Pas De Deux

By Icewyche

Disclaimer: As if it wasn't obvious by now, I don't own Ronin Warriors.

Part Three: Variation I

      "And one…two…fondu down…up…close fifth… retirédeveloppé front…close fifth.  And fondudeveloppé side…fondu…stretch up…close… passéarabesque…close back."  The voice of Ichiro, NBT's dance master, droned above the delicate tinkling of the piano as the dancers moved through their paces.  "And one … arabesque … down … up …close fifth…stretch in the arabesque…hold…and close…"

      Carey let her body flow automatically through the familiar, graceful motions.  Some dancers found the basic moves boring; they preferred to go straight to the flashy, crowd-pleasing leaps and turns.  But Carey found that simple elements like developpés required great concentration and control, and could be every bit as challenging as doing 32 fouettés.  Any fool could spin until they nearly threw up.  Not everyone could bring their kneecap to their ear and hold it there arrow-straight until their muscles screamed for mercy --- and then hold it some more.

      "Rond de jambe en dehors…two… three…and close…en dedans…two…three…close…"

      Some dancers shed sweatshirts, tossing them against the wall during a break in the routine.  They stretched and sweated and gulped bottled water and one or two winced as sore muscles protested.  Barre work ended, and the male dancers shoved the portable barres to the side of the cavernous rehearsal hall as the girls changed into pointe shoes. 

     "Groups of five, please; start at the back and come down…start in fourth position, arms low…glissade, assemblé glissade, assemblé… "

     Those who weren't dancing clustered at the back of the room and watched as they waited for their turn.  Even though talking during class was technically forbidden, the NBT dancers had learned that if they kept it quiet and didn't miss their cues, Ichiro rarely enforced the rule; he had other things to concentrate on.  Carey overheard some of the whispered gossip, barely audible over the piano.

      "Of course he's gay; he's already come on to three of the corps boys…"

      "The doctor thinks it might be a stress fracture, but it can't be --- I just cannot take a month off…"

      "She was so drunk they had to carry her in the door --- she didn't even know it was her apartment!"

      "Grand jeté…Kyoko, land in second arabesque, please, not fourth!" Ichiro yelled.

      They rarely talked to her, Carey thought a bit unhappily.  The other dancers were polite to her --- she was a principal, after all --- but they didn't exactly welcome her with open arms.  They didn't laugh with her or invite her for coffee or share the latest rumors.  And while she knew that they could be spiteful and even vicious on occasion, still it would have been nice once in a while to have one of them draw her aside after class and whisper, Did you hear…?

       "And stretch, and breathe…thank you, ladies and gentlemen.  Class is dismissed."

      Carey joined the rest of the class in the obligatory round of polite applause, then headed over to where her dance bag lay against the wall.  She flopped down with a sigh and began to unlace her pointe shoes.

      "Now that is not a happy face," Toshiro Hamada said as he sat down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him.  "Come on, it was a good class.  Those grand jetés were fantastic, by the way.  What did you have for breakfast, helium?"

      "No, it's just that I don't eat as much as some people," Carey retorted.  "Oh, it's nothing, really, Tosh.  Guess I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself today."

      "Hey, if you don't, who will?" Toshiro shrugged.  "So what's got my favorite partner in such a blue mood?  Come on, tell Uncle Toshi all about it."

      " 'Uncle Toshi'?" Carey repeated incredulously.  "You are a very disturbed human being --- you do know that, don't you?"

      "I spend my days wearing tights and prancing around a mirrored room when I could be wearing a suit and working in an office, and you just now figured out that I'm disturbed?" Toshiro replied wryly.  "Come on, Care, spill it.  What's wrong?"

      Carey sighed and pulled off her shoes, gratefully wiggling her newly-freed toes.  "I'm just feeling a little lonely today, that's all.  I can't help thinking that I've been here well over a year now, and still nobody really talks to me."

      Toshiro mopped his face with a towel.  "You mean you actually want those harpies to talk to you?"

      "Well, it might be nice to feel a little more welcome every now and then.  You and Jen are the only ones who don't keep me at arm's length all the time.  I mean, I know I'm a foreigner and all, but isn't ballet supposed to transcend borders?"

