Her Secret Life

Fandom: Losers

Pairing: Aisha/OFC

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: femslash

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

Notes: I don't know. I don't know why this happened.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

No one knows.

It's her secret life that no one knows about, and she likes it that way.

When she disappears for days and no one has any idea where she's gone, what she's doing, who she talks to, what she sees—she likes it like that.

No one can see how she lets herself go, how she hunts not for blood but for personal satisfaction, how her dark eyes scan the room throbbing with the heady pulse of the music, the bass a sympathetic beat to the throbbing between her thighs. This is just for her. In this world, there's no Max, or Clay, or anyone else. It's all about her.

The woman approaches, the one she's been eye-fucking intermittently all night. There are many beautiful women here and she's given them all their due, but this one is the one who's snared her from the start. She leans down closely to whisper in Aisha's ear, "Hi, I'm—." It doesn't matter what name she gives because it's not her real name. Glancing up and down, Aisha takes stock of the woman up close. She's young, like most of the dancers are, and scantily clad in a black dress so miniscule that if she shifts in a less than ladylike manner Aisha can see her purple lace thong. Her underwear matches the purple streaks in her short, platinum blonde hair, and its dark enough near the roots that she can tell it isn't a wig, unlike some of the other dancers. That's not the worst part of the dress though. No, it falls low in the front, showing a generous amount of breast that stops just short of flashing nipple, and goes even lower in the back, the space between draped with thin, silver chains that catch and reflect the light enticingly.

"Would you like me to dance for you?" The young woman asks politely with a small smile on her red-painted, heart-shaped lips.

Aisha smiles back. There's heat there, but it lacks the bloodthirsty intensity that's normally present in her expression. She doesn't bother posturing here. "Yes," she answers, "How much?"

"One song is twenty dollars. I'll cut you a deal though: twenty-five for fifteen minutes. That's about three songs," the woman says, and she's already shifting in time to the music. Aisha agrees. The young woman moves slowly, dancing to the heavy bass rather than the more frenetic melody, and the movements allow her to highlight the assets of her body. Aisha likes a woman who knows how to be shown to her best advantage. Her long legs stretch and twist, the slow movements negating the awkwardness of the height of the black patent leather shoes, muscles bunching as she drops low to the ground and arches her back in front of Aisha, throwing a coy look over her shoulder as she comes back up.

Aisha knows the rules and keeps her hands to herself, but her eyes devour the young woman.

The time ends too soon, and before she knows it, Aisha is handing over thirty dollars. She smiles and tucks the money underneath her dress in the elastic of her thong. She leans over and asks, "Do you want to come home with me later? I get off work at two."

"Yes," Aisha responds once more.

No one knows about this secret life, and she prefers it that way. Sex, sex with men anyway, has always been a weapon to her, a useful tool, a means to an end. It's different somehow when it's her and another female, their bodies lusciously rounded, tangled together, touching and kissing and loving for hours. It just is. She's never felt like that about the men she's had, and doubts she ever will.

She waits until two, throwing money at a couple of other dancers. Her partner for the night comes over twice more to check on her, and they talk for a little while until she notices one of the other dancers looking their way quizzically. "I'd better go," she says to Aisha, "Meet me in the parking lot at closing? I should be out by quarter after two at the latest."

So it's there that she stands against the side of the club as customers trickle out the front and dancers trickle out of the side. The girl comes out dressed in jeans and heeled boots, and a plaid peacoat, smiling as she spots Aisha. "Hi," she says as she trots over, her breath fogging in the cold air, "You waited. Thanks."

Aisha smiles back and shrugs. "You asked."

"Do you have a car?" the dancer responds, glancing around at the nearly empty lot.

"No, I took a cab here. I'm only in town for a little while."

"Oh," the girl says and there's a slight moue of disappointment in that single syllable, "Well, we can take my car." She grabs Aisha's hand, soft and warm, callus-free with manicured nails, and leads the way to a compact car parked towards the back of the lot. It's a short ride since the girl lives in an apartment complex a few blocks away, but she says, "It's safer to drive home at night. You never know what could happen."

Then they're upstairs, and Aisha's back is against the door while the dancer kisses her thoroughly. It's hot and wet and so perfect that she feels a stinging behind her eyelids. She's needed this for awhile now, and finally—finally she can have it. When she breaks the kiss for air, Aisha finds herself asking, "What's your name? Your real name?"

The dancer smiles and tucks a strand of hair that's escaped Aisha's ponytail behind her ear. "It's Victoria, but everybody calls me Vicki."

