Rating: T
Words: 730
Pairing: Genma/Setsumi (OC)
Prompt: "It'll only hurt a little, I think." (dance)
Warnings: Mention of drinking, general shenanigans
Author's Note: I've joined yet another drabble challenge. I know, I didn't finish my last one, but Kunoichi-Ume and Cinlat kind of dragged me into this one. A little, it was a mutual decision. Hopefully I'll get more done this time. Each of the prompts has a bonus word that may or may not get incorporated depending on how difficult I found it lol This snippet is one of the pairs that got several requests last time. Setsumi is an original character form my unfinished story Heart in a Silver Cage
"You don't have to come," Genma groused for at least the a fifth time, running his fingers through already tousled hair. He had attempted to reach a level of artful messiness that implied he didn't try, which would have been infinitely easier with access to a mirror. "If you can't hurry up, would you share the bathroom, at least?"
A half-squeal, half-growl answered Genma's jiggling of the door knob. "I'm going to kill you if you come through that door. Can't we just meet there?"
Genma huffed out a breath. "That rather defeats the purpose of going together, doesn't it?"
"You can just tell them I'm high maintenance, if anyone asks" Setsumi argued from the safety of the bathroom. "Besides-"
"Easy enough to pretend, since it's true," Genma complained, cutting off whatever tirade the woman was about to launch into.
Another growl answered his words, but Genma didn't stick around to get lectured. Snagging a jacket from the back of a chair, he stepped out of the shoddy apartment that he and Setsumi had been sharing for nearly three weeks. He'd been the one to get the lead that some type of meeting was supposed to be taking place tonight. Then, his expansive charm had gotten them an invitation. The least that Setsumi could do was be ready on time.
Genma rubbed at his cheek, annoyed by the pricking of stubble beneath his hand. He'd needed to shave, but between working, gathering intel, and sharing the apartment, he hadn't found the time. Tomorrow, he and Setsumi were going to sit down and make a different schedule for the bathroom, whether she liked it or not.
A flash of the invitation provided Genma access to the bar where the meeting was supposed to take place. He smirked, imagining the difficulty that Setsumi would have without the paper. Serves her right, he thought as he pushed his way through the already crowded room. He ordered a beer and slid onto a stool, surveying the space with a practiced eye. Genma could nurse a single beer for most of the evening without getting drunk. It didn't sound enjoyable after the week he'd had, but he was technically working.
The low thrum of bass filled the air, accompanied by a swirl of bodies on the makeshift dance floor. Genma watched the spectacle halfheartedly, annoyed that they made it more difficult for him to observe the corners of the room. Twenty minutes or so after he'd arrived, a stir rippled through the crowd. People moved to one side or another, creating a path toward the bar as they eyed the new arrival. Women wore their jealousy openly, the men, their desire.
Genma tipped his head in that direction, watching with half lidded eyes. Impossibly long legs glowed in the dim light of the bar, revealed by a dangerously high slit in the emerald dress that hugged her curves. The garment hid little from the imagination, dipping toward ample cleavage in a vee, accented by a flash of silver. Ebon curls framed-
Genma choked on his beer, spluttering as the liquid he wasn't supposed to drinking went down wrong. Setsumi's lips curved into an annoying grin as she cut kohl-lined eyes in his direction. "Something wrong," she asked, all innocence and sweetness.
"No," Genma answered, grasping as the straws of his sanity. "You just look . . . different."
Setsumi tipped her head to the side with an amused chuckle. "That is kind-of the point of this type of thing isn't it?" She swept a familiar gaze over the occupants behind Genma, reminding him that she was a trained shinobi as well. She wasn't merely there for a good time, no matter how stunning she looked.
"We should dance," Setsumi said, interrupting Genma's train of thought. She leaned closer, brushing a hand across his shoulders in a far too familiar manner. Her voice dropped low enough to prevent anyone else from hearing the next words. "It'll make it easier to keep an eye on the room."
"It'll only hurt a little, I think," Setsumi laughed and Genma nodded numbly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. A complicated mix of frustration, appreciation, and shock warred through his body as Setsumi dragged him nearer. Genma swallowed around the lump in his throat and placed one hand on her swaying hips. What was the worst that could happen?