Once in a Lifetime
DISCLAIMER: Don't own it, so don't you even THINK of suing me.
"Hey, Heartbreaker! HEARTBREAKER! Get your lazy ass down here, the show's on!"
A flicker of reason briefly lit her empty umber eyes, and she stood, tracing slowly towards the back entrance to the stage.
Nearly blinded by the flashing strobelights, nearly deafened by the crashing, bass-heavy music, she did as she was told.
The clothing, or rather, the lack of it still felt strange to her. It had only been two months since they'd took her in off the streets, and she still hadn't fully recovered--perhaps that was why. The black, fetish-wear-influenced halter came dangerously close to baring the soft nipples of her breasts; would have, if she hadn't dropped at least a size during the days she could barely remember. The plastic beads attached to her garters swished and clicked when she moved; it was mildly bothersome. Beneath the garter belt itself, she wore nothing. No matter what the Mothers did, nothing could be done for her unruly, chin-length black hair; nothing could be said for it except the fact that it completely hid the single piercing in her left ear, disguised the silver droplet that was the only thing still precious to her.
Two simple months in the club had made all the difference. Even her own family and friends... even he wouldn't recognize her anymore. The days of weeping, the days she had taken a blunt knife to her own beautiful raven-black tresses, were over, and with them, the last traces of her old self had died.
Her blank eyes told the story all too well. She was Dead, her mind and heart rapidly retreating to the realm beyond feeling. She needed only for her body to follow them.
But it was time for her to go onstage.
The reminiscing could wait.
The other girls were already gathered around the exit, looking collectively ruffled and pleased with themselves, the most conservatively clothed among them half-naked. Their unofficial leader, a tough young woman named Fuuko, pushed through the huddle to her, planting both hands on overwide hips.
"Heartbreaker, there you are. Don't forget--twenty percent of the earnings go straight to the Mothers, alright?"
She nodded. "...Yes..."
Fuuko smiled crookedly and ruffled her hair. "You thinkin' about your man again?"
She said nothing. She never had to. Fuuko knew already.
"Don't, hon, you know what men are. They use you, then they leave you. It never fails. All a man wants is a woman's body... that's how we use them here, understand?"
Fuuko and the others had never asked what had driven her to the streets. They had all come to the unanimous assumption that she had just lost the love of her life. Of course, being what they were, their vision of "lost" was much different from the truth.
And what could she tell them, anyway?
"He died saving Wonderland"? "I owe him my life"? That would go down well.
"So, you go do what you do best, miss Lisa Heartbreaker. Get yourself a douchebag and forget him tonight. You're a natural at this, so go take care of you."
The announcer thundered out their names, and Lisa Heartbreaker, nightclub whore, paraded onstage with the others.
Her blank, uncomprehending eyes and too-empty hands found the silver pole, and she went to it, her body automatically adding an extra sashay to her hips as she walked. She could hear the moans, sighs, and whistles from the exclusively male audience as their collective eyes nailed themselves to her rear end. Caressing the metal, she fell instantly into a swoon, edging her hips towards the rod that connected floor and ceiling. Taking her cues from the thrumming floor beneath her--her ears had long succumbed to the actual sounds drilling into them--she drew closer, crossing her ankles on the other side of the pole, falling far enough backwards to brush the back of her hand against the floor before pulling herself up. After so long, it was just something she did instinctively; she felt nothing as she ran her hands over her own body, thought nothing as she slipped her own fingertip into herself except to belatedly gauge the audience's reaction.
They were eating it up, of course; each of them probably wished it was their finger that got to explore her. Or the hot shafts of flesh that were most likely straining to break through the respective flies of their respective pants.
She would have a line tonight, or perhaps even an all-night customer.
The dance was over before she realized it; she only noticed when she took the folded wad of bills from the hand of a man who seemed to be both foreign and as drunk as a drunk could get.
To her eyes, his features blurred; they didn't matter, anyway.
She didn't think Fuuko was completely correct. Perhaps some of the others were able to use the men they slept with, but with her, it always seemed that she ended up being used. They did what they liked with her; she took it without comment. It all felt the same to her nearly-numbed body, anyway.
The waking dreams would always come to steal the mild pangs of pleasure away.
---
This was one who preferred to keep most of his clothes on, noted the part of Lisa Heartbreaker's mind that still noticed those things.
No foreplay was needed, really, since he was already aroused and she couldn't care less, but he began to kiss her anyway, his hands finding a fumbling grip on her breasts.
She let him. It didn't do much for her, but probably helped to convince him that this was some perfectly rational night with a wife or lover, not a paid prostitute in the back of a seedy nightclub. He wasn't even a bad kisser anyway.
But it wasn't this man's lips she was feeling, though they covered her own...
No, a firmer, more familiar pair were pressed to hers in her mind...
Both of them were breathing hard, faces flushed in the darkness as they fumbled with each other's clothes. Perhaps it was just the look in his eyes, but she had known instinctively that he had wanted the same thing she did.
So here they were on the floor, and here her hands were, finding the courage to venture places her hands had never been before, reveling in his surprise and pleasure at her competency.
Even as she explored the feel of him, most of her attention was focused on their interlocked lips.
For a man with such an aversion to human contact, he sure could kiss.
And kiss...
And kisssss...
Barely letting her come up for air, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, teasing her own, shaping her life with his unexpected skill. She was vaguely aware that his left hand, finished with her dress, had come up to cup her right breast; her awareness became less vague as he slowly drew his finger back and forth across the nipple, making the flesh pucker and harden. She whimpered as heat flashed through her blood; reaching blindly, she felt her fingertips brush against metal, and hearing his low groan of desire, turned the accidental touch into a shaky stroke.
He shuddered against her, his tough lean body pressing heavily against hers. Not knowing what else to do, she yielded as he came for her.
The sharp, savage plunge into her ripped a startled cry from her lungs; the ecstasy burning her from the inside out pulled her back into an arch, bringing his second thrust even deeper as her legs wound around his solid waist. He shifted his lips from hers to her collarbone, then her breasts as she pleaded in a low desperate voice for more. Bracing himself with his hand on her lower back, he drove deeper still, tearing pleasure, then pain into her flesh. She cried his name over and over, shuddering; he murmured husky, velvet apologies, helpless to stop.
She trembled beneath him, awed simply by the way their shining bodies locked perfectly together, put through worlds of agony as he reached so deeply inside her that he felt the pain as well, his kisses speaking of his contradicting dual nature--the gentleness, the savagery. The want and the denial. The man who had needed her love, and the beast who had needed her body. The sharp cerulean eyes that seemed more human now than ever before, filled with some emotion she couldn't understand. The spicy taste and scent of him, powerful and alluring. The soft tendrils of rich mahogany and chestnut that traced over her bare shoulders. And even more, the uncontrollable shudders wracking his body. He felt it, just as she did.
Running to exhaustion, he finally pulled back, collapsing over her, their bodies still intertwined. Weakly, she put her arms around him, wondering at the look of her paler arms over his deep tan skin.
And just like that--her virginity, her innocence, was gone.
And silent, powerful Kaze was helpless in her arms.
As he withdrew, the vision faded, leaving her heart aching in its wake.
Her body was tired, but it was her mind that wanted to sleep and never come back to the surface. She would go under silently, and drown.
But life never worked that way.
Which was why she was here, a drunken stranger asleep upon her, a whore in a nightclub, when Lisa Pacifist had died two months ago.
Her futile existence just kept spiraling on.
(TBC)