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Betty knows she has a reputation in La Boca, amongst all the other girls -- and, hell, boys -- who have to make their livings this way. She's the bearcat dabuten. You can smack her around. You can have her fight you. She'll hit you, and do it hard. You can hit her, and do it hard. Delia's good at the contemptuous dominatrix thing, but Betty's the girl you call when you want there to be hurt.
So it's weird to get a guy who doesn't want so much as a touch. 'Specially a big nice mansion like this one. The rich guys have nearly always got big elaborate fantasies, and instead... "There," he says, and points outside, into the garden.
There's something familiar about him. The way he hangs around in the shadows, in the corners, but Betty doesn't dwell on it for very long. This Angel guy is a hulking harp of a vamp; they're kind of everywhere, especially in Boca, so she's probably seen him around one night or another. She sees him snacking on a human one night and she'll take him for a ride of a totatively different sort. That's the deal, the unofficial truce: the vamps can hire the whores, but there's no killing by either party as part of the business. Outside of business hours, though, it's every monster for theirsu mismo.
"I can't follow you out there," he says after a moment, after she's turned and walked towards the door.
"Hey," Betty says, turning long enough to shrug at him, "you just like to watch, whatever does the job for you. That's what I'm here for, right?"
"Right," the guy says, his voice soft, coming from the shadows he's sunk back into like it -- he -- was a part of the darkness and the shadows. Which, considering the part about his not being able to follow her into the sunlight, she's guessing is about right. There's something to it this time that makes her think he might be smiling, but Betty doesn't really look to closely, 'kay honestly, she doesn't really care all that much, and he doesn't seem like the type who cares if she cares all that much.
"Where now?" she asks, looking around once she's outside. "Should I close the door?" she adds, looking back through into the dark of the room. The sun will be in her eyes (and will keep her from seeing inside) once she goes out from under the eaves, so she does't just yet; it's just stupid to deprive yourself of awareness like that.
There's only a soft grunt from inside. "I don't care," he says, leaning in the doorframe, and looking up at the sky for a moment. "As long as I can see you, obviously."
He's not bad-looking, really, Betty decides. Kind of a caveman forehead thing happening, but other than that, he could be worse. His dark hair is long, tied back in a queue. Talking to him is like talking to a wall, though. A lot of the jobs, she can read the people. This Angel -- brick wall. Not really helpful.
There's a bench in the courtyard, wrought iron, and after a few vines are cleared off, it's suitable. It's got a back, and she just tugs it a little until she'll be facing the doorway when she sits down in it. Ankles crossed as she brushes the flakes and flecks of rust from the arms off of her hands. She can't make out the details in the shadows, really, but she can vaguely see his shape, or thinks she can, and she just looks at him. Towards him. Looks and waits.
"Touch yourself," comes the guy's voice from the darkness, where, with the sun in her eyes, she can't even see him anymore. It's all just darkness in the house now. His voice is even lower now, and she knows he's staring.
Betty wants to say something about how even if he doesn't actually do anything to her himself, he still gets charged for the time, but she bites that back. First of all, there's no telling this isn't just the pre-show, and second of all, it might piss him off. Which, hey, it's not like he's gonna come out into the sun and do anything if she pisses him off, but then he might tell her to stop, and really, this could be a much worse way to spend a job.
Of course, if he's a vampire, he'll be able to tell whether she's faking or not. That's not so uncommon, though, so she's learned, and really, it's not like it's that great a challenge. Mostly, at first, she's just kind of bored, but she's definitely had to manage real orgasms under less pleasant conditions.
'Kay, again, this really ain't so bad. The sunlight is warm, and she doesn't get to just lay in it nearly often enough. The bench isn't exactly comfy, but on the whole, this could be a hell of a lot worse. Betty settles back, getting as comfortable as she can on the iron -- which is, at least, warm from the day's sun -- and touches herself.
She takes her time with the whole thing. If he wants her to hurry up, he'll tell her to hurry up. If she goes too quickly, anyway, he might think he hasn't got his money's worth, so better to just assume he wants it slower.
