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Message-ID: <57407asstr$1205237401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.borked.net>
Reply-To: dcrimson@yahoo.com
Subject: {ASSM} Tawdry (ons) {Crimson Dragon}
Lines: 1252
Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2008 08:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

A new story, as promised in the latest Crimson Reviews.

Thanks to Denny for the editing. The story is more readable due to 
his talents. Any errors remaining within are mine and mine alone.

As always, feedback and/or discussion is welcome at
   dcrimson@yahoo.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons or dragons
living or dead is purely a coincidence. Those who know differently
are unlikely to sue me.

  - Crimson


========================================================================
                                  Tawdry
                            (one night stand)
========================================================================
                       (c) Copyright - January 2008
                              Crimson Dragon
                           All Rights Reserved
========================================================================

Sheer curtains fluttered beside glass as a night breeze breathed
smoothly through translucent screening. Carrying the faint scent of
exhaust and humidity mingled with honeysuckle, the wind kissed her
bare skin like the silken touch of a lover. Many floors below,
activity continued as if the girl weren't there: college girls
spilled from a smoky bar, laughing loudly as they crossed the
street, the low rumble of engines, and the distant warble of a
siren. Neon beckoned below; lighthouses upon distant shores.
Residual heat, lingering from the day's scorched atmosphere,
radiated from the glass, warming her skin delicately even as the
whisper of summer air cooled the subtle perspiration upon her.

She held up one hand, then the other, centimetres from the window,
radiant warmth seeping into her palms. Examining her fingertips in
the dim glow of the city, they seemed disconnected, a part of
someone else: someone braver, someone surer, someone tawdrier.
Flexing her fingers dispelled some of the illusion, but not all.
Purposefully, her fingertips brushed past her nipples, joining the
breeze, a surrogate, intimate lover. Slowly, she returned her hands
to rest carelessly upon her naked thighs in shadows. Despite her
hands belonging to someone else temporarily, their physical presence
comforted against her leg, grounding her.

Somewhere a clock ticked, quietly marking the seconds passing
inexorably away into the night.

Behind her, in the bedroom, a man snored softly as he slept deeply,
but alone, beneath silken sheets. She didn't turn at the sound, rather
continuing to watch the neon lighthouses below and absorb the lonely
night sounds as if the man behind her were merely an insubstantial
memory.

Shivering slightly, her mind wandered, again.

God, it had been so ... tawdry.

                                  * * *

The ceiling and walls projected an institutional aura, similar to a
hospital, an asylum or a prison. The single window situated near the
top of the outside wall filtered the aging sunset through layers of
dust that had not been cleaned since the dormitory was built.
Despite the drab surroundings, the colours of the sunset played like
a rainbow across the off-white paint, shelves of textbooks and a
cluttered desk.

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

Then a brass voice: "Tegan, I know you're in there!"

Tegan sighed and swung her bare feet off the bed to the cold tiles
and pushed herself off the bed, swaying slightly. Another knock,
more insistent this time, echoed through the small room. Tegan
walked towards the door halting before reaching for the knob.

"Tegan! You're standing right in front of the door. Open up!"

Sometimes Ming was eerie; perhaps some ancient Asian mystique
surfaced in her once in a while and she saw things that others,
well, didn't.

Tegan shook her head slowly and rubbed at her eyes, hoping that they
weren't too swollen or red. Evidence of crying would set Ming off,
and would probably result in another attempt to improve her love
life.

Another bang. "Open up!"

Silence wasn't going to win this battle, Tegan decided. She called
softly between knocks, "Keep your shorts on, Ming. Give me a minute.
I'm naked in here."

The knocking stopped momentarily. Tegan forced a smile onto her lips
and blinked twice, still swaying. The last of the sunset dissolved
from the very top corner of the room, leaving the atmosphere even
more forbidding than usual.

Another knock. "You aren't naked, are you," Ming called cheerily.
It was a statement, not a question. Ming knew. Somehow.

After glancing down at her jeans and T-shirt, Tegan closed her eyes
with a resigned sigh. Ming was eerie sometimes.

Having at least witnessed the last of the sunset alone, she reached
forward and twisted the doorknob, swinging the door open.

"About time ..."

And Ming whirled into the tiny room like a tornado.

                                  * * *

Thirsty, she padded quietly to the small kitchen, the cool,
unyielding surface of the white tiles against her bare feet foreign
and bleak. The kitchen was tidy and spotless, as if a maid had
cleaned it thoroughly an hour prior to her arrival. Faint smells of
coffee and cooking oil tickled her nostrils. Idly, she wondered what
the scent of frying bacon, coffee and sizzling scrambled eggs would
smell like here. Tempting. So tempting. Breathing in the different
scents, she quickly passed to the refrigerator and opened it.

Wan light produced shadows across her abdomen, cold air swirled like
the breeze from the window across her bare toes. Milk. Juice. Beer.
Reaching forward, she shifted the carton of milk. It felt empty to
her touch. Behind it, a bottle of Chardonnay.

Smiling, she liberated the bottle from the cold dark confines of the
fridge.

                                  * * *

Ming pushed open the club doors with a flourish. Somehow, she always
knew someone -- a bouncer, a waiter or the club owner. While the
lineup outside regarded them with undisguised envy, Tegan quickly
followed Ming through the doors under the watchful gaze of the burly
bouncer.

