Participants:
| Scene Title | The Perfect Date… |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | .. if you're male. Sam meets up with Eliot at the Rapture. |
| Date | March 13, 2009 |
Eliot is a man. When a good looking woman gives a man her number, the man ends up calling it, 99% of the time. Samantha is an attractive woman. Eliot is a man. Two plus two is Sam's phone number. Having agreed to meet at the entrance of Rapture, Eliot waits next to Graham, a large afro-hispanic man who bounces for him. They're talking about something non-specific. Eliot's in slacks, and an untucked, salmon-colored button up with the sleeves rolled up. Aw, fuck it. It's /pink/, okay? He's comfortable with his sexuality, dammit.
You can hear her bike before you see it as the growling thunder of the motorcycle tears up the semi-peaceful quiet of the neighborhood. This is obviously not the bike she uses when she's working, and more her social cycle. She pulls into the parking lot wearing her black leather jacket and black jeans tucked into her black boots. She kickstands the bike and slips off, pulling the black helmet off her head, letting her long blond locks fall down into place over her shoulders.
Sam secures the helmet to the bike and glances around. She likes to get a good look at things, just to make sure there's nothing funny around that could cause her some difficulty in case she has to split suddenly. She sees Eliot talking to the bouncer and a smirk plays across her face. She tucks her fingers into her jean pockets and steps forward. "Quite the shirt you're wearing there, Eliot." she teases, giving Graham a once over as well to assess his threat level. "Thanks for the invite." she says, returning her attention to Eliot.
Eliot glances when Samantha approaches, and slips his hands from his pockets. "Samantha." He grins wide. "You're welcome." Graham looks threatening. In fact, he's big, muscled, but doesn't look like he bumbles much. In other words: he looks effective. Unsurprising, Eliot doesn't look like the type to hire just for looks. At least not when it comes to bouncing. He taps Graham's shoulder and offers Samantha his hand. "Shall we?"
Slipping her hand into Eliot's, she gives Graham one more glance. Big, burly, strong — her favorite kind to bring down a peg or two. She gives him an amused grin before turning and following Eliot into the club. "So, is there any sort of theme here tonight, or just your general source of a good time night here at Club Rapture?" she asks as her eyes take in the visual on the inside now.
Eliot shrugs and shakes his head, leaning over to speak with her, since the music is loud inside the club. "We don't do themes unless it's a holiday. Fourth of July, Halloween, Christmas, New Years, sometimes Easter." He shrugs. "Otherwise, it's always standard, and always fun." He grins at her. "Drink or dance first?"
Sam glances at Eliot for a moment. "I guess it depends on how fast you intend to get me drunk." She grins. The music is loud, and a little enchanting with its beats echoing into her ear. She is already swinging her hips a little to the music as she keeps her voiced raised, leaning towards him. "We can dance first if you like. It'll build up my thirst." Her shoulder brushes against his as she leans. "Someone with a shirt like that must be a good dancer, right?"
"That," Eliot says, "or gay." He tugs at her hand, dragging her closer so he can slide his hand around her waist and tip his chin on her shoulder, smirking. Yeah. Eliot? Not gay.
Well, she's not fully convinced just yet. That shirt is pretty damning. She turns towards him and brushes her nose on his as she heads towards the dance floor. "C'mon, Romeo." she grins, tugging at his hand as she pulls away from him, walking backwards out towards the floor. Sam pauses only briefly to remove her jacket and place it at a vacant booth. Underneatht the jacket, she wears a rather tight white t-shirt, tucked into the waist of her pants.
Eliot can dance. He owns a nightclub, and presumably has lots of chances to practice; not to mention he looks like the limber type, with lean, taut limbs. His arms slide between hers and her waist as he edges her closer, his smile bright even in the flashing lights.
Sam is not too bad a dancer, as she wiggles closer to Eliot and dance up against him. She raises her arms in the air and sways back and forth in time to the music. One hand is lowered and placed upon his shoulder and she stays close. One to not have to deal with anyone wanting to cut in, and the other she doesn't want to bump into anyone. Well, anyone except Eliot, which she bumps into gladly, and in time with the loud bass music that reverberates the club.
Eliot has no problem bumping. In fact, he bumps, slips, tugs, and grinds against Sam with that same, bright smile on his face. His hands rest around her waist at the small of her back, and over the side of her rib-cage at a precarious, but enticing position. Notably, he looks her in the eyes as they dance, rather than inspect her coiling figure.
The gaze is returned as her blue eyes stare back. She keeps eye contact as the rest of her moves to the sound of the music. She leans her back away from him, though her hips stay in contact with his and she lets her long blond hair fall down behind her, swaying to the music. When the song ends, she grins, having a light sheen on her forehead. Okay, maybe he's not gay.
Eliot presses his forehead against hers and smiles again, his hand sliding up along her back. He asks, managing a whisper that still carries, something picked up from years of nightclubs: "Drink now, then?"
The answer is quick when he asks, a small nod of her head against his, she says. "Definitely." Sam lets him lead the way.
