A/N: This is it; written along the lines of this chapter is the scene that inspired it all... Gawd! I've been waiting it seems for forever to actually write this (and can't believe I'm actually doing it. Gawd, this would be a very difficult chapter to write. Why did it have to be in Eriol's POV?). Please don't kill me!
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Chapter 9: Lambada
I followed Tomoyo into the dimly lit facility, immediately surprised at the pulsing beat, even before we actually entered the main chamber. Stepping through the arched doorway, I was further amazed. The lights were scattered throughout the room, hidden in strategic places, like behind a faux pillar and sheathed by a rainfall of fake greenery. Hazy smoke, whether from the smokers in the room or the fog machine I couldn't quite tell, wafted in and around me. Rhythmic music blasted from the giant speakers, and I found the beat very addictive. I estimated roughly four dozen occupants, dancing along with the music, sitting at the bar or in private booths.
This has been the first time I had actually placed my foot inside this kind of establishment. Sure, I went to parties, though more frequently than I would have preferred, mostly dragged along with friends, just for the sake of wasting time on a Friday night. At those occasions I would sometimes shrink into the shadows, trying to escape the lure of the crowd. I felt awkward, scared almost, about associating myself with your average teenager.
I smirked mentally as I remembered an instance not too long ago when I was nearly bludgeoned into a drinking contest at such a party, which I regretted heartily – my alcohol tolerance level is near zero.
Those, however, were parties that were held by schoolmates, nothing fancy, a couple of beers, loud music and some misfit guests. Finding myself suddenly in a club (a place that I never expected to find myself) the feeling was exhilarating. The atmosphere was simply intoxicating, nearly suffocating me with its force.
"It's something, isn't it?" I heard Tomoyo's voice close to me, and I finally realized that I hadn't uttered a sound since we left the cold of the night.
"Definitely not what I expected," I answered, following her to the bar.
She disposed of her coat, gesturing me to do the same. And thus came back the breathtaking dress. I instantly noticed the appreciative stares she received from the guys closest to her, and I suddenly felt a jolt of something at the bottom of my stomach. I almost envied the smile Tomoyo sent their way, wishing it were only me she smiled at. Following her instructions, I removed my coat and my suit, purely for comfort, and settled next to her at the bar.
"'ey! Good evening, hon," called the portly bar tender, practically warping out of nowhere in front of us. "Haven't seen you around 'ere in a while. Where have ya been?"
I raised an eyebrow at the familiarity between the two. "I've used to come here often," Tomoyo leaned in to whisper, elaborating about her relations with the older man. To him, she said, "Some water please, Alf."
"Sure thing, hon. You'd tell me about your friend later, wouldn't ya?" The bar tender asked with a crooked grin.
"As if I have a choice."
We sat in silence, watching the moving bodies on the dance floor, too entranced in what they were doing to pay attention to anything else. Soon, Tomoyo's drink arrived, as promised, and she embarked on a carefree chat with the bar tender. I could tell that she wanted to be out there, among the dancers, getting lost in the music, but was staying put simply for my sake. It pained me to see the longing in her eyes and knowing that I was partially responsible for her sombre mood. But I was afraid to do what she wanted of me; I feared letting myself get loose and becoming like the rest of the people in the club, so I opted to wallow in my cowardice and stay in the shadows. She knew that, I have no idea how, but she knew of my secret apprehension and lingered at my side because of it.
"You can go, if that's what you want," my voice broke the silence that lapsed between us.
She looked up from her glass of water, uncertainty and maybe even hopefulness crossing her orbs. "Are you sure?"
"It would be a waste of time if you at least didn't enjoy yourself."
"But, what about you?" She asked, still concerned about me. That's another thing I didn't get about her. Why did she care more about the people around her than her own happiness?
"You do not want an old sourpuss like me to spoil your fun. Go, dance your soul's content."
She glanced longingly at the crowd again, nibbling on her bottom lip. "All right, but you must promise to join me if you decide that sitting idle is just too boring."