The black dress hugging her figure seemed overly formal for this
club, and the shoes that Ming insisted she wear were already
biting into her feet. Tegan longed for her jeans and t-shirt and
runners, but once Ming entered the scene, denying her was like using
a feather to stop an on-rushing freight train.

As she stepped across the threshold, smoke, flashing multi-coloured
light and pounding bass assaulted her. For one precious second,
Tegan considered bolting, back through the doorway into the humid
night before Ming realised what was happening -- a surgical strike.
Inside the club, the heat and haze infused her, the fabric of her
dress immediately clinging to her skin.

She sensed, rather than heard, the door close behind her.

Resigned, Tegan followed Ming into the club, dodging other patrons
as she walked.

                                  * * *

Club soda with a dash of lemon. Tegan nursed the drink slowly,
watching the dancers, absorbing the pounding electronic house mix
and trying to avoid Ming's steady gaze.

They sat at a small table near the dance floor and Ming bounced
happily to the bassline, but hadn't quite managed to convince Tegan
to dance.

Ming leaned across the small gap towards Tegan, a playful smile upon
her lips.

"If you want to attract guys, you need to smile," Ming said, her
lips close to Tegan's ear to be heard. Even so, her voice was nearly
ripped away by a guitar solo and the energetic response from the
dance floor.

Tegan forced a smile to her lips, but even to her it felt fake,
perhaps belonging to someone else. Unable to hold the smile, she
returned her gaze to the tiny bubbles rising in her drink.

"That was pretty pathetic," Ming said. This time her mouth was so
close that Tegan could feel her exhale against her ear, the soft
scent of peppermint washing across her nose.

A genuine smile resulted, a moment of radiance in the darkness.

"Yeah," Tegan laughed.

But as Ming pulled upright and away, the smile slowly faded and
Tegan returned to her thoughts.

A moment later, Ming was back.

"You're thinking about Jay," Ming said. That Asian intuition again,
though Tegan supposed that this time it wasn't any deep mystery.

Tegan shook her head. Ming regarded her skeptically, then turned to
glance around the bar. Tegan returned to her drink, sipping.

Ming shuffled her chair over and leaned close again.

"We need to find you a guy tonight."

Tegan shook her head. It was too soon.

Why? Why had she agreed to this insanity? Was this better than
staring up at the mottled ceiling in the dorm, remembering a sunset
that had passed?

Ming smiled mischievously.

"If you don't find a guy tonight, little one, you'll be coming back
with me. Is that what you want?"

Tegan looked up sharply, but Ming's eyes merely sparkled with
mischief.

Jay fled her thoughts for a moment. Tegan smiled again, though this
time a little uncertainly.

"Fine," Tegan said. "I'll sleep with you if you'll leave me alone 
and we can get out of here."

Still laughing, Ming shook her head playfully.

"I may hold you to that." Ming's lips nearly brushed Tegan's ear,
but despite the playful banter, there was no sexual spark there.
Idly, Tegan wondered if there could be, but dismissed the thoughts
upon the realisation that she truly preferred Ming's friendship and
always would. Sex always complicated things.

                                  * * *

Gazing out into the night beyond the glass, she sipped at the amber
liquid. In a small cabinet, she'd discovered crystal, of a sort that
she thought she'd never be able to afford. The delicate wine
glass saved her from finding a straw or drinking the wine directly
from the bottle like a beggar on the street.

The wine trickled down her throat as the siren faded towards the
suburbs. Below, the laughing girlish voices turned a corner and
broke into a thousand shards.

In the daylight, she'd never have dared standing nude but for the
necklace in front of a window like this, even a hundred floors above
the street. But at night, at night, at night things were different,
weren't they? People became different at night. Tawdry and smoky.

The final giggle of laughter that drifted to her ears up through the
night sounded like Ming. She wondered where Ming was.

                                  * * *

The waitress was pretty in a night club sort of way. Her uniform was
revealing, but not sluttily so. A tiny brooch in the shape of a dragon
shone brightly from where it was pinned to her lapel. The glittering
disco lights twinkled from the brooch's mottled surface like crimson fire.
Her straight red hair danced across her shoulders, caressing the dragon
as she swayed gently to the music. Attractive waitresses gathered 
more tips, Tegan supposed.

Puzzled, Tegan watched as the girl delivered two tall glasses filled
with a brown, frozen liquid. Before Tegan could intervene, Ming
pulled the girl down, shaking her head, unmistakably informing the
waitress that they hadn't ordered the drinks. Then a surprised look
and a smile. The waitress left without waiting for a tip nor
returning the glasses from whence they came. The dragon seemed to
wink at Tegan as its owner sashayed towards the bar.

Tegan pointed to the drinks, her eyebrows arched.

Coyly, Ming leaned in again, her breath close and hot.

"Frozen seven-forty-sevens."

"What?"

"Amaretto, Kahlua and Baileys, mixed into a delightfully frozen
method of getting a girl drunk." Ming raised one of the glasses to
her lips and Tegan watched her throat swallowing daintily. "Try it,
silly, don't be rude."

"But who ... ?"

Ming simply handed her the remaining glass from the table. A ring 
of moisture marked where the glass had briefly rested.

Sighing, Tegan raised the drink to her lips. It was a particularly 
delightful method to reduce a girl's inhibitions ...

                                  * * *

... and Chardonnay was a particularly relaxing accompaniment for
reminiscence.

She returned to the chair, curling her bare legs under her like a
feline. Absently, her fingers rose to the necklace about her neck,
the nadir of the chain quivering slightly between her breasts.

