A/N: As I've said before, just add snow and you get instant author. This is what happens when you listen to "Army of Love" by Kerli consecutively too many times.

"So you don't know how to dance?" Speirs confirmed after Lipton's babbling explanation of why he wouldn't dance with any of the girls in the town that they were in last night.

Lipton sighed.

"No."

"I guess I'll just have to teach you, then." The Captain decided. Lipton tried to protest.

"I'm making it an order. Meet me here at eighteen hundred sharp. Just wear what you've got on now." This was his uniform, boots and everything.

"Yes sir."

Lipton approached the old barn carefully, wondering if this was all just some prank and Speirs had gathered all the guys together inside to laugh at him because he actually took the bait. He winced as he slowly pushed the door open, preparing for the worst. But all that he saw was Speirs sitting on a dusty hay bale and flipping through some book, and a record player sitting in the corner. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Lipton really had higher expectations of the man than what he had feared. Speirs looked up, a small smile flying across his face.

"You came." He sounded surprised.

"I thought it was an order." Lipton said, thinking that he might be able to get out of it.

"It was. Didn't know you'd take me seriously, though."

Well maybe because you're the scariest person in the entire goddamn military, Lipton spat in his mind.

"I take orders, sir. It's my job." Lipton explained, folding his hands in front of himself.

"Good." Speirs nodded, setting down his book and strolling over to the record player, seeming to admire for a brief moment the glossy black disc before placing it gently on the table and adjusting the needle. The somewhat-static-like notes from an orchestra came rolling out of the curved horn, playing a sweet and slow tune, maybe a waltz. A delayed thought popped into Lipton's mind: Where did he get that? But he shook it away and focused instead on the man before him, who had shown up in front of him during his little trip to dreamland.

"First of all, loosen up. You're too tense." Maybe because it's one hell of an awkward situation.

Carwood reluctantly unclasped his sweaty hands and set them at his sides, looking like a very out-of-place pole in the middle of the barn. His eyes darted to the rafters, to the ladder to his left, and oh look, there's a very interesting pile of rope over there, anywhere but Ron's eyes.

Lipton's breath hitched when Speirs put a warm hand on his right hip, and then another on his left hip, with a speed that had Lipton wondering if Speirs thought that he was going to spook him and he would run off and hide. He would probably be right. Lipton was wound tighter than one of their new parachutes.

"Since you're the designated girl in this situation, I'd put one hand on each of your hips, right where they are now. And you'd wrap your arms around my neck, like this…" Ron explained as he removed his hands and brought Car's arms to wrap loosely around his neck. Carwood could feel the soft brown hair at the back of his neck. He was kind of annoyed that he was the "girl" but not enough to say anything. He could be angry later.

Speirs gently pulled them so that they were closer together, so that they could feel each other's body heat. Lipton had expected to be taught how to waltz or something fancy like that, but not a slow dance. This was getting a little too intimate for Lipton. But he just couldn't break away. Speirs towered over the shorter Lipton, his deep brown eyes finally meeting with Lipton's equally dark ones.

"And you just rock from side to side, side to side, side to side…" The Captain trailed off, his hands burning through Lipton's uniform. Lipton could feel his breath growing ragged and his palms getting damp.

"You're blushing." Ron noticed, causing Carwood to stand there, mouth slightly agape.

"I…I-uh…it's a little warm in here, don't you think?" Lipton managed.

"A little…" Speirs murmured, one arm snaking around to Lipton's back and pulling him flush against his chest.

"This is kind of…close…sir…" Lipton whispered, his eyes blown wide with fear, not wanting to make any sudden moves, like the taller one was a hungry predator.

"This is how you dance, First Sergeant. You want to do it right, don't you?"

"Yes." Lipton squeaked.

There was a moment of silence before Lipton felt the hands leave his hips, and relief washed over him. That was, until, said hands grabbed his face and brought their lips crashing together. Carwood tried to pull away, to flee, to escape, but Speirs had turned them around and pinned the Sergeant to the wall, taking his wrists and placing them above his head.

"No—please—don't!" Lipton tried to get out from behind the tongue that was thrust halfway down his throat. He could feel a hard length pressing against his leg, and he began to panic.

"What's wrong?" Speirs asked him, nipping his way down his neck.

"Ne—never done this before." Lipton gasped.

"Let me show you how it's done." Oh, the irony.