Litt was on the dance floor. She hadn’t come with anyone because she didn’t know anyone. She wasn’t dancing with anyone, because she hadn’t waited for the to ask. Instead, she’d come in, stalked into the middle of the dance floor with such a strut that people actually parted to let her stalk through. Upon reaching the middle of the dance floor she’d started dancing without hesitation. She moved like sex, she smelled like lust. Rather then allowing the music to flow over her, her body poured over it. Instead of moving to the beat, somehow it seemed she moved and the beat followed. She danced with no one in particular, flirted with everyone who flirts back, touched, slithered, rolled against, rocked away from bodies. Her feet moved like they were blades on ice, her body like ice, melting and slithering in the heat, the sweat, the music, the ecstasy of it all. She was drunk on the music, high off the lust.

Litt had stalked the dance floor wearing a second skin of pleather, shinny pants that rode too low on her hips, just enough perfect hipbone hanging out the top. Her shirt was dark pink, nearly red, spaghetti strapped shirt with the front laced closed with a black string. Her belt matched the color of her shirt and the material of her pants. Her shoes, Vans. With Pink laces. Why go dancing in stillhetto heels and break an ankle when your outfit looks perfectly fine in shoes that are meant to be stood in all day? Her face was aristocratic, hansom in a feminine way, her bone structure softening her sharp features. Narrow, sharp eyes were electric blue, her eyebrows arched perfectly. Her hair was a pink color, not too bright and not too soft. It was cut boy-short, the back and sides cut close, the top falling messily about two inches long. At a break in the music, she didn’t stop like everyone else, she swung her hip sideways, stepped, crossed her foot over the other, arms up, spun, and the music was back on. It was a perfect transition, a perfect timing.

Bo, on the other hand, is not attracting attention at the moment. Instead of having the crowd part for him (which he could probably manage), he is blending with it, becoming one with it, so perfectly that he moves easily through it without a ripple, until he's at the center with Litt.
What can I say? To another creature of lust, she is magnetic.

He is wearing actual leather because, while pleather is less expensive, it just doesn't breathe, and ends up kind of itchy. The leather he's wearing is a white skirt, clinging tightly just beneath the hips and around the buttocks, then flaring out and pleated until midthigh. It's bedecked, as are most of his clothes, with chains and buckles. He is wearing knee-high vinyl boots, with buckles that ran all the way up (the boots are black, the buckles white). His shirt is black, tight, and has a slit down the front, making it obvious that he is, indeed, a boy in a skirt.

And his transition is perfect, too. As the song changed, he moves away from the rather bemused young man he'd been dancing with, pivots so that he is now facing whoever he had his back to, and finds himself face-to-face, body-to-body with Litt.
He did that on purpose, of course.

Her body bound through the music, weaving with it, spinning, body bumping another young female body, then suddenly she drops away, is crouched near the floor, is standing again, twisting in a spin. It's like her mind isn't working and her body is thinking for her. She's not dancing to the music, it's dancing to her, bumping to her beat, moving with her tune. She looks younger then her age and acts older then she looks.

She comes body to body with him and smiles. It's a practiced smile. But it's a good one and it suits her. Then the smiles gone. Step, step, spin and she's behind him, the line of her body heat, made hotter by the constant blood pumping through his vein, the heat of the crowd, the beads of sweat, and it's an inch from his body. She should be hotter then she is. Her heart should be pounding, her pulse should be screaming in her throat.

Then she steps forward, touches him with the entire body, prances back, touches again and spins around him, her body not leaving his, she stops now in front of him again. Will he flirt back or will she need a new dance partner already?

Of course he'll flirt back. He would have flirted back if she'd been hideous, and she isn't, not by any means. He moves with her expertly, almost as if he can tell how she's going to move before she does it...maybe he can, who knows? When she leans forward, he leans back, and when she leans back, he leans forward, melding with her seamlessly when their bodies connect.
He wants her, badly, and this is kind of new, because he's used to being the one who makes the other person want.
Yes, it's new, but not unpleasant.