The necklace definitely cost more than both her parents earned in a
year, far more than her tuition and far more than she deserved.

The breeze caressed her skin again, ebbing and flowing as the night
progressed.

She wanted to go, forget everything and leave. She'd miss Ming, of
course, and graduation would be delayed. The man in the bedroom
turned over in his sleep.

Sighing softly, she raised the wine to her lips again, moistening
them.

                                  * * *

As Tegan raised the frozen drink to her lips again, Ming whispered
in her ear.

"Them."

Tegan glanced around. The club was busier than when they'd arrived,
the bouncers finally allowing the line to infiltrate. If anything,
the music was louder and the atmosphere smokier. Nobody stood out.

"Ming ..."

"At the bar, sitting at the end, chatting with the two blondes."

Tegan turned her eyes towards the bar. Faintly, she could hear
Ming's giggle, probably at the look of astonishment upon her face.

At the end of the bar sat two well-dressed guys, a little older than
Ming and Tegan, talking to a pair of buxom girls both with peroxide
blonde hair. It was difficult to tell from a distance, but the girls
may have been twins. The taller guy wore flowing dark hair and a
designer suit. The shorter fellow had Asian features and his watch
looked suspiciously like a Rolex, prominent on his wrist. The small
group laughed, the blondes perhaps a little over-exuberantly.

Tegan wrinkled her brow, turning back to Ming.

"You sure you got that right? Those guys?"

Ming nodded slowly, a faint smile of hidden knowledge upon her lips.

"You know them," Tegan said, immediately knowing the answer.

Ming shrugged.

"They seem to be friendly with the blondes," Tegan remarked. She
sipped the frozen seven-forty-seven slowly.

Ming laughed. "Sasha and Tasha? They're gay. Everyone knows that."

Tegan didn't and she automatically flushed. "They look like twins."

"They aren't. You aren't interested in the girls, are you? What the
hell did Jay do to you?"

The memory of Jay flooded into her again causing her to wince. For a
few minutes Tegan stared into her drink, neither sipping nor paying
attention to the club. Ming, for once, left her to her thoughts
without interrupting.

Ming's soft breath tickled her ear again. "Lars and Henry," she
said.

Tegan forced the memory of Jay from her mind and returned her gaze
to Ming.

"Lars?"

"And Henry."

"Sent us drinks."

Ming nodded slowly.

"Why?"

Ming raised her eyebrows, grinning mischievously.

                                  * * *

Why, indeed.

Somewhere out in the night, Jay was probably sleeping somewhere.
Alone? Curled up comfortably with a new girl?

A soft snore that definitely wasn't Jay reached her ears, but she
continued to gaze out into the night. A new siren warbled to life,
its sound drifting through the open window. Engines purred below. A
different crowd of girls laughed, happy, celebrating.

Jay was out there somewhere, but she didn't want to think about him
any more. After tonight, she thought ... hoped ... it wouldn't be as
difficult to push him out of her head. She closed her eyes, sipped
at the Chardonnay, and like magic, Jay was gone, simply another
breeze upon a neon summer night.

                                  * * *

Tegan hadn't seen Sasha and Tasha leave, but when she looked up,
Lars and Henry stood beside the table sans blondes, faint confident
smiles on their faces, though Tegan had no idea which was whom.

"Ladies," the Asian guy said in flawless English.

Ming looked around from watching the dance floor, her mouth breaking
into a genuine smile. Before Tegan could recover, Ming had already
thanked the guys for the drink and pushed out the opposing chair
with her foot, wordlessly indicating that the guys should sit.

The dark-haired tall one sat beside Tegan, the exotic Asian beside
Ming. Tegan purposely avoided either of their eyes, her mostly
finished drink sitting resolutely on the table. It would be better
if Ming handled the guys.

"I'm Lars," the dark-haired guy beside her said. Somehow, his voice
cut through the bass and the ambient roar, clear as a bell ringing
through a sleepy township. As Tegan turned to acknowledge the
introduction, hand automatically extended, he gently grasped her
fingers and raised her hand to his lips.

In shock, Tegan felt his soft lips press against the back of her
hand. After he released her hand and it had fallen limply into her
lap, she whispered, "I'm Tegan."

Lars nodded as if her whisper had cut through the nightclub like a
siren through a humid summer night. Tegan glanced at Ming who
apparently had witnessed the hand-kissing. Ming was grinning
ear to ear and laughing, even as she was engaged in conversation
with the Asian fellow, presumably Henry.

Suddenly a voice reverberated in her ear, as close as Ming had been
earlier, his breath licking at her ear.

"I want to know everything about you," Lars said with a smile. "But
first, another round. Don't let another warm my seat, okay?"

Tegan began to protest, but caught Ming's nearly imperceptible shake
of her head. The guys rose together and headed back over to the bar.

Laughing, Ming shifted herself closer and leaned close to talk.

                                  * * *

Somewhere out in the night, Ming was probably sleeping beside Henry,
exhausted and spent. She might not even appear before classes on
Monday.

Her fingers rose to stroke the necklace lying so comfortably about
her neck. With a sigh, she considered Paris, considered the necklace
and for the first time in her life didn't know what to do. She
wished that Ming were here. Ming always knew what to do, knew
everyone and knew what was going to happen.

The breeze flowed uncaringly, the sounds of a night that never slept
drifted upwards reminding her that she was not really alone.

