It's in between watching Dirty Dancing and a recording of the Victory Tour in Canada that Pucci decides to finally pose the question. Before he does, he goes through the history of dance, which he's studied at the seminar, in his head: the places where it was banned for its association paganism; Christian sects that have banned it, or promoted it; its relation to worship since the dawn of time; collected images of Ballroom competitions playing on the television at his grandmother's house; his mother when she thought no one watched; Pearla at the last Homecoming. And then Dio, of course, and Salomé and with her the head of John the Baptist. He poses the question with this on his lips, too.
Dio looks him down and up from his side of the bed then says « Yes, I can teach you to dance. »
Already he's had to teach himself how to walk differently once his foot was healed. It was, in a way, hard to break the habit of limping since it was no longer necessity but just that: habit. His foot healed, that habit had no reason of being, and he taught himself dilligently a new way of walking. Soon, he'd almost forgotten what the habit had been before. Running came after, a natural progression, but other things, skipping, hopping, jumping the rope like Pearla had wanted him to so badly, didn't. What for? And dancing could be left aside, too, except. Except why not? Kevin Bacon already explained the dangers of not dancing in that movie Dio dragged him to some weeks ago. Maybe that was when the thought came into being. Maybe it was at the church, the exact moment he realised something had changed. Not just his foot, but his foot, too.
There are about one and a half seconds between Dio's reply and Dionne Warwick's Heartbreaker playing on the turntable at the other side of the room. Pucci wonders if this use of The World should count as practice as he looks at the needle circling the vynyl from the bed.
« Come here, » Dio says, so Pucci gets off of the soft sheets, straightens his clothes and walks over. He's once again mindful of his step, how he doesn't have to be mindful of his step in the same way as before. How easy it is for humans to let go of habits and replace them for new ones. How Dio is already swaying, slightly, his arms lifted to his sides, at the height of his chest, his upper body moving separately from his lower, slower every time Dionne pauses after 'Why do you have to be a' and jumps into 'heartbreaker', like he's breaking the flow of movements to go along with her voice.
It looks fluid so Pucci stops to think whether he was always able to, back then, with his own body, if the one who used the body before was able to, as well, and how impressive it is that Dio has managed to make this, his, body dance. Maybe it even is the looseness of it that allows him to be in control, by letting go of it, little by little.
Dio answers in part by admitting « It might look stiff but it's because I'm still not used to the body » Pucci thinks it looks perfect, close to it, « but you don't need a master at it, either. I'm sure we can both do what Patrick Swayze does. »
Pucci stops midstep and stares, narrowed eyes. Dio laughs and the movements of his chest look like part of the dance.
« Just come here and do this » Dio says, looking down at his legs which move in time with the rhythm. It looks a little like marching in place, but broken up. « And here, » Dio catches Pucci's hands in his, lifts them away from his sides, stretched out, forces them into motion. A little more force and Pucci's shoulders are moving too, right to the front, left to the back, and then again the opposite.
« Keep doing that, » he says and lets go of the hands to grab at Pucci's hips, thumb over bone, fingers firmly on the back. « And here, » he says again while he forces the hips to sway. Pucci's eyes on Dio's hair, he wonders if it looks even a little like Swayze's movements, like Grey's, like Dio's.
The song is now All the Love in the World. Thoughts are trained on not stopping, the movement of the arms, the shoulders, the legs, and the hips. He blinks and suddenly Dio is behind him, hands still at his hips, thumb now on the backside, fingers on bone.
« There » Dio whispers over Dionne, his hands trail up while his body presses against Pucci's, it a better guide, with legs and chest and hips as indicators, until their hands are joined again, and Dio forces them both to follow the slow, upbeat rhythm of the song. Pucci thinks this is what it means to 'feel' the rhythm, to let it flow through him. It's strange, too mechanical, but different from walking, or running, or everything he's done before. And then Dio, behind him, is pushing one of his legs significantly forward with his own, and Pucci understands this is a dance move, so he follows suit. Soon, he's almost, almost, got it down. Right leg forward, right leg back, left leg in place, bending slightly, in rhythm. He messes up the timing a couple of times, but Dio says nothing of it, just keeps at it. It's another blink and Dio is once more in front, holding Pucci's waist with his right arm, his right hand with his left, mimicking Pucci's movements like a mirror. It almost feels like a real dance. Dio's movements look more fluid, though, not a perfect mirror, but Pucci tries. Even if he steps on Dio's foot a couple of times, and his hand falls slack another couple.