Eliot does lead the way, though he manages to do so with his hand still firmly slipped around her torso, fingers nestled comfortably between each rib against her taut shirt. At the bar, asks, "What's your poison?"
Sam usually goes for something hard. That includes her drinks as well. "I'll let you pick something. What's your specialty here? Anything you're awfully proud of?" she turns to look at him. letting him hold her side. Her arm slips over his shoulder to make the connection less awkward.
Eliot doesn't tend to look awkward no matter what; but it's appreciated. By someone. Somewhere. He makes a sign at the 'tender for 'two' of 'circle gesture'. He grins at her, and then nods at the booth where she left her jacket. "C'mon, they'll bring'em over." Pays to be the owner.
It sure does. Sam follows him back to the table and slips into the booth, letting him have room to scoot closer to her if he prefers. "How long have you owned this place, Eliot?" she asks, as she reaches for his hand and traces the outline of his fingers.
Eliot does scoot closer. Very close, in fact. He does not believe in being subtle, it seems; or at least doesn't think it's necessary or beneficial in these circumstances. Her fingers are not unnoticed, but he keeps his eyes on the prize. In this case: her eyes. "A few years. I bought it from a friend who didn't have time to work it the way it was meant to." The drinks arrive: two glasses of four fingers of Woodford Reserve bourbon; hard liquor. If she can sink that, he'll be sold.
Sam didn't spend ten years in the military just drinking Red Bull. She eyes the drink and grins over at him. "I do believe you are trying to get me drunk." She brings the glass to her nose and inhales the scent. It makes her mouth tingle a little as she licks her lips for a moment, keeping her gaze on his. She brings the drink to her mouth and slowly begins to allow the liquid to warm it way down her throat. She finishes soon enough and her tongue catches on the mouth of the glass before it is set down on the table. "Well, that was an impressive drink." she arches her brows at him teasingly.
"Let me put it this way," Eliot says, watching her down the drink with a growing smile. He grabs his own, and asks, "Are the chances of you sleeping with me tonight going to get any higher if you're drunk?" He takes his own drink and downs it, letting her answer while he does so.
Sam leans back in her chair and considers his question for a moment. Her eyes are totally fixated on his, deep bluw and attentive. "Well, I'm not going to say they would be greater. I'm saying if you want competent sex tonight, you might not want to get me too drunk." that familiar grin creeps up on her face. It's a smug look of confidence. Almost a victorious look. She slides the glass towards him. "Though I could probably stand for another and still be decent in the sack."
"There you go, then," Eliot says, putting his empty glass down. "I can't be accused of wanting to get you drunk so I can get you in bed if my chances remain the same, can I?" He grins at her, and then turns to wave at the bartender. He makes a circle gesture with his finger, gets a nod, and turns back to her. "So about that competency…"
She drums her fingers lightly on the table, as she watches him. "What about it?" She watches the bartender come and go with their glasses.
"You brought it up, not me," Eliot points out. He ushers her glass towards her and takes his own, only sipping half the glass down this time. He wasn't in the army. All his drinking has been done socially.
She laughs. "I was asking what exactly it was that you wanted to know." She fingers her drink this time. She's not going to take it all at once as before. Sam gingerly circles the glass on the table, turning it like a dial.
"I don't want any specifics," Eliot says, waving a hand a bit dismissively. "If," he says modestly, "we end up in bed together, I'd rather find out what you're like first hand, rather than go in expecting something."
She brings the glass to her lips and takes a few swallows before finally settling it back down on the table. "Well, first hand is always good. How long do you have to stay here and supervise this establishment?" Sam asks. She lets her finger trace up and down the side of her glass.
"As long as I want? I have manages who actually manage the club," Eliot explains, waving a hand around before taking another long drink. "I don't really need to be here. I just like to, on occasion."
Sam finishes off her drink. "Well, we'll stay as long as you want, but I've dance and I've drunk my share of liquor. I think I've accomplished everything that needs to be done, unless your bouncer out there wants to challeng me to a fight or something." she teases him. Or at least wants him to think she's teasing him. "We can go anytime you like."
Eliot makes an O face, and says, "And the truth is revealed. Here I thought your primary reason for attending was a tour of the club, not getting me in bed." His smirk would be almost annoying if he didn't add a touch of a genuine smile to it.
Sam laughs. "You mean there's more to this club than drinking and dancing?" she stares at him with her mischieviously sparkling blue eyes.
Eliot opens his mouth, and then looks around, then back at her, and pushes himself out of his seat, offering his hand to her. "No. Not really. Let's go."
Sam reaches for her jacket as she follow him out of the booth. "Lead the way. Should I grab my bike? Are we going far?" She asks as she slips her arms into the jacket sleeves and zips it up about halfway.
"Your bike should be fine where it is. You can come back and pick it up if you don't want to wait for me to drive you back in the morning?" Eliot smirks and puts a hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the club.