I nodded and watched her walk away, deeper into the sea of moving bodies and the heart of the music. I felt jealousy claw its way up my throat when I scouted her dancing with another man, her body almost scandalously close to his. From all the way at the bar, I could tell the guy was handsome, and no doubt a brainless, Romeo wannabe. She placed her hands on his shoulders while his wandered to nestle on the curve of her waist. I could see him whisper something into her ear and she giggled in response, looking almost shyly away. I swallowed at the nasty bile frothing at the pit of my stomach and ordered a whiskey, just to appear as if I was doing something other than spying on her.
She had a right to enjoy herself, just like I said. Whether it was with another man or me made no difference. Or at least that's what I kept on chanting to myself as I watched her and the man-slut move their bodies to the rhythm.
"She's something, no?" I heard the old bartend drawl in, shaking his head in her direction and at the same time keeping his attention on cleaning a giant beer mug.
I glanced at her though it was completely unnecessary, I understood perfectly who "she" was. She had now abandoned the first guy and moved to another. "Yeah."
"I've known her for a while, now," he continued. " Saw her come 'ere bawling her eyes out when her mother passed away. She cried on my shoulder, too. Sweet girl, she is. Cares very much about her loved ones." He didn't need to say it; I already knew from experience. "'ave seen her in every mood possible. Sad an' joyful. Never seen her this happy though. Means she either got what she wanted or it's the company she keeps."
I looked strangely at the man, wondering what he was skirting around. Before I could utter a syllable, he continued, "Don't hurt her, boy. She'll break if you do."
I stared at him, my jaw slightly askew. What did the old coot mean by that? Tomoyo was not a fragile doll to be shattered with mere words or actions. She was strong and could handle anything. And I wasn't about to go and cause her pain, in any case. The stout bar tender went off to service another customer, leaving me with my whiskey and jealous thoughts again. I scanned the dance floor and couldn't find Tomoyo anywhere, which sent a few unpleasant possibilities racing to my mind.
"Having fun?" Tomoyo's voice was right next to me, and I wondered not for the first time how she was able to sneak up on me so often.
"You could say that." There was no way I could tell her that seeing her among those vultures did strange things to me. And I certainly couldn't tell her that I wanted to be the one she laid her eyes on, that my arms wound around her, not theirs. Those thoughts were forbidden, as was the music and effect it was having on me.
She ordered another glass of water and took a long swing, after which she stared into the crystalline bubbles against the glass. It reminded me of the first time I met her oh so many weeks ago (or at least it seemed at the time). I could see her brow crease in concentration, as if deliberating on a life and death situation.
"Want to dance?" She suggested, not looking at me. "Unless you don't want to leave your vigilance...?"
"Is that an invitation?"
"Not if you don't want it to be," Tomoyo answered, finally looking up at me. She smiled at me and I nearly drowned in the sensation. The sensuous curve of her lips and the dark, hazy almost, look in her eyes promised me things I had never even dreamed of. I gulped at what I saw, too afraid to answer yet too involved not to.
"I can't dance; haven't since Nakuru made me watch 'Shall we dance?' with her... And I don't want to prevent you from having fun."
"And if you actually expect me to believe that, I might just have to be seriously offended." She scoffed, hands on hips, though the gesture didn't have the desired effect in the darkness of the club. "Just one dance. Please? And then we can leave."
I didn't have much of a choice since she was already on her feet and dragging me onto the dance floor. It was darker in the club than I originally thought; I could barely distinguish the faces of the people around me, just Tomoyo in front of me. She glanced over her shoulder at me, seeing if I was still following her. Maybe it was the dim lights, music, or just too much whiskey on my part, but she seemed different. A fine sheen of sweat coated her forearms and the portion of her back that was exposed by the low cut, glistening slightly with the foreplay of lights. Her lips were parted, moistened slightly by the water she had. Her eyes were large and dark, seemingly endless, practically beckoning me to her. At this point, I had to intention of turning back.
We reached an indistinct part of the crowd just as a new song started. This one had an almost Latino feel to it, with a fluid Spanish guitar into and sultry vocals. Tomoyo stopped and turned to me, eyes still holding mine. She grabbed my hands and placed them on her waist, just like with that guy, her own hands snaking around my neck. She pressed herself against me, an action that sent the end of every nerve in my body tingling with the sensation, and began to move with the rhythm, and soon I joined her.
