#fire and desire

[tha-wrecka-stow]

[xpinkcookiee]

[the-little-red-haired-girl]

The only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon… was itself.

[wrestler-smash-or-pass]

how about sonya deville?

[banisheed]

TIMING: Early-August, 2023 LOCATION: Regis Club PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: On the hunt for Regis, Siobhan ends up at the same brand-new club as Anita.

Siobhan was at the edge—the edge of what, she wasn’t sure. She did know that she was at the edge of something. An edge of discovery, perhaps, as she’d followed another lead on a Regis to this club with its rotating lights and thumping music. Or, perhaps, the edge of her sanity, with the rotating lights and the nonsensical thumping music. Clubs hadn’t changed much over the years; packed with swirling bodies, the aroma of perfumes, sweat and alcohol. The music had changed and the flashing lights were new, but the atmosphere held a familiar quality to it. It was comforting and Siobhan might have appreciated it if she wasn’t on a mission. “Are you Regis?” She pulled another person aside, whispering into their ear. Not a Regis. “Are you Regis?” Who's Regis? Siobhan groaned, eyeing the crowd of people. She couldn’t possibly ask each person here if they were Regis. 

Fate favored her as the next person she touched had a rather familiar shoulder. “Anita?” Siobhan asked. “What are you doing here?” That was a bad question; if there was anything she knew about her co-worker, it was that she liked going out. “Okay, silly question,” she conceded instantly, crossing her arms. “Better question: did you come here with someone and what will it take to get you away from them?” The problem with her Regis strategy was that some people were off-put by her aggressive asking. If she was with someone, then she would appear less threatening. That was science, or something.

—

For such a small town, there were often new and strange businesses opening up. Anita made an effort to check all of them out, however, often enthralled by how chaotic and strange some of them ended up being. There was a fairly new club that had opened up with the weirdest name: REGIS Club. Maybe the letters were an acronym, for what though? - she had no idea. Inside it was just like any other club which was a bit of a let down. 

Anita was not going to let the mediocracy of the venue ruin her evening, however. She was stationed near the bar, hand cupping her third glass of tequila, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Of all people to see when she turned around she least expected it to be Siobhan. “A bit of a silly question.” She agreed with a smirk, which widened a bit at the second question. The pair had a flirty dynamic but Siobhan always stopped short of things going beyond that. “Trying to get me all to yourself tonight or something? I think we can arrange for that to happen. Look at you, hands empty. Can I get you something to drink?” 

—

Anita was a certain sort of person; Siobhan knew the type. Attractive, confident, ready for a fun time and uninterested in the intricacies of emotion. Could Siobhan say she was any different? As a child, in the dark of her room huddled under her sheets, she read the words of old poets. She fawned over the likes of Captain Wentworth while holding equal envy for him. She was a romantic, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew it as a truth that she could not escape. She wasn’t made for romance, but if it ever found her--through the fog of her emotions and the thorns of her life--she wanted it to stay. She wanted it to be true. Anita, she imagined, wasn’t the sort that cared about love everlasting--she didn’t think she believed in it. Not that it mattered much to the banshee, but when it came to intimate affairs, was it so wrong to realize that giving into Anita was losing the game they were playing? At any rate, she had a Regis to find. 

“A little,” she smirked at Anita. “Oh,” she laughed. “So painfully empty.” She held out her empty palms, fingertips brushing Anita’s arms and wiggled her fingers around. “And yes, all to myself.” She gestured to the rest of the club. “Have you seen the crowd here?” No, seriously, had she? And did she know any Regis’s among them? “I’d much rather have you.” She grinned. “Drinks now?” She could really use one.

—

People like Siobhan intrigued Anita. She was so willing to be immediately flirtatious, joking about having Anita all to herself. While she enjoyed their back and forth, Anita had a knowing feeling that nothing was to come of it - despite how much she wanted something to come of it. She’d had plenty of people in her past tell her that her insatiable need for physical intimacy and brute denial of emotional intimacy was a ‘defense mechanism.’ What was she supposed to be defending against? She hadn’t a clue. 

