Thunderous bass and driving rhythm greeted the three rain dampened figures striding through the front door of Blazing Saddles, a high class, gentleman‘s club. Lights flickered and flashed overhead. Although an immaculately clean establishment the smell of perfume and alcohol still lingered heavy in the air.
Exotic dancers paraded around on small stages, twirling around silver poles and swaying their hips in time to the thumping bass. Tops and bottoms were torn away in artful displays and some clumsy first time attempts, leaving bare breasts and decorated nipples exposed for the enjoyment of the crowd on the floor.
The music was deafening and Jean Grey was forced to communicate via telepathy, her mutant gift, with her two companions.
*This is the place?*
“This is where the professor said to look.” Scott Summers said aloud, his ruby covered gaze scanning the crowd of patrons. The club was packed to bursting with barely enough elbow room to make their way towards the tables lining the walls.
*But this is a strip club!* Jean pointed out.
“Ya don’t say,” The man known in most circles as Wolverine, and to a select few as Logan, commented dryly as he shook rain droplets from the lip of his cowboy hat before pulling it down over his wild black hair.
A bountiful woman in a skimpy sequined bull’s-eye bikini top and barely-there thong approached them. “Can I get you folks anything?” she asked huskily, her lower lip forming a well practiced pout.
“We’re fine, thanks,” Jean said icily, placing her hand on Scott’s arm.
“What about you, hon?” The waitress asked undeterred, smiling flirtatiously at Logan.
“Beer.”
“Any particular kind?”
“Wet.” Logan tilted his cowboy hat down a bit further, the corner of his mouth lifted in a cock sure smirk. It never hurt to make nice with the help at any establishment, and the curly haired blonde was damn easy on the eyes.
The waitress gave a fluttery type of sigh as she nodded. “I’ll bring one right over for you.”
As soon as their buxom attendant was gone Jean turned on him. “Subtle, Wolverine. Very subtle. We’re here to find Storm, not for you to get a piece of tail.”
Logan shrugged. “Ain’t no laws that say a man can’t mix business with pleasure. You know this.” He reminded her with a dark look.
Jean glanced away uneasily. She and Logan shared more than a working relationship from time to time, despite her commitment to Scott. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but it was what it was.
“Focus, you two.” Scott interjected, seemingly oblivious to the double entendres of the conversation. “If the professor says she’s here, then she’s here. You getting anything, Wolverine?”
Logan tipped his head back, catching as many of the club’s aromas in his nose as he could. Mixed with stale body odor and a variety of perfumes and colognes he caught the fresh scent of rain and wildflowers. Ororo. Logan’s dark eyes surveyed the crowd. “She is here,” he confirmed.
“Where?” Jean asked, rising onto her tip toes and trying to see over the throng of people crowding them. Normally she’d do a psi-scan, but Ororo Munroe was nearly as difficult to scan as Wolverine. Gifted with weather manipulating mutation, her body was constantly surrounded by static and electro-magnetic energy. Jacking into Ororo for a telepath was the equivalent of sticking a fork in a light socket.
Logan sniffed again. The scent was stronger now. “Close.”
“How close?” Scott demanded.
“Your beer, handsome.” The blonde waitress reappeared from the mass of people, interrupting anything further.
“Thanks.” Logan snagged the bottle. “Hey, darlin’, you know anyone by the name of Ororo Munroe?”
The blonde shook her head, her curls bobbing. “Nope. That’s a name I’d remember, kind of a tongue twister. But the girls here rarely use their real names,” she giggled. “Like me, here I’m Trixxy, but that’s not what my parents named me.” She giggled again.
“One would hope not.” Jean muttered rolling her eyes.
“Smart girl,” Logan praised the young waitress, earning himself another fluttering sigh from the newly dubbed ‘Trixxy‘. “How about any strange faces in the crowd tonight?” he pressed.
Trixxy once again shook her head in the negative. “Just you guys. Most everybody else in here’s a regular.”
Logan frowned. “This many people are regulars?"
“Oh, yeah,” Trixxy nodded with a grin. “We’re a very busy club.”
“This could take awhile,” Scott muttered.
“Maybe if you describe your friend that would help.” Trixxy suggested.
Logan took a drink from his bottle. “Sure. ’Ro is a little taller than you, about five-seven, with blue eyes, and a knock out body. She gets a dimple in her right cheek when she smiles. She has a really great laugh,” he added, not sure exactly why.
Trixxy cocked her head, and bit her lip, seemingly contemplating. “Hm…maybe…”
“She’s tall and black with white hair. Can’t miss her.” Jean said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently, wishing she hadn’t promised Xavier that she would never willfully extract information from a person’s mind without consent.