I remember how she mentioned once about getting lost in the sheer beat of the music, and how I didn't understand it at the time. But now, her body moving lithely, so close to mine, the sound pulsing in my veins and churning along my blood stream, I think I finally understood what she meant. There was something so raw in the movement, so free and passionate that I forgot about everything but her.
"Te quiero..." she whispered along with the song (A/N: ^___^). It didn't even matter what those words meant, just her and the music.
The sway of those maddening hips so close to my own nearly sent me groaning, drawing me deeper into the sheer sensation of freedom and the wild beat of the music. I could feel the heat radiating from her body through the thin fabric of her dress, reaching through all the layers of my own clothing. Her hands were entangled in my mane, running freely. My vision was getting blurry, only her eyes and smile swimming before me; I wondered just how much whiskey I had (nil tolerance, remember?).
"I think you're a bit overdressed for this occasion," she murmured in my ear, and oh! the pleasure I got when her lips accidentally brushed against my nape when we were jostled by the crowd. It sent an electrifying thrill along my spine and my skin was tingling where her lips grazed. Before I could realize, her feline fingers were undoing the buttons of my pristine shirt, sneaking to touch the hot skin beneath. Her skin felt cool against my own, making me shiver in delight at the feathery touch. And I let her do as she pleased; I was too lost to care for the consequences, enjoying myself too much to even care.
The next thing I know, her fingers were replaced by her lips, trailing delicate kisses down my collarbone. Everything was just too much, the music, the alcohol, the lights and her lips. Oh! those sensuous lips. I was gone beyond the point of return. Before I could even comprehend my actions, I was unclasping the elegant bun at the top of her head, slicing my fingers though the silky locks. I hadn't even realized how much I wanted to feel them in my digits until I've actually done it.
"Mmm....Eriol," she purred against my nape, the lips brushing skin again.
God, I wanted to feel those lips against my own. The need was almost overwhelming, threatening to choke me with its absolute strength. I raised her head, cupping it in my hands. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, the long lashes almost brushing against her cheekbones. From what was available to me, I could tell that her pupils were dilated, making the violet orbs appear almost the colour of midnight, passion-filled and begging. I stroked her cheeks with my thumbs, savouring their softness compared to the callousness of my own skin. With a deep breath I leaned it, capturing the mouth that has captivated me from the first moment I saw her.
The sensation was heavenly. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I had wondered how her lips would feel, taste? They were sweeter than anything I could possibly conceive, better than chocolate, welcoming and beguiling me. I plunged in and ravaged, she gave and took just as much. It was an intricate dance all its own, lips crushing against lips, tongues vying for dominance. Her hands were moving along my chest while my lips sought the curve of her nape. It was dizzying and dazzling, a whirlwind of bewitching colour and sound and taste.
The music suddenly stopped, a second in time to change the tracks, and in that instant, the magic spell was broken. I could still feel the wild rhythm pumping in my bloodstream, coursing through my brain and limbs. It was a moment before I realized that I was standing in the middle of an equally transfixed crowd, my shirt agape and nearly falling off my shoulders, my hair dishevelled beyond any recognition. I felt the tingle of where Tomoyo's lips and hands touched like sensual caresses. My own lips were swollen and buzzing with the sensation. I opened my eyes, seeing Tomoyo in a similar state.
I shook off the almost-dream that has veiled my eyes for the entire duration of the song and stared at her in horror. What have I done?
(tbc)
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Ai... I feel very depressed. I've been doing some reading (more than usual, that is) and have come to the conclusion that: a) I suck as a writer and should just quit while I'm ahead and b) I make myself sick with those kinds of thoughts. But seriously, I've looked at the writing styles of many authors (classical and fanfiction wise) and I just feel like I'm nothing compared to them, granted that most of them are older than me by at least a decade. C'mon, I can't even write a good sensual scene, and I want to actually achieve something in life?! Oh, and I wanted so badly for you to see the look Tomoyo had (I'm about to break out in tears at this point). But I guess the only way to get better is to write more, ne? Well, at least you peoples are enjoying my stories (that makes, like what, two of you, me excluded).