Title: Dancing Queen

Rating: PG. It's f/f slash-y, but it's not graphic at all. They're just dancing. ;)

Archive: Go 'head. If I don't know, could you let me know? (PEJA, yes. ;) )

Author: Lise Williams

Fandom: Dark Angel

Pairing: Original Cindy and Max. Sort of.

Beta: Sascha.

Summary: Cindy and Max are dancing.

Notes: Should I get into a new fandom? No. Am I? Hell, yes. *sigh* Dark Angel is FOX. And a naughty word or two.

To my list: Sorry. There are rules about those things. :) And yes, I have real comic fic coming up soon. I promise.

DANCING QUEEN

By Lise Williams
~*~

She is one *damned* fine girl.

But she's utterly out of your reach, Cindy. Get over it. She's one of your best friends, she's not anything that you want, and she's pulling that 'I want to keep myself private'.

Some girls are just such drama queens. They're normally the type that are pretty as hell, move like cats, screw like NOTHING else, but never, ever bring you presents or say 'I love you' first.

It's the last part that always gets to me, you know?

I went with a girl once for almost six months. Fell hard, fell fast. She moved in with me, and still, she never ever just said 'I love you.' It was a reply to me, or during sex. The latter doesn't count, because people will say anything to get laid, and the former was just an absentminded, automatic response.

See, I couldn't handle that from Max. I figure, give us a month, and she wouldn't say 'I love you' at all.

"Hey, honey. Wanna dance?"

She moves like a tiger, our little Max. She can keep time, even better. She grins at me, and I pull her onto the dance floor with an impatient tug. Less talking, more moving, and most definitely less thinking.

The first song is fast, new age, post-pulse, with a backbeat of latin mambo and a melody that sounds a little like the thrum of a motorcycle engine. I can see Max's eyes light up at the low sound, and I bet she's gotten a little excited, under that pretty leather dress. Mmm-mmm, Max. You've really got a thing for the dangerous look.

Me, I just want a nice girl, who can maybe cook.

There's nothing in Max, really, that I'm looking for, but as I grab her hand and whirl her around, I love the eyes on both of us. That's enough for tonight, I'm not going to pick anyone up, and I know mysterio-girl isn't. That visit from her ex-asshole didn't help matters any.

Poor little thing. If only I could find it in my heart to comfort her. Well, and if only she could find me in her bed the next morning. But like that's going to happen. Not between us.

Well, not tonight.

The next number is slow, seductive, with a tribal beat, and she looks a little startled. I do a slow look-round, seeing who's still on the dance floor, and then wink at her. She surveys the crowd, and then lets a wicked grin cross her little pouty mouth.

I know what she's doing. We've done it a hundred times before -- gotten all the men in the crowd riled up enough, and then she steals their wallets. Or, maybe she's just looking to turn some heads tonight, might not have any scam going.

Either way, I pull her close, and wrap one arm around her waist. She bends into me easily, like a tree sapling, like velvet. I start feeling the heat, not two bars into the song. I stand and wiggle my hips slowly, as she writhes up and down me.

Damn. Maybe she wants to rile *me* up a little, too. I murmur in her ear, when she finally comes back to full height, "What's the scam tonight, Max? You going for wallets or envious looks?"

She winks at me again, and turns her back to me, to press her spine against my waist. We're fluid, and as I put my hand on her hipbone, to move her against me, I close my eyes, and feel the beat.

She's all curves, and I'm all curves, and I can't believe anyone would *ever* want a man.

Now, if only I can convince Natalie of the same thing.

End