A/N: This contains boy/boy. The dance Luke and Flora are learning is the Waltz in case anyone was curious.
Young boy and young woman stood face to face as their caretaker arranged their hands accordingly. He nodded to himself and started the record player. A lifting, energetic melody filled the parlor room, but the sound was irritating to Luke's ears. He and Flora had danced to the same tune since early afternoon, frantically preparing for a ball.
The first beat- Luke stepped forward, leading Flora one step back on her right. After that his nerves calmed and a smile curved his lips. Finally. Finally, he'd got it. Then he noticed Flora's wide eyes directed at his mentor. Luke stopped, his smile falling as he looked at his feet pinning Flora's delicate Mary Janes.
"S-sorry... again." He sighed the last bit. Flora sighed also- with relief- after he unpinned her foot.
"Flora, if it's no trouble, I would like a cup of tea," the Professor said.
"No trouble at all." She smiled and turned towards the kitchen.
Luke was still staring at his feet, "I'm sorry, Professor."
"Don't worry about it, my boy. We'll try it one more time before going to bed." He wound the record player. Luke wasn't looking but he could hear the crank making an exhausted whirling tempest.
A figure approached him and mechanically the young man held his hands out. A large, warm hand cupped his left hand. Luke looked up and jolted. The professor was close.
They had been entangled during times of desperation. The professor was a protective man, and often when Luke had been a child, he took him in his arms and reeled him to safety. They were not in an embrace, Luke didn't hear the man's heart race next to his ear, but this was close.
Hershel took his rigid right hand and placed it on his waist, slightly toward the back. The professor's back didn't curve as Flora's did; nor were his hands as dainty as hers, but something clicked. He couldn't tell what, dizzied by the intimacy, however unintentional it was.
"On the first beat, Luke."
"What?"
"Well, you are leading me."
"Right..." he said unsteadily, but his feet moved. He stared transfixed at the older man in front of him, amazed that he was moving him across the room, literally bent to his will as he dipped him. He was hardly paying attention to the steps or the monochromatic music. His feet simply moved, despite the immense pressure to succeed.
Their dance ended abruptly when Luke began to spin the professor and his trademark top hat toppled off in the crossfire of Luke's arm.
"Sorry!" Luke shouted. He had been so worried about stepping on the man's shined shoes he had thought surely he had done so.
"No harm done. It's just my hat." Hershel chuckled, releasing Luke's hand to retrieve it. He brushed a bit of dust off the top and held it under the crook of his arm. "You did well, Luke. I can say confidently that we can call it a night."
"Thanks."
"Good night. Sleep well, you'll have a busy night tomorrow. Many young ladies will want to dance with you." He laughed, amused and then proceeded to his room.
Luke's empty hands hung in the air and he watched the man's backside, dumbfounded and longing. The words licked the edge of his lips but he couldn't bring himself to say something so wrong: "I'd rather dance with you again."