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Silje picked up
her drink, controlled her shaking hand, and fixed
an expression of interest to her face.
"Ladies!"
The emcee's voice boomed over the speakers as the
lights dimmed, heralding the arrival of another
act. "You're in Hel!" Silje smiled grimly.
As a Norwegian, it was ironic that her first visit
to the Norse underworld should be here, in New York.
"Our next act
is from the hellishly hot Brazil!" A chorus
of raucous cheering arose, and Silje sat up straighter
in her chair. These were the boys she'd come to
see. "Presenting to you, in all their glory,
two Hel-worshippers!" The cheering grew, punctuated
by whistles and shouts.
The lights went
out, then rose again, flaring brightly once in a
blaze of color before dimming. The effect made Silje's
eyes go nuts. Her vision disappeared completely
as her eyes dilated, trying to catch up with the
wildly fluctuating lighting. Silje partially shifted,
switching to the cat-eyes of her other form. She
could see much better in the dim light with those.
Screams and applause
reverberated around the club. Her companions, Diane
and Candy, sitting on either side of her, exchanged
grins.
One man was tall
and slender, athletically muscular, the other a
couple of inches shorter, and bulkier. Both were
beautiful, and either tanned or naturally bronzed,
their bodies gleaming with the light oil the strippers
all used. She wondered if they had any tan lines.
No doubt she would find out in due course.
Both wore feathers
and nothing else, but enough to cover any tan lines
they might have. Feathers traveled in swirls up
their bodies, exotic flicks of bright color, and
more feathers sweeping behind their backs like wings
and cresting on their heads. All the audience could
see of their faces where two sensual mouths under
their gorgeous half-masks.
They kissed briefly
before bursting apart, leaping backwards, their
eyes fixed on each other, and at that moment, the
music started. Latin American music, but only drums,
in a one-two samba rhythm. The bird-men rocked their
hips side to side, in a seductive motion that made
their muscles ripple in the atmospheric lighting.
The audience hushed, but one or two whistles punctuated
the drumbeat.
The boys from Brazil
were popular.
They circled the
audience, letting the avid watchers get a good look
at their ripped bodies. The stage jutted out in
a semicircle and was low enough for people to touch,
if they wanted to, but every time someone tried,
the dancer moved away, laughing.
Then the feathers
started to come off, the men scattering them like
exotic birds ruffling their plumage. Silje shrank
back, but a laughing Diane pushed her chair forward
again. Now she sat in front of Diane and Candy.
They were setting her up.
Fair enough. She
tried to stay calm. Renowned in the European branch
of Department 57 for her coolness in a crisis, she
tried hard to live up to her reputation, but she
was finding it difficult now, and it was getting
worse all the time.
The Brazilians were
hot. Genuinely hot. Not oiled-muscles-going-through-the-motions
hot, but they really, really enjoyed what they were
doing. They were billed as "Hel's newest sensations,"
so perhaps they were new to the male stripping scene.
The club owners
had done their homework, too. Pictures of the Norse
goddess Hela in various states of provocative undress
were featured around the club, as were the real
stars of the show—the men who were to worship
at her feet, and take their clothes off in the process.
They looked alarming, from the All American Marine
to the more exotic offerings. Well, she'd seen them
all now, and they were about as alarming as she'd
imagined.
The club appeared
to be the classier end of the business, though Silje
couldn't be sure, since this brought the total number
of male strip clubs Silje had visited up to one.
Although she had lots of practice hiding any nervousness
she might feel, she was finding it hard now. Difficult,
she quickly amended, squirming in her seat. She
shouldn't let the talent turn her on; she was supposed
to be working here. Hard described what every act
displayed at the end. She'd never seen so much cock
in her life before, much less the erect variety.
This was not her
scene, or so she kept telling herself. The first
two acts were interesting, but easily resistible,
and nothing touched her psi senses, which she extended
to detect any unusual activity.
She tried a gentle
telepathic probe towards the performers and met
two mental brick walls. Nothing, which in itself
was odd. Only other Talents could block telepathic
contact as decisively as that.
Candy was a shape-shifter,
and Diane could receive telepathic communications,
a useful skill for a mortal at the Department. Out
of the corner of her eye, Silje saw the glitter
of the diamante tips of Candy's outrageous manicure
as she reached for her drink.
They're Talents,
or they know about us, Silje sent to the two other
women.
Candy's response
was laconic. Yeah, I noticed that.
So do we take one
each?
Depends what you
have in mind, girlfriend. Candy's laughter echoed
through Silje's head. It's your operation. You make
the decisions.
So why exactly am
I in charge of this? Her question was more from
exasperation. She knew the answer.
Cristos likes to
test his new operatives.
Silje gritted her
teeth. She'd come highly qualified to the New York
branch of Department 57, and the boss wanted to
test her?
Fine, she'd pass
his fucking test. With flying colors.
She would find whoever
was dealing Cephalox in this place. First developed
to help shape-shifters, now used against them, Cephalox
was the shifters' morphine, necessary but dangerous,
volatile, and addictive. It gave mortals a high,
and it was the new fashionable, designer drug of
choice. Closing this particular leak was a priority,
before New York really got the taste for the stuff.
Decisions were difficult
when the feathers were coming off faster, and she
had a very fine male butt in her face. Or nearly
in her face.
Oh, it really was
a fine ass. Telling herself the dancers wouldn't
be interested in her didn't help. Candy claimed
all the dancers here were gay, but personally, Silje
doubted it. Regardless, they were still fine specimens,
and they danced really well. The dancer moved on,
but not before she caught a flash of speculative
dark eyes glittering behind the bird mask.