“Anything for you.” Anita replied with the flash of a smile as she turned towards the bartender and then pointed at her glass and gestured for two more of the same. Was tonight the night she finally won over the elusive archeology professor? “I don’t usually see you out and about at the clubs around town. Must be my lucky night, no?” Just then the bartender returned with two more margaritas on the rocks and Anita picked them both up off the bar, extending one out to Siobhan and letting her hand linger a bit during the exchange. “Let’s toast! To a night we won’t forget.” She was being hopeful with that dedication, wondering if it would come to fruition. “Do you like to dance?” 

—

 “Aye, you can say I’m looking for someone,” Siobhan answered, surveying the crowd for Regis. It would help if she knew what Regis looked like; asking every beautiful woman she met if they had an interest in Death had unintentionally ruined her chances of fun sex. Ironically, Siobhan was willingly squandering her chance at fun sex with Anita. It was, however, far more fun to deny it. Anita was surely used to getting what she wanted; Siobhan wasn’t one to give people what they wanted. She took the drink and noted the way Anita lingered— oh, she was good at this. It was too bad Siobhan was more interested in seeing how far she could push Anita. “To a night we won’t forget.” She smiled, clinking her margarita glass against Anita’s. 

Now it was Anita’s turn to ask a silly question; everyone danced, not everyone did it well, but everyone danced. In the Aos Sí, loud music mixed with wails thumped around like a beating heart. The sean-nós and lilting of banshees didn’t exist anywhere else in Ireland; anywhere else in the world. It was beautiful. Of course Siobhan danced, who wouldn’t? She sang like a bird once too, about forty years ago. “Are you asking me to dance, Anita?” She grinned, taking Anita’s hand and pulling her into the thick of the crowd. She leaned in, pressing her body against Anita’s. Carefully, she whispered in her ear: “sometimes it’s better to just do isn’t it?” 

—

The back and forth between the professors had always been titillating, to say the least. While it wasn’t her personal preference to let the teasing linger for as long as it had, Anita suspected that there was part of Siobhan that got off on the power she held in the dynamic. In any other situation Anita was the one being withholding, she was the one with the power. Admittedly, she had expected the game to only last for a little while and much to her surprise the longer Siobhan kept walls up the more Anita wanted to finally break through. But only for one night. 

It didn’t take long for Anita to finish the drink she had just ordered, the cool condensation of the glass still lingering on her fingers as she set it down on the bar and followed her dance partner further into the club. She followed the lead as their bodies leaned in, hips pressed up against each other. The thought of tonight being that one night was almost more intoxicating than the tequila running through Anita’s body but she also knew better than to get her hopes up. “Most of the time it’s better to just do.” 

As one song ended and shifted into another, all thanks to a likely overpaid and under qualified moonlighting DJ, Anita looked up at Siobhan with a smirk, “You know, I can think of a few other things we can do tonight besides just dancing. Care to turn up the heat?” 

—

Siobhan draped her long arms over Anita’s shoulders, an action she tried her best not to be amused by, smiling nonetheless; she was taller than Anita, enough that putting her arms around her shoulders felt more like she was about to strangle her than the casual flirtation she meant. Her neck was so perfectly situated where Siobhan’s hands could be. Most people she categorized into the methods she would best like to murder them—it wouldn’t ever occur to her that it wasn’t a normal thought to have—and lovely Anita was no different. It was a compliment in the perverse way all of Siobhan’s compliments unfolded; all the other humans, unimportant and insipid, were categorized into ‘stabable’. But Anita? Siobhan drew her hand back, brushing an errant strand of Anita’s hair behind her ear. She lingered, dragging her hand to the pulse of her throat. When Anita spoke, Siobhan felt her voice vibrating against her fingers. 

