Black Dress, Soft Mattress
Disclaimer: Monster High is the property of Mattel co. and I am in no way affiliated. No profit was made from this story.
Author's note: I've taken over writing "Les Feuilles Mortes". There's been a few obvious changes here and there, but I'll, more or less, follow the time line Freak gave me.
Edit: Well, damn. And here I thought I did such a good job editing. A few errors corrected.
Edit edit: Also forgot to credit the title. This chapter is named after the song 'Dead Girls Don't Cry' by Nekromantix. Not a bad song, but it is a little stalker-esque.
Chapter one: Dead Girls Don't Cry
Princess Setepenre politely excused herself and strolled as calm as she could to the backdoor. It was important she didn't make scene or attract attention.
The cold air hit her the instant she opened the door. She took a deep breath to breathe in the city and then promptly stuck her head in a nearby trash can to very pleasantly retch.
There was something very honest about vomit. Not that she was bulimic or anything. No, not by long shot. That would ruin her perfect teeth. She just found it refreshing. It was like she could spit everything out and flush it all away.
She froze as a cold hand laid her bare back. "You okay?" Panic seized her. She hadn't even heard the door open. This would not look good. Princess vomiting her guts out in a back alley. She tried to calm down and think. He sounded like a worker. She could probably just bribe him or something. Maybe he wouldn't know who she was and she could just back off of there.
Setepenre pretended to brush back her hair to shield her face. Her hand blocked his face, but she could see his off the rack dress shoes and slacks with dirty white apron tied around his waist. "Simply peachy." She started talking quickly. "Just a little sick is all. Probably a bad batch of..." She trailed off as he tilted his head into her line of vision. She let her hand fall from her face and saw his eyebrows raise in recognition.
"Cleo." Deuce ran a hand through his snakes; a gesture that made her heart pound. Cleo swallowed down a knot that suddenly tied itself in her throat. "Man, it's been forever. How've you been?"
"I'm... all right." She answered, not taking her eyes off him, like he would disappear the second she did. He reached into the pockets of his uniform and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a blighter. He tilted the box toward her, offering her one. She shook her head. "So..." She rocked back and forth on her heels. "You work here, huh? That's... nice?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. 's all right, I guess." Deuce leaned back on the door. He placed the cigarette in his mouth, but instead of lighting it, he fiddled with the blighter in his hand. "Heard you just got married."
She tried to pull her lips into a well practiced smile, but they refused to make anything other than a tight grimace. "I would rather talk about anything else."
"Really? Why?" He pressed. "Don't like the guy?" It might have just been her imagination, but he sounded excited.
"I... don't know how to answer that." She replied honestly. "I should get back to the party."
Deuce watched her reach for the door with a frown before he called out, "Wait!" He pulled out his order pad and scribbled something down. "Here." She looked at the numbers hastily written across the tiny paper. "In case you wanna talk or something."
The corner of her mouth quirked in what might have the start of a genuine smile.
Setepenre twisted her cell around in her hands. She had dialed and redialed his number for the past hour. Each time she chickened out before she could hit 'send'. Is it too soon, she thought. They had just talked that night. What if he was asleep and she woke him up?
This was foolish. Princess Setepenre, media darling and budding starlet, completely terrified out of her mind to call some guy. She dialed his number again, riding her ego long enough to hit 'send' this time. All confidence and bravado dissipated after the first ring. Shit, it was really late and he just got off work. What if he didn't feel like talking?
"Yeah?" The sound of his voice broke through some of her insecurities.
"Hey, it's... uh, Cleo." She said, flinching at the sound of her own voice. "Would you like to-" She hesitated. This was so stupid. "meet up tomorrow?" She felt like an idiot. She shouldn't have called so soon. He's going to think she's desperate or easy or-
"Sure. What time?" As they discussed the details, a heavy weight lifted off her chest. "All right. Cool. I'll see you, then." She smiled down at the phone she held in her trembling hands. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
She glanced at the clock - 12:56. It would be hours before Fakir came home and even then, he would most likely be too "preoccupied" to disturb her.
Cleo slipped out of bed and dashed over to a trunk on the other side of the room. Inside it were her all fearbooks from middle school to high school, her cap and gown from graduation, a photo album full of pictures of the old gang, and her most prized possession. She pulled out Deuce's Letterman jacket and held it up. He had given it to her the week they became officially "exclusive". She hugged close to her body. It had lost his scent a long time ago, but it still made her feel close to him.
