A/N: Set sometime between "Medium is the Message" and "Exposure". Absolutely, positively, unchangeably a one-shot…I mean it this time. Uhh…my first songfic, ever. It's not even really a songfic; it's a perfectly normal fic that happens to have a song in the background. The song, BTW, is "Touch It", by Monifah. Acb: here you go, almost no dialogue! Credit goes to Laurell K Hamilton for one of the lines, which I stole from her. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, they can try to guess which line, it isn't really that difficult.
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Jack Knight and Dakoda House
All we wanna do is make you bounce
Monifah, could you turn me out?
Show me what your thing is all about.
It was Logan who asked her to check the place out. Said it was something about Pierpont Lemkin and the Mayor making a killing in an unholy alliance with Satan. Or at least, that's what Max thinks he said; she stopped listening half-way through his impassioned rant about Lemkin, she's heard it about sixteen times in the last month.
It's a gentlemen's club that, apparently, doubles as a front for the fledgling Mafia wannabes that run this part of town. Max isn't happy about it, but she knows these guys could be trouble later, so she gets a part time job.
As a dancer.
Do you really wanna touch it?
Do you really wanna mess with me tonight?
It's a pretty upscale place, so she figures nobody she knows is likely to come waltzing in one night when she's working. It should be safe enough as long as she keeps her barcode hidden, and she's helping Logan take down bad guys, something that brings back good memories of last year, before their lives got even crazier than she could possibly imagine.
Plus, the tips are great.
Oh, and if you know how I like it
Would you call my name and give it to me right?
Tonight Max is wearing an outfit she borrowed from the only other dancer her size. It's a corset like thing in red pleather that leaves a two-inch gap up the center where it laces, and a skirt approximately the width of a large rubber band that zips up the side. Max pairs it with fishnets, because they've become her trademark. Given her touch-me-and-die attitude, she's surprised that she's actually become one of the more popular dancers. The boss is talking about giving her a raise and she makes more in tips four nights a week here than she does six days a week at Jam Pony.
She's thinking about buying herself a new motorcycle.
Could you just put that thing on me?
So I can just freak on you
And you could just freak on me
Max shimmies around the dancer on the pole in the middle of the bar, working her way over to her assigned station. Strut, strut, pause, pout, pose, shake something, keep walking, it's all a pattern, like a combat drill almost. By now she could do it with her eyes closed.
Eyes closed would probably have been better tonight: then she wouldn't have seen him. At least, she thinks she sees him, and she struggles to get her expression back under control and tries not to trip on the five inch stiletto boots she borrowed. Usually she's got perfect balance on these things; he's thrown her off.
Maybe she just imagined him. Why she would be thinking of him now is beyond her, but it's better than the alternative. She glances down the bar.
Nope. He's here. Sitting at the bar, watching her dance.
Well, fuck. That's just perfect.
And I'm gon' give it to you all night long
I'mma show your body what your lips are doing wrong
Ooh
What the hell is he doing here? Despite her abysmally low opinion of the man, she sorta doubts he spends a lot of his time in strip clubs.
He must have tracked her down. Dammit! Has someone tipped to her barcode?
He's sitting right in front of her station, like he planned it that way, He probably did; Max puts nothing past him. He's probably been watching her for a few nights.
Max pauses, dancing in place, completely ignoring the man slipping a twenty into her garter. What the hell is his game?
As if sensing her internal distress, he smiles slightly, and finishes off the rest of his scotch. Max has a momentary hope that he's leaving, but he taps the empty glass on the bar and the bartender fills it back up.
Max takes another twirling step toward her position, toward him, collecting tips as she moves down the bar. She doesn't think he's the sort of man to drink on the job
Do you really wanna touch it?
Do you really wanna fuck with me tonight?
Maybe he isn't working. She still doesn't think he came here by accident, but maybe he isn't planning a takedown. She's not really sure what else he would be doing; he can't have come just to watch her strip.
At least, she fervently hopes he didn't; that would be too weird even for her life.
Maybe he just came to torment her; he seems to enjoy that kind of thing.
Max smiles with relief as the explanation comes to her. The man at her feet seems to think she's smiling at him, because he slides another bill into the waistband of her skirt. It's a five-dollar bill from the quick glance she gets of it; Max moves on, unimpressed.
Maybe she can have a little fun with this. See how far his iron self-control really extends.
The man raises one eyebrow as she stops in front of him. Max slides her hands down over her thighs and rotates her hips to the beat.
Oh, and if you know how I like it
Would you call my name and give it to me right?
If she was hoping to get a reaction just from that, she's disappointed. All he does is smile and sip at the scotch without taking his eyes off her.
When she takes the skirt off to reveal the thong she has under it, his smile turns wicked. It does interesting things to the chiseled line of his jaw, and Max gives herself a mental kick for the thought.
A twenty-dollar bill materializes in his hand, and as she bends low to let him slip it into her thong, Max tries very hard to ignore the brush of his fingers against her hip. The idea here is to melt him, not to let herself melt.
So love just feels so good to me
Could you just move it on up cuz I want ecstasy
She lets one of the laces on her top snap open, irrationally pleased by the flicker of heat in his eyes. She sways, head back, hands in the air. One of the other men nearby tucks a bill into her garter and she ignores him, focusing on the way the man in front of her swallows hard, his eyes bright and hot.
She lets a second lace snap as he casually holds out another twenty. She gets down on her knees to take it from him with her teeth, and as she watches his face from inches away, his eyes fill with that look a man gets when he knows you will not tell him no, no matter what he asks.
He hasn't earned that look, not yet.
And I'mma give it to ya all night long
I'mma show your body what your tongue's doing wrong
Ooh
Still on her knees, she reaches out, and wraps his tie around her hand, pulling him toward her. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he lets her tug him closer, and closer, until her lips are scant centimeters from his.
"Don't look at me like that," she breathes against his mouth, and she pushes him roughly back in his chair.
He's laughing softly when she rears upright, balancing on her knees, and runs her hands upward over her body, snapping another lace.
He stops laughing, and stares at her.
Give it to me give it to me call my name
This boy's shyness got me wet like crazy
She gets back up on her feet, throwing her hips into the last few lines of the song. She's not sure why she's enjoying this, but she definitely is. This is easily the most fun she's had in weeks.
She can feel his eyes on her as the next-to-last lace goes. She stretches it out, she's not new at this, and she knows how to get the most out of a crowd of customers.
She holds the moment suspended, as she finds his eyes again, challenging him to look at her.
He just smiles back.
It's not a nice smile.
I want it more and more
When you call my name and spank me
Ooh
She snaps the last lacing and lets the top drop, feeling his eyes on her skin. For once, she glories in the sense of being watched, she'll wonder about what the hell is going on later.
The song is ending as she turns from her strut back to the dressing rooms to look at him.
Do you really wanna touch it?
Do you really wanna mess with me tonight?
He's still at the bar, watching her as she walks away. They exchange a glance, neither of them knows what just happened, and neither of them wants to think about it.
Oh, and if you know how I like it
Would you call my name and give it to me right?
He isn't working tonight, there aren't thirty armed federal agents in her dressing room, and he probably won't come back.
She doesn't know it, but she trusts the look he gives her.
Touch it
Touch me
Love me
Suck me
Give me
Baby, yeah
By the time the song ends, he's disappeared, and the last four minutes might as well not have happened.
If you know how I like it
A/N: Okay, so if anyone doesn't get who the man was, you can certainly ask me. I don't promise not to make fun of you, but I will tell you if you just don't get it.