“I can too,” she mumbled, letting her hand join the other behind Anita’s head. “And what do you have in mind, damhán alla?” Spider; she thought Anita resembled one. In the back of her eyes, sparkling with the pulsing lights, she thought she saw a web being weaved, a trap being set. Or perhaps that was the romantic in her, seeing things when there was nothing. “How do you want to turn up the heat?” Siobhan smirked. “And are you sure you want to, Dr. Nieves? You’ve always seemed a little cold-blooded to me; afraid of fire.” 

—

Anita was an instinctual being. She knew when to weave, when to dodge, when to attack, and when to stand her ground. Her life revolved around giving into her base primal urges - giving into her instincts. When she felt the icy cold of Siobhan’s hands near her neck, then gently pressed against it, those instincts were in competition with one another. Despite the voice in the back of her head warning of possible danger, Anita decided this wasn’t an action to take as a threat. Maybe it was an invitation? Giving her the smallest sliver of insight into the strange and devastatingly beautiful woman in front of her.

The unfamiliar word danced around her head, entranced by the mystery of what it might mean. “What do I have in mind?” Anita parroted the question, feigning as though she didn’t have far too much in her mind. She certainly knew how she wanted to spend the night, yearning to turn up the heat by feeling those shocking cold hands pressed against a lot more than just her neck. But in that moment, Anita decided that she wasn’t going to play the same game they always did. She wasn’t going to just let Siobhan brush her off after all this build up. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she hummed, “that’s your first mistake. Don’t you know that the cold-blooded aren’t afraid of fire … we’re drawn to it. Gotta stay warm somehow, no?” 

Anita looked around the club with subtle movements, making sure not to create any additional distance between herself and her dance partner. She was feeling an urge to do something unexpected… maybe even a bit shocking. It was when she spotted a waiter walking past the dance floor with a tray of flaming shots that an idea began to form, as did a smirk across her lips. “Is the same true for you, mi congelada tesoro?” A frozen treasure was certainly what she seemed to be. “Are you drawn to the fire?” 

—

Siobhan laughed, a warm sound like smoke under the pounding music. Her hot breath spilled between them, floating into the air. Anita was surely experienced—that much had been obvious to her from the moment they met—but every so often Siobhan was reminded that despite her own worldliness, Anita was likely better at this. This being… “I’m not much of a fire, Anita.” She pressed her palm to her cheek, thumbing her cheekbones. She forwent her gloves for the evening in their interest of being able to do touch with her frigid hands; she hoped she was making Anita shiver. In the dark, the glamor to obscure her scarred hands didn’t need to be perfect. “I hope whatever you have in mind has enough fire for both of us.” 

Spanish. Siobhan grinned; one nickname traded for another. Only one word was familiar: mi. My. So, Anita was using possessives already? How forward of her. “I’ve been known to like things a little hot…” Her hand trailed down from Anita’s jaw, following the line of her clavicle with her index finger, using a stroke like a feather. She drew her finger down to the shoulder and back, pressing against her sternum. “But I can only hope you don’t disappoint, Anita.” She glanced up at her, grinning in her amused lopsided fashion. “I’ve known some people to promise a fire only to give a spark. I have high hopes for you, mo thine.” My fire; she was getting lazy. 

—

“Then why am I drawn to you like a moth to a flame?” It was a very lame line which Anita acknowledged with a bit of a laugh, but she was just tipsy enough to say it anyway. After all, her usual lines have regularly failed on Siobhan so what was the harm in just … letting go? 

Maybe that’s what they were both doing, letting go without necessarily giving in. As her cold hand trailed down her neck and made its way delicately down to the center of her chest, Anita’s breath caught unexpectedly. Her eyes were fixed on Siobhan’s face as her hands moved and their eyes met when she looked back up at Anita. Suddenly the tequila wasn’t the only reason she was feeling rather intoxicated. Her next thought was born of that second intoxication and a desire to just let go. 

