The Dance.

[John]

I don't want to need you like that

SHE LOCKED HERSELF IN HER ROOM AND came over to the window. Leaning out across the ledge, she brushed her hair aside and stared at the garage below.

He was getting in his car. He held his hand over the wheel. She saw the indecision in his face--even from here. It was lit up by the courtesy light. And with her fingers held to her lips, she drew a breath and slipped off the window ledge and ran away.

''What am I doing?'' She asked herself, slipping onto her knees across the rug. Her room was a bed, a light spread, some posters, a vanity mirror, a desk and chair. She held herself thoughtfully. Rocking thoughtfully. Her eyes were severe and confused in the mirror as she chewed her lower lip whilst still touching her fingers to her mouth.

She couldn't make up her mind....

She stood up, then walked back over to the window--slowed, then turning on the spot, recalled his hands moving across her skin. Her hands slipped across her elbows and she hugged herself.

The way he'd moved....

She recalled stepping into him at one point. The way he'd stepped back, almost lazily, withdrawing with his shoulders--but even when she'd squared up to him with her aura, he hadn't budged an inch. She'd felt herself falling into him; and her body had demanded him to move, but he hadn't even been touched by it.

It was like he didn't even care.

Yet--

Her hands wandered to her shoulders. She felt along the back of her neck. And as she did it, her body turned towards the mirror to look at her face. Her lips were chalked in black gloss. Her eyes, deep and curious. She peered at herself--her too large nose, her too large lips, her ears--hidden behind her straight, dark hair--were slightly too big, she'd always thought. Yet he'd... the way he'd looked at her at times. The way he'd chased her up onto that car. Was it because of the music? Because of how he'd interpreted it? Or had she misinterpreted it for actual attraction?

''Stupid,'' she breathed. ''You're so stupid. There's no way he felt like that. He doesn't even know you, Nim?''

She found herself back at the mirror though. Her hand had come and wrapped around the edge. And leaning down, she peeked at herself again; then backing up, slowly, she looked at her outfit. The leggings. The training top. She turned slowly, wondering what he saw in her, recalling the way he'd ran his hands up and down her. Innocently, she peered at herself over her shoulder--at her back. At the muscles in her legs, lightly toned and wiry, and then at her arms, which she delicately wrapped her fingers around once again. A small, curious glance towards the window and the garage below--but his car was gone.

She once again touched her lips; and she realised she was thinking about his lips as she did it. The way he'd breathed against her whilst dancing. Her eyes withered and fell towards the carpet.

''Fuck,'' she uttered, slipping to her knees. She sprawled out. A low groan left her throat as she felt her body still pulsing. ''Fuck,'' she breathed again; then slid her hands across the carpet. She couldn't help it. The memory of him was reverberating through her. And then, turning on the carpet, she slid onto her back and felt her weight switching into his--and:

Body pulsing, eyes closed. She lost control....

 

[John]

Control

Thirty minutes ago....

The garage was made up of four walls and an iron frame for jacking up cars. There was a tool cabinet and the chassis of an old volkswagen beetle. He was dressed in a baggy grey t-shirt and black sweats. She was in a tight crop-top and matching black leggings. They both wore sneakers. Her in red and white; him in green and grey.

He took her hand and lightly led her around the garage. She kept up, postured, but kept looking at his shoes. She couldn't help but stare at them. She'd never seen him move before. Her lips were lightly parted as she tried to keep up with him.

''Look at my eyes,'' he said, indicating at himself.

She raised her her eyes, closed her mouth, and did so.

They started again. He took her hand and led her around the garage. She kept up, postured, staring at him. They were in sync. He led her around the car, then turning with her hand, guided her to slip beneath his arm. She went beneath it gingerly, then felt him dip her.

She struck back, bending at the waist; and falling into a dive, she allowed the breath to leave her lungs. Then taking her by the hand, he pulled her back into him.

