My crazed muse is now satisfied. At least for this piece. I think...*sigh* Why is it you can edit for a week on a chapter. Run it through a beta, Grammarly and other applications for grammar and sentence structure and still find mistakes!After publishing it?!

Hope you all enjoyed my madness. I jumped into the pool of crossover fandom and made it out...well not so sane. Huff, as I was from the get-go.

Thank you all for reading, reviewing following and favoriting. *smooches*


Five hours a phone call and a shared bottle of top-shelf bourbon later.

It turned out the mixing party was being held at 'The Kimeka Hotel' near the waterfront of the Capital city. A favorite among the magical community has a ballroom remanence of the 1920's New York City Roseland Ballroom. Many were on the dancefloor as the big band played one lively song after another. On the balcony, the Dela Vegas wait for the drama to unfold. Their grandfathers were working the floor flirting and stealing dance partners from their younger counterparts. Thiago and Ynés record each encounter 'for prosperity' as the rest of the group snickered.

The group isn't fooled. After some editing, Thiago's Instagram and Ynés' YouTube channel are going to blow up with hits.

To make a positive impression one must of the presence and attire for the appropriate setting. Dressed in classic white long sleeve shirt, black pinstripe tailored pants, double-breasted vest and with slick gentle manners, the women are easy marks to sway to their side for a dance. The true insult was they returned the women back to their original dates with smooth words and a goodbye kiss on the hand, cheek or temple. Leaving the women blushing and the men steaming.

Sneaky devils.

Soon two others join the group chuckling, "Well it's not the women's fault, the younger generation has forgotten manners are more appreciated than just straight aggressiveness."

As a group they turn to the voice, Abuelas Chanta and Briceida came to start their own brand of mischief. Age has not dulled these beauties, salt, and pepper hair accentuates their almond eyes and full lips and fitting, flirty dresses and high heels they came to dance.

Matching her husband in halter black pinstripe dress, Abuela Briceida rolls her eyes, "Chanta, let's get our foolish boys before someone takes offense. Again."

Bouncing in excitement, Amari drags Hermione behind her as she follows, wanting an upfront view of the drama about to unfold. The rest stay in their corner wanting a bird's eye view.

The women begin to stalk their husbands, only letting them catch a glimpse of them causing the men to search the crowd for their wives. Twice they come together to confirm what they saw. Minutes roll by as they get back into the groove of flirting.

Too wrapped up in their game they didn't see it coming. It was a skilled two-prong attack, as one was crossing into the dance floor with a partner the other was chatting up his next target.

The bar:

"You see, senorita, a woman like you should be wined and dined. Taken to new heights and appreciated for the flower you are." The woman blushes ever so as she listens. He feels a hard tap on the back of his shoulder, "Really Cantón, you're going to show this Chiquita the world? What would your wife say to this?"

He pales as his target pulls away in a huff. Don Cantón Almodovar del Rio, fierce Beast Master and Magi-zoologist turn caught waving his hands in defense, "Mi amour, mi Reina Chanta. I didn't know you were coming." Stuttering "I..I would have.."

On the edge of the dancefloor:

Just as Don Jcan De la Vega, Master Duelist and Curse Breaker, steps on the dancefloor and turns to embrace his pretty little partner he sees his wife just behind her. In that halter pinstripe suit, that drives him to distraction and his blood to boil. The shiny satin material molds her curves, the side slits begin mid-thigh given mere glimpses of her smooth skin. Smoky eyes flash displeasure as her red lips scowl so prettily, hip cocked to the side with such arrogance her red satin shoes tap in aggravation. Slowly her gloved hands set on her waist waiting.

She purrs, "Well Jcan do you care to explain yourself?" He is in so much trouble. Swallowing nervously, he smiles. "¿Mi amor, qué hace usted aquí?"

On both floors, the grandchildren burst into laughter. Now they could have fun without worrying about their mischievous abuelos.

Two hours, many dances and a bet later

Hermione watches her cousins place bets if Jonatán can get his pick on the dance floor. "Duchess, you want in?" Shaking her head "No, that's a sure thing. Look at his target."

A set of six golden eyes look to the far corner of the hall away from the stairs. Sitting alone is a woman of possible African descent dressed in purple looking around in discomfort. Amari ask "¿Sí, qué de ella?

Snatching a white rose off a table, turning it into a Christmas Orchid, Jonatán makes his way towards her.

Unseen Bucky walks down the entrance steps of the ballroom.

"That my dear cousins is Àïxa Rigau, heir to the Rigau fortune. Her family breeds guard dogs for royalty around the world. He's been in contact with her for several months and finally convince her to meet him, in public with his family present. So, no bet and don't tease them. She is really an introvert."