She thought she ought to get dressed, assuming she could, but
somehow, she wasn't quite ready for the confines of clothing. Paris
beckoned and the necklace sparkled.

Raising her glass, she sipped at the last of the golden liquid, its
taste awakening her senses. Behind her, the man continued to breathe
softly in sleep beneath the sheets.

                                  * * *

"They're rich," Ming whispered.

"Rich?"

Ming nodded sagely. "Not Warren Buffett rich, but they do all right
for themselves. Partners in some investment startup that didn't tank
in the first three months. Graduated from our school, maybe three
years ago."

"Rich."

Ming shrugged and smiled.

"How do you know these things?" Tegan whispered.

Ming simply shrugged again, and smiled her mysterious prophetic
smile.

Handsome and rich. Tegan sighed, the alcohol dulling her senses a
little. Did she care? Really care? She told herself that his income
really didn't matter, nor the flowing locks of hair that settled
like a waterfall across strong, broad shoulders. He'd kissed the
back of her hand like a knight in some corny King Arthur period
movie, but it hadn't seemed rehearsed or corny or anything but
gallant. The tip of her nose was slightly numb even while her
eyesight seemed heightened.

Peripherally, she saw Lars and Henry turn from the bar carrying four
drinks, two frozen seven-forty-sevens and what appeared to be
expensive snifters filled with amber liquid.

Ming leaned in close again, her lips moving rapidly against Tegan's
right ear, her voice urgent.

"Follow your heart tonight. Whatever you decide will be right for
you." Ming paused, her eyes tracking the guys returning through the
crowd, then sighed heavily. "I'll see you back at your room to catch
you." She paused again. "I promise."

Her friend's words fit together lexigraphically, but even without
the alcohol fuzzing her senses, Tegan was reasonably certain that
they would not have made sense to her.

Sometimes, Ming was eerie.

                                  * * *

Everything in the suite oozed prestige. Not that the man sleeping
gently in the bed was in any way ostentatious, but the crystal in
her hand, the mellow flavour of the wine, the necklace about her
neck, the comfortable chair upon which she perched naked, and, of
course the proposal, all spoke to the truth of Ming's offhand
assessment. While the man did not flaunt his influence, it was there
nevertheless in subtle but veritable ways. She wondered how Ming
knew the men, if she'd planned this, or if she'd been aware of the
temptations.

The girl sighed, setting the now empty fine crystal glass carefully
on the gleaming hardwood beside the chair. It was rare that Ming
didn't know what she was doing. Especially when it came to
relationships and men.

                                  * * *

He had well defined muscles, likely due to regular gym training or
martial arts. And he moved with an ease usually bestowed on dancers.
Tegan ran her fingers over his shoulders as he swept her into a
loose embrace, not too forward, not too distant.

The music tempo had slowed from a frenetic house beat as Tegan had
arrived at the club with Ming, through a Madonna-esqe phase where
the dance floor had been filled with Vogueing bodies, dawdled through
a hair flinging classic rock stage featuring Aerosmith, Bon Jovi and
Van Halen finally to a slower pace where Ultravox danced with tears
in their eyes.

Tegan tried to catch her breath from flinging her head around to
some ancient Dead or Alive tune, grateful for the relaxation and
ease when Lars simply swept her, slowly turning, into the easy
rhythms of a love that died.

Over Lars' shoulder, Tegan spotted Ming and Henry turning slowly
under the sparkling disco ball, spatters of coloured light dancing
over Ming's raven hair, her arms tightly about Henry's neck. They
seemed close, closer than Tegan was dancing with Lars.

Her throat was parched, and she wanted another drink. The dancing
had dispelled most of the fuzziness that had touched her mind after
the third frozen seven-forty-seven, but she was thankful for the
loss of inhibition as the faster dancing had freed her somehow in a
very animalistic, basal, tribal, tawdry way.

As she looked up again, Ming and Henry were kissing deeply as they
danced, the distance between them non-existent. Tegan bit at her
lower lip, closed her eyes and slowly tipped her head back.

Her head drained of blood as his lips touched hers, fires raging
through her body. He had strength to match the tone of his
shoulders. Drawn so close that her very ribs ached, she
swayed with him; she kissed him without thought, without concern, 
lost in his presence.

                                  * * *

Slowly, she rose from the chair, pacing to the window, her bare feet
silent against the floor. The curtains sighed as if they somehow
knew what she was about to do. Strange, because Tegan herself
didn't.

She stared out into a darkness sliced only by streetlights and
stars. The bars had emptied long ago, the neon flickering and
fading to be swallowed by the night. While the streets were far from
silent, the number of cars below declined to a handful, most of
them yellow or white taxis carrying late revellers back to the
reality of hangovers and empty beds or lover's suites.

Sighing softly, Tegan touched the glass: still warm, but not as
fiery as it had been earlier. Her finger tips traced the glass,
again, as if a stranger needed the solidity of the window, to feel
the portal to another, safer world.

Silently, she allowed her hands to drop to brush at her thighs.
Still naked, she entered his bedroom and walked to the edge of the
bed.

His shoulders and back contrasted against the white softness of the
sheets. Scars criss-crossed his skin that she had not noticed
before, not even in the height of passion as her nails had slid down
his back. He slept, oblivious to her scrutiny.

Nearly all of her being urged her to slip back between the sheets,
to return to comfortable sleep in the crook of his arm. To be safe.
It would be so easy.