      "Welcome to the real world, Carushka," Toshiro said dryly.  "Look, don't let them get to you.  The reason they ignore you is because they're jealous.  I mean, you came into this company as a soloist and you made principal in six months.  And not because anybody pulled strings or because you slept with the artistic director, but because you have talent.  You don't believe me, go read your reviews.  Hell, Carey, the only reason some of them talk to me is because they think that if they can manage to sleep with me they'll get promoted faster.  But I'm too smart for them," he finished mock-triumphantly.

      Carey laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right.  This is just temporary insanity and I need to get over it.  After all, it's not like I don't have any friends.  Thanks for the boost, Toshi."

      "Any time.  An unhappy partner is a partner who does not dance well and makes me work harder to make her look good," Toshiro proclaimed loftily.  Carey whacked him with her shoe.

      A ripple of excitement from the doorway caught Toshiro's attention.  "And speaking of friends…whose is that?" he wondered.  Carey looked up and saw the tall blonde man surrounded by three fluttering corps girls.

      "Mine," she said with a broad smile.  She gathered her things and went to rescue him.

      Sage was patiently explaining to the girls that he wasn't a dancer and he wasn't lost.  He was looking for someone, but thanks anyway.  "Excuse me," Carey said, slipping through the small knot of Sage's admirers.  She slid an arm around his waist and kissed him full on the lips, noting with amusement how quickly the flirtatious smiles melted into disappointed pouts as the girls dispersed.  "Hey, sweetheart…Madre de Dios, what are you wearing?"

      Sage laughed.  "They're called blue jeans, Carey, and it's nice to see you too."

      "Someone check the weather service --- hell is freezing over someplace in the universe," Carey marveled.  "So what brings you here…not that I'm not glad to see you, but aren't you supposed to be at work?"

      "I had the day off, and I decided to spend some time with my favorite ballerina in her natural habitat," Sage explained with a smile.  "That is, if it's okay with you."

       "Are you kidding?  That's the best news I've heard all day.  I've got a couple of rehearsals today and another class at four, but I'm not dancing tonight's performance so I have a light schedule," Carey replied happily.  Toshiro joined them, and Carey made the introductions.  "Toshi, this is Sage Date.  Sage, this is my favorite partner, second-best friend, and the occasional bane of my existence, Toshiro Hamada."

      "I was wondering how I got downgraded to second-best friend, but I guess it's pretty obvious," Toshiro mock-grumbled as he and Sage shook hands.  "Nice to meet you.  So how long have you been living in Japan?"

      "All my life," Sage replied wryly.  "I'm from Sendai."

      "Sendai?  Oh, man, I thought you were an American like my Carushka here.  Sorry," Toshiro apologized.  He thought a moment.  "Wait a minute.  Your name's Date and you're from Sendai?  Are you related to that family that has the dojo there?  Of course you are," he answered his own question.  "Carey, do you know who this guy is?"

      "An art historian with excellent taste in women?" Carey replied dryly.  Sage rolled his eyes at her.

      "Besides that.  Carey, this is the reigning kendo Grand Champion for the Northeast Division.  What, he didn't tell you?"

      "Not the Grand Champion part," Carey said, arching an eyebrow at Sage.

      "Well, you never asked," Sage replied logically.

      "Since when do you know so much about kendo?" Carey asked Toshiro.

      "Hey, I have to have some interests outside ballet," Toshiro shrugged.  "Carey, you rotten bitch, you're dating a Grand Champion.  You definitely don't have any reason to mope.  So how did you two meet, anyway?"

      "It's a long story, and don't you have a rehearsal to go to?" Carey said, gently shoving him out the door.

      "Not for another forty-five minutes," Toshiro said stubbornly.  "And we can talk on the way.  So start talking."