Shit!
She switched back
to mortal eyes, and at once felt the loss of the
enhanced cat-sense. But she'd seen enough, perhaps
too much.
Now she knew what
the difference was. These two performers were with
the audience, not going through the motions. She
felt their heat, their enjoyment of the moment,
and knew they weren't acting.
They came together,
and their tongues extended to touch just the tips
to each other, then the dancers spun away as the
music escalated, and other instruments played over
the hypnotic drumbeat. Was it getting hot in here?
She saw a few other patrons removing jackets, loosening
their clothing, and Silje wondered if the management
had turned the heating up, just a little. It'd be
a good ploy.
No, she was sure
they hadn't. The dancers made the temperature rise
all on their own. Did they ever!
Their interest in
each other and familiarity with each other's bodies
enhanced their swaying, sensuous dance. Nearly naked
now, except for a small, hip-swinging girdle of
feathers, every movement threatened to expose everything
they had, but by some miracle, didn't.
They joined spoon-fashion,
the shorter one's butt hard against the taller one's
cock, and they swayed. The man in front leaned forward.
Their movements grew more explicit as the music
sped up, and with the one behind leaning back, his
mouth taut with ecstasy, he slid his hands around
to his partner's stomach and traced his navel in
a teasing motion every woman watching wanted to
emulate.
This wasn't a hard-core
club, so the audience watched, numbly, as two men
went through the best imitation of sex anyone had
ever seen. If they weren't doing it for real now,
they would be soon; nobody had any doubt about that.
Silje heard the
collective sigh when the hand slid further down.
"No touchee" the signs festooned around
the club read. She wondered, along with, she guessed,
everyone else, if that was just for show.
The little feather
kilt slid away, and at last the audience saw him.
Not that soft core,
then. Not soft at all. Shit, his cock—she
hadn't known they came in that size. In her sixty
years of life, with her pathetic tally of lovers
that barely reached double figures, Silje had never
seen one so beautiful, so fucking big. She tried
to think aesthetic thoughts, how beautiful they
were, how they'd make a good Bernini sculpture,
but it didn't work. He was gorgeous, built, ripped.
Hot, hard flesh, not cold marble.
When the taller
man moved away, he took his partner's remaining
feathers with him.
"If those two
really are gay, they should be a bit smaller,"
Candy murmured in her ear. "They must have
problems fitting in."
Diane overheard
and laughed. "I could help them. Jesus, these
guys are hot!" She picked up a coaster and
fanned herself. "And you think they're--"
she broke off, too experienced to say what she was
thinking out loud Talented?
Either that
or they're after the same people we're looking for,
Silje said, on surer ground now. What better way
to flush out drug dealers than getting a job at
the club? We need to keep in touch with these
guys.
Do we go backstage? Diane queried.
What and show
them who we are? An amateur's mistake and she
was anything but amateur. The Department paid extremely
well for its agents' services. Not that most of
them needed the high pay, but it was nice to be
appreciated. No, we follow them. Have either
of you detected anyone else here who might be Talented?
A pause. Nope. That from Candy, and then another negative came
from the only male they'd brought with them, the
vampire Dubreis, currently serving at the bar. Dubreis
managed to get a temporary job as a barman. She
hadn't realized how ripped he was until she saw
him in the topless getup the waiters here wore,
but he didn't do what these two dancers did to her.
She clamped her thighs together, but that only made
the sensitivity worse, and she felt moisture seep
between them.
She really had to
get her mind back on the job and face her problems,
as she always did. We'll follow them when they're
done.
Oh, God. Just when
she thought they couldn't take the audience any
higher, they did.
This time by kissing.
Just kissing. They stood in profile, their cocks
aligned against each other, but they didn't move
their lower bodies now. The hip swaying stopped,
and only their mouths moved against each other.
There was no way this was anything other than a
full-on French kiss, open-mouthed and passionate.
Their cocks twitched, and when the drumbeat accelerated,
the dancers sprang apart, as if an electric current
had burst in their faces.
Although their masks
covered the top half of their faces, firm, clean-shaven
jaws and the occasional glint of dark eyes gave
the illusion of good looks. It was completely impossible
to see any more. Long, dark hair swept the shoulders
of the shorter one, and the other either had short
hair or wore it tucked up under his mask. Reflexively,
Silje touched the neat French roll at the back of
her head, assuring herself her hair was correctly
pinned and tucked. It got in the way when it was
loose, but she hadn't ever taken the obvious step
of getting it all cut off.
Now their hips swayed
again, and they danced around each other, and then
pressed together, back to back, ass to ass. Using
their shoulders as support, they slowly sank into
a limbo position, legs wide apart, strong bare feet
planted on the floor. Their erect cocks jutted into
the air, tight, hard balls supporting them, and
their chests curved up in powerful bows of muscle
and bone.
Then, without pause
or touching their hands to the ground, they stood
up in one simultaneous, synchronized movement.
The lights went
out.
The audience erupted
in applause.
Silje switched to
cat eyes again and saw them leave the stage.
I'll make my
way around the back and let you know when they leave. Dubreis was good, picking up her instruction
almost as soon as she'd thought it.
Thanks. We'll
stay until the end, in case we pick anything else
up.
She hadn't realized
how hard she was applauding until her palms began
to burn. Next to her, Diane and Candy were screaming
and whistling, but good though the act was, she
wasn't ready to go that far.
Not yet, at any
rate.
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