Sam's eyes linger on her bike. She gives Graham an 'I'll hold you personally responsible if something happens to my bike' look. She lets Eliot steer her out of the club.
"He'll watch the bike," Eliot tells her with a smirk. "Unless…" He tugs on her, and says. "Tell you what? You drive. We'll go on your bike. That way, you can not worry about it." He has several cars anyway.
Now he's talking. She grins and pulls away, reaching for his hand and tugging him towards her bike. She unfastens the helmet from the bike and tosses it to him. "YOu're on back, you wear the helmet." Non-negotiable apparently as she hops on the bike and pulls it off the kick stand before firing it up. "Hop on, stranger." she grins over to him.
Eliot takes the helmet and pops it on before hopping on the bike and wrapping his arms nice and tight around her waist, and edging himself against her back firmly. He doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's more than a little closer than necessary.
She pulls out of the parking lot and turns her head back. "Where we going?" she asks. She's good with the layout of the city, being a courier. Sam also doesn't seem to mind that he's pressed up a little closer than he really needs to. In fact, she seems to scoot back just a little farther than she normally sits on the bike, enjoying the warmth at her back.
Eliot grins and rattles off his condo building's address for her. He'll give further directions if she wants, but will otherwise preoccupy himself with inspecting her ribcage and making sure her back is warm enough during the ride.
The ride doesn't take too long. If there's any traffic, the bike is perfect enough that she can weave through it despite the protesting honks of horns that seem to curse at her. She pulls into the parking lot of the condo and finds a vacant spot to park, shutting down her bike and waiting for Eliot to dismount before putting up her kickstand and slides from the beast. When he relinquishes her helmet, she slips it on the bike and makes sure it's secure. "Your place. Lead the way." she grins, slipping her hand in his.
His condo is more of a penthouse waaaaaaaay up at the top of the building. It doesn't take long, though: this late at night, the elevators are mostly empty. Eliot ushers her into one and presses a button, tugging her closer as the elevator dors close behind them.
Well, if they're in for a long ride to the top, there's no reason to waste it as Sam turns to him and presses up against him and leans forward, pressing her mouth against his. Her hands find a spot on his sides where they remain as she lets her leg brush up against his.
Eliot sometimes wishes the elevator in this building weren't as goddamn fast as it is. It's still a long ride, though, and when she presses up against him, he smiles against her mouth. His hand drops to her thigh, the other around her waist, and he pulls her taut against his frame, teeth nipping at her bottom lip tentively.
Sam seems to have intuitive timing as she pulls back just as the elevator reaches the top floor. And while the elevator seems to be a nice place to have a tryst, someone at some point is going to need it. She steps away and gives him a 'lead the way' grin as she lets her tongue lightly touch her upper lip. She waits to follow him.
Eliot opens his eyes and grins. He slides out of the elevator, snatching her by the belt-loop of her jeans and dragging her half-way down the hallway, where he jabs a key in and swings the door open.
Eliot's penthouse is more like a large flat-cum-loft. It has an amazing view of the city, most of it's street-aimed wall made of gigantic windows; and it has a not-too-modern decor that speaks of taste without over-interest. His bedroom is separate from the living room, but the kitchen is adjunct, while the bathroom is clear and easy to find. He does not give her a tour. Instead, he closes the door, and presses her against it, hands wrapping over her jaw as he kisses her again.
She has considerable strength when she wants it and she spins him around and pushes him against the wall as she returns his kiss. She pulls away. The boots take the longest time to remove, the rest of her clothing come off rather quickly. Then she starts on him. While the undressing do not take alot of time, the time spend after that are measured in hours. By the time they collaspe in a heap on his bed, she is glistening with sweat and panting as her lung try to revive themselves with much needed oxygen.
Eliot says, as he stretches on the bed, "Ow. I don't think my back was supposed to bend that way." It's not an accusation; it sounds more like a compliment. "What time is iiiiiiiiiii—whoa." He blinks at the clock.
Sam gives a chuckle. "Did I keep you up past your bedtime? Or do you need to get back to the club." She sits up and gives a stretch, the sheet still around her torso. She reaches for her shirt and tugs it back on. "I can't stay anyways, I've deliveries in a couple of hours, but I will admit to enjoying the 'tour'." she turns back and winks at him.
"Me? Naw. I'm home." Eliot stretches again and smirks at her. "Sure. Call me if you want a second viewing." She knows the way out, right? Door, elevator down, doorman can open the door? S'a good girl.
Sam rolls her eyes and tugs on her jeans. Her boots to follow as she stands and gets herself situated. She was already trying to develop an escape plan just moments after they were finished so his directions only cause her to have to come up with a more plausible reason she's not staying overnight. Her mentality for sex is the same as for a job. Get in. Do the job. Get out. She grabs her jacket. "I'll be seeing you around, Eliot." A threat or a promise, he can take his pick. She disappears into the elevator as the door closes behind her.
Eliot is asleep before she reaches the ground floor.
 March 13th: Victory Dance |
 March 13th: Domino |