in him, speeding his heart and his breathing. Whatever happened to Jorge, it was because of her. He straightens and turns.
“Dance for me. Be entertaining.” Her voice cuts with edged menace. “It’s what I paid you for.”
His hands ball, nails digging into palms, and he glares at a spot over her left shoulder. “No.”
The backhand sails him across the room and into the curtain, bringing it down in a heap of velvet and dust.
Raising an aching head from the floor, Xander sees Jorge hanging in chains, another blurry shape beyond him, and has time to think “Yay!” before the gritty cloud around him grows blacker and blacker and …
Feedback appreciated.
Part 7
Author: ubiquirk
Rating: R
Genre: genfic: action-adventure, humor, drama
Word Count: ~14K
Character: Xander
Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.
AN: Set between S3 and S4 of Buffy. Written for
spring_with_xan . Lots of thanks to my lovely beta,
firefly_124 . There’s a Spanish Glossary to have open in another tab for easy reference.
Summary: The road trip that wasn’t. After graduation, Xander only makes it to Oxnard before his car breaks down, and he finds himself washing dishes at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club. Forty miles to get back home might not seem that far, but sometimes, it can take a lot to cross.
Previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
6.
Kit’s eyes are the most incomprehensibly perfect things he’s ever seen. Looking into them, it’s as if he can feel the planet whirling away from him beneath his feet, the only fixed point her, and if he gets too far from her gravitational sphere, he’ll lose his balance completely, be flung off into the void.
Her hands offer cool shivers of delight when her fingers graze his flesh while putting dollar after dollar into his waistband. Xander can’t even be sure he’s moving on his own anymore - everything a reaction to her.
The teasing bite of white teeth into plump lower lip as she looks up at him through her lashes enough to make him hope there’s enough money in the g-string to hide his burgeoning erection.
Ungh …
The music swells into the final chorus, twice as loud as usual, and his head snaps up. Doris! He immediately raises his arms and swivels his hips as she’d told him.
He turns from Kit. Kit who is beauty and fear and sex and anger all bundled together into the tightness of his chest as he tries to breathe through his confusion. What in the world did she do to me? I mean, it’s not like I’m the world’s biggest thinker or anything, but that … that was just all invasion of the brain snatchers. Man, when Giles said Drusilla could do a mind thingy with her eyes, I never imagined …
Drusilla and the coolness of Kit’s fingers conflate: Vampire! Vampire with mind thingy!
Dancing off the rear of the stage without looking back, he wonders if ignoring her will be enough to keep Kit from waiting for him.
~~~
“There you are.” She’s standing right by the stage door. “I waited for you.”
“Yeah.” He runs a nervous hand over his hair and then down the front of his best blue shirt, all the time looking somewhere above her right shoulder. “Doris, she laid into me pretty good for messing up the end of my act.” He walks around her to get away from being trapped in the corner, skin vibrating at her nearness.
She follows a half-step behind on his left. “You messed up your act?” Her voice sounds just as husky as he remembered, only now layered with coy playfulness.
“Yeah. It was … it was your beauty that did it.” She must be used to guys feeding her this kind of line.
Her flirtatious giggle comes right on cue, and she touches his arm, a tingling rush flashing through him. “You’re so sweet. Want to get out of here?”
No! But then, I’ll never know what happened to Jorge if I don’t. He clears his throat and smiles at the wisp of wine-colored fabric crossing her right collar bone. “Sure, how about a drink first? All that dancing makes me thirsty. You want one?”
“No, I’ve already had my fill of alcohol, though I might have something else later.”
He shudders yet smiles, wiping damp palms on jeans. Did I just say thirsty to a vampire? Can I also say duh?
When they get to the bar, Carlita frowns at him, slamming glasses onto a tray.
“Hey. You still got any Shanghai Slammer left?” He pushes a few of his hard-earned singles across the bar.
Carlita’s expression turns into brow-scrunched puzzlement as she pours the remains of the blender into a glass and slides it towards him. It’s the first time he’s ever had a drink at The Fabulous.
“Chopsticks!” It squeaks out, and he clears his throat. “I mean, could I have it like it’s an official drink and all? Special night - I’m with my best girl.” He gives Kit a quick little side-hug with his left arm, shivering at the contact, the coolness of her skin under his hand.
