Slow Dance
Kat/Patrick. Spoilers for S1E07 "Dance Little Sister".
Note: The last time I wrote anything that even resembled fiction, I was in high school. I'm doing my post-grad studies now (not on anything that involves writing or creativity, you're welcome), so you have no idea how odd it makes me feel to be posting fanfiction after so long. But by golly, is this show and this pairing inspirational. The chemistry between Lindsey Shaw and Ethan Peck is electric, and I wanted to put it in words. So with Michael Rossback's 'Carry Me On' (the song during the slow dance) on replay, I wrote this little piece. Read and review, please. Any comments are much appreciated. To the few who might, thank you in advance. :)
That settles it. I'm a masochist, she thinks, as her memories play a rerun of ten seconds ago when a little cute talk and teasing led to this uncomfortable moment on the dance floor. It would be the only explanation why she would get herself into three minutes of painfully awkward side-to-side stepping and the hyperawareness of his hands resting on places it normally never should be. On most occasions, she lets her mind move before her mouth. Not tonight though, and hardly ever with him around. How is it that this boy could make her unhinged by a few words and a small smirk?
Her arms feel like a dead chicken's as she raises them up to put them...where exactly? Her brain goes on overdrive as she decides. Placing them anywhere near his face feels too intimate, too dangerous. What more near those soft, talented lips? Her memories go back a little further to a kiss on a rooftop amidst burning flames – betrayed again by her own brain. She settles on grasping his arms – awkward, but distant enough to make him unaware that it takes all her resolve to not lace her nervous hands behind his neck and pull closer.
She steps on his toes, apologizes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll try to let you lead."
"Oh this I've gotta see."
What is that smell he has on? Cologne? A fabric softener? Natural pheromones? The attraction is primal. She looks up but immediately averts her eyes when he returns the stare. She is a ball of nerves and tingles, starting at the tip of her fingers where she feels his firm biceps, at the skin on her waist where he grips her lightly, then going up and down the line of her spine. The electricity travels all over her body until it finally emanates out of her mortal shell as heat, sensual and smooth. Does he feel it enveloping him like it does her? She prays it doesn't, she prays it does.
As the song progresses and their steps become in sync, her shoulders drop literal inches in relaxation but her arms begin to feel the stiffness of supporting her grasp on him.
"You obviously haven't done this before."
She looks up again. Playful eyes, another sly smile on those lips. "What do you mean?"
"This. Slow dance. Kat, look around you." She scans the room, not entirely sure what she is supposed to be looking at.
"Your hands," he takes hers, slowly slides them up his upper arm and rests them on his broad shoulders. "They go here."
She cannot help but bite her lip and smile. She looks away as she does. One little gesture of vulnerability is enough.
He makes a quip about her uncharacteristic silence. She jokes back. The tingles take another rush all over her, but her mind is a blank mush of calmness. As they sway back and forth, both shoulders and arms now lax, she realizes she could probably do this the whole evening.
Or not quite. The music fades, to be replaced by drum beats and a synthesizer.
She drops her arms before he does. "I can't do this."
"Me neither. You wanna get some punch?"
"Did you really just say that?" She stumbles through a laugh as she says the words.
He makes a face. "Yeah, I did."
She lets out a high-pitched ha, and drags him away the dance floor, smile in place.