Title: The Stripper and Publicist Chronicles
Author: iluvmylowandbaseball
Rating: R/NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Rory/Jess, Original, Rory/Other, Jess/Other
Prompt: Coffee
Set: 30
Claim: Rory/Jess
Summary: She was a stripper; he was a publicist. She was out for money; he was out on the eve of his wedding. As simple as it may seem, neither expected the chemistry that sparked between them that night and left them breathless. Literati.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Never have, never will.
Author's Note: This came to me when I decided to icon and came up with nothing. I looked at great picture of Alexis in a belly-showing pose. Obviously, this is AU. Tell me if I should continue.
Not for the faint-hearted.
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Hands.
Too many of them, in fact. Hands up her calves, up her thighs, into her thong and under her breasts.
Legs around poles, around waists, around necks and spread too far.
Tongues on her toes, on her lips, on her nipples and at her clitoris.
Cash in her bra, in her underwear, in her hair and up her ass.
---
Denial became a thing of the past long ago; she just accepts her whorish ways.
Her life is what her mother warned her of before leaving.
People go to New York for many things. Men, in particular. Let yourself be taken advantage of once and you'll let it happen forever.
She was only sixteen at the time, headed for NYU and internships at Wallstreet after skipping the ninth and tenth grades two years before. She received a National Merit and a beautiful loft from her grandparents, along with a summer in Australia and a new car.
Reading was her passion and writing was her strongest ability. She even took over as editor of the daily paper in her sophomore year.
But reality crashed upon her on her nineteenth birthday. A date she'll never forget.
His back was silhouetted by the moonlight that splashed through the window. His muscles flexed under his skin. His eyelids fell closed and snapped open under her scrutiny. The sight of him warmed her extensively."What are you thinking?" Brent mumbled breathlessly, running a hand over her breasts and pulling her into his body.
Face buried in his chest, her tongue flicked out and she whispered, "Thank you."
His chest rose against her cheek as he laughed sweetly. "Haven't we already established this?"
"I meant for today. I really appreciate it."
Pulling her with him, Brent sat up and pressed his lips to her neck.
"You know I love you. I have for a long time."
Her chest swelled with an unjustified relief and she collapsed into his hold, his teeth gnawing at her collarbone. "I love you, too."
Before long, she was atop him for the third time that night, bending over his head as he sucked on her nipple. Moans arose in her throat as his fingers nimbly massaged her vulva.
"It's all about you," he had told her, "You and only you."
And he'd adhered to that promise late into the night, always reminding her of his devoted passion. His love.
So when she'd woken the next morning to a note suggesting she listened to their answering machine, she didn't hesitate to return the favor.
She'd tiptoed across the tile, wearing only Brent's button down shirt in the hopes of arousing him with her attire. He'd been staring at her from across the room, almost drooling but with a sympathetic look on his face.
The minute she jabbed her finger at the 'Play' button, he was by her side. As she listened, he held her against his chest, tears pouring down her face and sobs wracking her frame.
Lorelai Gilmore was dead.
---
She has worked for Will since then. She became the main dancer almost immediately, outdoing other employees and drawing the most customers.
In the first two years working there, she confided in Will to keep her age secret. At nineteen, it's almost illegal to exploit yourself in such a way. But he'd agreed and always lied when he was asked. Not until three months ago had he gone back on his word. She had finally turned twenty-one.
Her job is easy and guys throw themselves into the tables around her. Some are regulars, some are recommended and some are there by sheer luck.
Tonight, her main focus is a man in his early twenties. His jet black hair stands in a juvenile hairdo, gelled to a spike. His lips are twisted in a smile and when it disappears, she sees he has a dead nerve on the side of his mouth.
Brown eyes, the color of her beloved coffee, skim the stage and poles in frenzy.
And then he stands, leaving his party of ten with a man she can only assume is his best friend. They take separate tables and order drinks, probably Tequila, while listening to the music that blasts from the speakers.
"You ready, Ror?"
Dropping the curtain, she spins toward the mirror. Her auburn hair is styled in waves that fall past her shoulder blades. Rhinestones dot the sides of her eyes and bright red is the color of her lips. An almost transparent, white shrug covers her shoulders, sides loosely held together by a sewed-on bra strap. A two-inch miniskirt sits low on her waist and a red thong is visible after that. Turning to contemplate her backside, she looks at her butt to make sure enough of it shows.
She's as ready as any stripper in white pumps can be.
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End Note: Please review. I'd like to know if I should continue.