Not wanting to move herself away from the position they were in but needing to get closer to the edge of the dancefloor, Anita placed her hand firmly against the small of Siobahn’s back and tightened up her posture, “Follow my lead, I’ll give you a lot more than a spark.” The words were low, just loud enough to be heard by her dance partner. Moving in the leading position, Anita directed the pair of them through the crowd in a make-shift tango. The timing had to be perfect. As they neared the edge of the floor Anita spun Siobhan out from the position they had been in, their hands being the only remaining point of contact. 

She held onto that remaining contact with a smirk then she looked over her shoulder as the waiter with the flaming shots was rounding the corner of the dance floor they were at. Anita then turned back to look at the brunette with a devious look as she tugged her towards her gently, inviting her to spin back into form. 

—

Submitting herself to the unknown shouldn't have been exhilarating; Siobhan, by all accounts, was the sort of woman that dealt in known absolutes—death, fate and the predictable turns of humanity. It should have terrified her to be thrust into a situation that confused her, instead, she was amused and thrilled and surprised she felt that way at all. What would Anita do? What was Anita thinking? Desperately, she wanted to know. Her eyes followed hers, her steps moved in rhythm with hers and she followed with a rare obedience. 

She spun out, flowing into the humid air of the club, as if the crowd had parted just for them, just for this moment and this spin. Siobhan’s feathery brown hair swirled around her head and at the apex of the spin, flowed into its place seamlessly as though it never left. Grinning, Siobhan's gaze finally converged with Anita's, on the same waiter. At once, she understood. Or, at least, understood her own version of the mayhem to be had. 

Siobhan was pulled into Anita’s arms again. “Cheeky,” she mumbled into her chest. “But what happens if I beat you to it?” She didn't wait for an answer. Siobhan, keeping her gaze locked on Anita's face and sporting a devilish grin of her own, tipped her hand into the air just as the waiter moved past them. The end of her blunt nail brushed the underside of his wooden tray and flaming drinks rose into the sky—phoenixes against neon light—until they crashed into the ground, exploding upon impact and erupting into a thousand flaming shards. A shockwave of cruses and gasps rippled through the club. “Like that?” she asked, blinking in faux-innocence. Pouting, she pushed closer to Anita and turned around to look at the mess the waiter made. Busy with the glass, he didn’t notice the trail of flaming alcohol that escaped across the dance floor towards the set of decorative curtains. Fire licked up the ends, painting a scene of glowing oranges and yellows. “Was that your plan?”

Siobhan confirmed the one thing she’d always suspected: this was a shitty club. The sprinklers, if those knobs on the roof weren’t just some inane decoration choices, didn’t turn on. 

—

The dance was rather exciting, and Anita felt quite pleased that she had managed to get Siobhan to play along despite not knowing what the ultimate plan was. Then, as they stood there after the spin before their bodies pulled back together, Anita recognized the look on her dance partner’s face. It was a yearning not for another, but a yearning for disruption. In another circumstance, Anita might have been annoyed with someone swooping in at the last moment and performing the final part of her plan. Instead, as she watched the other woman knocked the tray to the floor and she felt immense satisfaction. 

Alcohol and fire always made for a delicious combination. Her hands maintained their position on Siobhan as the pair watched the ultimate consequence of the spilled drinks. The flaming liquid spilled out everywhere and the cheap polyester tablecloths and curtains that the club had plastered across every wall and table took to the fire like they had been longing for it their entire life. A woman who was standing too close to the walls didn’t move, but instead watched in horror at the sight that unfolded, unaware that the fire had spread to the tips of her hair for several seconds. 

“That was part of what I had in mind,” feeling empowered by their shared action and excited by the rapidly spreading flames, Anita finally decided to do something that she had been wanting to do for a long time. Something she hoped was a mutual want. “This is the other part,” she said as she leaned up to close the distance between their mouths. An anticipating smirk crossed her lips just seconds before they pressed against Siobhan’s refreshingly cool lips. As they stood there, the kiss seemed to amplify the heat surrounding them as the rest of the club’s patrons were in a frenzy of their own as they flocked to the exit. 