“Oh. Nope.” Trixxy let out another bubble of laughter. “No one like that here. For a minute I thought maybe you were talking about Cleopatra, but she has black hair.” Diverting her attention to another club goer Trixxy flashed a dazzling smile towards the balding man that passed them and patted her on the backside. “You behaving tonight, Bill?” she called after the regular patron.
“Never,” the man called back with a drunken guffaw.
She laughed and waved. “Nice man. A bit of a drunk, but nice. Good tipper.”
Logan ignored her comment and demanded, “Tell me about this Cleopatra.”
Trixxy blinked took a small step away from him. “You know, I should probably get back to my tables.”
Sensing the woman’s nervousness and sudden desire to retreat in the face of Logan‘s snarl, Jean stepped towards her. “The person we’re looking for is a dear friend and her grandmother just passed away and we can’t get a hold of her,” she lied easily.
Trixxy looked increasingly skeptical. “It’s probably not Cleo then. She doesn’t have family. At least I don’t think. Look, I have tables--”
“Tell me about her and I’ll decide, ok?” Jean gave the reluctant waitress a slight mental nudge.
Sparkling brown eyes dulled a bit and became almost opaque. The practiced pout relaxed into a slack expression as Trixxy responded to Jean‘s probing. “Cleo’s one of the newer girls. Been here for…uhm, I’d say four months. Real popular.”
“Is she a waitress?” Scott asked, still perusing the crowd.
“No. A dancer.”
Logan nearly choked on the swig of beer he’d taken. “An exotic dancer?” he questioned. “Then we’re wasting our time. Ain’t no way ’Ro’s a stripper.”
Jean shot him a look. *You never know. She was a car thief.* To their informative waitress, she urged, “Go on. We’re listening.”
Trixxy continued, “Cleo’s a real nice girl. Always helping others and stuff. The other girls, even the vets look up to her.”
“Is Cleopatra performing tonight?” Jean asked glancing at the stage. A woman in a police uniform was twirling handcuffs around her finger as she strolled the catwalk.
“No. Cleo is one of the ‘look but don’t touch’ dancers. She only does private shows.”
“Well, then, how do we get a private show?” Logan inquired.
“The manager Duke can arrange it.” Trixxy replied. “I tell him, he tells her.”
Logan glanced at Scott, who nodded. “Set it up,” Scott said.
Jean released her slight mental hold on the blonde.
Trixxy blinked a few times then shook her head. “Uhm. Which one of you wants the show?” she asked, still a bit foggy.
“All of us,” Jean stated.
“Oh, we don’t do that here. It’s a one person maximum allowance.” Trixxy replied with a surprised look at Jean. She gave the redhead a once over and Jean got the mental impression that Trixxy was a bit excited by her. She moved closer to Scott.
Logan cocked his head. “Looks like I’ll be taking one for the team. Lead the way, darlin’.”
“It’s one thousand dollars for a dance from Cleo” Trixxy added.
“What?” Scott demanded. “You’ve got to be kidding--”
“Done.” Logan stated abruptly, pulling out his wallet. “I assume plastic’s acceptable.”
“Of course.” Trixxy smiled adoringly.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Jean grabbed his forearm. *You are not using Xavier’s credit card for a lap dance.*
*Only for hotel rooms?*
Jean released his arm with a glare. “You’re right, it probably isn’t even her.”
Logan lifted one shoulder. “Then I suffer through a half naked woman dancing erotically for me. It’s a hardship I‘ll just have to endure,” he flashed a feral grin.
~~~~~elsewhere~~~~
“Hey gorgeous. You’re up.”
Ororo swung around on her seat towards the barrel-chested bouncer that had opened her dressing room door. She placed the book she had been reading face down on the vanity top. “Hey, Vic. Who’s out so early this evening?” she commented as she stood.
“Some out of towner wants a good time.”
She laughed as she worked the knot of her robe. “Don’t they all.”
Bouncer Vic chuckled. “And you always deliver.”
“Flatterer.” She motioned for him to turn around.
Vic rolled his eyes, obeying. “I don’t get how a chick that parades around in front of strangers half naked can be so damn modest.”
Ororo tossed her robe onto the abandoned chair. “Because they’re strangers,” she replied. She adjusted herself and fixed the clasps to her top. A glance in the mirror told her that her make up and hair were fine. “And you’re my friend.” She nudged him with her elbow.
“Lucky me.” Vic said deadpan.
