"You are all doing well, now let's try a turn. This is called a
molinete, or grapevine step. One foot steps behind, like so," Carmelita
executed a graceful turn.
Warmth at her wrist was the only warning Sara had as the Witchblade pulled her into a vision. It wasn't as intense as previous experiences, it seemed like the scene she was watching had been laid over reality. She was vaguely aware of the explanations and demonstrations coming from the couple on stage, their voices changed to carry the timber of a voice dead for at least forty years.
Elizabeth Bronte, American spy during the Second World War, had loved dancing as much as Sara. Granted, at the time it was much more formal than the primal gyrating that went on at the clubs nowadays, but the joy in the movement was the same. The two pages of reality suddenly touched, and Sara knew everything Elizabeth did about the Tango.
It was a place very like this that Elizabeth had met a dashing English spy using the name Kurt Wagner. Kurt bore a striking resemblance to Ian, especially with his face clean-shaven. He had managed to work his way up the ranks in Hitler's organization to the personal assistant to one of his research and development heads.
Elizabeth had not known the name of his superior, mistakenly believing it to be unimportant. She was just to be his contact for one night, him passing her dangerous information under the cover of a dance. An evening of dancing and flirting, ending with a night of stolen pleasure flashed before Sara's eyes. It was a one shot thing; neither thought they would see the other again.
They might not have, the war and their occupations being what they were, except that evening Elizabeth caught the eye of Kurt's superior. Becoming his mistress made her much more useful to the cause than being a courier. Sara shied away from the rest of the information coming to her; she did NOT want to see that.
"Sara, are you all right?" Ian asked softly, he could see the Witchblade glowing on her wrist. The faint red gleam was more noticeable in the dim lighting. Afraid they would start to attract notice, Nottingham laid his hand over the Gauntlet, forgetting that he was not wearing his gloves.
The Witchblade did not punish him for his impunity, as it had countless other males who had been so bold. It seemed to feel his concern, for the gem dimmed under his touch and released Sara from its mental grasp.
"I'm fine, just another vision. This is one pushy piece of jewelry, let me tell you," Sara glanced down at her wrist. Ian's hand still covered the stone in a gesture that looked completely natural.
This was an unexpected bonus to their relationship. Sara had someone to talk to about the Witchblade that wouldn't think she was crazy. Pezzini had felt the urge to share with her partner, Danny Woo, but never could quite bring herself to do it. He was her best friend, and she was afraid to test their relationship that way. He would probably understand, but what if he didn't?
"What did the Witchblade show you?" Ian was back on high alert, eyes searching the area for any possible threat.
"Let's just say it gave me a dancing lesson." Pezzini hedged, having no intention of telling him everything the Gauntlet had shown her. She didn't want to bring up Kenneth Irons just now, because then they'd have to deal with his possible reaction to what they were doing. That was a can of worms she'd rather open another day.
"Does this mean that you know how to Tango now?" Ian knew she wasn't telling him everything, but he was used to that. At least they were not in immediate danger.
"Actually, yes it does." Sara didn't actually remember the names for everything, there were a surprising number of specific terms, but she remembered the moves. She also knew that at it's most basic, the Tango was public foreplay, a battle of the sexes that could only be described as a win/win situation. A wicked little grin played around her lips at the thought.
.
"Its popularity in France assured the Tango's place in the ballrooms of the rich, despite its more risqué moves, like the enganche." Carmelita wrapped her leg around her partner's thigh. It was a move Sara highly approved of.
"Now we're cooking with gas." Sara purred, imitating the woman on stage. The feel of Ian's hard thigh under hers went far to bring Carmelita back in Pez's good graces.
Nottingham trembled at the unfamiliar sensation, a strange tension pooling low in his abdomen. He had worked very hard to keep a tight rein on the sensualist hiding under his skin, not knowing what was appropriate when. That binding had been fraying since Sara had opened the door to her apartment tonight, and this latest intimacy was his undoing.
Pezzini had a feeling she had gone too far somehow. Ian's eyes had become drowning dark, his lids half closed. It was a hungry, predatory look. His hands changed on her, just a subtle shift, but it was amazing how much a few inches could change intent. The hold that had been supportive was now a statement of possession.
Sara raised her chin in defiance, even as her leg slid along the length of his on its return to the floor. She did not belong to him, and he was out of his mind if he thought she did. He had not earned the claim he was staking, not yet.
Carmelita and her partner concluded the lesson and thanked everyone again for coming. Neither Sara nor Ian heard a word of it, lost in the challenge issued.
*********************************************************************
A new song began, filling the tense silence between the two. Sara whirled away with the music, the three step turn putting her about two feet away from Ian. She stopped in the open space, one hand on her hip, and the other flat on her thigh. She tilted her head up and slightly to the side haughtily. The challenge was plain, 'Come and get me if you dare.'
Nottingham paused as she moved away, his brain playing catch-up with his libido. He literally ached with desire. He had lost control for a moment, something he simply did not do. It was glorious and terrifying at the same time.