Scanning the room, Bucky notes all the exits and possible escape routes. His witch is here, mingling with colleagues and her family. He has been watching her since the Summit has started. Her schedule full with meetings and seminars, his with security are now in sync and open for leisure which he ensures to fill. Bucky was glad the themed party is something familiar, comfortable instead of him always assimilating. If he slips in an old phrase, she would just chalk it up to the party theme.

The band takes a break as he heads towards the bar, near her location. He knows both bartenders so his time won't be spent idle. In under twenty minutes Bucky knows all the major and possible issues that have happened tonight.

And quite a few embarrassing near misses.

Checking the mirror behind the bar he watched the crowd. He can feel her power thrumming, brushing against him again. Reaching filling the empty spaces, coaxing him to unravel just so for her. Breathing deeply, he lets his aura trail back reigning her in. Many females pause blindly looking for the source, some men bristle. His witch steps next to him ordering drinks. Looking up their eyes meet.

Her eyes should be color of bourbon with the undertone of gold. Now they are pale gold. Clamping down the urge of throwing her over his shoulder and leaving he leans against the bar.

He smiles, the corner of her lips rises slightly as she faces him.

She takes her time appraising him. Tall with dark features, short brown tousled hair with a trimmed beard; clothes are cut similar to her grandfathers' but in a solid brown pattern complimenting his coloring and the pale gold she is wearing. His stance is that of a warrior and his eyes are guarded against seeing so much.

"Do I pass?"

"Can you dance?" That fucking upper-crust snooty British elitist accent.

Succulent. He was going to make her beg.

Taking her hand and kissing it, he leads her to the dance floor.

Thank God for Latin music and the Tango

His hand wraps around her waist as he felt her hand rest just behind his shoulder. Shoulder to shoulder, touching just enough in polite society, the cord between them strengthened.

No other words are exchanged as the music flow, the thrumming melody dictates their actions. The smooth crooning words of the singer hold no meaning. No sharp movement, sudden loss or staining of control, the timing was just perfect between them. Soon the crowd becomes ensnared. The flutter of her skirt between his legs, the glimpse of smooth skin as she kicked. Each pivot would lead her to curl around him just so, the front of her foot lingers on or up his leg just so. Their dark eyes often meet causing Hermione to licked or bite her lips. Engaging, enticing, encouraging. Their very core begins to align, triggering something achingly primal.

The music changes three times, by the end of the third song there are only three couples on the floor. They begin to circle one another never touching. The longer Bucky and Hermione dance the more intricate the steps. A circle of magic hums, building then is absorbed by the ley lines, strengthen the wards set around the city. Hauntingly the last note dies causing the dancing couples to still, eyes closed forehead touching, hands clasped by their sides. The air thickens, energy dissipates, in sync all open their eyes, glowing. Hermione's pupal elongates then rounds as Bucky's brown eyes now have a hint of gold. He feels a soft purr vibrate through his body as she sighs.

The awed crowd erupts in applause. The spell is broken.

Emboldened from the crowds' response he smirks, "Do I pass?", she giggles as a sweet blush appears on her cheeks.

Affirmatively nodding, "An American?" Cocking her head with a smile in her voice "New York?"

"Guilty as charged. British Enclave?"

Wrinkling her nose "No, Columbia."

"James Barnes, everyone calls me Bucky."

"Hermione Granger." Slowly she blinks with mirth in her eyes "What is your full name?"

Curious "James Buchanan Barnes. Why?"

"I know a little one with your first name. As for Bucky." She chuckles, "In England, Bucky is too close to the name Randy, so may I call you Buchanan?"

He has lots of ideas of what she can call him as long as he is the one occupying those lips.

"It's a mouthful, Doll. I though you are of the Columbian Enclave?"

Her brow raises "So is Hermione. British born and raised, dual citizenship." Wrinkling her nose, "Doll?"

Twirling her around, "Hmm, your right. Too generic. How about, Peaches?" He would lean towards 'lick able'.

"Really?"

"Honeybunch? To nibble on.

Hermione glares.

"Pumpkin? Cupcakes? Buttercup? Cookie?"

"I say you're hungry."

Bringing her close, he whispers into her ear "You have no idea. Sprinkles."

That caused her to laugh out-loud.

Leading her into a deep dip "That's the one." He straightens skimming his lips against her skin. Deliciously she shudders against him "Although I like, 'All mine' best. How about you?"

Half-lidded breathing heavily, she grasps his shirt, aching and breathless as they sway. "Hmm, yes."


Translations

"Mi amour, mi Reina Chanta. - My love, my Queen Chanta

¿mi amor, qué hace usted aquí? – My love, what are you doing here?

¿sí, qué de ella? – Yes, what of her?