Ororo winked up at him. “You know it.” They made their way down the secure back hallway. “How is Gretchen, by the way?” Gretchen was Vic’s wife of seven years. A lovely woman with warm eyes and a sunny disposition. They were expecting their first child any day now.
“Moody as hell,” Vic answered. “Wanting ‘this baby out and out now’,” he imitated.
“But she’s feeling all right?”
“Yeah. She’s good.” He opened the door at the end of the corridor. “After you.”
She curtseyed. “So gallant.”
He brushed an imaginary spec off his black shirt, giving her a mock snob look. “Yeah, you know me. That’s how I roll.”
“Uh, huh.” She stepped through the door. Vic helped her step onto the small round stage, her gold heels reflected in he mirrored bottom. She began each performance the same way. Across the room from the client on a rotating stage with a pole and a red velvet settee. It wasn’t the most flashy set up, but it got the job done. She settled herself on the settee, adjusting the diaphanous white material of her Cleopatra costume around her legs.
“It’s me and Bruce behind the glass.” Vic told her as he placed gold bangles on her wrists and ankles.
She smiled at him. Vic and Bruce were ex Navy Seals and prone to acting very much like overprotective big brothers towards her. As a club policy the dancers were never left alone with a client and the private dance rules were very simple. Look but do not touch. These rules were not simply stated, but enforced. Vic and Bruce were two of Blazing Saddles best enforcers. They monitored almost all of her dances, occasionally replaced by one or two of the other bouncers, but that was rare. They made it a point to be on call. They took looking after her extraordinarily seriously. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she was far from the frail female they saw her as.
“Good to know.“ She closed her eyes, humming in her head, clearing her thoughts. It was best not to think while she danced, instead she focused on feeling the rhythm of the song and let it become a part of her. It made for a more enjoyable time for both parties.
Vic squeezed her shoulder, careful not to disturb the gold glitter covering her dusky skin. “Have a good one.”
The stage began to whir and rotate slowly and the dark curtains parted revealing the interior of the private showroom. In the cushioned seat against the far wall sat the member of her captive audience. Semi hidden in shadow she couldn’t make out the person’s features, but the drawn low cowboy hat made her gut clench in an old ache.
Ignoring the brief sensation Ororo rose slowly from her seat, being certain to uncross her legs provocatively as she did. She ran her hands along her abdomen, sashaying to the slow rhythm that would soon increase to a driving beat. Some dancers preferred slow and sensual, but not her. She liked it hard and rough, a pounding beat that she could lose herself in.
Taking a calming breath Ororo let the music overtake her and began her show.
Standing with her legs apart, and towering over 6 feet thanks to her obscenely high heels Ororo Munroe was one hell of a sight.
Across the room Logan inhaled a sharp breath as she came into full view. If he hadn’t smelled her already and known it was Ororo that he would be seeing, the vision she presented would have completely caught him off guard. Dressed in Egyptian garb including headdress and kohl lined eyes, Ororo looked every bit the Cleopatra she was portraying.
Normally smooth and silky coffee skin shimmered under the low lights as Ororo swayed and bent. Her more than generous helping of breasts were barely contained in a white top with gold trim. Logan’s gaze narrowed and lingered there as tapered fingers passed the undersides in a slow teasing caress.
The leisurely journey of those hands held his attention completely as they swept up, over shoulders and into jet black--wait black?--hair. She smiled at him, slow and seductive, a parting of ruby red lips as her deft fingers undid the first clasp hidden by her hair, releasing one of the flowing scarves attached to her costume, leaving only the small top and meager bottoms.
The tempo of the music increased, as did the flow of the blood in Logan’s body. All of it was pounding in his heads. He adjusted himself in his seat. He should tell her it was him. He shouldn’t let her keep dancing. He should…but he didn’t.
There was something decidedly familiar about the shadowed cowboy watching her, Ororo thought as she let another scarf flutter to the floor. She twisted around the silver pole beside her settee, and wrapped her right leg around the base as she undulated her hips, arching her back.
Jesus. Logan’s jeans were near unbearably tight. He growled at the unexpected pressure in his balls.
Ororo’s head snapped towards him, her blue eyes narrowed.
Logan sat further back in his chair, hoping the shadows were sufficient enough to keep her from recognizing him…just yet.
Ororo gave herself a mental shake. No way was he here. That thought made her heart accelerate a bit. What the hell, she thought as the bass kicked in and the stage spun a bit faster, why not have a little fun. She closed her eyes, imagining that it was indeed Wolverine watching her dance. That it was his hands on her skin. Lost in her own fantasy she let herself go, immersed in the music and her hidden desires.
