Silver Tongues and Dripping Roses
The basic ingredients for any recipe - they have to come from a good source.
One two three... one two three...
The room is hot, the space is wide, and there is nobody around but the two lone figures in a sea of heated air and gentle moonlight.
Her lips perk into a smile. He cannot help but join in.
There is no air of urgency, nor is there a sense that this kind passion is forbidden. But the atmosphere is seductive. And like the cherry red on her puckered and agape lips, it is dangerously tempting. Like a drug. And he cannot help but inject it into his bloodstream.
Her head barely reaches his collar-bone, and yet he has to do everything in his power not to let her dominate. He takes her hand in his, one arm snaking around her waist, and her other arm around the nape of his neck. He feels her teasingly rub the nape - my my, she is being a little minx today - and cannot help but smirk.
It is slow, at first. The pace they move at - left to right, with half-turns and breath against his neck, it's almost like an innocent waltz. Like the kind a little girl would see at a fairy-tale ball, it is slow, calculated, sensual, romantic, dreamy - every synonym for the world of a blissful romance.
Oh, that's the impression. But not nearly the motivation.
She leans forward with strong, blazing eyes. Jaded, but raging hot. Her body lingers close to his, and he is suddenly able to feel everything about the detail. The dress that is a little-too-short-to-be-innocent, the way her leg curls around his, her hips resting against his body, pressing into him. The hem of her red dress, glittering gold. Her hair pulled into the bun, with just a few strands hanging in her face. And her face - god, her face.
Teeth biting a smirk. Brows furrowed. She is teasing him.
Oh, but a Lion can bite back.
He takes advantage of her leg curling around his, lifting her small frame up (is that a gasp he hears? How... cute) and spinning her around, with the lesser intent of lowering her to the floor, in a portrait-worthy pose. His nose barely touches hers, and there is a whisper of, "payback." Her back is arched, head leant back, and her hair dangles close to the cream-coloured marble, he being her only support. One leg may be on the ground, but it is his arms behind such a slender form.
If he lowered his face anymore, her breasts would be getting a free visit from his rough lips. But that's not his intention. It is to tease, to taunt.
So he heaves her back up with strength they both know he retains, landing them with her back to him, his hands tracing down her sides to her waist. Her emerald eyes cloud with desire, her cherry lips wet with her tongue flicking around to moist the dryness. It drives him crazy, like the heat. Her arms raised, she swivels away from his wandering palms, joining them with hers and at their furthest distance.
The sweat drips from his brow. Her hair is messy. They both smirk.
The night is young, and the eve of their dance has only just begun.
A/N: ...I tried to write a dance scene. It's my first attempt. Don't blame me. ;.; Based off of Ari-chan's 'Parachute' piece over on DA. Go take a look at real art. This is a first-time rendition.