She's only been in the shower for a minute, her hair barely even wet, when she hears the bathroom door open and his voice filter through the noise of the water.
"Do you know who you want to be tonight?"
Behind the safety of the dark red shower curtain, Naamah rolls her eyes.
"Perhaps that voluptuous blonde, for once. I know how much you approve of that."
He tuts. "A non-descript blonde stripper is the perfect disguise, and you know it."
"Of course, that's the only reason. I'm not an idiot."
"You're behaving like one. You know full well I prefer you this way. But they cannot see you."
"Honestly, nothing breaks my heart more."
"Will you be serious."
At that, Naamah pulls the curtain back enough to stick her head out. Lucifer watches her with his hands on his hips, one sharp eyebrow raised, and even though he doesn't pose it as a question she answers it anyway.
"Not at all," she says with a grin, and Lucifer huffs even as he smiles.
"So will it be the blonde?"
"It will," she said.
"With the tattoo?"
"You're getting predictable."
"That's only because you know me so well." She pulls the shower curtain back and tips her head back, feeling herself covered in the water.
"I like being the only one to see you as you are," he says as he leaves the bathroom, and the warmth in his voice heats her more than the shower.
They named the club The Serpent because it was the only name they could both agree on equally. They acquired the bar from a middle aged woman with a history of blackmail and fraud, found a place to live, and opened the next night. It took a little while to get traction going, but soon enough business was booming.
Naamah couldn't believe that Lucifer hadn't thought of it before. It was the perfect opportunity - even if she wasn't involved, what better the place to seek out the wicked souls of sinful men than a seedy, nasty strip club? The feast that she received was just the icing on the cake.
The club opens at nine PM and closes whenever they've had enough, usually just after midnight. The whole place is cloaked in ancient spellcraft and nobody can tell that it's falling apart, rotting from the inside out, the most grim bar in the whole South East. Its patrons see shiny black floors, carefully polished, and soft lighting illuminating the stage and bar. The private room (the greatest asset of the club, really, its main attraction) doesn't actually contain lush black leather couches and a thick red carpet. Nobody knows that the paint is peeling, the floor is sticky, the light is flickering and fading rather than 'soft.' Nobody but Naamah and Lucifer.
He holds the door open for her, gesturing for her to enter, murmuring a gentle, respectful, "na'am" as he does, his pet name for her. She smiles at him and feels the spellcraft wash over her. Blonde hair falls past her shoulders and she feels her body flattening, stretching. She looks down at the slight flush of heat on her forearm, seeing the serpent tattoo inking itself into her forearm. The black lines of her veins fade away to a natural blue. When she looks around at Lucifer as he shuts the door behind him, she's only a few inches shorter that him.
"Good for you?"
"Let's not do this again, darling," he says, voice light despite the menacing undertone. "I've already described how I prefer your true form."
"It's hardly truthful," she says, but drops the subject as her clothes melt away, leaving her in white lacy underwear. "Love, I'm hungry."
He looks over her slowly, appreciateively. "Tonight you will have yourself a feast."
He walks behind the bar and pours them both a vodka shot, flicking the switch to light up the OPEN sign outside and turn on the music, a slow pulsing beat with a gentle bass, for now. Naamah clinks her glass against his, and they down their shots. She sits on the edge of the stage to wait.
It doesn't take long. They all know that The Serpent opens at nine on the dot, and they have to get there early to have their fill. Once Naamah starts taking people to the private room, the stage is closed and it becomes nothing more than a bar. It isn't known why the club only hires one dancer per night (one dancer overall, technically, but the customers hardly know that) but they are always attractive and talented, and so the oddity recieves no complaint.
They come in groups, well dressed business men with wedding bands on their left hands. Naamah glances at Lucifer and sees a sharp, wicked grin split his face for a second. They are his favourites, and she is happy that he is pleased. She fetches their drinks, and takes the comments and touches with good grace, knowing she will have the last laugh later.
She spots a newcomer amongst the group, and takes extra care to catch his eye and smile as she ascends the steps to the stage, body bathed in the soft light. Too much glare can reveal cracks in the spell, and besides, the patrons like the ambience.
The track changes, heavier bass running through the club and almost moving the floor. The conversation wanes as one by one, each man becomes transfixed when Naamah starts to dance.
She collects their money with slow, easy smiles, gaze continuously flicking back to the newcomer. He isn't young, but he's inexperienced, nervous. His wedding band looks shiny and new. He waited until he was newly-wed to visit the club. She dislikes him intensely.
The bar is slowly filling up now, chairs being occupied, more eyes on her, more hands slowly raising to wave money in her direction. She dances for an exceptional amount of time - nothing to her, but far more than any one dancer would manage. In a regular strip club, as the customers know, the dancers would swap places, take breaks. Naamah just keeps going, blowing their minds with every lift, every drop, every drawn out slow slide downwards. Their eyes only leave her to fix on their glasses and wallets, and only for a second, before returning to watch her religiously. She feeds off their attention almost as much as the rest of them.
She collects her payment between tracks, caring little for the money but knowing that not taking it would just be suspicious. She plucks the bills out of clammy fingers, piling them neatly at the side of the stage to be collected when the show's over.
As the current track starts to fade away, one of the young man's companions slings an arm around his shoulder. "How about a private show for my pal here?" he calls, words slurred slightly. "Just got back off his honeymoon and it's all downhill from now on!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Naamah sees Lucifer visibly perk up at the bar. He lifts his head from his folded arms, staring right at the male in question. Naamah pretends to consider it until she sees Lucifer nod, and then she smiles, slowly.
"You'd better buy me drink first, darlin'."
The other men jeer and laugh, but the newcomer nods, transfixed, and stands up, never taking his eyes off her until he reaches the bar.
"What's she drinking?" the man slurs as he leans against the counter, jerking his thumb in Naamah's direction. Lucifer glances up, a small smirk curving one corner of his mouth.
"The blood of evil men," he says, and the man guffaws.
"Yeah, she looks like it. A real maneater, that one."
At that, Lucifer outright grins. "Yeah. A real maneater."
He pours a double rum and coke and slides it across the bar, taking the man's money with a gracious nod of his head and a stolen glance at the wedding band glinting in the light.