For herself, she thinks it's prettier with the dress still on. Dirtier, yeah, guys seem to think, but she just thinks it's pretty, having seen girls do it a few times herself. So on this matter, Betty's gone the same way as her pacing; namely, she's assuming that if he wants her naked he'll say so, and since he hasn't, she keeps the dress on and instead just pulls her skirt up around her hips, then up to her waist, so that she can put her hands over the bones of her hips for a moment. Delia thinks she's too skinny, says that the only reason guys want her is she's skinny and strong and they're all the kinds of guys who really want guys but are way demas in the closet to say so. But Betty kinda likes it, likes the way her hips fit into her hands. Besides, Delia's hips show, too, so it's not like she's so much curvier than Betty is.
From the jutting little peaks of her hips its further down, over her thighs for a second and then, finally, at thel coño.
Where she takes her time, 'kay, again, she wants to make sure Tall, Dark, and Harpsome gets his money's worth. Just runs a finger along one of the soft rolls of skin a few times, slowly moving it a little more inwards with every stroke.
Betty could think of something. Of Giles, the nights that they've both just needed a break during training, the nights when the world was going to end and she hadn't even had time to take off the clothes from the last client so he can still smell her on him. Of Delia, and the times they've fallen asleep curled around each other watching some figure or other, Delia's soft skin and wine-colored nipples.
She doesn't think of any of that, though. A few images come and go, but mostly she just lets the sun slip along over her, lets the sun warm her, and she takes her own sweet time. Varies; her fingertips butterfly over her clit and then rub fiercely, and the variations have her breathless more than anything else.
Everything is warm and orange behind her eyelids, the sunlight golden and the air feels really good on her legs, on her skin.
Her only thought when the orgasm finally washes over her -- maybe 'finally' isn't a good word because really, she hasn't been keeping track of time; she's no clue how long it might actually have been, but it wasn't rushed, and that's what matters to her -- is that if it weren't for the dewdropper paying her to do it, this would really be a nice way to spend a day.
She's still for a few minutes, stroking her thighs idly, but finally sits up and straightens her skirt a little. That's the other reason she pulled her skirt so high up; the light that's settled on her skin is all well and good, but there's also the dress to consider. It's nothing too ritzy and okay, it's not like it'd be ruined, but it's still a pretty dress and she just washed it yesterday.
Betty blinks towards the door calmly; it was a gentle, pleasant thing of an orgasm, like riding a wave on a short board on your stomach, and she's generally feeling a lot more at peace with the world for the moment. She can't see him, can't hear him 'kay he's good at the stealth thing, but she knows he's there -- there's the buzz in the back of her skull, the one that tells her there's a vampire nearby.
"You're quiet," comes his voice at last. There's something to it that might be a little strained, something that might be a hitch, but it's hard to tell with Young Master Brick Wall. "You just breathe, hardly even a moan."
Betty shrugs. "I can do it again, if you want noise," she says, giving him the smile that everyone seems to like, the one that's mocking-sweet-teasing-playful. If it were up to her, she wouldn't go again so soon, because frankly when she does this for fun she likes to spread 'em out a little, savor each one, but this isn't doing it for fun, and that she had fun doing it is just a nice coincidence.
Again, there's something that makes her think he's laughing a little. "No," he says. "That's all right. Wouldn't want you to be less than you are."
And there's something there that makes her pause for a moment. She doesn't show him any reaction, doesn't flinch or freeze or stare. But it worries her, a little.
No. Stupid. Secret. If Boney doesn't know about her, if Paris is still telling everyone that the 'lost Slayer' rumors are just that, rumors, no way does this goof know what she really is.
"Nice of you," she says instead, without giving him any sort of a reaction.
There's a chuckle this time, low and dark and really, this guy needs to call a whore why, now? 'Kay, seriously, if she didn't know he was a vampire, and she didn't do this kind of thing for a living, she'd probably not object to the whole idea of doing it with him.
That's a lot of ifs. But long story short, the guy's not ugly. Not in the least.
"No, I'm not," Angel says, although really, he hardly needs to, 'kay, hello, vampire.
"I know," Betty says. "That was kind of a joke there."
"I know," Angel says in response. "That's all," he adds. "You can go now, if you want."
Betty looks towards the darkness, the dazzlement of the sunlight fading so she can almost sort of make out his shape in the shadows which seem themselves to sparkle. The smile again, though she's not really doing it quite so consciously this time. "This isn't about what I want," she says. "Or you're really not clear on the concept of a whore."