      Carey and Sage smiled ruefully at each other, and began explaining.

~~~~

      "So now you see that ballet life behind the scenes is actually as boring and repetitive as any office job, except we don't dress as nicely," Carey said wryly.  There was an hour's break between lunch and her next rehearsal, so she and Sage had decided to take a walk through a nearby park. 

      Sage smiled at her.  "Actually, I thought it was pretty interesting.  Those ballets look so effortless on stage, you never think about all the creative effort that goes into them.  I especially liked that tango ballet you're working on.  That's going to be something when you're finished.  You and Toshiro really work well together, almost like you can read each other's minds."  He paused.  "You weren't…involved, were you?" he asked hesitantly.

      "Jealous?" Carey teased.  "No, he's just a really good friend.  Toshi had just made principal when I joined NBT.  He took me under his wing and he's been really great to me.  By the way, I'm sorry about his latching on to you like that.  I didn't realize Toshi could get so starstruck."  She laughed.  "A group from the Kirov visited once and he didn't even turn a hair, but he finds out I'm dating a kendo champion and he gets all goofy." 

      "It's okay," Sage reassured her.  "I just didn't think that anyone in ballet would have heard about my secret life.  It's not something I broadcast outside of the sport."

      "Such modesty."

      "Well, you didn't tell me you won the gold medal at that international ballet competition three years ago," Sage retorted mildly.  "I had to find out about it from one of the dance magazines when I was doing research for the ballet costume exhibit."

      "Touché," Carey admitted.  "By the way, I need to ask you something.  A nightclub has asked me to do a demonstration of salsa dancing on Saturday.  Would you be my partner that night?"

      "As in, in front of actual people?" Sage asked, alarmed.  "Is that a good idea?  I mean, do you think I'm ready?"

      "You've been dancing with me for almost five months and you still have to ask that?  You can do those combinations in your sleep, Sage.  You're ready.  And besides, the only way you're going to get over this public-dancing phobia of yours is to face it head-on."

      "I don't know, Carey," Sage murmured doubtfully.

      "Well, I do," came the firm reply.  "Saturday night, eight o'clock.  Be at my place at seven or I come looking for you."

      "Couldn't you ask one of your students?"

      Carey gave him a look that said the discussion was over, and Sage reluctantly conceded.  "Oh, all right.  I suppose you'll find some way to get back at me if I don't do this," he grumbled.

      "That's the spirit.  And if it makes you feel any better, I'd rather dance with you than anyone else," Carey told him.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and stretched up to plant a kiss on his mouth, but Sage pulled away.  "What?"

      "Carey, not here," he said, gently unwinding her embrace.

      "What?  Why not?"

      "Because we're in public with a lot of people around us."

      Carey raised an eyebrow.  "I'm still not seeing your point."

      Sage started to explain, but a chorus of tiny giggles caught his attention.  He and Carey both looked over to see a group of young schoolgirls watching them, small hands pressed over their mouths as their dark eyes sparkled with mirth.  Sage smiled politely at them, but an older woman, apparently their teacher, bustled up and spoke sharply to the little girls.  The mirth vanished, to be replaced by expressions of demure gravity although several pairs of eyes still stole laughing glances.  The teacher then started to say something to Sage and Carey in Japanese but halted, switching to slow, broken English.  "I sorry…children were rude."

       Sage gently cut her off, saying something in Japanese that brought a look of mingled embarrassment and relief to the woman's face.  She bowed and seemed to apologize profusely, then hustled her charges away.  "Okay, what was that all about?" Carey asked.

      "You've been here a year and a half, and you still don't speak the language?"

       Carey gave him an exasperated look.  "Not as well as she does.  Besides, I work in a field where we do most of our communicating in French.  Now, what did she say?"

      Sage sighed unhappily.  "She said the kids knew better than to stare at Americans like that.  She thought we were tourists," he explained.

      "And why would she think that?"

      "Well, it might have something to do with the fact that I'm blonde and you're Hispanic and we're kissing in the middle of a public park," Sage told her.  "Carey, you have to understand that the Japanese tend to frown on public displays of affection."

      "I'm not Japanese."

      "But I am," Sage reminded her gently.

      "So I've noticed," Carey replied, a little bitterly.  She turned away from him and crossed her arms over her chest as if cold.  "God, I hate it here sometimes."

      Sage frowned in concern.  "Carey, are you all right?"

      "Yes," Carey snapped, then sighed.  "No.  Oh, hell, Sage.  This place is one of the most uptight countries I've ever seen.  Everybody has to behave just the right way, just like everyone else.  And if you don't, or even if you look different, you're automatically an outsider."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Look at those kids." Carey indicated the departing schoolgirls in their matching uniforms.  "They look alike, they act alike, and I'll bet they even think alike.  But what do you think it costs them?"

      "Carey, they're only kids."

      "But they'll grow up, Sage, and they'll do it in the same rigid mold as everyone else.  If they don't get into the right schools, or if they aren't quite as smart as their peers, or if they just don't want to do what their families want them to do, they'll be considered failures.  So they'll fight to fit into the mold, but what if they just can't?  What if they're just never good enough?  What will happen to them then?"  Carey finished in a faintly trembling voice.  She shivered.