Logan leaned forward, his mouth suddenly dry as Ororo writhed and undulated provocatively, her hands touching all the places he suddenly wanted to. His cock pressed demandingly against his zipper.
The music switched again and Ororo swung her hips as she stepped from the stage, dancing along the mirrored floor. One sandaled high heel was kicked off, followed immediately by the other and then she exploded.
That was the only way Logan could think to describe what happened. She became a living embodiment of sex and fire, seduction and savage lust. Her seductive smile changed from playful to dark and her movements became aggressive and primal. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.
He sat up a bit straighter in his seat realizing that she was making her way towards him on all fours, her gaze glittering and intense.
Ororo rolled her shoulders, as she shimmied to a kneeled position in front of her client. She lifted her deep cerulean blues and they collided with glittering black obsidian.
“Hello, Cleo.” Logan smirked.
The world came to a screeching halt. Ororo’s mouth parted on a strangled gasp. “Wolverine? What on earth are you doing?” She fought the absurd desire to cover herself.
His grin was positively savage. “Right now, I’m enjoying the show.”
Heat crept up Ororo’s neck and bloomed in her cheeks. Out of her peripheral she caught two red flashes beside the mirrored wall. The boys wanted to know if she was all right. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped dancing. Not entirely certain as to what Wolverine wanted she began to move again, this time mere inches in front of the feral mutant. “Why are you here?” she clarified, turning and bending.
Logan bit back a groan. “Xavier.” She moved alongside of him, rubbing her leg against his as she danced. He couldn’t finish his train of thought.
“Yes?” she prompted.
Logan let his head fall back against the chair cushion. “He wants you back on the team.”
“No thanks.” Ororo stated. She watched Logan’s jaw tighten and his hands clench into fists. He was getting aroused, she noted with some surprise. That thought excited her and gave her a small thrill. Deciding she liked having the upper hand, if only for a moment, she positioned herself closer, her breath stirring his side burns and the swells of her breasts resting just beneath his chin. “I’m not interested.”
Logan inhaled her scent. “It ain’t negotiable.” His hands flexed.
“No touching,” she reminded him. She removed his cowboy hat and placed it atop her head.
Logan grit his teeth. “You’re touchin’.”
She laughed throatily straddling him. “I’m allowed to. I can touch you anyway I want.”
Then do it! His mind roared.
She trailed her fingers through his hair, moving her hips in a slow circle on his lap. She arched and bent, riding him through his jeans.
Logan nearly came undone as he caught the heat from her crotch and the unmistakable smell of arousal coming from her. “I don‘t like games,” he warned.
Ororo chuckled. “Oh, but I think you do.” She lifted herself so that their lips nearly touched. “I think you like to chase.”
Fuck. His hips bucked unconsciously, seeking her heat. Who the hell was this woman? This wasn’t the same Ororo he was familiar with.
She laughed again, a husky sound that enflamed him. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling his heart pound. The music shifted again, once more slow and sensual. “Looks like our dance is almost over,” she whispered.
“We’re just gettin’ started,” Logan growled. He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on in his life.
“Hm.” She rubbed herself against the hard ridge of his jeans. “Once upon a time, maybe,” she said with a playful roll of her hips. “But not anymore.” She swung her leg off of him.
Feeling unexpectedly bereft without her on him Logan reached out automatically, catching her upper arms. “Don’t.” He wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
The corner of her mouth lifted in a quirky smile. “This is probably going to hurt,” she murmured.
Suddenly the doors burst open and Vic and Bruce rushed forward. No questions, no hesitation, they didn’t bother with any of that. No touching meant no touching as far as they were concerned. Ororo was pulled back away from Logan by large hands and shuffled towards the door by a pissed off Bruce as Vic’s first punch connected with Logan's gut.
At the doorway Ororo turned and tilted the cowboy hat down; his cowboy hat. “Go easy on ‘em.” She mouthed to Logan.
Her sultry laughter echoed in Logan’s ears as the door closed behind her sashaying backside.
Two minutes later Logan strode aggrivatedly through the main lobby of the club, cricking his neck and cracking his healing knuckles.
“Well?” Scott demanded when he saw him.
“Move.” Logan snarled.
“Was it her?” Jean questioned as Logan ushered them out the front doors.
“Yes.”
“Well, where is she?”
“She left.”
Scott ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “What do we do now?”
“Now?” Logan opened the driver’s door to their SUV, his face a dark mask of ferocity. “Now I get my fuckin' hat back.”
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