                                  * * *

Sensing movement and a light touch to her shoulder, Tegan gently
broke the kiss -- the first kiss -- and Lars withdrew without
complaint. They remained embraced swaying to the music, although
Ultravox had yielded to Sherrif without Tegan noticing.

Ming stood sheepishly, no longer embracing Henry but casually
holding his hand. The music was far too loud to hear her words, but
the expression was easily discernable.

"Follow your heart," Ming mouthed with a quick knowing smile.

Then she turned with Henry, offered a tiny finger wave over her
shoulder, and began to wind through the slowly turning crowd like a
vessel threading between tropical islands. Tegan watched her as long
as she could, the last glimpse of Henry's spiky hair near the
entrance of the club, then turned back to the man she was dancing
with. He smiled and Tegan melted.

Closing her eyes, she kissed him again.

                                  * * *

The strange dichotomy struck her again as she reached out
tentatively, the fingers, which were not really her own, traced down
a long scar that began at his shoulder blade and disappeared under
the silk sheets. He murmured at her touch, but didn't wake.

She again touched the necklace and thought about summertime in
Paris. She thought about Ming and school. Tears welled in her eyes
even as she tried desperately to control them. Despite her efforts,
the tears spilled over and down her cheeks with no attempt to wipe
them away. Darkened spots appeared near his outstretched arm,
visible in the dim light. Would tears ruin silk? She didn't know,
but she doubted that the sleeping man would mind either way.

With a Herculean effort she stepped away from the bed and then ran
lightly to the front door, kneeling in front of her discarded purse,
fingers searching.

                                  * * *

Her feet hurt in the shoes as if she were walking through hot coals.
The residual summer heat made any movement sullen and slow. Still,
Tegan ran urgently hand in hand with Lars from the idling taxi,
through the fancy lobby with barely a nod to the concierge, until
they reached the elevators.

At Lars' touch, the doors slid open and together inside the lift
they were rising, rising.

She stepped closer, his breath hot and steamy against her ear.
Kissing him fiercely, she felt his hands fumbling at the collar of
her clinging black dress. Part of her mind rebelled, kissing so
passionately in an elevator, a stranger's hands at her throat.

Gently, she pushed his hands away. Without protest, Lars moved his
hands to a safer distance. Tegan raised her own hands, her fingers
grasping where Lars had been only moments before.

She gazed up into his eyes, nearly pleading.

"Please," she whispered. And somehow, he'd understood.

Lars' placed his hands upon her significantly smaller fingers,
hesitated but a moment. Taking a deep breath, she pulled, her
movement magnified by his strength. Dimly, she heard the buttons of
her dress ricocheting off mirrors, floor and ceiling, the cooler air
of the elevator brushing her skin like a summer breeze. Her dress
hung from her shoulders like an expensive pretty rag. Her nipples,
still encased in her black bra, instinctively hardened like
diamonds. Without thinking, she sighed as she kicked her shoes into
the corner where they sat reflected in a mosaic of infinite mirrors.

For a moment, Lars gazed at her, hunger flecked in his eyes.

Tegan smiled and threw her arms about him again, pressing herself
shamelessly against his hardness. Their lips locked fiercely again,
bruising painfully against her teeth.

The bell rang announcing the top floor and the doors opened. If it
weren't for Lars breaking the kiss at the last moment before the
doors closed again, Tegan would have happily descended back to the
lobby, never noticing.

                                  * * *

Softly she padded to the window, the small tube grasped tightly in
her hand. Her fingers twisted the base of the cylinder. The contents 
extended, reminding her of a February gopher checking for its own shadow.

With deliberation, in the pale light of the city, she raised her arm
and began to write.

                                  * * *

Lars broke the kiss again as they reached an oaken door, inset from
the lavishly decorated hallway. The hallway scented slightly of
sweet cigars and lilacs. Other than the two of them, the hallway was
deserted and quiet. He fumbled with a key, and swept Tegan through
the portal.

The door closed with an air of finality as she stepped over the
threshold, the smooth marble beneath her feet enticing a shiver.
Rising up on her toes, she tilted her face upwards for another kiss.
Instead of a meeting of lips, Lars' index finger pressed gently
against her. She opened her eyes, quizzically, trying to catch her
breath.

"Hold that thought," he whispered.

Slowly, she lowered herself and watched as Lars disappeared into the
depths of the suite. Not for the first time, Tegan considered
bolting. It was crazy, standing half naked, clothes torn, barefoot,
here in a stranger's abode. She squeezed her eyes shut. Even her
shoes were somewhere in the corner of an elevator.

It was ... so ... tawdry. So ... unlike her.

Tegan had taken one semi-conscious step back towards the oaken door,
her hand reaching for the door handle when Lars' deep voice stopped
her. Her heart banged in her chest, a flush rising to her face as he
spoke.

"For you, beautiful one," he said.

Her hand dropping to her side helplessly, Tegan turned. Lars held a
velvet box gently in his outstretched hand. If he knew that she'd
considered leaving, his eyes did not betray it, or he was truly
unsurprised.

The sight of him re-ignited her desire and as she turned she allowed
the remnants of her dress to flutter like a wounded dove to the
floor at her feet. The suite was not cold, the summer night heat
clinging like a lover. She stepped towards him, wanting his lips,
his fingers, all of him.

As she approached, he opened the hinged box, pulling out the
necklace. Tegan wanted to protest, to push his hands away, to cry
out. Instead, she simply bent her head and waited as Lars deftly
connected the ends of the strand against the nape of her neck. She
shivered.

