Lady in Red

The metal is cool against the palm of your hands. Without a second thought you hitch your leg up around the pole, lean back and let gravity do the rest of the work. You slide around the pole, one leg pointed expertly out at the leering crowds of men. Slowly you stand up again, your back arched away from the pole. Placing one foot slowly in front of the other, you circle the shiny metal pole, meeting the gaze of all the men closest to you.

This isn't you. Every time you step foot into this building you become someone else. A façade come over your face, hiding your real emotions and thoughts. You've been working here for one and a half years to help pay for your university fees. But you still haven't managed to detach yourself from what you do.

Flicking your hair over your shoulder, and the crowds around you go wild. You don't understand why. There are plenty of other women here that they could watch, that offer more services than what you do. Yet nobody watches them; most of the men choose to render their sights on you. Your hook both your legs around the pole, your red heels clicking together as you do. Murmurs come from the men closest to you. You know their thoughts; they wish you were with them and not in this club. But they only want you for your body. They don't know you. They only know you as the Lady in Red.

That's all you ever will be to them.

You scan the place, looking for the man that has visited over the past few weeks. He doesn't speak to you. He just observes from the high up balconies that give people the view from above. For a while you've come to expect him every night. You can sense when he's there. He has a dark aura about him; despite that, it draws you in. There's something, provocative and sexy about the way he watches you – the way his eyes follow your body, so different to the lecherous scrutiny of the rabbles at your feet.

Instead your eyes meet those of your manager. Elijah Mikaelson. He winks at you from the balcony. He's got a glass in his hand, scotch if you know his tastes – which you do. You've had an on and off relationship with him for the past few years. Fuck buddies; that's all you ever were. When he heard of your student loans he offered to pay them back and then some on one condition. He needed dances for the strip club. And you, apparently, fit the bill.

As you spin around the pole again, you meet his gaze for the second time. Only this time he's turned away from you and speaking to someone you recognise. The conversation looks pleasant. Elijah's fingers are gripping the glass lightly and he tips it back and for animatedly as he talks. Over the noise of the club, you imagine his smooth voice talking with the dark stranger. His voice is deadly yet luring. No one knows exactly what he's capable of doing. Elijah protects those in the club, and that includes you. Whatever this stranger wants, he's going to have to pay a high price.

The change in song brings you from your thoughts. Enrique's Dirty Dancer fills the club. The beats are heavy and beneath your heels you feel the stage vibrating. You change your dance to fit the music. Your moves speed up and your hips move from side to side, your body driving the men in front of you wild. You rub up against the pole and a pack of wolf whistles rise over the noise of the music. You reach both legs up on the pole and grip the top with your hands. Placing your left hand below your right, you swing yourself out, your muscles straining and your body slicing through the air. The men stop whistling, too awe struck at the sight of your curved body. The lights of the club reflect from your body, casting you into darkness while highlighting other areas.

Lady in Red

"You've been watching her for a long time. I've never known you to wait this long." Elijah's voice lacks emotion, as cold as steel on an assassin's blade. Elijah stands beside Damon, one hand clutching a cut crystal glass. Damon knows the posture all too well. He's aware of the power behind that deceptively relaxed hold.

"The longer you wait the sweeter the prize." Damon smirks while he gently swirls the amber bourbon around in his glass. The music here is loud, the thudding beats beginning to hurt his ears. How can Elijah stand this? "And I'm enjoying the view." His hand rests on the top of the glass balcony. "Both views."

Elijah dips his head, not in embarrassment but in exasperation. "You know what we did is never going to happen again. We both needed it with no strings attached." He raises his gaze to meet Damon's. Elijah is a few inches shorter than Damon but it means nothing. "Don't change the subject, you were talking about her?"

Both vampires' turn their eyes towards the lower level of the club. Damon immediately finds the object of his obsession. Her body is lithe and athletic, her muscles straining as she moves to the music. Never will he be able to let her go. Not until her body and blood is his. "What will it take? For me to have one night?"

"With me it will take nothing, because it won't happen again. With her, I'll speak to her. She's sensed you here before. Her body is already attuned to your presence. It shouldn't take much persuasion." Elijah takes a sip from his glass, as he does Damon can see the edges of his fangs beginning to extend. He's still affected by Damon.

"Talk to her. Make sure she agrees otherwise not even you will be able to stop me."

Elijah turns his gaze towards Damon. His eyes are distant, remembering a long ago buried memory. "Don't be so quick to say your words. You regretted it last time." His gaze becomes focuses once more. "And you might regret it again this time too." In the blink of an eye, Elijah is gone. The only reminder that he was ever there in the first place is the scent of age old pine and expensive clothing.