Cleo let her robes fall to the ground and slipped the jacket on. The feel of its soft lining against her bare skin made her shiver and she pulled it tighter around her body until it practically engulfed her.
She settled back into her sarcophagus, making herself nice and comfortable. She ran her fingers over the soft leather, feeling her breasts through the supple material. She moaned and thought of times that seemed so long ago.
It was the final down of the last game this season. The others fearleaders had already hit the showers, but she lingered behind on the sidelines. Deuce walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Enjoying the game?" She gave non-committal shrug.
His hands trailed up her body to cup her breast and he started stroking her through the thin material of her uniform. She let out a quiet moan and leaned into him. He slid a hand under her skirt and gently massaged her tiny clit. They were surrounded by hundreds of monsters and ghouls, but they all too busy watching the game to notice them.
Over the roar of the crowd, he whispered in her ear. She couldn't remember what he said, but the sound of his voice and his breath against her ear sent a tickle down to her core. The next she knew, the game was over and they were under bleachers.
He pulled her on top of him and she moved against his erection. The friction from rough denim burned but she didn't want to stop. He unzipped his jeans and wiggled halfway out of them. It was quickly discovered that she doesn't self lubricate and it made sex more than a little uncomfortable. He tore through her; it was excruciating, like being stabbed. She might have cried if she could form tears. He asked if she wanted to stop. She dug in her feet and kept going.
His pre-cum slowly filled her, lessening the pain. She let out a sigh of relief and gave her hips a test wiggle. From in between her legs, she felt his body stiffen, then collapse on the grass.
Deuce reached up and touched her glowing face. "Love you."
Setepenre opened her eyes to sound of quiet giggling and shushing. She groaned in disgust and shut her sarcophagus to block out the noise. Moment ruined.
Setepenre tore through her entire closet of clothing, tried on outfit after outfit; nothing was just right. She sat back on the bench in her closet. She was probably over thinking this. It shouldn't be this hard to get dressed for a lunch date. Setepenre closed her eyes and tried to clear her thoughts. "If this was just regular luncheon with nobody important, what would I wear?" She thought aloud.
"What luncheon?" Setepenre opened her eyes to see her husband, Fakir leaning against the door frame. His shirt was opened, leaving the love bites and trails of lipstick all over his chest in plain view. He made no attempt to hide his affairs. Some times, she wondered if there was something wrong with how little it bothered her. "My beautiful wife isn't holding out on me, is she?" He wrapped his arms her shoulders. The overbearing smell of his cologne mixed with the cheap perfume of his partner last night made her gag and shove him away.
"I'm just having lunch with an old friend."
He eyed her, trying to figure if she was lying or not. Fakir smiled. "All right, then." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "You have a scary good time. You deserve it."
Once he was gone, she made her to the bathroom.
Deuce raised an eyebrow; his gaze lingered on her curly blonde wig. "Nice disguise."
"Shut up." She brushed down her bangs, trying to obscure her face. "It's not like I can have anyone recognizing me."
"I understand." He flipped her hair in her face. "I'd be embarrassed to be seen with me, too."
Furiously wiping the hair from her eyes, she protested, "I'd never-"
"I know." Deuce interrupted. He cupped her face, making her look up at him. "I'm just giving you a hard time." He brushed her bangs aside. For a moment, it looked like he was going to kiss her. "Relax." He pulled away. "Come on. I know place where we can talk." He took her hand and lead her out of the park
Cleo looked down at their intertwined hands; his fingers were laced with hers.
Author's note: Oh, okay, how'd I do? Pass or fail?
Chapter Two Preview: The Contract
"What?"
"Come be my chef." She held on tight to his wrist. "I'm opening a penthouse downtown. I'll need a live-in chef." He didn't look sold. "Pays really well." Cleo added softer. She was moments away from dropping to her knees and begging him to stay.
"Your husband might not like your ex boyfriend living with you." He said, finally.
"Fuck him. I don't care what he does or does not like. And neither should you. I want you to; that's all you should care about."
He stared at her; his face was unreadable from behind those black shades. She wished she knew what he was thinking. "What are the health benefits?" He asked with a grin.