Disclaimer – All I own are my kinks.
A/N – Written as part of the Ten Minute Challenge. Keyword: lilac.
Feedback – Pleeeeeeeeeease give me some.
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Dancer in a Dance
© Scribbler, December 2004
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It's a quarter to midnight and the bogeymen are pulling at her feet. She stifles a snigger behind her hand and runs her fingers up and down her cheekbones. Mama used to say pretty girls had bones you could see. She's very pretty indeed.
The moon makes a bow and asks her for a dance. She wrinkles her nose and decides she will indulge him, twirling around with her arms held out. You can't hold moonbeams, but you can dance with them. They're very good dancers. They never step on your feet, never drag instead of lead, and when you're done you don't have to kiss them on the cheek. She doesn't like kissing cheekbones she can't see.
Her dress is lilac satin, with shoes to match and gloves that reach to her elbows. Nobody else can see them, of course, but that doesn't make them any less real. She feels the softness on her arms, murmurs whish-whish noises and twirls and twirls and twirls, until she's quite dizzy. Then she sits and wonders why the dance-floor is so much like bare concrete.
She doesn't think about it for long. There's strawberry punch. She feels sure somebody's spiked it, but it makes the whole night exciting and adult. Dances and punchbowls and ball-gowns, oh my!
She giggles. It echoes. She moves her arms like she's still twirling, until a yawn creeps up her throat. Then she gets up for one last dance – a slow number. She holds her shoulders and turns in slow circles, hands drifting lower, squeezing, caressing, digging viciously into her buttocks. Move and tap. Move and tap.
Knit one, pearl one, drop one, curl one…
Other dancers peer in through the door, but this number is all hers. She claims it, swallows it, makes it a part of her. It sits in her belly, a cradle of warmth. And when it's over, she can still hear the music, cushioning her against the whispers of those who would have her dance with them, but who can't get through the door.
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FINIS.
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