As she raised her head, the necklace swung easily to lie perfectly
against her upper chest, sparkling. It felt like costume jewelry,
heavy with diamonds that seemed too large to be real. But they were
real; perhaps some of Ming's inner sight had infused her. Tegan
didn't know how, but she was certain that the jewelry she now wore
was not only real, but cost more than her parents could earn in
years of labour. She was equally as certain that the bestowing of
this gift was genuine and of little consequence financially to Lars.

As she looked up at Lars, puzzlement apparent in her features, Lars
simply smiled, casually discarded the velvet box and continued where
they'd left off as she'd passed through the doorway.

                                  * * *

There were not many words; it would be impossible to fully express
her emotions or decisions tonight in bright red lipstick.
Nevertheless, she stepped back to reflect on what was written in
large crimson, block letters across the cityscape beyond.

Two words. Three if you counted the hyphen.

It wasn't enough; enough wasn't even in the ball park. But he'd
understand.

Satisfied but melancholy, she walked back to her purse and dropped
the small cylinder into its depths.

                                  * * *

She lifted her hips, feeling her lacy panties slide down her legs,
his rough fingers brushing her thighs as he slipped them off. Dimly,
Tegan sensed the wisp of clothing joining her matching bra somewhere
in the dark confines of the bedroom. Her undergarments may have
ended up behind the dresser, or might have been crumpled by the
doorway. She didn't know and really didn't care.

Tiny electric shocks burned across her bare skin as his fingers
explored. She arched as he carelessly slipped between her lips,
brushing seemingly inadvertently across her swollen centre.

Then he was again kissing her with the passions of a thousand suns.

And she was burning.

She heard herself gasp: "I need you. Now."

The sheets felt like silk against her skin as she slipped beneath
them naked and watched Lars carefully undressing in the half-light
of the city streaming in through the window.

Tegan couldn't catch her breath, her own fingers idly maintaining
her arousal as Lars ferally eyed her, naked in his bed.

                                  * * *

She missed his touch already, his fingers upon her nipples, her
breasts, her thighs, even upon the soles of her feet. She missed the
simultaneous cry of release as they'd finished together. She missed
feeling him deep inside of her. She missed straddling him. She
missed rocking with him. She missed crying with him afterward. She
missed the simple light fragrance of his cologne.

She watched him sleep, unaware that she stood naked over him like an
angel.

                                  * * *

Tegan gently rocked herself above him, her hands interlaced behind
her neck. Below her, Lars moaned softly, his face a mask of pleasure
and concentration, which Tegan chose to interpret as a desire to
make this act last longer than she could maintain.

She wanted it to last forever, but with each slow stroke, her desire
rose and she cried out as climax washed over her, unable to hold it
back any longer.

It seemed to last forever, his cry mingling with hers as he, too,
was unable to resist the inevitable.

When it was over, she collapsed, her muscles unable to support her.

She was surprised to find that tears leaked from her eyes as she
fought to regain her breath and strength. She was more surprised to
find dampness upon Lars' cheeks.

No words were necessary. Not yet.

                                  * * *

She bent her head, her fingers finding and releasing the simple
catch behind her neck. As it parted, she held it there with her
fingers, only one fleeting moment longer.

Steeling herself, she separated the necklace and gently placed it
beside the clock radio, the diamonds glimmering crimson in the pale
light of 5:13 AM. Swallowing back the threatening tears, she bent
and gently kissed his cheek.

"I can't go with you," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She could no longer restrain the tears and she quickly turned away.

                                  * * *

Tegan carefully rolled from Lars, separating what had nearly become
one. Lars smiled up at her as she propped herself on her left elbow,
her face flushed. Carefully, she pulled up the silk sheets until she
was covered to the waist. Lars idly reached out to trace her right
nipple. Tegan shivered.

"Come with me," Lars whispered.

"Always," Tegan replied softly.

Lars laughed. "I must fly to Paris on Monday. My flight is in the
morning."

"Don't be silly," she smirked.

But the smile faded slightly on Lars face, a seriousness falling
across his chiselled features.

"Come with me, beautiful one. First class. Concorde."

Tegan inhaled sharply.

"Paris." Her voice carried a note of disbelief.

"I can make some phone calls. Get you a seat beside me."

And with Lars she believed him. Totally and utterly.

"Paris," Tegan repeated, as if repetition would make it true.

Lars nodded. "Will you come with me?"

"How long?"

Lars laughed. "Forever. For as long as you want to be with me."

Again, she believed him.

"Paris," a third time.

"France, yes." No sign of irritation.

"Why, Paris?"

"Business. Pleasure."

"I can't," Tegan whispered.

"You can. If it is money ..."

Tegan shook her head, though there was truth there. She couldn't afford
such a trip on her own. Her parents couldn't either, assuming they
approved. But instinctively, she knew that Lars was not asking her
to pay for her own passage. Nor was the suggestion of his generosity
here in any way distasteful to her. It was merely what Lars wanted.

"It's not money," Tegan said truthfully. After a moment, she
continued, though to do so was breaking her heart. "I have school to
finish. And Ming ..."

... would understand. Follow your heart.

"You can graduate next year. The year after," Lars said seriously.

Tegan closed her eyes. Lars lay silent below, his finger slowly
circling her breast, shivers descending her spine.

"Okay," she whispered.

