Shut Up and Dance

When he glances out of the corner of his eyes, she's still there at the bar. The last half hour she hasn't moved more than a few inches back and forth, while sipping at some sort of martini mix. She bought it herself. Not to say that men haven't been trying to vie for her attention, but she turns each one down with sneers and brash insults. While he can't blame any of the failed bids, he does not particularly pity them. She's beautiful in all respects, but also vicious and cruel by default to everyone. Him included.

She doesn't like people. She often tells him to what extent people annoy her. "Stupid, whiny bitches" she had said after the meeting last Tuesday. She had been upset because of a technicality in their shared merger project – the same technicality he saw coming a mile away but failed to mention due to sheer laziness. She probably knows that he knew, which is why she's been ignoring him all week out of spite. At first, he had been relieved because she is now doing all the work on both his and her side of the project. This means he can take naps without worry and not be nagged by her. She hasn't spoken to him on any of it either, unless she had to, and even then it was clipped. It was great. For a few days. But, by now, his nerves are starting to fray. He's been spending the last 24 hours trying to figure out a solution to a problem he never thought he would have.

He looks back over to see another male attempt the impossible. The guy flirts blatantly. Big gestures that must go with cheesy compliments. When he pauses for her response, she attacks.

He's too far away— and the club is far too loud— to hear anything, but he knows her. He can see the venom drip from her pretty pink lips, her sea-green eyes are glowing, and her posture shifts with aggression. The male is ripped apart by her cruelty; he escapes with his ego slipping through shaking fingers. Her sneer morphs into a smirk as the man cowers away into the masses. Another victim of the night.

It's amazing how much attention she draws to her. Everyone in the club must have seen at least a few of her responses by now. She's not about being subtle. She's a firm believer in just spouting out truth, no matter the consequences. She's brutally honest. Yet, despite her brash nature, men still keep trying. Again, a part of him cannot blame them. She's gorgeous tonight, wearing a backless dress and some beat up sneaks. It's a weird combination, especially with her hair still up in the signature four ponytails he can only associate her with. However, she wears it all like she owns the whole universe, and if asked he couldn't deny her. She's like a discothèque dream. She looks young and hot and troublesome, but he knows for a fact that she's always been that way. Even when she's in a business suit and low heels. She's never been the girly type. She doesn't like it when people think her weak or overly feminine, and she cannot stand to be looked down on. He's often been accused of doing so when they work together. He cannot count on his fingers how many times she's yelled at him while they researched for past files, and he would never argue back because it is so much easier to let her have her way. And when she would finish chewing him out, he would apologize and offer to buy lunch, and she would smirk in that ever pleased way. It's a game—their game, and as troublesome as it is he couldn't say he ever wanted it to stop.

But it had, abruptly. He had caved to her silent treatment the day before and approached her on his own. He did his spiel: apologizing like the technicality was all his fault, then offering to buy not only lunch but her favorite roasted chestnuts as well. Yet, instead of her usual victorious smirk, she had looked at him like he was mental and declined. All of it. She had never turned down a free meal before; she loved to mooch off him and waste his time. The rejection was not only a surprise, but also what broke him.

He had become angry for no logical reason; he wanted to yell at her for ignoring him for three whole days. But he hadn't. Instead he just nodded and walked away. He had no right to be angry. He still has no right to be angry. They are coworkers, that's all. She can turn down his invitations whenever she wants, as much as she wants. Just like how she's been rejecting every other guy tonight.

He sips his beer in an attempt to curve his frustration. He doesn't want to be here, sitting alone at the booth while his friends dance the night away. They dragged him here stating he's been too much of a downer lately. The louder friends even said something about fixing all his problems tonight. He'd let them do it because he really couldn't think of any good excuse not to, and because he was so frustrated that alcohol sounded good. Now, however, he's regretting letting them have their way. This not how he wants to spend his Saturday night. In reality, he could leave and no one would know until too late. But he hasn't, despite the fact that his beer is warm now. His eyes try to stray to the bar again, however he forces them to analyze the crowded dance floor. Not that there is anything to see. It is just a mass of limbs and sweat: not the least bit appealing in his mind. Then again, any unnecessary movement seemed unpleasant. However, he keeps watching as lights flash with the beat and he keeps sipping his gross beer.

He should have known she'd be here. It makes little sense given how much she hates being around stupid people, but it's just his luck all the same. She never once hit him as a party-girl type; he didn't think she would come to a pop-dance club where everyone else loved to go. No, she seemed more like the pub type of girl, where they would lean against the bar and sip shots while chatting about nothing at all. She would crack jokes and tease for hours while munching on some appetizer until she was good and relaxed. And then she would smile, that special smile that made his guts twist and brain stutter and it would be horrible and fantastic and perfect. She is definitely more suited for that then some drunk-ass club.

He is looking at her again, this time over the rim of his beer bottle. He pretends to take a swig, and nearly succeeds until he realizes she's looking back. Then he freezes.

She stares at him from across the room, her eyes narrowed and a scowl on her lips. Her eyes flash, and he feels his heart struggle to keep a proper beat. He can feel his chest compress as she looks at him. He can't tell if she's upset or not, as she makes no motion at the bar. The more she looks the more he knows.