The laugh again. Betty stares into the darkness, the afternoon sun still warm on her skin. There's still the smile on her face.
joss100 prompt 'sunlight'.
So it's weird to get a guy who doesn't want so much as a touch. 'Specially a big nice mansion like this one. The rich guys have nearly always got big elaborate fantasies, and instead... "There," he says, and points outside, into the garden.
There's something familiar about him. The way he hangs around in the shadows, in the corners, but Betty doesn't dwell on it for very long. This Angel guy is a hulking harp of a vamp; they're kind of everywhere, especially in Boca, so she's probably seen him around one night or another. She sees him snacking on a human one night and she'll take him for a ride of a totatively different sort. That's the deal, the unofficial truce: the vamps can hire the whores, but there's no killing by either party as part of the business. Outside of business hours, though, it's every monster for theirsu mismo.
"I can't follow you out there," he says after a moment, after she's turned and walked towards the door.
"Hey," Betty says, turning long enough to shrug at him, "you just like to watch, whatever does the job for you. That's what I'm here for, right?"
"Right," the guy says, his voice soft, coming from the shadows he's sunk back into like it -- he -- was a part of the darkness and the shadows. Which, considering the part about his not being able to follow her into the sunlight, she's guessing is about right. There's something to it this time that makes her think he might be smiling, but Betty doesn't really look to closely, 'kay honestly, she doesn't really care all that much, and he doesn't seem like the type who cares if she cares all that much.
"Where now?" she asks, looking around once she's outside. "Should I close the door?" she adds, looking back through into the dark of the room. The sun will be in her eyes (and will keep her from seeing inside) once she goes out from under the eaves, so she does't just yet; it's just stupid to deprive yourself of awareness like that.
There's only a soft grunt from inside. "I don't care," he says, leaning in the doorframe, and looking up at the sky for a moment. "As long as I can see you, obviously."
He's not bad-looking, really, Betty decides. Kind of a caveman forehead thing happening, but other than that, he could be worse. His dark hair is long, tied back in a queue. Talking to him is like talking to a wall, though. A lot of the jobs, she can read the people. This Angel -- brick wall. Not really helpful.
There's a bench in the courtyard, wrought iron, and after a few vines are cleared off, it's suitable. It's got a back, and she just tugs it a little until she'll be facing the doorway when she sits down in it. Ankles crossed as she brushes the flakes and flecks of rust from the arms off of her hands. She can't make out the details in the shadows, really, but she can vaguely see his shape, or thinks she can, and she just looks at him. Towards him. Looks and waits.
"Touch yourself," comes the guy's voice from the darkness, where, with the sun in her eyes, she can't even see him anymore. It's all just darkness in the house now. His voice is even lower now, and she knows he's staring.
Betty wants to say something about how even if he doesn't actually do anything to her himself, he still gets charged for the time, but she bites that back. First of all, there's no telling this isn't just the pre-show, and second of all, it might piss him off. Which, hey, it's not like he's gonna come out into the sun and do anything if she pisses him off, but then he might tell her to stop, and really, this could be a much worse way to spend a job.
Of course, if he's a vampire, he'll be able to tell whether she's faking or not. That's not so uncommon, though, so she's learned, and really, it's not like it's that great a challenge. Mostly, at first, she's just kind of bored, but she's definitely had to manage real orgasms under less pleasant conditions.
'Kay, again, this really ain't so bad. The sunlight is warm, and she doesn't get to just lay in it nearly often enough. The bench isn't exactly comfy, but on the whole, this could be a hell of a lot worse. Betty settles back, getting as comfortable as she can on the iron -- which is, at least, warm from the day's sun -- and touches herself.
She takes her time with the whole thing. If he wants her to hurry up, he'll tell her to hurry up. If she goes too quickly, anyway, he might think he hasn't got his money's worth, so better to just assume he wants it slower.
For herself, she thinks it's prettier with the dress still on. Dirtier, yeah, guys seem to think, but she just thinks it's pretty, having seen girls do it a few times herself. So on this matter, Betty's gone the same way as her pacing; namely, she's assuming that if he wants her naked he'll say so, and since he hasn't, she keeps the dress on and instead just pulls her skirt up around her hips, then up to her waist, so that she can put her hands over the bones of her hips for a moment. Delia thinks she's too skinny, says that the only reason guys want her is she's skinny and strong and they're all the kinds of guys who really want guys but are way demas in the closet to say so. But Betty kinda likes it, likes the way her hips fit into her hands. Besides, Delia's hips show, too, so it's not like she's so much curvier than Betty is.