But by almost the end of the third song, almost by the end of Pucci finally grasping the movements and the rhythm, Vanilla Ice comes calling for Dio.
It's not enough, of course it's not enough, and he's about to say so when Dio says they'll do it again tomorrow, everyday.
In the morning in front of the mirror he practices by himself. Movements of the shoulders, arms outstretched, hips in motion, upper part trying to disconnect, to move on its own, leg going forward twice, then backwards, the other in place. He stares at his reflection and there's nothing of the history of dance, which he studied at the seminar, staring back. No paganism, no sects, no worship, not the collection of Ballroom dance scenes, nor his mother, not even Pearla. Not Salomé, nor John the Baptist, and no Dio, either. Just his reflection, dancing back at him. It's only a moment, but it's there. Like a dislocation of movement and time, he only notices after it's happened. He wonders if this is what using The World feels like: movements out of linear time.
It's past midnight when Dio seeks him out for their lesson.
Pucci's not familiar with the music this time—it's a new record and he believes Dio chose it because over synthetic and strangely melancholic music, a man speaks as if he were a pastor ('Dearly beloved') about the Afterworld. The intro is long, Dio uses it to walk over to Pucci from his place near the turntable, until the beat starts up—an electric drum—when he takes Pucci's hands in him and tries to instill the rhythm of the song into him. It's a different one, not one-two, and it takes Pucci's feet a second to get used to it, to get used to dancing like this, their hands intertwined and their legs bending at the knees, Dio's hips swaying, Pucci's hips trying to, their bodies apart. At what's supposed to be the chorus, Dio shakes his shoulders and tries to teach the movement to Pucci without letting go of his hands, or getting any closer, and Pucci thinks, for a moment, that he's not supposed to think about it, that that's what Dio's trying to say without words and just movements and a smile, but Pucci doesn't really know what not thinking about it would entail. He tries remembering his reflection in the mirror but that only makes him lose step, too mindful, like he's aware of even the smallest of fibres in his feet, the tiniest of tendons and their imperceptible movements.
Dio frowns, staring down at Pucci—it wouldn't be surprising if he was also aware of every little movement inside Pucci—and lets go of his hands. It's a second and then the song has changed, but Dio hasn't moved an inch. Except now he's moving closer, to hold Pucci at the waist, push him into the beat the slow, guitar driven ballad is drawing for them. Pucci follows. Slow dancing is different, it doesn't feel as dislocated, it doesn't seem to have as much flow, he thinks staring at his hand on Dio's shoulder. Even when the song starts to build up, his mind is strongly focused on that: the build up, the slow movements, the way they're kind of not standing but not really moving much, either, the fact that he's sure his movements don't look or feel like the slow dances he keeps in his memory, no flow, nothing of beauty, just stiff and awkward.
« Just let me, » Dio whispers and Pucci's concentration wavers. Almost as if he forgets what he's doing. He leans into Dio, their bodies closer, the closest they can be, and he can almost feel it again. It isn't until the song is over that he realises again, that he thinks himself again. It's a bit like losing time to The World, except he's sure he hasn't. It's more like relinquishing his time, and his thought, and even maybe himself, to some other form of time. He thinks about the sacred dances he studied and he knows it's not the same, and he knows it's possible he's deluding himself, but it is, in all honesty, like entering a place where time flows in a spiral instead of a line. So he laughs, and lets go of Dio, and thanks him, and says he can't wait for their next lesson.
—
hidden bonus track
The needle jumps, the speakers crackle softly just for a bit until Bill Medley's rich crooning voice explains he's had the time of his life. Pucci stands in the middle of the room, he should feel at least a little embarrassed, in wait. Dio walks over and it's not exactly like Swayze, no stud, it's more feline, but no less entrancing. No less meaningful when he tips Pucci over. They've rehearsed before, watching the movie. Dio's memorised every moment, and added his, to make up for the lack of public for the last part, after Swayze jumps down from the stage. Vanilla and D'Arby both declined. Pucci's not quite mastered spinning, either, so they skip that part. Basically, they skip most of it aside from the one-two dance they've practiced. And of course—what Dio really wanted to do the moment Pucci asked to be taught to dance—have Pucci run up to him so he could lift him above his head by the time the song hits 'This could be love'.
au in which dirty dancing was released in 1983. the year is 1984; footloose has just come out, the jackson 5 did the victory tour, prince's purple rain is a new record, starts w 'dearly beloved'.