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Stardock was such an odd name for a strip club but if she was being honest with herself, Shadowheart did not care about the name; only the contents within. It was the perfect place to stop after an exhausting day of patients screaming, throwing things and listening to their pain and self-pity. She questioned why she’d stuck with this line of work for so long but in the end, there were those she actually helped; lives changed for the better and that was worth it.
Sometimes.
Most days, the feeling was not there and the half-elf slunk into Stardock on her way home just to decompress, like today. Thankfully, her usual spot by a dark corner of the stage was empty and she slipped into it. Her presence, of course, did not go unnoticed but none of the staff bothered her outside of a little wave or a friendly smile. She never returned them but she was grateful for the discreet acknowledgements.
“One of those days, eh?” A tall, broad chested elven man dressed in only a tight pair of shorts says, setting a drink on the table next to Shadowheart.
“It usually is. Thank you, Halsin.”
“I had the bar make it a bit stronger than usual. You look like you need it.” He smiles, giving her an understanding nod. “Enjoy the show.”
Shadowheart picked up the glass and looked into the contents of her sangria. The dim lighting made it seem like the liquid was pitch black but swirls of red shone briefly as they were caught in the stage lights. The bartender seemed to have gone a bit heavier on the wine than usual but as she leaned close to enjoy the aroma, she noted a whiff of something… strong tickling her nostrils. Halsin was quite thoughtful, she’d have to give him a larger tip before she left.
She gets a couple of sips in before the stage light brightens and the music abruptly changes. Shadowheart leaned back in her seat, glad for her position even though it was behind the stage, allowing her a much closer and clearer view of what drew her to this place week after week, sometimes daily if the patients were exceptionally unruly. The first couple of dancers strutted the stage and did their routines but Shadowheart paid them no mind. She wasn’t here for them and she felt a slither of anticipation coiling around her spine.
With how often Shadowheart visits Stardock at this particular time, she has the order of performances and how long each went for, memorized.
The music shifts to a deeper, more energetic tone; perfectly suitable for the woman striding across the stage. The stage lights highlighted the contrast of her dark spots against her olive-toned skin that shone like worn leather, her leather. Unlike the other dancers, mostly soft, exaggerated curves and make up, the only make up this dancer wore was thick black mascara and eyeshadow around her luminous amber eyes and the black lines she painted across her cheekbones and along her neck, increasing the severity of her gaze. She’s not buxom nor many find her ‘alien’ appearance attractive, she doesn’t strut in her heels but she has a presence that demands attention as soon as she approaches the pole. The Silver Sword always commanded attention, the ‘Ice Queen’ of the stage as some patrons seemed to drawl when drunk enough.
Though her chosen seat was further away from the main stage where The Silver Sword performs her rather acrobatic routine, Shadowheart had enjoyed the scene of that compact ass and muscled thighs striding past her mere feet away, the woman’s form beautifully sivulet. Shadowheart sipped her drink as she wondered how exquisite it would feel to be squeezed between them.
Shadowheart needed to spend less time on Tik-Tok during her breaks.
A loud cheer snaps her attention back to the stage as The Silver Sword is holding herself at the top of the pole, legs expertly wound to keep her in place, the flex of her abdominals in full relief against the olive-colored canvas of her skin. Shadowheart sipped her drink as she watched, following every moment as the lithe woman swung herself around the pole, winding up momentum for her signature finisher; a rapid twist and flip on the top of the pole, then sliding down and landing on the stage in a full split. Shadowheart shuddered every time she watched The Silver Sword stick the landing, finding herself pondering fantasies of what it would feel like to be in place of the floor.
With her routine finished, The Silver Sword languidly leans back against the pole, having brought herself up to her knees. Bills were being thrown to her but Shadowheart noticed, like always, no one was daring enough to shove their tip in the straps of her black leather harness; another perfect accent to that exotic, athletic body she enjoyed watching. Shadowheart took another sip of her drink, eyes glued on the woman as she collects a couple handfuls of bills and tucks them under the straps that tightly hugs her impressive musculature.
Her expression is cold as she stands to her full height in those black stilettos, a flip of her auburn hair as she turns her back on the crowd. They eat up the ‘Ice Queen’ routine, of being looked down upon like an insignificant bug. Shadowheart leans forward in her seat, captivated by watching the way the stage lighting plays off her dappled skin, sharp shadows accentuating the flex and undulation of her muscles. Her mouth watered as Silver Sword came to the stage entrance but her progress was interrupted when a young man swaggered up to the stage with a fistful of bills, undeterred by the withering glare the dancer shoots him.