      "Carey, Carey, whoa, hold up there," Sage tried to soothe her, worried by her sudden mood change. "This isn't Nazi Germany.  Those kids have choices.  And, yes, they may have to fight for some of them, but isn't that the same everywhere?  I went against my family to study art history and work at Matsuka's gallery, but I think I turned out okay, and so will they." 

      Carey was silent for a moment, then she swiveled to gaze intently up at him.  "What was it like for you?" she asked abruptly.

      "What?"

      "Growing up here with blonde hair and blue eyes.  Knowing that nothing short of radical cosmetic surgery will make you fit in with your peers.  What was it like?  And tell me the truth."

      Sage floundered for a few seconds, not quite sure what to say.  Then he sighed.  "When I was little it was awful," he admitted slowly.  "And not just because some people tend to frown --- strongly --- on mixed-race children.  I had…other problems."

      "Such as?" Carey prodded.

      "Such as --- "  Sage took a deep breath.  "Carey, only my family and my four closest friends know what I'm about to tell you.  I want you to swear to me that you won't either laugh until you collapse or use this as future blackmail material."  At her puzzled nod, he continued, "When I was little, about five or so, I got really sick.  It was so bad my parents had to put me in the hospital, and once or twice the doctors thought I might not make it to my next birthday.  I made it through the worst of the illness, but they said it would be a while before I recovered completely --- if I ever did.  I was still pretty fragile, and there was always the chance of a relapse.

      "Well, this bothered Grandfather to no end.  It was bad enough that a son of the legendary Date family was so sick and weak, but for it to be the only son in two generations…. He decided that the gods were jealous of our good fortune, and that there was only one way to protect the family's future."

      "What did he do, lock you away somewhere until you got better?"

      Sage smiled faintly.  "Sometimes I think that would have been kinder, but no, that's not what he did.  There's an old superstition that girls live longer because the gods don't consider them to be as valuable to a family's future as boys are.  So to deflect the envious gazes of the gods, my grandfather did what the noble samurai families used to do --- he dressed me up as a girl."

      Carey's jaw dropped.  "He did what?"

      "Mm-hmm.  Kimono, black wig and all.  Looking back on it now, it's almost funny in a pathetic sort of way.  I know he meant well, but he made my life miserable because of it.  I wanted so desperately to be normal, but no one would let me.  I was a little boy forced into the disguise of a girl, and it hurt.  Not to mention being lonely as all hell --- the boys didn't want to play with me, and I certainly wasn't going to play with the girls, so I spent a lot of time alone.  And to make matters worse, my older sister Yayoi thought the whole thing was hilarious.  She called me 'Seijiko" so it sounded like a girl's name; she'd dress me like a doll and put ribbons in my hair, and because she was considered to be my elder I couldn't do anything about it.  She especially loved it when people would say that I'd be a beautiful woman someday or that they thought she had a brother.  I still remember the smile on her face when she'd tell them with great enjoyment that that 'beautiful little girl' was her brother."  His lips tightened briefly in remembered anger, then he sighed.  "So there you have it --- my childhood trauma in all its twisted, Freudian glory.  You asked me once why I had such trouble getting close to people.  Well, it's simple, really…I never learned how," he explained quietly.

      Carey continued to stare at him for a few moments, her mouth slightly open and a look of simmering fury in her eyes.  Then she said in a very quiet and even voice, "Sage, if I ever meet your sister…remind me to kick her ass."     

     Sage had to bite back the impulse to smile.  "Honey, what's really bothering you?  Toshiro said something about you moping today.  Please, Carey, tell me what's wrong," he urged, tenderly gathering her into his arms.

      "I thought public displays of affection were frowned on," Carey muttered, but she didn't try to break away.

      Sage's reply was blunt and rather vulgar, especially for him.  "Sage!" Carey exclaimed, mildly scandalized.  Sage blinked innocently at her.  "I didn't think you even knew that word."

      "I'm full of surprises," Sage replied calmly.  "Anyway, they already think we're tourists, so why not play along?  Now start talking."

      Carey sighed deeply.  "Sometimes I just don't feel like I belong here," she confessed.  "I'm thousands of miles away from home.  I haven't been able to have a conversation in Spanish with anyone in over a year.  Nobody at NBT really talks to me except Toshi and one other dancer.  My command of the Japanese language is less than perfect, and don't even get me started on the etiquette.  I hate sushi and I can't even find a decent Italian restaurant, much less Mexican.  I'm always on the outside, and I hate it."

      "You're homesick," Sage commiserated.

      "Homesick and lonely," Carey agreed.

      Sage hugged her close.  "Well, I can't do much about the homesick part, but you're not as lonely as you think you are.  If nothing else, you've got me.  That's worth something, isn't it?" he asked lightly.  Carey looked up at him, her smile returning.

      "Yes," she agreed firmly.  "It definitely is."  Oblivious to any passersby, they kissed lingeringly, wrapped in each other's arms.

      Finally Sage returned to reality.  "Uh, honey --- what time is it?"

      "Hmmm?"  Carey glanced at her watch.  Her amber eyes widened.  "Mierda!"  She grabbed Sage's hand, and they set off for the studio at a dead run.

