Work Text:
A nightclub wasn’t anywhere he belonged, pounding with noise more heartbeat than music. So he sat in a dark corner, sipping scotch. She insisted on his presence, he long ago gave up fighting her.
So he watched, as was his calling. Watched as she took possession of the dance-floor. A force of nature, all fury and grace, danger and power, darkness and sex.
Her dark eyes always on him, burning, luring, drawing him to her. Her body writhes against only his, heedless of the glances from younger men, confused, disgusted, angry.
She whispers again, “Not too late for Rupert Giles.”