Virtual Moonlight For Madwomen
by Jennifer-Oksana

"Y'ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?" Fred asks, and she's not pale or wan, she's glowing thanks to the green-red-blue lights that flash around the dance club, thanks to the sweat that comes from dancing in a mass of bodies. Shining, slick, smooth pretty girl with hair that's grown down to her ass. "I did, once. Did you know the devil's a woman? She is, of course. Then again, so's God. Insofar as there is a God, or a devil for that matter."

Faith does not understand Fred. Then again, nobody does. Not since she came back wrong...partially wrong. They've made sure it's not a bad kind of wrong as far as anyone can tell. Not right, that's for damn sure. But when Fred asks for to be taken dancing at the hottest clubs in Hollywood...everyone does their best to keep her happy, and Faith doesn't mind protecting Fred from the leering assholes watching them as they move on the floor. Fred is actually pretty damn cool to watch; all long lanky limbs twisting and stretching to the beat. It's pretty, and it's pretty sexy, too.

"I never danced with the devil," Faith says slowly as Fred dips backward in a long arc like curves, enchanted. "Met a few assholes who thought they were the devil. But I don't think there's..."

"Oh, Faith. Oh, Faith, silly silly...I know you took a ride in her long black limo," Fred says pointedly, whirling around so that her short black skirt twirls up and Faith can see the lacy ruffles on her red panties. Oh. That devil. Some days Fred is talking about current events; sometimes she tells Faith the devil is a robot. El Diablo Robotico, long since destroyed. "Silly girl. We all ride with the devil, who's a woman wearing a mask and making rules behind an expensive hardwood desk with a big empty voice. I rode so far with the devil's playthings riding me like I'd called down the loa to take my soul, Faith. I got lost...and it felt good."

Faith shivers at the sound of Fred's voice, because she knows what Fred means, to get lost and feel it wash over you like tequila and cigarette smoke and humid air as you grind against another warm body and feel yourself getting wet even though it's wrong. Especially because it's wrong. When Fred stops twirling, Faith snakes an arm around Fred's waist and pulls her close, so close that she can smell the two rum and cokes on Fred's breath, hear the hiss of her breathing, see the dilation of her pupils.

"Show me how good it felt, babe," Faith whispers into Fred's ear, pushing away the hair so it's just Faith's mouth and Fred's ear. "It makes the crazy go away."

Fred laughs, long low growl as her palm hovers over Faith's skintight black top, moving upward and making the little hairs on Faith's skin stand up and shiver because maybe it's not a good idea to vamp the crazy girl. Faith doesn't care, because Fred's hand might be sending electricity up Faith's spin without even touching her, but Fred's thigh is between her own, and their hips are so close it's an invitation.

"I thought you were all over the crazies," Fred says, trailing her lips across Faith's jaw as Faith, lust-crazed already, puts her free hand on Fred's ass and pulls them closer. No room for the Holy Spirit between Fred and Faith, not at this non-school-approved dancing event. "Thought you came to do your duty and babysit the psycho."

"I came to dance," Faith replies, looking as straight into Fred's eyes as she can, given Fred's a tall, willowy kind of ballerina girl and Faith's shorter and not a ballerina turned scientist turned come-back-wrong. But Faith is thinking about the ruffles on Fred's panties, about how it would feel to put her hand under that skimpy black skirt and dry-hump on the dance floor until they couldn't stand it and found the nearest bathroom so Faith could get on her knees and taste how good it feels to be completely nuts.

Faith is sometimes like that. Fred laughs, and that's her hand thumbing Faith's nipple, pinching a little, and that's a bona fide insane look flickering out along with Fred's little pink tongue and fuck, Faith is going to hell for this. Getting on a crazy girl who might or might know what she's doing? It's wrong, it's so very wrong, but every nerve and every instinct in Faith tells her to do it and do it now except for her superego, and even that shuts up when it smells the want on Fred.

"You call this dancing?" Fred asks, pressing her body against Faith's, grinding her hips as hard as she can into Faith's, her free arm tickling Faith's back.

"Is that a question or are you playing with words?" Faith asks back, thinking about how many people in her life fuck around with words to say things and mean others. Faith's a little simpler; if they're dancing, they're dancing. If they're fucking, they're fucking. She doesn't give a damn about the overlap.

"What do you think?" Fred says, pulling Faith off the dance floor and toward the back, the dark places that smell like cheap booze and dirty water and industrial-strength cleansers. The places Faith knows to her bones, the places that come from her bones. "I think you're pretty," Faith says hoarsely, putting her mouth on Fred's. They kiss and it hurts, it's so hard, Fred trying to eat Faith's soul with a kiss as Faith gets her wish and puts her hand into Fred's frilly little panties and discovers that Fred's all hers. "And that I'm gonna fuck you now."

"You think right," Fred says flatly but not unkindly, her eyes practically crossing from the lust as Faith sinks down, kissing Fred through the sleek thin material of her clothes, pausing a moment to soak her blouse because Faith can't not suck on those already-prominent nipples.

Is this desire or is it craziness? Or is it something about Fred, that sinister not-quite-rightness that makes everyone else uncomfortable and makes Faith itch as she slides down those red ruffles and buries her head between Fred's skinny thighs? Is she taking advantage of Fred or is it Fred making Faith so hot that she can't think about the implications?

Faith doesn't know. Doesn't think it matters, either. Fred moans, and another shot of wanting hits Faith's nervous system like a line of cocaine. She keeps going, enjoying the tense shudder of Fred's muscles in her legs, her hips, how they're both nearly vibrating off the floor.

When Fred comes, Faith nearly does, too. She's soaked, needing, wanting, almost crazy with lust and not even thinking that someone must have seen. Instead she gets to her feet and rubs against Fred like a pushy cat.

"I always liked you. You're," Fred says, rubbing her fingers idly over the ruined crotch of Faith's jeans as Faith whimpers and writhes. "What would you do if I touched you? What would you do for me?"

And Faith's pretty sure Fred's not okay, never was okay, has made them all think she's okay, that they shouldn't be here, but instead she moans because if Fred stops touching her, she'll die.

"Whatever you want, babe. Anything."

Fred laughs and when Faith looks into her eyes, she thinks she's finally seen the devil.

And the devil wants. Everything. Without reservation.

"Give me a kiss," Fred says, stroking Faith's face and even though some little voice in her head's screaming that no no bad idea, don't kiss the crazy girl, Faith kisses her hard, thrusting her tongue into Fred's mouth and getting tangled up in whatever's in Fred.

Feels it hit her like a bad trip, draining her slowly and steadily even as Fred rubs harder and Faith pushes harder, both of them trying to get her higher and Faith's trapped and can't pull away.

Screams when she comes, both in pleasure and in pain because Fred makes it hurt and makes Faith like that it hurts and Fred swallows that up, too, moaning like Faith's orgasm is her own and it is after a few seconds, the mutual shuddering looking much more innocent than it is.

"Mmm," Fred says, absolutely sated, letting go of Faith, who sinks to the floor. The entire world's in grey now and she can't hear what anyone's saying cuz she's tired. Really tired. "You always were the best dancer, Faith...and I really appreciate it."

The last thing Faith sees are Fred's black high heels walking away. She's not sure if she feels anything at all.


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