~~~~

      Sage fidgeted nervously outside the door of Carey's apartment.  It was Saturday night, seven o'clock on the dot.  "The things I do for love," he muttered to himself as he rang the doorbell.                 

      Carey opened the door, and Sage immediately forgot all his objections.  She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that glittered subtly and showed off her trim figure.  Her dark hair was down, caught back at the temples with a pair of barrettes, one of which had a silk rose attached to it.  "Wow," Sage murmured when he remembered how to breathe again.  "You look --- I mean --- that is --- wow."

      "I think that was a compliment, albeit in Inarticulate Guy Speak," Carey teased him, her eyes sparkling.  "Shall we go?"

      The dance club was bustling.  Latin music pulsed from the sound system and multicolored lights flashed.  For Sage, the whole effect was somewhat disorienting.  "I feel extremely out of place all of a sudden," he confided.

      "Relax," Carey said, raising her voice to be heard above the music.  "You're with me, and you know what you're doing.  You'll be fine."

      At eight o'clock, the music stopped, and Carey strode onto the cleared dance floor, clapping her hands briskly to get the crowd's attention.  "Bienvenido," she said with a smile.  "For those of you who don't speak Spanish, that means 'welcome'.  I'm Carey Navarro; I'm from Miami, Florida, and I'm a dancer with National Ballet Theater.  I also teach a class there in beginning salsa dance, and tonight I've been invited to demonstrate some of the basics of salsa.  This is my partner, Sage Date."  She indicated Sage, who responded with a gracious nod.  "First we'll demonstrate a basic salsa combination, then we'll have you pair off and teach you the moves.  Sage?"  He moved forward and she nodded at the DJ.  "Maestro, por favor."  The music began.  "And one, two, three, four…"

       They moved through the simple combination easily, and Sage felt his nervousness vanish.  Carey smiled at him as they finished facing each other, their hands clasped.  Their audience applauded, and they bowed.  "Thank you," Carey said.  "Now, before anyone here thinks that you have to be a professional dancer in order to do this, I should tell you that Sage has only been dancing with me for a few weeks and had no prior dance training."  The crowd applauded again, and Sage felt himself blushing slightly.  Carey winked at him and then turned her attention back to the others.  "So…if you would all move out here and make sure there's at least an arm's length of distance between you, we'll begin.  Step forward on your right foot…"

      The lesson lasted half an hour, then Carey thanked the dancers.  "Okay, that concludes the lesson, so now it's time to use what you've learned.  Let's dance!"  The crowd applauded, and the music started up again as the dance floor filled with laughing couples.

      Carey and Sage found a small table and sat down to watch their students.  "You know, you lied to them about my dance experience," Sage teased Carey.  "It's been five months, Carey."

      Carey sipped her drink.  "Four and a half," she replied unconcernedly, but her eyes danced.  "That counts as a few weeks.  Nobody said I had to be specific."  She smiled at him.  "You did beautifully out there."

      "Thanks to you," Sage pointed out.  "If it had been anyone else I would have been tripping over my own feet.  You made me look good."

