Stripping
Surprise
By Shana
Nolan
Copyright
2000
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I told you for the last time, I don't do parties anymore! Just send me a nice card, some chocolate covered coffee beans and maybe a walker, and I'll be happy."
"But
Traaaacy! It'll be great! Cake!
Gifts! Fun! You used to have fun..."
Tracy
Vetter bit her tongue, stifling the comment.
Claire was a great person, a fellow sorority sister and all around
success at her annoyingly happy life, but did she really have to try and spread
it around? "No, I'm okay without a
party, Claire, you don't have to do it."
"But
I want to, and I hear that the old party house can be rented out. Come on, tell me you don't have to work on
your birthday!"
The
urge to run screaming from the usually save haven of the Raven was nipping at
her heels, but the blond detective resisted.
Maybe if she gave in to a -little- party with a -few- friends and some
music, she could escape the humiliation of last year's fiasco.
But
considering her old friend was literally bouncing in her chair, sipping her
third Long Island Iced Tea and still totally coherent, that didn't seem likely.
"Tell
you what, Claire, I'll make you this deal. You rent out the hall, get the music
and people together and tell me when to arrive, and I'll do it. But if you invite Clarence Shtemper again,
I'll never ever ever -ever- talk to you again."
Claire
made a face. "It wasn't my fault
that he heard about it."
"Oh,"
Tracy said sarcastically, "and the ad on the radio for our graduating
class had -nothing- to do with it."
"No
Clarence Shtemper, I promise."
"And
no Betty Weiss."
"No
Betty Weiss."
"And
for god's sake, if you see that reporter Fuller anywhere near the hall, jump
him, tie him up and ship him to the Artic Circle."
"Deal."
Looking
at her watch, noting the time, Tracy sighed, ignoring the small part of her
that jumped with glee because she could finally leave. "I gotta go, dinner break's over and
the blonde wonderboy left me a stack of forms.
Call me with the details, 'kay?"
Nodding,
topping off her drink, Claire stood up and crossed the club, watching the
reluctant birthday girl leave. Leaning
against the bar, sidling up next to another woman, she poked her fellow
conspirator in the shoulder. "Call
the stripper."
Michelle
quirked an eyebrow. "I thought she
wanted it small."
There
was a laugh. "Of course she
does. However—"
From
behind them a masculine figure clad in silky black and red came up, drying a
glass with a rag. "You need a
stripper?"
Michelle
paused, momentarily forgetting herself over the exotic accent. "Yeah, a male one, someone with nice
pecs."
Miklos,
suave bartender extraordinaire, smiled, his dark eyes glittering. " I have just the man for you, the
previous owner was very fond of him..."
* * *
A
few days later...
"This
is so great!"
"She'll
be floored!"
"She'll
never see this coming!"
"It's
only a model."
"It's
a -diorama,- okay?"
"Where's
the stripper?"
"Where's
the cake?"
"Is
he in the cake?"
"Ladies!"
The
pack of sorority sisters turned their heads, falling silent.
"She's
here, kill the lights, cover the glow in the dark glitter and hide!"
Tracy,
eyeing the building suspiciously, climbed the few stairs to the main
doors. It was dark inside, yet there
were cars parked all around, both in the lot and on the grass next to it; and,
to top it off, the aroma of coffee was heavy in the air.
"I
smell a surprise party."
Pulling
the handle slowly, bracing herself for the impending scream, the homicide cop
prepared her best gee-I'm-so-surprised look and took a step inside.
"SURPRISE!!!"
"I'm
just... floored, gee, guys, thanks!"
Claire
cut through the crowd and patted her friend on the shoulder. "Try a little harder, dear, the sarcasm
isn't quite dripping off your tongue yet."
Tracy
coughed and accepted the drink being shoved in her hand. "Oh, okay."
Stumbling
forward, having dipped into the spiked punch a tad sooner than the rest, one of
the former cheerleaders hugged the blonde hard and then backed away, elbowing
Claire. "Show her her
present."
Tracy
raised an eyebrow.
Claire
giggled and pointed at the stage where a set of red and pink spotlights were
being brought up. "That
present."
Raising
her eyes, moving cautiously towards the space cleared for
"Her-Royal-Birthdayness," she lost the snide comment forming on her
lips as she saw that it was a huge catwalk... with a pole... and a gold tinsel
curtain in the back. "A
stripper?"
Claire
nodded as she plunked the blonde in her chair.
"Now sit and enjoy. Kill
the lights!"
As
the two dozen guests gathered quickly around the stage, the main lights went
down and they were blanketed in a wash of red and pink. A few moments later, with the pounding of a
drum and the howl of an electric guitar, the speakers started blasting out a
sensual beat.
"Santana,
Claire?"
The
woman grinned and pointed at the stage again.
"But
I—" Her voice falling away, Tracy
blinked. As the lyrics started, a man
dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a forest green pirate shirt came out and
struck a pose, earning cat calls and whistles from the audience.
"Claire,"
poking the woman's arm, she tried to figure out how to gracefully say that the
gorgeous creature on the stage was one of the fanged undead. "Do you know who that is?"
All
she got was a giggle. "Oooh, yah,
and he's twice as good as the bartender promised."
Tracy
blinked. "Bartender?"
"Raven's
bartender, now hush."
"Ookay,
but—oh, never mind it can wai—"
Taking
three steps, the pale skinned man with burning dark eyes locked his gaze on
hers. She gasped. There were other people in the room?