All part of the act, though Shadowheart knew it wasn’t an act, not entirely.
Whatever he tries to tip the Silver Sword into doing, she refuses and straightens up, the next dancer already out doing her routine. The young lad went back to his group of friends, ensuring their laughter as Shadowheart casts a glance in that direction with curiosity. She starts and nearly forgets what she was doing, standing up from her seat before Silver Sword vanishes behind the curtain.
“Silver!” Shadowheart calls, tapping a roll of bills into her long-fingered hands. “Any space in your schedule today?”
She takes the roll and amber eyes regard Shadowheart coolly. She doesn’t speak, since it would be hard to hear with the music increasing in volume as the dances continued. Instead, the woman answered Shadowheart’s request with a playful smirk, easy to miss in the shadows. Her heart trilled at the acceptance and she sat back down, sipping the remains of her drink, the ice having watered down the sangria significantly. Halsin approaches her after the stage ‘parade’ ends and the usual fare of stage dances resumes.
“The Black Dragon Gate’s open. Sorry, the Citadel Gate was already booked.” Halsin comes to her table.
“That’s ok and thank you for the drink. I needed that.” Shadowheart thanks him, leaning forward to stuff a twenty into the front of his extremely tight shorts.
“I take it, you want the rest of the pitcher?” He grins broadly, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he towers over Shadowheart.
“Sure, why not? After the day I had…” She slips a couple of more bills behind the first. “Appreciated, Bear-boy.”
“Enjoy.”
Shadowheart knows where to go; down a hall behind the shimmering curtain into a hall painted a deep violet and LEDS twinkling from the ceiling like stars. The Black Gate room was halfway down the hall, the thick black door to her right. The handle turned easily in Shadowheart’s hand and she felt a sudden blush and blood surge to her nethers with anticipation. The Silver Sword was waiting for her, hanging from the top of the pole with her legs wrapped around the metal to arrest her weight. The tip of her auburn hair, some of it in braids, brush the surface of the stage, amber eyes regarding Shadowheart’s unabashed reaction.
The githyanki was well aware Shadowheart had a severe weakness for physical displays of strength, both in aesthetics and in actual application. However, she also notices how the arousal in the woman’s eyes is overshadowed, corrupted, by stress and exhaustion. Shadowheart hadn’t even changed out of her scrubs before coming here
It was one of those days.
Lae’zel grabs the pole and releases the hold of her legs, languidly flipping herself over to land on the stage. The woman’s control of her own body always awed Shadowheart. No movement wasted and Silver Sword knew, exactly, what her body was capable of doing and how to do it. Shadowheart swallows thickly as the dancer prowls off the stage towards her. Those sharp amber eyes hold her attention, letting Silver Sword guide her back into the velvet chair, a light push on her shoulder encourages… no, demands she sits.
So she does, blushing with excitement.
A knock disrupts the tension, a server letting themselves into the room with the pitcher of sangria and two glasses. The Silver Sword ignores the intrusion and saunters back onto the stage, purposely exaggerating her movements so Shadowheart can see how her muscles flex and undulate. The deep inhale of breath makes Silver Sword smile as she takes hold of the pole before swinging herself around it.
Shadowheart pours herself a fresh drink and slowly sips as Silver Sword performs for her. Every breath, ever flex and twitch of that exquisite form holds Shadowheart’s attention but it does not banish the stress from her eyes and body language, even as she refills her glass again. The Silver Sword sees this and uses the remaining momentum from her spin maneuver to dismount the pole and hop off the stage, her gait slowing as she crosses the short distance to Shadowheart, straddling the half-elf’s waist in a fluid motion before coming to a full stop atop her..
“By Shar’s grace…” Shadowheart murmurs, staring at the dancer’s nearly flat but muscular chest.
“Speak.” Silver Sword growls in her musically rough voice, a brow quirked as she takes Shadowheart’s drink from her and takes a sip, grimacing as the sharpness of wine and rum greets her tongue. “Blehk… one of those days, I see.”
