A/N: I am still sick and was watching "Mamma Mia!" tonight, bundled up in blankies :) It was supposed to have a sad ending, colds make me depressed, but damn, I am putty in Thorin's hands :) His large, hot hands, yum! :P
"Take A Chance on Me" by ABBA
The heavy skirt of a white linen dress wraps around your calves, you are swirling, the sweet fragrant aroma of hibiscus in the black Egyptian night, stars twice as large as they are at home above your head, you drop your head back and stare at the velvet night sky of Cairo through the cuts in your mask. You could never understand the purpose of masquerades, people are so easily recognized by their bodies. You slip out of the hands of your partner, and in a dizzying twirl you switch to the next one. Hands clap above your heads, shoulders bump, and he encircles you in a unison with other dancers. You stretch your hand to him and smile to obviously the father of the bride. The mouth under grey moustache returns the expression, and you pat his shoulder. Another spin, and you bump into the groom. You shove his shoulder in the movement familiar from the school days, and he laughs, picks up your hand and swirls you. Another change of partners, and you shimmy your shoulders in front of his younger brother.
There is no point to hide the top half of anyone's face, the body will tell you who is dancing near. Your eyes fall on a tall figure lazily and gracefully moving three pairs to your right, and your heart clenches. What is the point of the glitter and features on a narrow piece of cardboard, if your body immediately reacts to the wide shoulders, narrow waist, massive arms, the proud regal posture and the mane of dark waves? The cold blue eyes gleam through the cuts in the mask, and the dancers switch again.
His arm encircles you, and the curved familiar lips twist in a smirk. His usual fragrance hits your nose, mixed with the intoxicating smell of his skin, and every cell in your body responses. The long strong fingers slide down your upper arms, and you press your palm into his chest. And then it slides lower, your nails raking his stomach, you lower yourself in front of him in a sensual move, arching your back, and your eyes lock.
He bends down, his arm wraps around your middle, and he straightens up, lifting you, your body virtually drooping over his arm, and his lips press into your neck. He twirls you in his arms, and you embrace his neck, holding on to him. His lips are by your ear. The voice is velvet and lust, "Would you like to leave?" You do not need to nod, he can see the answer in your eyes.
He is dragging you away from the dance floor, your hand in his hot palm, and then he pushes you into a wall. You are hardly concealed by the bushes, but your head is swimming, and the night is intoxicating. He hikes up your skirt, pulls you to him and up, your body opens up, the legs wrap around his waist. He pushes you thongs to the side and thrusts into you in a familiar forceful move. You moan throatily and pulls his hair, messing his ponytail. He is pounding into you, your back scraping to the white wall. He presses one palm into it, and he is growling into your neck.
"Come for me, kiddo," he knows exactly what he doing. He is sucking on the muscle between your neck and your shoulder, familiar and endlessly effective ploy, and then his white teeth nip on the already sensitive skin there. The angle is perfected through years, and you come with an obscene scream. He shutters a second later, synchronicity having always been your virtue.
He is breathing heavily, and you are sliding down the wall. You feel dizzy and broken, your knees tremble, and tears rise. You bite into your lip angrily. You turn away from him and fix your clothes. You hear the zipper of the fly. "It doesn't change anything..." Your voice is small and hollow. "You are still nothing but a wanker of my ex husband..."
You are calm now and turn around. His chin is lifted, and his lips are pressed together in a stern line. "Suit yourself." His voice is gruff and bitter. You turn around and start walking back to the hotel. He catches your upper arm, swirls you and presses you into his body. "Please, don't leave..." You try to push him away. "Please, please, Wrennie, please..."
He knows there are no promises to make, no apologies to give, nothing will work, but he is trying, he is begging, and something snaps. Tears burst out of your eyes, and you press your forehead into him, and nod. Hardly noticeable, but enough. He falls on his knees and presses his face into your stomach. His hands grab bunches of your dress, and he sobs. One more chance, he just needs one more chance.
You lift your face to the sky and take off your mask. He catches your hand holding it and presses his lips to the knuckles. The cardboard with glitter and feathers falls on the ground, and he is kissing your palm. There is no ring on the finger, and he kisses the phalanx. You run your other hand through his hair and sigh. You look down at him, and you smile to each other through tears. One more chance...