They started moving with each other around the garage, in and out, back and forth, slipping in and out of each other's arms; her in a tight black vest which showed her abs; him in a grey t-shirt that was slightly too baggy for his heavy build. He ran his hands up and down her as she wove around him. He was the pole. She was the dancer. She would coil her legs up around his body and dangle from him, sliding across the concrete with her fingernails. She would skim dirt. She would let her teeth show past her too-thick lips as she concentrated on the music. He would step into her, then force her to bend; and she would bend for him and weave with her hips, moving with the beat. They came together and she pressed herself back against him. She ducked and wove with her hips beneath his groin; and him, tight-lipped, shaggy-haired, moved with her. His hands slipped up on her. She cast them away. Then he grabbed at her; she cast him away. She stepped back, twirled, three times -- twirled -- and on each twirl met him in the eyes. He stood there, breathless, then when the beat resumed; he came after her.

She slid over the bonnet.

He moved along it, wrestling it with his hands.

She sat on top of the car.

He went to climb it.

She put out her foot and sat it to his chin; and stunned, he rolled his face against it; and the two of them slid onto their backs along the car, panting.

Then when they were ready:

They got up again, sliding down the bonnet. Him pushing off it. Her barely catching herself. He came after her.

Against the door. Against the corner-wall. He looked into her eyes as she stood helpless up against it, staring into his eyes. Then beneath his arm she went, rushing, hitting the tool-case on the sheath-rack, making it all rumble. He came after her, lifting a heavy wrench in his hands. She saw it and grabbed at a trash can, throwing it in his way; and putting his foot up on it, he shoved it aside. She let out a restless little rasp as she turned to him, cornered inside the car door which she'd pulled open to throw herself behind. And like that, they both stared at each other--him weighing the wrench in his hand.

She let her eyes simper, and he leaned in slowly, clenching the rung of the door.

She looked at his lips--then staring for half a moment, she slipped into the back of the car.

The music continued as he got in after her, pressing in after her, he pulled the door closed and locked them both in. And a moment later, through the back windows, her hands spread like butterfly wings on both sides, feathering the air. Then it was her and him in the back seat, wrestling with each other. Her on top, turning her head away from him towards the wing mirror to fix her make-up--then it was him in her neck, pretending to kiss on her as she fixed her hair.

They moved to the front seat. Him driving, her talking at him. But he wasn't looking. He was just glaring into the wing mirror whilst pretending to turn the steering wheel; and a moment later, she shook her head and got out the car.

She mimicked yelling at him. He staggered out of the car, banging on it with his fist. And kicking at the dust of the garage, she walked towards the end of the garage with her arms crossed, pouting in annoyance; and sighing, he hung in the car door with his head down, panting. His eyes searched the wing mirror. His gaze grew dilated and heavy. Then restlessly, he sighed. Because she was feeling up his stomach from behind. She'd walked all the way around the car and started to touch his abs. He grew very still.

Her hands clutched the hard muscles of his chest, then spread out across his biceps, caressing the hard veins in his arms; and him, standing, turned and went to face her furiously--but she just went toe-to-toe with him as he forced her to back-up.

They walked like that through the garage, her hands inside his shirt; his feet scuffing up dirt. She got him all the way to the tool cabinet, which she bumped into. Then staring heavily into his eyes; she glared him into submission. And staring down at her, he lifted his hand up and delicately touched her face.

She melted, easing into the tool cabinet; and taking his hand in both of hers, she shoved it up against her face... then sighing, she pulled him along.

They began dancing again. But this time, more slowly. She guided him around. She wore him down. She took his hands and put them on her stomach to hold her; then against the car bonnet, she made him sit down. And over his lap she dipped her back and hung there in his arms as he swept her at a 90 degree angle. She sprawled with her hands, swiping them over her head, letting herself be tossed. And then at the end of that crescent, he lifted her up heavily into his arms; and she hung her arms around his neck.

For a moment, they both just sort of looked at each other. And with his hands on her waist, he held her there, staring back at her silently, his lips very thin.

She then hesitated, and leaning over his lips--

She didn't kiss him, and he didn't kiss her.

''.... Thanks. See you next time,'' she said as she got out from beneath his arms and ran towards the door.

Stunned, he slipped off the end of the car, then went and threw a towel around his neck. He stood there, deep in thought, the door still yawning; and shaking his head and cursing, he reluctantly went back to work.