"I wouldn't have guessed," Aisha replies, then offers up, "I'm Aisha."

"Beautiful name," the girl—Victoria—replies. She steps back to shuck her coat, dropping it on the tan couch, and leads the way down a short hall. On one side is a bedroom, and on the other is the bathroom. There are clothes all over the place like the closet drank too much and projectile vomited, and Victoria smiles, embarrassed. "Sorry," she murmurs, "I'm not the best housekeeper. Between work and school, I don't have much time for cleaning."

"That's okay," Aisha soothes, "I'm not much for domesticity either."

The two women meet eyes, brown battling with blue. There's humor there and warmth. Something in Victoria's gaze makes Aisha think that maybe the dancer needs this as much as she does. It can't be easy day in and day out to take your clothes off in front of people that you don't desire, and there's something in the way that the blonde looks at her that tells Aisha that she definitely isn't interested in men.

A moment later, Aisha moves, taking Victoria down onto the unmade bed, slowing her descent enough so that it doesn't hurt her or take her breath away. She laughs and curves her arms around Aisha, and their kisses become needy, like someone just tossed a match on a gasoline soaked wood pile. The ponytail in her hair gets tugged out, and the dark strands fall around them both.

Aisha's hands are up underneath the long-sleeved black t-shirt that Victoria has on, warming cold flesh, and curving over cotton-covered breasts. The dancer pants and moans, arching further into Aisha's touch.

Clothes are discarded. Their shoes make heavy thuds as they hit the thin apartment floor. Gloriously naked, they slide over each other, eliciting guttural sounds of enjoyment from each other, and Aisha finds herself on her back with Victoria curled like something serpentine between her legs. She leans in and parts her flushed nether-lips with a delicate touch, and then her tongue is there and it is good, so good. Her breath comes short and fast, and she makes herself keep her eyes open so that she can watch that blonde head as it moves—see it and feel it all at the same time. It's too much and it's been so long, and she's a little embarrassed that she comes so fast, arching her back as a little cry escapes her mouth.

Victoria isn't fazed by this. She just keeps going, making lazy circles around her clitoris until Aisha begins to moan again. Her middle finger slips inside and crooks just so, which makes Aisha's body shake with pleasure. "Do that again," she pleads, and the dancer complies at the same moment she locks her mouth tightly against Aisha and sucks hard. "Oh god!" Aisha shouts as her back lifts off the mattress.

Another orgasm strikes her with two fingers buried within her and a tongue lapping over the sensitive flesh above it with quick, staccato stripes.

Falling back to the mattress, Aisha says to Victoria, who is curled over one of her legs and kissing her hip bone and lower stomach, "Come here." It's a tone that brooks no argument and promises reward if complied with, and so the young woman heaves herself up onto her hands and knees, and prowls over Aisha's prone form. Her breasts are heavy, swinging free, with pink nipples and larger than Aisha's own. Aisha has an athletic body. The dancer is athletic too, but in a more sensuous way. Victoria uses different muscles than Aisha on a daily basis.

Squirming down further, she takes one tight bud between her lips, suckling slowly, flicking her tongue over the tip. The blonde shudders and sighs. An edge of teeth brings a groan out of her. A hand grasping her tightly, holding the flesh solid and real while Aisha licks just the peaked nipple in languorous fashion makes her beg. "Aisha, please," she moans, and her hips roll involuntarily. Aisha's free hand slides down the woman's torso and curves over the spot where her ache is centered, giving her something to assuage the need but not enough to reach the peak of it.

Then she releases Victoria's sumptuous breasts and wriggles further down until her legs dangle off the edge of the bed, grasping the other woman around her thighs as her mouth returns the earlier favor. She savors the salty, muskiness found there, and the addition of the little ring through the clitoral hood. It's something new to discover, to play with, and she does until the dancer comes with a hoarse groan.

They lay in the bed side by side, fingers touching softly, voices exchanging words with equal care. Aisha laughs and smiles more in that one night than she has in over a month. It's with surprise that she realizes she'd like to see Victoria again. She wants this softness to be part of her always. She wants to stop pretending.

They make love many more times before Aisha has to leave in the morning, and when she does she takes Victoria's phone number with her. "If you're ever in town again," Victoria murmurs at the doorway as Aisha reels her in for another steamy kiss.

So much of Aisha's life is lived for others, but this is her own and it will have to be enough. Maybe next month if she isn't dead yet, she'll come back for more. Until then, this secret life is left behind here as she dons the masks that keep her alive once again.