      "And vice versa.  I saw those women staring at you.  I thought that one lady was going to faint when you showed her how to do the dance hold," Carey chuckled.  "I'm surprised none of them have asked you for a private lesson."

      Sage shook his head.  "What's that saying?  'Dance with the one that brought you'."  He took Carey's hand and brought it to his lips.  Violet eyes met golden ones and held.

      "Well, then…bailamos," Carey replied softly.  And they did.

       They stayed for two hours, dancing until they were danced out.  The moon was high and full overhead as they made their way to Sage's car, laughing and breathless.  "I never thought I'd say this, but that actually resembled fun," Sage admitted.

      Carey mock-scowled at him.  "Oh, don't go all dignified on me again," she scolded.  "Admit it. You had a good time and you know it."  She tossed her hair back and took a deep breath of the night air. 

      Sage smiled at her.  "You certainly did," he teased.  "You're lit up like a chandelier."

      "At least one of us knows how to have fun," Carey retorted, planting a quick kiss on his jawline.  She twirled lightly under his arm, then stumbled.  "Ouch!"

      "Are you okay?" Sage asked worriedly as he caught her.

      "Yeah, I think so."  Carey winced.  "I must have twisted my ankle on that crack in the sidewalk."

      "Let me see."  Sage swept her up in his arms and set her gently on the hood of his car, then cradled her foot in his hands, checking expertly for any sign of injury.  "There doesn't seem to be any swelling.  Can you move it?"

      Carey experimentally rotated and flexed the offending ankle.  "Yeah, it's okay.  Just a minor twist."  She tilted her head back, gazing up at the sky.  "The moon's beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

      Sage admired the pure line of her throat, and the words slipped out.  "You're beautiful," he murmured huskily.  Their gazes met and Sage felt his nerve endings tingle.  "Funny," he continued.  "I only had one margarita, but I feel kind of buzzed all of a sudden."

      Carey smiled, a knowing, seductive smile.  She brushed his blonde hair away from his face with a lingering caress, and the night suddenly got a lot warmer.  "It's not the margaritas," she told him.

      "No," he agreed softly.  "It's not."  He placed a hand on the car's hood on either side of her and leaned closer until their faces were only inches apart.

      "We're in public," Carey reminded him, her gaze fixed hungrily on his mouth.

      "I don't give a damn," Sage replied.  Then their lips met in a kiss that started off slow and tender but quickly deepened into something more.  Every nerve in Sage's body came alive.  His blood caught fire, his soul lifted and soared, and his heart finally acknowledged what it had known all along.  "I love you," he whispered when they finally separated.

      "Te amo," Carey replied just as softly.  "It means 'I love you' in Spanish."

      "I knew that."

      A wicked little smile curled Carey's mouth.  "Okay, then try this."  She leaned very close to him.  "Te quiero," she breathed against his lips.

      Oh, my, Sage thought dizzily.  "Yeah," he said, suddenly breathless.  "I know that one, too."  They gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

