Happy Birthday sk!
Aug. 9th, 2007 07:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nell65And here, a few days later than I wish, is your birthday fic, on the theme: Dancing.
Dancing
There it was again, the flash of blond hair in the midst of the tightly packed dance floor. She wasn’t imagining it. It was Nikita. Not a look a-like, not a similar person, not a blond-but-not-really-like-her-at-all person, but the real deal. Nikita herself, live and in color. Dancing with abandon in the cramped space of this out-of-the-way bar that catered to a very particular crowd, women looking for hook-ups with other women; quick, carnal and with more than a touch of kink.
This was the third time Quinn had seen her here, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She retreated further into the corner of the bar and sipped her drink slowly, wondering if Nikita had been sent to watch her, or test her in some way. Just as Quinn had decided that this must be another obscure Section-style test, and one she intended to pass at that, Nikita whirled into view again, this time lip-locked and grinding to the beat, her hands woven through her partner’s mass of dark curls, riding hard on her partner’s heavy, leather clad thigh. Their heads broke apart, Nikita laughing uproariously at something, then she grabbed the dark-haired woman’s hand and they shimmied out the door and into the night.
The fifth time she saw Nikita there, Quinn knew she had spotted the pattern. Quick scans of data while complex programs cycled through at comm later confirmed it. Any occasion when Michael was away for more than four days while Nikita was not on an extended mission herself, Nikita headed out for a different kind of action.
Smirking into her drink, Quinn wondered if the famous Michael Samuelle, the dark prince of Section, knew that his consort walked on the wild side whenever he was away for too long, leaving her apparently driving needs untended.
Not that she couldn’t understand what he saw in her, sexually-speaking. And it wasn’t that Nikita was tall, lean, leggy and blond – though she was certainly all of those things. It wasn’t just Nikita’s well-oiled, leather-clad strut heating up Section’s cold corridors, or her mastery of the smoldering glance tossed just so over her carelessly bare shoulder as she said good night to Michael at the end of a shift either. Watching Nikita dance in the little dark bar, the whole of her wild energy focused entirely on the beat and in the moment, her grin lit with the passion of the rhythm and the admiration of the crowd, Quinn couldn’t help but reflect on what it would be like to be in the center of Nikita’s physical and emotional maelstrom. About what it might be like to have all the power and sleek strength of Nikita’s body wrapping around hers, all that intensity honed in on the performance of the gratification of the flesh. Just contemplating it made Quinn roll her hips and swallow the sudden rush of saliva on her tongue. She took the very next offer she got, whether out of horniness or a desire to flee before Nikita spotted her she wasn’t inclined to ponder.
A week later, Quinn was just sipping her first drink of the night when someone dropped down onto the stool beside her. Nikita’s husky voice brushed against her ear. “Care to dance, Kate Quinn?”
~~~~~~
(also posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lfn_slash)
Dancing
There it was again, the flash of blond hair in the midst of the tightly packed dance floor. She wasn’t imagining it. It was Nikita. Not a look a-like, not a similar person, not a blond-but-not-really-like-her-at-all person, but the real deal. Nikita herself, live and in color. Dancing with abandon in the cramped space of this out-of-the-way bar that catered to a very particular crowd, women looking for hook-ups with other women; quick, carnal and with more than a touch of kink.
This was the third time Quinn had seen her here, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She retreated further into the corner of the bar and sipped her drink slowly, wondering if Nikita had been sent to watch her, or test her in some way. Just as Quinn had decided that this must be another obscure Section-style test, and one she intended to pass at that, Nikita whirled into view again, this time lip-locked and grinding to the beat, her hands woven through her partner’s mass of dark curls, riding hard on her partner’s heavy, leather clad thigh. Their heads broke apart, Nikita laughing uproariously at something, then she grabbed the dark-haired woman’s hand and they shimmied out the door and into the night.
The fifth time she saw Nikita there, Quinn knew she had spotted the pattern. Quick scans of data while complex programs cycled through at comm later confirmed it. Any occasion when Michael was away for more than four days while Nikita was not on an extended mission herself, Nikita headed out for a different kind of action.
Smirking into her drink, Quinn wondered if the famous Michael Samuelle, the dark prince of Section, knew that his consort walked on the wild side whenever he was away for too long, leaving her apparently driving needs untended.
Not that she couldn’t understand what he saw in her, sexually-speaking. And it wasn’t that Nikita was tall, lean, leggy and blond – though she was certainly all of those things. It wasn’t just Nikita’s well-oiled, leather-clad strut heating up Section’s cold corridors, or her mastery of the smoldering glance tossed just so over her carelessly bare shoulder as she said good night to Michael at the end of a shift either. Watching Nikita dance in the little dark bar, the whole of her wild energy focused entirely on the beat and in the moment, her grin lit with the passion of the rhythm and the admiration of the crowd, Quinn couldn’t help but reflect on what it would be like to be in the center of Nikita’s physical and emotional maelstrom. About what it might be like to have all the power and sleek strength of Nikita’s body wrapping around hers, all that intensity honed in on the performance of the gratification of the flesh. Just contemplating it made Quinn roll her hips and swallow the sudden rush of saliva on her tongue. She took the very next offer she got, whether out of horniness or a desire to flee before Nikita spotted her she wasn’t inclined to ponder.
A week later, Quinn was just sipping her first drink of the night when someone dropped down onto the stool beside her. Nikita’s husky voice brushed against her ear. “Care to dance, Kate Quinn?”
~~~~~~
(also posted to
lfn_slash)