They planned it, he's sure. His stupid meddling friends. They played him. Somehow they got both him and her to this club at the same time and now he's stuck in her eyes. And he cannot deny it. He knows that they are bound to be together. Not as coworkers or even friends, but as something far more troublesome. Something he's pretty sure he cannot handle. Something he knows he doesn't deserve.

First off, she's far too beautiful; the idea of pretty is blown clear out of the water and smothered out of existence. The second issue is that she is loud and bossy and the very definition of troublesome. She yells, nags, and complains about him all the time. He'll never get a moment's peace with her in his life. But he can imagine such a life. A life where it's just the two of them sitting around and watching the world.

He forces himself to meet her eyes properly, and in them he can see a spark of something that he doesn't quite understand. But he thinks he can see the future in her eyes.

Maybe that's just the beer.

She holds his gaze for a moment, then turns back to the bar. He blinks, and realizes it's another suitor. This one smiles with confidence. His lips barely move while he talks. She doesn't stop him, she doesn't lash out like before. She lets him finish and he even offers her a drink. She says something in return, but there is no aggression behind it. Her posture is all wrong for being on the defensive.

Watching this scene play out, he can't help but scowl. Only now does he realize that was his last chance. A chance to apologize. A chance to mend whatever they once had. A chance to improve on it too. The anger he feels is all self-inflicted. He tries to calm it with another swig of his beer. It doesn't work, but he tries another few swigs anyway because it's better than watching some guy flirt with her.

"Oi, Crybaby."

He stops everything and looks at her. She's standing right in front of him now, hand on her hip and that pleased little smirk on her lips. He makes no motion to get up or even reply to her. The lack of response makes her roll her eyes.

"You going to ask me to dance or what, Lazy Ass?"

He sets his bottle down as a crease forms on his brow. He doesn't dance. "No."

She rolls her eyes again and quirks just one brow up. "So you're just going to sit there all night and stare at me like some sort of creep?" There is a hint of annoyance in her voice. Her eyes hold no real rage though.

He frowns at that idea. "No."

She grins back at his response. "Good." She then takes his arm. He isn't sure what's going on until they hit the floor. He panics a bit, because he seriously doesn't dance. His eyes scan around for an escape rout of some sort but she catches his arms and scowls. There is warmth in her eyes though and he's drawn into how inviting those teal orbs are. When she knows she has his full attention she says, "Oh no, don't you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me."

He quirks a brow at her this time. "Just a moment ago you were getting onto me for looking at you."

"No I wasn't," she denies without missing a beat. There is a humorous spark in her eyes as she drags their bodies closer. He doesn't resist. His body feels very moldable right now. And he doesn't exactly dislike how she molds him to her own body.

"You were glaring pretty hard too."

"I was pissed because my boyfriend has been dodging me all night."

He pauses. "Boyfriend?"

She nods, "Damn straight. So no more of this ignoring me shit or staring from afar like a loser. And I expect dinner invites instead of just lunch ones, especially when you piss me off like last Tuesday, understood?"

He chuckles at her demands, as they sound almost like whines. He'll never admit that though. She drags his arms to her body and he catches on that his hands belong on her waist. She then puts her arms around his shoulders and he realizes they are now much too close to be anything but what she says. "Understood, troublesome woman."

She smiles a little, but forces a scowl onto her face to cover it up. He isn't fooled, but he lets it go. They move to their own beat on the dance floor, and he doesn't mind much of it at all. She seems content too, yet it doesn't last long as another frown shrouds her face. She doesn't say anything about it though, and that's not like her at all.

He leans in, deciding that his new status has new perks, and tilts her head to look at him. "What?"

"What?" She echoes him as his eyes scan her face.

He rolls his eyes. "I can tell when you're debating something; don't tell me you're holding back."

She blinks at his statement, then scowls. "Just shut up and dance with me." And they continue their sensual rotation on the dance floor for a while longer. Eventually she looks at him again. Then she frowns again. Then she does something crazier than anything else that has happened tonight.

She leans in. He doesn't expect it. He doesn't move in fear of retaliation. Their lips brush for just a moment and it leaves a pleasant warmth in his gut. She pulls away just enough that he can see her eyes again. They look big and deep and brilliant.

She smiles at him. It's that special smile, and his already squirming gut starts to do back flips. It's so horrible that he can't help but think it's the best feeling in the world. He opens his mouth, because he wants to tell her that she's perfect and that his destiny revolves around her. But she doesn't let him. Instead she leans in again and presses her lips against his own one more time. And just a little bit longer too.

She pulls away and there is a cheeky grin on her face. His heart is racing and his brain is having trouble breaking down what just happened. All he can think to do is lean forward and mumble an incoherent version of her name against her own lips.

She laughs and says "Shut up and dance with me."

.

I officially hate this song, I have listened to it so much. But I felt like it suited these two. The first time I heard it, I could just imagine Temari telling Shikamaru that very last line.

They are my favorite couple of that series. I knew they were meant to be.

Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think!

SunnyD545