Damon speaks to himself, his voice quiet beneath the beats of the music. "If it ends the same way it did last time, then I'll eagerly await it."

Lady in Red

Your heels land on the stage with a click and you glance up to the balcony once more. Elijah has disappeared but the dark stranger is looking down one you. Sudden realisation strikes you and you almost tumble in your heels. It's the man that has visited for the last few days. His dark hair falls into his eyes but his face is cast in shadows. His posture is casual as he leans against the glass. A leather jacket and ripped jeans, all designer, hint at a rich background.

Maybe he was a friend of Elijah's?

You'd never know… You've stood and looked long enough, long enough to make the crowds start to fidget and move on to other dancers. Before you can hitch your leg around the pole, someone clears their throat behind you. You know that sound too well. You turn to face Elijah and square your shoulders as you do. He's not going to push you around today.

Elijah raises a pale hand to help you off the stage. As he does, the sleeve of his navy blue suit pulls back to reveal a three-hundred thousand dollar Audemars Piguet. You take his cool hand and step gracefully from the stage. Flashing disco lights cast Elijah's face into darkness and light and the steam machines cast a smoky fog around your ankles as you walk. For a moment you can see what other people see when they come to watch you.

The stage isn't that high, you're easily within groping distance but there are bounces placed at regular intervals throughout the club. There's a strict no touch policy…unless they pay high. The stage is made of thickened glass with lights flashing around the edges. Four poles rise up from the glass and three of them are occupied by other women.

Despite the loud music, you can hear Elijah's ever word as he speaks. "I know you don't usually do this…" He pauses as if to think. You're not fooled. Elijah always knows what to say no matter the situation. "But someone is interested in you. He's a friend of mine." The way he says friend doesn't sit well with you. It's the way you would say it if you were covering something up.

"Elijah, I'm not fooled by your words. I want to know exactly who it is I'm dealing with, and what he wants from me." You move to the side as a bearded man reaches a hand out towards you.

A growl rips from deep within his chest as someone attempts to reach out to you. Immediately the man flinches and pulls his hand away. Elijah smiles at him, though you know it's a warning. A moment passes and Elijah passes you his jacket and rests it over your shoulders.

"Damon Salvatore." You've heard that name before but you've never seen him. Was he the one that was watching you? "He's well known in my world." Ahh, so he's a vampire then. Being with Elijah has meant that you've learned a lot more about a vampire's world than what any average human would. "I can't tell you anymore about him, to do so would be to betray his minimum amount of trust in me. If he wishes to tell you more, then he can do. All I ask is that you listen to him." Elijah pauses for a moment and a look that you can't place comes over his face. "Damon's a gentleman – if that word exists still in this society. But there's another side to him. He needs someone experienced to tame that side of him. And he's seen you. You might have seen him watching you?"

Elijah's words seem to hint at something else. Has he been with Damon before? You wouldn't blame him. If you lived that long then you'd definitely want to try the other team too.

Elijah pushes open the two heavy double doors and holds them open for you. The lighting in the corridor is dim and many doors lead from it. It's such a step down from the light and noise of the main club. The walls are a plain cream and a red carpet lines the floor.

"You seem to be speaking from experience," you say as you continue to walk down the corridor. Elijah slows his pace to match yours. He raises an eyebrow at your statement. "What exactly does he want?"

"Everything you won't give anyone else in here."

"When?"

"Is tonight too soon?"

Lady In Red

So this is Salvatore; the man – a vampire – who has been watching you for the past few weeks. For the first time you get to see his face, finally unveiled by the shadows that seem to cling to him.

Dark eyes, darker than the darkest night sparkle with trapped stars. Pale lips are raised in a half smirk as his eyes comb over your body. His face is chiselled and a dusting of stubble grazes his chin. Salvatore's hair is jelled in a style that screams "fuck me. I've just had the best shag of my life." Even the strands of hair attempt to hide his face as they fall over his eyes.

He's a mystery. Just by his posture and aura alone you know he'll give nothing more away than what he needs to. Beneath that calm mask lies other thoughts; a need to possess and be possessed. Salvatore doesn't speak as you close the door behind yourself. Instead he gestures with his glass of bourbon to the nearest chair in front of him.

"So, Mr Salvatore –"

"Please, call me Damon." He chuckles to himself and rests the glass against his thigh. "Mr Salvatore reminds me of when I was human." Damon's eyes don't break from yours. His raven coloured eyes give nothing away. "Get yourself a drink if you wish. I'd much prefer it if we were both relaxed."