While she could have stood there, surrounded by flames, kissing the other professor for the entire night, Anita pulled away from the embrace when the heat from the growing fire caused one of the club’s windows to crack and shatter. “Well, you certainly can’t say all I gave you was a spark.” 

—

Anita’s lips were soft, painted with tequila and saliva, pressed against hers. Siobhan’s hand tangled in her hair, pressing into the base of her skull. Her body burned, likely because of the heat, but the romantic part of her felt generous enough to attribute some of it to Anita. Carnage had a way of turning her on and desire itself was strange; it rippled from her chest down to her thighs. Pulling back, Anita’s face half-illuminated by searing oranges, she realized with sobering clarity that this was how Anita did it, this was seduction in masterful hands. She wanted to give in; having fun with Anita seemed like the best idea in the world right then. She was certain that regarding matters of romance, they were aligned: there would be none of it. And yet, there was nothing Siobhan hated more than being a loser. “You gave me a whole fire.” She smiled, dropping her hand from Anita’s hair. She smoothed out the mess she’d created as if trying to erase any sign of herself on the other woman (an impossible task; her lipstick was already smudged against her lips). 

Above, more glass cracked and popped, raining down into the club. Siobhan moved with little urgency. She leaned in again and pressed her lips to Anita’s cheek, lingering. “You’ll have a lot of scared women outside, looking for someone to comfort them into the night. How lucky you are.” Siohan pulled back, smiling at her with a cacophony of ill-intentions. Her own brown eyes shimmered with the fire around them. She moved to her left, brushing her as she walked past. Pausing one final time at her side, knuckles grazing, she leaned in again. “Maybe you’ll find someone you can pretend is me.” Another kiss met Anita’s shoulder before she was off, slipping away between glass and fire. 

As she looked back at the sparking sign, she finally realized it was the club that was named Regis. 

—

For a moment, no not even a moment -- just a fleeting second, Anita thought that there might be more fire in store for the two of them. But then Siobhan pulled away and the next kiss was placed on her cheek, not on her lips. While all of their past interactions had been tantalizing and Anita genuinely enjoyed their back and forth, this night solidified something her subconscious had long known but had yet translated into conscious thought: you may have met your match. But not match in the way lovestruck humans defined it. No, this wasn't kindred spirits, this was twin flames in the most warped sense of the term. 

As Siobhan pulled away again, a heavy breath escaped from her lips. While she dealed in and dealt out pleasure it was often meticulously staged and Anita was always the one in control. The feeling - the need - that was coursing through her in that moment, however, was anything but controlled. “I think we both know there isn’t anyone who could hold a candle to you. Even in my mind.” After feeling that final cold kiss pressed to her shoulder, Anita swallowed and the reality of the building starting to crumble around her sunk in. 

In a hurried fashion to not raise unnecessary suspicion Anita made her way to the exit, already looking around for someone who might serve as an adequate distraction. 

[nike2times]

+++😂😭💯

[likewearingpoetry]

Ella sabía que el amor es un viaje sin regreso y, aun así, se lanzó de cabeza, dispuesta a quemarse en el fuego de su pasión

[dangerousdesiress]

Would you mind?

[punkffunk-fire-and-desire]

Rick James & Teena Marie

Rest In Peace Rick and Teena.

[xpinkcookiee]

Booked and busy 💕

[the-little-red-haired-girl]

“īlon emagon va moriot meant naejot zālagon hēnkirī.”

We have always meant to burn together

[anonymousray]

When it comes to my feelings

I'm always not sure about anything

I question my love

I question my fears

I question my desires

I'm always confused

But all I can think of is I wish it wasn't you

[darktraumabomba2]

Control

[nobleriver]

Rick & Michonne + The way he looks at her

[silkentine]

❤️‍🔥🍴 I could eat that girl for lunch!!

While looking for art ref, Pinterest gave me this and I never felt more like a dirty scoundrel or a naïve bi-curious middle schooler in my life (and I AM a shameless dirty scoundrel and I absolutely was a naïve bi-curious middle schooler).