Lars' smile returned and he drew her into his arms again.

                                  * * *

The second time was perhaps better than the first; less urgent, her
skin more attuned to his gentle touch.

Afterward, she lay against him listening to his breathing steadily
slow until she was sure that he slept in an exhausted trance.

For a half-hour Tegan enjoyed the warm comfort of his presence, then
carefully slipped her bare legs from beneath the sheets to find the
more lonely comfort of a summer breeze, a cityscape and a simple
glass of Chardonnay.

                                  * * *

Finding her undergarments in the light of 5:13 AM would be an
insurmountable task, one that even Hercules himself would likely shy
from. At least if the ancient son of Zeus had not wished to wake a
sleeping hydra.

She only hesitated a moment at the bedroom doorway, wiping the tears
from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Suddenly, her fingers
seemed to belong to her again, damp with her own tears; the tawdry
and the girl joining coherently somewhere in the middle.

With only the one glance back at the man-shaped form snoring beneath
the sheets, she walked towards the suite entrance.

Bending, she gathered her ruined dress from where it had fallen so
very long ago, slipping it over her shoulders. She'd have to hold it
together with her free hand, and it would never be worn again, but
it was better than venturing out naked into the street below.

Gathering up her purse, she turned at the door. Near the picture
window, her chair sat more lonely now with her absence. The crystal
glass beckoned her and she nearly ran back to it, back to Lars.

Sadly, she shook her head slowly, breathing deeply. She could still
sense his cologne, the sweet fragrance of sex, the honeysuckle upon
the summer breeze tickling the thin curtains.

Upon the window, backlit by the twinkling light of the city and the
approaching pre-dawn, she whispered the words printed in ruby lip
gloss:

"Thank-you. Farewell."

She thought that Lars would understand. She hoped he would.

Slowly, she turned, twisted the doorknob and passed back into what
remained of the night.

                           * * *  Fin  * * *


------------------------------------------------------------------------
Epilogue
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ming had said so, and she believed her.

                                  * * *

The elevator doors slid open soundlessly revealing the mirrored
interior of the cabin. Tegan glanced over her shoulder,
half-expecting Lars to be watching her, disappointed and silent,
from his doorway. The hallway remained deserted, except for her.
Before the doors closed, Tegan clutched her dress around her and
stepped into the lift, automatically pressing the softly lit button
for the lobby.

As she leaned her head back against the glass, eyes closed, her toes
touched a shape on the floor that shifted as the cabin descended.
Glancing down, she smiled and then bent, retrieving her shoes and
dangling them from the heel on her fingers, but not replacing them
on her feet.

She shrugged. The concierge might wonder about the barefoot girl
about to enter his lobby, but overall, she didn't particularly care.

The elevator continued to fall taking her further and further away
from him.

                                  * * *

The concierge looked up sharply as the girl emerged hesitantly from
the elevator bays. She was pretty and toned and he seemed to recall
her entering in a rush accompanying a recent resident of the
building.

Her black dress, once fashionable and tight on her figure, appeared
torn, her hand carefully clutching the fabric near her waist.
Perhaps her chest was dangerously exposed by the torn clothing, but
not indecently so. In her free hand, a pair of trendy shoes dangled,
her feet bare.

The concierge's sister had been attacked last year by her now
incarcerated husband, and while she had been bruised and battered,
and while this girl was clearly not, the concierge was perhaps more
sensitive to abuse victims than average. Abuse didn't require a
physical beating.

"Miss?" he called.

With a look of fright, the girl turned slowly, nearly dazed. The
concierge became more worried.

"Miss, are you all right?"

It occurred to the man, briefly, that getting involved with a
domestic incident, especially one that may have occurred with one of
the richer residents, could have consequences for his employment.
Nevertheless, he began to stand, making the girl retreat marginally,
like a frightened deer.

"Miss, do you need any help?"

The girl smiled, as if suddenly aware of her appearance and what the
doorman was thinking. She shook her head, her hair dancing around
her shoulders. He watched mesmerised, but her smile had shaken the
confidence he'd entertained earlier that she was a victim of abuse.
Victims never shone a radiance like this, especially not after a
recent attack.

"He was a perfect gentleman," she whispered. Then after a moment, "I
need to get home."

With that, she ran lightly, her dress flashing tantalising glimpses
of her tanned legs. She pushed through the revolving door and onto
the street, a light perfume floating on the air to prove that she'd
been there.

"I can call you a taxi," he called, but it was too late. The girl
had passed beyond the glass of the lobby and could no longer hear
him.

The concierge settled back into his leather chair, staring after the
girl, wondering what had happened in the structure above. He
shrugged, but the image of the mysterious barefoot girl in the torn
dress would revisit him for many years, though he rightly was no
longer worried about her well-being.

                                  * * *

The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, the sun having
revolved around the planet to re-awaken the world from twilight.

All Tegan wanted to do was sleep, her very soul weary.

The concrete of the sidewalk stung against the bare skin of her
feet, but to replace the shoes was unthinkable. So she walked, only
half-aware of the waking world.

Twice she glanced over her shoulder at Lars' building. Thoughts of
summertime in Paris and heavy, expensive necklaces flittered through
her mind, almost like a dream. Memories of the tryst so tawdry,
occasionally prompted a smile upon her lips; a radiant smile that,
had anyone been moving upon the street but her, would have been
infectious.