Running
his hands across his chest, swiveling his hips slowly to the beat, he paraded
incredibly close to the edge, the smile curling up his smooth cheek as he
leaned down.
"I
think she's going to faint."
"Or
jump him."
The
chorus starting, he reared up, flinging his hair through the air, backing up
just a little to drop to his knees and hands, angling down closer to Tracy's
level, his ass up in the air as the well formed muscles swayed to the music.
Tracy
stopped breathing.
Then,
with a deep chested chuckle, he leapt to his feet and sauntered back to the
centre of the stage, pulling the edges of the deep green shirt from the jeans.
A
collective inhalation circulated the room.
And
then he ripped it off, exposing his well muscled, oiled chest, tossing the
fabric perfectly, the discarded shirt landing in Tracy's lap.
The
hall erupted in catcalls and whoops.
Gyrating
his hips expertly, making his washboard stomach ripple with the flex of
muscles, he pushed his hands through his hair and lolled his head back, parting
his mouth slightly as he went. The tip
of his tongue darting out to lick his lips, he bent down, settling into a near
crouch, the strong thighs visible through the jeans, working from back to front
in an intentional manner.
"He's
a vampire, he's a bad guy, he's a vampire, he's a bad guy, he's a vampire, he's
a bad guy... Who the hell are you kidding, Trace," the cop muttered to
herself, noting that it was not just her transfixed on the sight before her.
Strutting,
his hands caressing over his body, he froze, catching Tracy talk to
herself. Raising an eyebrow, one of his
hands slinked down his chest and flat stomach to play at the fly button, the
singular girlie shriek from the back making his mouth curl in a wicked grin.
"Take
it off, stud!"
Claire
whistled.
"Claire,
what would your husband say?!"
Her
eyes never leaving the stage, the friend grinned. "'Why don't you whistle at me like that?'"
And
then the sound of a zipper being lowered ended the conversation.
His
hand had crept low enough that his fingers were no longer visible, his eyes
closed and his mouth partially parted again.
Shifting sensuously, slowly rocking forward onto his knees, his other
hand fell across his neck.
And
then he dropped to the floor, his knees up in the air, his back arched, a very
full view of his lower half aimed towards the enraptured crowd of women.
"He
wouldn't..."
The
hand slipped free of the pants and hooked on the waistband, fingers beginning
to slide the fabric down. Reaching the
curve of his buttocks, he angled his hips up, and with a quick and skilled snap
of the wrists, yanked the jeans to his knees, only the rather tight and rather
defining deep green thong hiding his worldly jewels.
Somewhere
in the crowd a <thud> was heard.
Bending
up slowly, arching his back to raise his head up, he swayed back and forth,
grinding his hips against an invisible force, his back flexing smoothly. Rocking forward suddenly, he dropped to
hands and knees and crawled across the stage, stopping right in front of
Tracy's seat. Leaning down, he met his
eyes with hers before closing the rather miniscule distance between them,
brushing his lips against hers, the tip of his tongue touching her upper lip.
Tracy
shuddered, fighting the urges. If
nothing else, she was no voyeur.
Catching
her reaction, he chuckled again and raised a hand across her face, stroking her
cheek, all the while still moving his prone and nearly nude form to the beat.
Resisting
his own urges, smelling her skin and wanting to actually taste it, he drew back
and dropped to the stage, writhing against the surface in a lewd manner, then
rolling onto his back and running his hands all over his body, sliding his
fingers over the curves, pausing to dance them over the still covered body
parts.
There
was a "meep" from the audience as the ones near the stage leaned in.
And
then he cupped himself, fondling delicately as his hips moved very
slightly. His back arching up off the
ground, he thrust his hips against air, his bare leg muscles tensing.
Remembering
to blink, noticing that her mouth had gone dry, Tracy shook her head. This was the guy from the Raven... the
bartender himself... Miklos... in the flesh... pale flesh... well muscled pale
flesh...
Stretching
and rolling to his side, he paused to play his fingers under the waist of the
thong, snapping the elastic and only briefly exposing uninterrupted lines of
flesh. Doing it a few more times, he
rolled onto his front and curled backwards, moving with feline grace to set on
his haunches, his movements now a clear imitation of something far more
intimate.
And
then, with a final strike of beat, the lights went down, plunging everyone into
darkness.
About
to protest, Tracy noted that when someone hit the far too bright overheads back
on, the delicious creature had disappeared.
Claire,
fanning herself, grinned. "Happy
birthday, Tracy."
Her
voice off somewhere with her usual sense of decorum, the blonde nodded. "Uh, thanks, thanks -a lot.-"
Michelle
sidled up, a flush in her cheeks.
"Oooh, wow."
"Yeah."
"Did
you see hi—"
Tracy
paused, and following the widening eyes of her friends. Dressed in a black silk robe, his dark hair
now slicked back, dark eyes met hers.
Striding across the stage, stepping off of it slowly, a V of his bare
chest exposed, one of his large hands moved to slip around Tracy's neck. Pulling her close, Miklos pressed a hard
kiss to her lips, his cool mouth a balance to her heated lips.
Practically
falling forward, Tracy fell against him, noting with interest that the silk
robe wasn't hiding much, curve wise.
She could feel her will power slipping away with every moment, and it
went without saying that she wasn't going to grouse about this party.
"Happy
birthday, Beauty."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*