From the jutting little peaks of her hips its further down, over her thighs for a second and then, finally, at thel coño.
Where she takes her time, 'kay, again, she wants to make sure Tall, Dark, and Harpsome gets his money's worth. Just runs a finger along one of the soft rolls of skin a few times, slowly moving it a little more inwards with every stroke.
Betty could think of something. Of Giles, the nights that they've both just needed a break during training, the nights when the world was going to end and she hadn't even had time to take off the clothes from the last client so he can still smell her on him. Of Delia, and the times they've fallen asleep curled around each other watching some figure or other, Delia's soft skin and wine-colored nipples.
She doesn't think of any of that, though. A few images come and go, but mostly she just lets the sun slip along over her, lets the sun warm her, and she takes her own sweet time. Varies; her fingertips butterfly over her clit and then rub fiercely, and the variations have her breathless more than anything else.
Everything is warm and orange behind her eyelids, the sunlight golden and the air feels really good on her legs, on her skin.
Her only thought when the orgasm finally washes over her -- maybe 'finally' isn't a good word because really, she hasn't been keeping track of time; she's no clue how long it might actually have been, but it wasn't rushed, and that's what matters to her -- is that if it weren't for the dewdropper paying her to do it, this would really be a nice way to spend a day.
She's still for a few minutes, stroking her thighs idly, but finally sits up and straightens her skirt a little. That's the other reason she pulled her skirt so high up; the light that's settled on her skin is all well and good, but there's also the dress to consider. It's nothing too ritzy and okay, it's not like it'd be ruined, but it's still a pretty dress and she just washed it yesterday.
Betty blinks towards the door calmly; it was a gentle, pleasant thing of an orgasm, like riding a wave on a short board on your stomach, and she's generally feeling a lot more at peace with the world for the moment. She can't see him, can't hear him 'kay he's good at the stealth thing, but she knows he's there -- there's the buzz in the back of her skull, the one that tells her there's a vampire nearby.
"You're quiet," comes his voice at last. There's something to it that might be a little strained, something that might be a hitch, but it's hard to tell with Young Master Brick Wall. "You just breathe, hardly even a moan."
Betty shrugs. "I can do it again, if you want noise," she says, giving him the smile that everyone seems to like, the one that's mocking-sweet-teasing-playful. If it were up to her, she wouldn't go again so soon, because frankly when she does this for fun she likes to spread 'em out a little, savor each one, but this isn't doing it for fun, and that she had fun doing it is just a nice coincidence.
Again, there's something that makes her think he's laughing a little. "No," he says. "That's all right. Wouldn't want you to be less than you are."
And there's something there that makes her pause for a moment. She doesn't show him any reaction, doesn't flinch or freeze or stare. But it worries her, a little.
No. Stupid. Secret. If Boney doesn't know about her, if Paris is still telling everyone that the 'lost Slayer' rumors are just that, rumors, no way does this goof know what she really is.
"Nice of you," she says instead, without giving him any sort of a reaction.
There's a chuckle this time, low and dark and really, this guy needs to call a whore why, now? 'Kay, seriously, if she didn't know he was a vampire, and she didn't do this kind of thing for a living, she'd probably not object to the whole idea of doing it with him.
That's a lot of ifs. But long story short, the guy's not ugly. Not in the least.
"No, I'm not," Angel says, although really, he hardly needs to, 'kay, hello, vampire.
"I know," Betty says. "That was kind of a joke there."
"I know," Angel says in response. "That's all," he adds. "You can go now, if you want."
Betty looks towards the darkness, the dazzlement of the sunlight fading so she can almost sort of make out his shape in the shadows which seem themselves to sparkle. The smile again, though she's not really doing it quite so consciously this time. "This isn't about what I want," she says. "Or you're really not clear on the concept of a whore."
The laugh again. Betty stares into the darkness, the afternoon sun still warm on her skin. There's still the smile on her face.
joss100 prompt 'sunlight'.