You shake your head a little to clear your thoughts. And it has nothing to do with those come to bed eyes or that smirk… "I'd don't drink on the job."

"I'd hardly class this as a job." Damon leans forwards and his elbows rest on his knees. In his hands he grips the glass tightly. "Face it," he gestures to his own body. "You could do a lot worse in life." He leans back silently.

For the first time, you allow your eyes to travel the length of his body. Broad shoulders are encased within a leather jacket – Italian origin. A black shirt is beneath the jacket, fitted to show his body. The top few buttons are open, allowing your gaze to see the hairless plains of his upper chest and pale throat. Damon's black jeans are riding low on his hips and the silver buckle of his belt gleams in the low light.

"I suppose I could," you say, your voice lacking interest. Elijah has told you about this. Damon loves the chase, he loves pursuing, and the harder the chase the more exhilarating the prize. "Why me?"

Damon raises an eyebrow and he gazes around the room. He studies an oil painting he speaks. "You know my kind through Elijah. I can smell his scent still lingering on you. And it saves the whole "OMG got a vampire in the room with me!" shit that humans tend to go through. And, I like what I see. And what I like, I tend to keep."

The fact that he can still smell Elijah doesn't surprise you. Vampires; are the powers unlimited? It's been months since you were with Elijah in any sort of romantic way. But his words, the possessiveness of them, are what gives you the thrill. Damon's a player – you knew that straight away. And he's an arrogant, cocky, egotistical bastard; so different from all your other conquests.

"Who says you're going to keep me? Elijah won't allow it. And he's stronger than you, there's nothing you can do."

Almost unconsciously Damon's hand goes down the caress his left hip when you mention Elijah. A scar? A token of Elijah's dominance? It proves your theory that they were once together… "I know he won't. But there's also a thrill in being the one chased. And it is possible to out run an Original. So long as you know where to go…" Damon laughs to himself and his gaze settles back on you.

While you mull over his words, you take in the room around you. Two lamps cast the room in a dim light and the fire place in the centre causes the flickering shadows across both your faces. The logs on it crackle and heat embers float from the flames onto the cold slate in front of them. The embers sizzle and die. A stag's head is mounted above the fire place, its lifeless eyes stare unseeingly across the room. Damon is seated in a wooden arm chair, the red of its seat and back rest contrasting with his black clothing. He looks so relaxed, as if he's been there all his life…

"You seem like you're used to running?" You goad him, hoping he'll show some form of emotion towards you besides the chuckles and all-knowing smirks.

He drinks the last drops of bourbon before he answers. "Imagine that you've pissed off an Original by leaving him the next day with only a letter to say goodbye. Imagine then how fast you'd wish to run… Of cause, I didn't run. I walked. I walked with my head held high until he caught up with me and threw me to the ground… I'll let your imagination do the rest." Damon winked, and he lets his legs relax and fall open. You get a full view of the hardness that his jeans cover.

You unconsciously wet your lips at the sight of his arousal. "Elijah? By any chance?"

"Do you honestly think he'd get one of his impeccable suits dirty? It was his younger brother. He's a feisty thing and a kinky shit in bed too."

"I never thought you'd be submissive."

"Sometimes it's nice for the hunter to become the hunted."

At his words you're abruptly reminded of your task at hand. Play him. Tame him. Seduce him. Without saying anything, you shrug Elijah's jacket from your shoulders. You're still in your work gear, the gear that got you the name "Lady in Red." Your breasts are full and voluptuous, straining against the red lazy bra you wear. The front of your red lace frenchies is wet with your desire, just enough for Damon to see.

Damon's eyes widen despite his effort to control his facial expression. His eyes are glued to the curves of your body. The sparkle in his eyes in emphasised when the fire flickers brightly. He moves in his seat, suddenly sitting up straighter. His right hand rests on his thigh his fingers, unconsciously splayed towards his erection. As Damon's eyes settle on the slight wet patch on your frenchies, you can feel the desire within you welling up.

"Come and get me, Mr Salvatore."

Hey up, hope you enjoyed reading! There were mixed reviews on Sometimes Dreams Come True; some for rough and ready and others for sensual and comforting. So I've decided to do both. This is the rough and ready and the other will be posted on Sometimes Dreams Do Come True. If you have any suggestions for what you want in Lady In Red, please mention these in your review and I'll try to fit them in! :D

Thanks for reading, please review! :D xx