takecourage | (no subject)

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kavinsky

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She's danced on her own tonight but now she's ready to go again and, this time, it's going to be her and Kavinsky together. When they've done this before they've cleaned up and Alex doesn't expect this to be any exception. They're starting to ramp up the content of the dances, starting to play a little bit more to the crowd and Alex is finding that she enjoys that. It makes her feel so deeply in control when she sees the way men look at her right before they throw their money at her.

She preens a little in a mirror backstage, fluffing her hair, adjusting the ties of her top, the flare of her skirt over fishnets and tall, tall boots. Her tits are riding high in a bandeau bikini top and she's got her g-string under her panties. She's ready to go.

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"I told him that you're married to a dude but that doesn't mean he'll believe me," says Alex, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. It'll just confirm what he's thought about me all along probably."

Kavinsky frowned in a way that might have wanted to be a sneer at some point in its life. He'd fucked plenty of guys like that. He'd spent a lot of time thinking that was the only type of guy that he was worth, or that was worthy of him. People had made him believe it, too.

"Why stick around with someone that treats you like that?" It was Newt speaking through him, maybe, a concern for the way that Kavinsky sometimes liked to idolize men that thought he was garbage despite that it made him slide back into poor behavior. Advising someone else was easier than taking the advice himself.

"Because it's not him," she says, rubbing her hand over her face. "Not all of him, anyway. He's...got this massive stick up his ass, but it's a stick that his grandfather and New Haven and Lethe put there and, underneath it all?" She shrugs. "But he is never going to see me as anything other than a piece of shit from Van Nuys. We fucked at New Year, and it was...Great. But it hasn't happened since because I imagine that he pretty much exclusively dates athletic girls named Ashley with shiny blonde ponytails. So."

It's not him sounded just as much like the bullshit that Kavinsky used to say about guys as anything else in this conversation, but Kavinsky didn't push it. Instead, he rolled his eyes expansively, like that meant anything at all, and reached out to scrub his fingers through her hair.

"Come on," he said. "There's a twenty-four hour diner. Let's get breakfast. Do you do dope?"

"Not for a while," she says, meaning not since I got to Yale and tried to become a different sort of girl. She picks up a pair of jeans, tugging them on and then grabs her hoodie and her leather jacket. "Sounds good right about now, though."

"You're in luck, I got the best shit. Only one around that can get that good shit."

He laughed and got his clothes all straightened out and pulled on neatly. From a pocket, he pulled out a little dime bag, scooping out a bump on the edge of one of his credit cards. He didn't do coke so much any more, but it was a night for it, that was for sure.

He did his bump, and then got another one out, holding the card out for her as the burning buzz laced through him. It would take a few minutes to hit, but not as long as coke normally took. This was, after all, his stuff.

"C'mon, I'll drive."

Alex's hesitates for a split second but, honestly, it'll be good to not see them for a while, to have a night where she can pretend she's normal, for at least as long as the high lasts. She bends her head and takes the hit, her eyelashes fluttering as she straightens up. Muscle memory.

"Sounds good to me," she says, grabbing her satchel and slinging it across her chest.

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