Eyes squinting with anger, Carlita jams the pieces of wood into his glass hard enough to slosh liquid out onto the bar top and turns her back on him.
Whatever that’s all about, it’s something that’ll have to wait for later. If there is a later.
Picking up the drink with his left hand he lifts it in Kit’s general direction in what he hopes looks like a toast. His right hand takes the chopsticks out before he drinks, and he slides them down his side and into his pocket, feeling them soak wetness into his jeans even as he hopes they don’t show. And how does Buffy always hide stakes in those outfits she wears? It’s like she’s got a mini TARDIS on her or something.
The first gulp burns, beer with Jorge not preparing Xander for the sting of vodka, but he makes himself drink about half of the slushy, sweet liquid so Kit won’t wonder why he wanted it in the first place.
The glass clacks back onto the bar, and he straightens, fighting not to look at Kit with her eyes so hot on the side of his face.
Vocal cords singed, he waves goodbye to a Carlita who’s not looking and continues the movement, morphing it into a gesture to Kit that it’s time to leave, hand finally lighting on her lower back, keeping her and her dangerous stare ahead of him.
A low throb of sexuality pulses up his fingertips where they touch her, and a small part of him whispers to give into it, to look into her eyes, to take all that she offers.
Oh, God. I’ve got to keep as much control of the situation as possible. As soon as they step out into the cool night air, he pulls his hand from her to root for the keys in his left pocket. “Can I drive?”
Kit laughs. “There’s no driving, silly. We’re already here.”
He almost looks directly at her as his head snaps up in surprise. “Here?” Even her left ear is pretty.
Tugging on his arm, she leads him into the dark alley on the right side of the building, one he’s never bothered to even look down. It’s filled with old crates, and newspaper and other trash has been blown and caught wherever the air currents eddy.
The door set into the dark, dirty brick of the side of the club blends almost perfectly with the wall, the knob dulled by a covering of black matt paint. Yet it makes no sound as she unlocks it and pushes it open to reveal wooden stairs leading down.
“There’s a basement? Why do we have stuff piled to the ceiling in the storage room if there’s a basement?”
Kit’s laugh resounds around him as they head down. “Because it’s mine, silly.” She stops to open a door at the bottom. “Mine.” Sharp black edges crackle in her voice, but she smiles up at him, and he’s not quick enough to completely avoid her eyes as he snaps his eyes down to his feet.
Suddenly, he feels nauseous for a reason that has nothing to do with being on stage: his mind ping-ponging between a dark morass of fear and the brain-hazy wonder of wanting her.
When the wooziness passes a few moments later, he makes it to the bottom of the stairs and at her wave precedes her into the room, not meeting the questioning stare he can feel beat against him, moth wings of intent striking the light bulb of his being.
The door clicks behind him, followed by the scrape of key in lock.
Echoes of military training make him check for exits. There are none - not a single window in the brightly lit space, and the one door sits open enough to show it’s just a bathroom. But there is a large bronze-colored curtain hanging across half of the room, so it might hide another way out.
As he takes in the plain walls and uncarpeted concrete floor dominated by the big bed covered in burgundy satin - And what is it with vampires and dark satin? Do they all get ‘setting the right gothic mood’ booklets when turned? - Xander also notices one other major point.
No Jorge.
I’m too late. Too, too late. Not good enough Xander, that’s me. His shoulders droop as air gushes from him in shocky defeat, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not quite sure why he’d thought he’d be able to save his friend.
Kit’s voice slices through him. “Dance for me.”
“What?” Anger boils up like a flash of lightning in him, speeding his heart and his breathing. Whatever happened to Jorge, it was because of her. He straightens and turns.
“Dance for me. Be entertaining.” Her voice cuts with edged menace. “It’s what I paid you for.”
His hands ball, nails digging into palms, and he glares at a spot over her left shoulder. “No.”
The backhand sails him across the room and into the curtain, bringing it down in a heap of velvet and dust.
Raising an aching head from the floor, Xander sees Jorge hanging in chains, another blurry shape beyond him, and has time to think “Yay!” before the gritty cloud around him grows blacker and blacker and …
Feedback appreciated.
Part 7