She carefully crossed an intersection against a red light, then
continued in the general direction of the university. It was likely
a two hour walk from where she was, but weary as she was, she didn't
mind. It would give her precious time to think.

Peripherally, she noticed a red Volkswagen pull up at the curbside.
Slowly, it trailed her, undecided about its intentions, or possibly
someone lost. Tegan ignored it, but eventually it halted slightly
ahead of her and a crimson-haired woman emerged from the driver's
side. She was pretty, in a night-club sort of way. The brooch in
the shape of a dragon remained pinned to her lapel; it no longer
sparkled in the approaching twilight.

"Miss?" the waitress called.

Tegan was reminded of the doorman she'd left perhaps fifteen minutes
ago.

"Are you okay?" Worried.

Tegan halted and clutching her dress closer about her, nodded.

"I'm wonderful," she said truthfully.

"Do you need a ride?" The girl glanced down to Tegan's bare feet,
which remarkably remained relatively clean despite her parade down
the street in the absence of shoes. Tegan briefly considered
replacing her shoes.

"I think I'd rather walk, but thank you," Tegan said easily and
began to walk.

"How far are you going?" the girl sounded concerned. The light of
the morning continued to brighten, but it remained dim, the
streetlights continuing to blaze down like pools of rain.

Tegan supposed it perhaps might not be an ideal environment for a
single female, in ripped clothing, to be travelling on foot. She
didn't really know the area. For all she knew, it could be gang
territory, though she doubted it. The red-haired girl appeared
confident and unafraid -- merely concerned about Tegan's state.

"University ..." Tegan replied, halting again.

The waitress looked skeptical. "That'll take you three hours on
foot, you know."

"I need to think," Tegan said quietly.

"That's a lot of thinking."

No mention of her torn dress. No mention of her lack of shoes.
Somehow, this girl understood; eerie, like Ming.

Tegan merely nodded. Tears threatened for a moment, but she didn't
want to cry in front of the girl; she willed them way and thankfully
they retreated without protest.

"I'm heading home," the driver said easily, "and I'm going that way
anyway. I can drop you at the University. I'd feel a lot better.
You can think about him in your room, right?"

Tegan lifted her face and stared at the steadily lightening sky. A
mixture of morning and evening breezes kissed her face.

She missed Lars. She missed Ming. She missed herself.

Slowly, she nodded again and stepped into the street. Without
further comment, the waitress and Tegan slipped into the front seat
under the rising sun.

When Tegan stepped out of the vehicle with a genuine thank you, the
dragon seemed to wink at her in the morning twilight. With a slight
wave, the red-haired one sped off into the dawn, her beetle belching
smoky exhaust, leaving Tegan to journey alone back to her room.

                                  * * *

Ming stirred as Tegan approached, groaning as she picked herself off
the floor in front of Tegan's door. Blinking and seeing who had
approached her, Ming smiled radiantly and pushed herself to her
feet. She was dressed in pyjamas, her feet bare and her hair up in
an easy ponytail.

Stretching and yawning, she asked, "What time is it, girlfriend?"

Tegan laughed with a shrug. "Crack of stupid? The sun is rising
outside ..."

Ming stepped aside and Tegan fished her key from her purse. As she
released the fabric of her dress, it flashed open, but Tegan no
longer cared and Ming, if she noticed, held her tongue. Finding the
key, Tegan unlocked the door, admitting the two girls into the small
dark room.

Tegan allowed the black dress to fall from her shoulders to settle
in a heap at her feet. She was reminded of doing exactly the same
motion with Lars and she winced. The memory still hurt. Actually,
the knowledge that she couldn't do it again hurt more.

Ming had seen her nude before, and without turning on the light, the
two girls were merely shadows.

"What happened with Henry?"

Ming smiled in the darkness and that was answer enough. Tegan felt
similar.

"If it worked out, why are you sleeping in my doorway?"

Ming laughed but kindly.

"Because you needed me here, more than Henry needed me there."

Tegan regarded Ming in the dimness, a welcome, non-judgemental
feminine presence. She wasn't alone and that seemed like enough.

"Jay?" Ming gently asked.

"Gone," Tegan whispered.

"Lars?"

"Gone," Tegan whispered, her voice nearly cracking.

Ming stepped forward and embraced Tegan. Without warning, Tegan felt
the tears slip down her cheeks to dampen Ming's silky pyjamas. The
growing strength of the sun broke through the window set high in her
wall, spilling over the institutional bricks. Tegan sniffled and
released her friend.

"It was so ... tawdry," Tegan whispered.

Ming simply touched her shoulder, a wordless gesture of
comprehension.

"Thank you for being here," Tegan whispered.

Ming nodded, a simple, very Asian nod, wise and understanding.

"You're going to be all right," Ming remarked as she stepped to the
door, opening it with an effortless twist of her wrist. The light
from the hallway invaded, stronger than the weak sunlight spilling
in from the window.

Tegan settled onto her bed, slipping between sheets that were not
silk or satin, yet felt comforting to her bare skin. Ming stood
silhouetted in the doorway. Gathering the sheets up to her chin,
Tegan realised that she was tired. Satisfied but extremely
exhausted. She closed her eyes and Ming disappeared.

"Good night," Ming whispered.

The door closed and the room darkened again.

She would be all right. For the first time for as long as she could
remember, she would be all right.

Ming had said so, and she believed her.



========================================================================
Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www
http://members.tripod.com/files/Authors/Dr/wwwagon_Of_Crimson
========================================================================

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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