“Infuriatingly so. Mizora keeps finding ways to throw me under the bus…” Shadowheart starts to ramble, clamping her jaw shut suddenly. “Tch, I don’t understand how your put up with my mewling. You’re a stripper, not my therapist.”
“You paid for the hour.” Silver Sword reminds her, reaching her arm over the woman’s shoulder to brace her weight as she leans in.
“I did, so put on a show for me, Silver Sword.” Shadowheart smirks. “I thought you weren’t allowed to drink on the job?”
“I’m permitted an indulgence here and there with my regulars.” The githyanki woman smirks. “As I recall, you enjoy when I show off anyway.”
“It’s a miracle Shar hasn’t smote me for my transgressions and sins.” Shadowheart chuckles as she pours herself a fresh drink.
The Silver Sword says nothing as she steps back up on the stage. It was not her place to judge, though she disapproved of the pointless worship of long-silent gods. Holding the half-finished drink in one hand, she wraps her free hand around the pole and gives a strong leap, swinging her legs forward and up, wrapping one around the pole and locking her knee and ankle in place before she swung the other leg in place and was hanging upside down again, having carefully rotated her arm so she didn’t spill a drop of the drink. Shadowheart is drinking more readily, cheeks and tips of her ears flushed pink as she watches each spin, slide and flex. Olive skin shone with sweat as Silver Sword performed, the glass being set aside at some point after she had finished off the contents. Of all her clients, this stressed out half-elf would
“Hour’s almost up.”
Shadowheart blinks, her vision swimming and the pitcher barely had anything left in it. She hadn’t realized she had been drinking so readily but, as always, Silver Sword’s performance captivated her from start to finish.
“F-fuck.” She hiccupped, squinting at the digital watch on her wrist.
“Think you can come up on the stage?” The Silver Sword smirks as she hangs, upright, from the top of the pole by sheer arm strength.
Shadowheart gets up, taking a moment to steady herself, and approaches the stage, pulling herself up on the edge a bit ungracefully. The Silver Sword’s smirk widens into a smile but she finds herself suppressing a laugh bubbling in her throat.
“Lay down, pole between your legs.” The githyanki instructs curtly.
“Oh! The infamous vah… thu Star Lancer… -thingy.” Shadowheart bursts into a fit of drunken giggles as she does as asked, commanded really.
“ Vah’k’rel .” The Silver Sword corrects her.
“Gods, your language is sexy.” the drunken half-elf giggles as she stares up at the stripper above her, squirming with anticipation.
The Silver Sword preens at the compliment and is reminded why this woman was her favorite regular… not that she’d ever openly admit that to anyone. Being mindful of the clearance she has to work with, she swings her self carefully around the pole, allowing herself to slide about halfway before she swings her legs up, folding herself in midair as she twists around the pole again to get herself in the ‘correct’ position.
Shadowheart tenses, holding her breath as she watches the lithe woman unfold herself as she slides down the rest of the way, grunting as though the impact of the stripper landing on her hips in a perfect split was light, it was still an exhilirating rush. Her drunken gaze focuses on those amber eyes, pupils thinned to reptilious slits. She lets go of the pole and brings her arms forward, bowing forward as she takes gentle hold of the half-elf’s chin.
“Touch.”
It wasn’t allowed, usually but The Silver Sword afforded this privilege to Shadowheart and Shadowheart alone. The wanton desire in those green eyes, the reverence in which those delicate hands touch her skin, trace the lines of her muscles. Out of every customer she has ever performed for, Shadowheart respected her as much as she desired her.
Silver Sword blinks, her thoughts interrupted by the sensation of crisp bills being shoved down the front of her thong. Shadowheart flashes her a very sloppy smile.
“Take it off, pretty please?” She giggles. “I want to see you bod before time’sh up.”
The githyanki rolls her eyes, smirking as she removes and unbuckles each strap of her leather get-up until all Shadowheart could see was speckled olive skin. Her breasts were nearly compact, more lithe muscle than the buxom pillows of other strippers but Shadowheart did not care, they were marvelous to her.
Despite her drunken state of mind, Shadowheart respectfully kept her hands around the woman’s hips, tracing the muscled lines of her thighs and thinking of how amazing it would feel to have her head between them while she…
“Time’s up.” The Silver Sword reminds her sharply, standing up and pulling her top back on..
“Booo.” Shadowheart pouted, slowly sitting up as her head swam. “Still good for my usual tomorrow?”