      "Let's go home," Carey murmured.

~~~~

      She was everything he had ever dreamed, like nothing he had ever expected.  He drowned in her kisses, melted beneath the searing sweetness of her touch.  He ran his fingers through her hair, held her slender body close to his, trailed his lips along the ivory column of her throat.  He wanted to learn every inch of her.

      She peeled his shirt from him and sent it flying across the room.  His fingers trembled slightly as he unzipped her dress, smoothing it lingeringly from her shoulders.  The fabric puddled at her feet with a silken rasp and she heedlessly kicked it aside.  Then her skin was next to his; heat surged through him as Carey's slim hands moved sensuously over the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and then started lower.  Suddenly the maelstrom of sensation overwhelmed him and he felt a shiver of fear.  He was losing control in a way he never had before --- and he wanted to.  "Carey," he whispered shakily.

       "Shhh," Carey whispered back, gently placing her fingers over his mouth.  "Nonverbal communication, remember?  Don't talk to me here," she added, tracing a finger along his lower lip.  "Talk to me here."  She placed a hand over his heart, and Sage knew he was lost.  He kissed her again and joyously surrendered.

      Much later, they rested in each other's arms, Carey's head on Sage's shoulder as he tenderly stroked her hair.  "It's kind of funny," Sage mused quietly.  "I read the books, sat through the sex-ed lectures in high school, got the big talk from my dad when I was fifteen.  I learned all the mechanics and what goes where."

      Carey arched an eyebrow.  "Insert Tab A into Slot B?" she asked wryly.

      Sage chuckled.  "Something like that.  I thought I understood.  But nobody ever told me --- "  He searched for words.  "Nobody ever said how perfect this could be, how…how right," he said finally.

      Carey traced a finger along her lover's collarbone.  "Maybe they didn't know."  She tilted her head to look at him.  "I didn't," she said, then added softly, "Not until now."

      Sage kissed her forehead and held her closer, marveling at the sense of peace and completeness he felt.  I'm home, he thought.  I'm finally where I've always belonged.  "Te amo," he murmured.  Carey smiled into his eyes and kissed him.

      "I love you," came her reply.

   
                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terminology

Unless otherwise noted, all the following terms are French in origin.

Fondu: Literally means "to melt". (Anybody remember fondue pots?) Used to describe a controlled lowering of the body made by bending the knee of the supporting leg.

Retiré: Pronounced ray-TEER-ay and means "withdrawn".  The thigh is raised to second position with the knee bent so that the pointed toe rests in front of, beside, or behind the supporting knee. 

Developpé: Dev-luh-PAY; "developed".  The working leg is drawn up to the knee of the supporting leg, then extended to its full length in the air and held there with perfect control (and no hands).

Passé: Pa-SAY; "passed".  The foot of the working leg passes the supporting knee while moving from one position to another.  Sometimes used interchangeably with retiré.

Arabesque: A basic pose in ballet where the dancer stands on one leg with the other extended behind at a right angle.  Second arabesque means that the forward arm is the opposite of the supporting leg, i.e., left leg back and right arm forward.  Fourth arabesque means that the supporting leg is nearer to the audience and is bent slightly.

Rond de jambe en dehors:  Rawn-duh-ZHAMB-ahn-day-OR; a circular movement of the leg outward, or clockwise.  En dedans (ahn-day-DAHNS) means to circle inward, or counterclockwise.  Can be done with the working foot on the ground (a terre) or in the air (en l'air).

Glissade: Glee-SAHD; "glide".  A gliding step which serves as a link between steps or as a preparation for others.

Assemblé: Ah-sawm-BLAY; "assembled".  The working foot slides along the ground before being swept into the air.  As the working foot leaves the ground the dancer pushes off the floor with the supporting leg, bringing the feet together and pointing the toes.  Both legs come to the ground simultaneously in fifth position.

Grand jeté: Grawn-zhuh-TAY; "large throwing step".  The legs are thrown to 90 degrees as the dancer jumps; resembles a split in midair.

Positions of the feet: There are five in classical ballet.  First: The feet form one line with the heels touching.  Second: The feet are on the same line with about a foot's distance between them.  Third: One foot is in front of the other, the heel touching the middle of the other foot.  Fourth: Similar to third, but the feet are parallel and separated by a distance of about one foot.  Fifth: The feet are crossed so that the heel of one foot touches the toes of the other.

Corps (de ballet): The chorus or "extras" of a dance company.  They are considered to be at or near the bottom of the performing hierarchy.

Soloist: A step below principal dancer.  Performs alone or with a very small group, but does not dance the lead role.

Madre de Dios: Spanish; "mother of God".     

Por favor: Spanish; "(if you) please".

Bailamos: (like I really have to explain this one) Spanish; "let's dance".

Te quiero: Spanish; "I want you".

Mierda:  It's Spanish, it's a four-letter word that would probably get your mouth washed out with soap, and that's all I'm going to say --- I do have some standards.

Source for ballet terms: Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet, by Gail Grant.

Author's Note:  Okay, so writing sex scenes is not my forte.  Use your imaginations.  (Okay, that was a bad idea --- you people have really dirty minds.)  So now our hero and his lady live happily ever after, right?  Of course not --- it couldn't possibly be that easy.   As the immortal Bard once said, "The course of true love ne'er did run smooth."   Will Sage learn to loosen up?  Will Carey get over her homesickness?  And what is it about Japanese schoolchildren that freaks her out?  Find out, in the next thrilling episode of…sorry, got carried away there.  Anyway, there's more to come!  And thanks to all who gave me such great reviews…you know who you are.  ; )