Don't worry Bo. She wants you too. But she isn't human. She's her own kind of creature, her own sort of nature. She won't melt for you, obey your every whim. She just wants you. THe music slows, she slows, it pumps harder, faster, she moves harder, faster. She should be breathing harder. It seems she isn't breathing at all. She barely touches him the entire time they're moving, completely sincronized to eachothers movments. Her touches are rare, taunting, teasing, a brush of fingers on his hip, a touch of breast to chest, her body slithering to him then away again. Oh yeah. She wants you too.

She has him completely in her thrall. Overconfidence can do that, you know...Bo isn't used to being had, and therefore isn't prepared.
For all that he's practically in her control, he glosses it over well, resisting the urge to respond too strongly to her teasing; it's not easy...he's getting dizzy.
He tries to concentrate on the dance, but is starting to feel rather intoxicated.
He's an incubus himself, but only half...he's never dealt with a full demon before. It's rather overwhelming.

But what may be strange is that she isn't an incubus. Or anything closely resembling an incubus. Just a demon of fear, minor to Chaos and Destruction. Just a demon with a real talent for seduction, and three hundred years of practice. Her capture of his attintion was purely by chance. His falling for her was probably why she wasn't falling into his thrall of power. The music slows, slower then she wants it to be. She just stops. Just like that and she isn't dancing anymore. Her eyes are on him, but she isn't dancing. She spares him a come-hither look then turns on her sneakers and must fight her way through to get to the bar.

Fight because walking is normal. Stalking around gets attintion, makes people move. Walking is normal.

Blending again with the ebb and flow of the crowd, Bo followed her fairly easily, and fairly eagerly.
She could probably feed him enough to tide him for a week, in a manner of speaking.

She probably would. She probably wouldn't be very happy about it eaither. She seated herself on one of the stools, sitting on one leg, pulling the pleather tight over on thigh, the other leg hanging down, too short to reach the ground, the toe of her Vans shoe just touching the ground. Leaning on the bar she threw a glance back to see if he'd followed. She flashed a smile, small fangs flashing, four, two on the top, two on the bottom.

He'd followed her.
He grinned back, showing his set of perfect, human-looking teeth.
Fangs?
One of those dental surgeries? Doubtful.
If she was in fact something other than human, that would explain some things.
He sat by her.
"Let me buy you a drink."

Human? Definatly not. The power that ebbed off of him hadn't been human. She drew her tongue over one perfectly dainty sharp fang before closing her lips over the miniture daggers. She turned her body inward towards the bar as he seated himself next to her.

"I expected you would," she said it lightly, a non-threatening tone that showed she could expect things of someone but not be offensive in doing so. So many years of trying to master that technique.

"Your a wonderful dancer."

"A wonderful dancer is nothing without an equally wonderful partner." he replied. He felt that she might be playing with him...and he felt that that was all right. He liked games.
"What would you like?"

A wonderful dancer is nothing without an equally wonderful partner

Good Line. She smiled at him. "Sucking up or do you mean it?" She knows shes a good dancer, she is just playing with him now. It's good that he thinks it's alright. But to her, it wouldn't matter what he thought, she'd play anyways. Lets just say she gets it from her father.

Well, Since Litt can't actually hold a liquid in her body properly she doesn't usually drink. And she can't get drunk, thus theres no fun in that. So she waved it off with her hand.

"Whatever your having."

He ordered...something, and deliberated her question.
"Both." he decided smugly, folding his arms and grinning.

She leaned towards him, bringing her face very close to his, she smelled, above all the booze and sweat around them, of old books. Like walking into a library. She hates to read and doesn't go to libraries, but it's what she smells like.

"YOu don't need to suck up little creature." Creature because she's too young to know what he is, creature because she knows that whatever he is, it isn't human. She kissed him. Her lips were faintly cold.

((Ems! Your eyeballs turned BLUE!))

Cold lips don't bother Bo much (though cold lips on dead bodies would). He kissed her back, and his own lips seemed almost inhumanly hot. His eyes were half-lidded, but appeared to be burning behind the faint screen of his lashes.