Ian had felt her instinctive rejection just before she moved away, and feared that he had frightened or disgusted her with his lack of restraint. That idea quickly died when he met her eyes as she stood just out of reach. Her gaze smoldered with a heady mix of desire and defiance.
He recognized the stance; it was a classic opening posture that set the tone for a challenge dance. Rather like, dare he say, throwing down the gauntlet. Ian felt his lips curl upward slightly at the pun. It would appear that the Witchblade had truly taught Sara the Tango, right down to the more subtle nuances. This could prove to be a very interesting addition to the evening.
Ian circled her still form, putting the hunger she inspired in him into his motion. His steps matched the beat, steady and strong. He let his eyes wander appreciatively and possessively over her form. The dress hugged her curves as lovingly as he'd like to, showing off a sleekly muscled physique.
He would have preferred to have the circle be tighter, so he could brush against all that gloriously exposed flesh, but it was to soon for that. If he crowded her too much this early on, Sara was not above showing how she gained all that muscle. Ian did not want to be punched for being to forward; he'd seen how hard she could hit.
As he finished the circle he gave an amague, or aggressive flourish, directed at the rest of the dance floor. If there was anyone fool enough to challenge his right to this woman, he'd better show his colors now. No one came forward. In fact, there was a rather large bubble of space between them and the other dancers.
Ian nodded in satisfaction. His left hand came up to arc over his head, while his right settled on his hip in imitation of hers. He could feel her eyes moving over him and paused, letting her look her fill.
The next beat in the music had them both moving forward. They brushed by each other, heat igniting anywhere they made contact. Both turned sharply, the beat calling for a stamp of the foot they had lifted off with to spin, which they did. They were only inches apart. Ian stepped forward and Sara stepped back. Then she took the step back, and it was his turn to retreat. Nottingham stepped forward again, not willing to relinquish the lead to her. Through it all they maintained that little artificial distance.
Sara turned as if to flee, one arm conveniently cast backward for him to catch, which he did. Ian's grip was just below her elbow. She spun into his grip, letting her weight fall onto him so they were a single solid line from chest to the lone ankle resting just inside his. Her other leg was raised behind her, bent upward at the knee.
Neither could believe how good the other one felt. Ian purred; his head tilted down to stare into the emerald source of the flames that burned him so sweetly. Sara could feel that soft rumbling all the way down to the pool of heat in her lower abdomen. They stood frozen in the small eternity of the break in the music. The tension between them continued to rise until the rhythm picked up again.
Nottingham's feet followed the beat without letting go of the treasure in his arms. He walked in a small circle, Sara revolving with him on the ball of her foot in a calesita. Once the turn had finished, she swung her raised foot down and forward, sweeping his forward leg. He was forced to step back, and then again as she continued the llevada, clearly enjoying her moment leading.
Sara moved them about five feet before the music changed and Ian took the lead back from her, moving them in a mirror image of the way they had come. There was a pause in the music, halting their momentum. Taking advantage of the moment, Sara executed a media vuelta, or half turn, away from Ian.
He caught the beginning of her move and echoed it, although he drew the line at doing the kick with her. Nottingham did not want to chance splitting out his pants doing a pastada, which would certainly bring the evening to a premature end. Once her leg returned to the ground, he pulled her back into their former position.
Ian spun on one foot in an enrosque, the other hooking behind. Sara followed his coiling turn, letting him take them in a new direction. She smiled; the beat had taken on a light, playful tone. It seemed perfect for ocho milongueros, a criss-cross walking step. They covered a good bit of the dance floor before the music changed tone again.
This time, they both performed the media vuelta in the same direction and dropped into the caminar. The two strutted as far along the dance floor as the beat allowed before the cut that seemed perfect for a dip. Ian looked deep into her eyes and lowered his head. The world fell away, leaving only the two of them.
Sara watched as his lips descended toward hers. She was finally going to find out how he tasted. She wanted slide her lips against his, to see if they were as soft as she remembered them being against her fingers, to nibble that full, almost pouty lower lip, and to slide her tongue past the barrier of his teeth in a mutual exploration. She could feel his last exhalation of breath, then their lips touched lightly.
"Ah, amore. I do hate to interrupt, but the house rules are clear. No groping, no kissing."
The voice was an annoying buzz at the edge of his perception. Ian was tempted to ignore it, but Sara had stiffened in his arms. The moment was clearly over. Now that he was focusing, he realized the voice belonged to the owner, Carmelita. With reluctance he straightened, bringing Sara up with him. He let go; she was practically vibrating with anger.
Releasing Sara turned out to be a mistake. She rounded on the woman who had interrupted them, her breath coming out in a sharp hiss.
"That's three," was all Sara said before her fist curled and her arm drew back.
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! Sorry this has taken so long to post, but I'm an idiot. I've been updating at Connections and my homepage, but somehow forgot to put it up here. *hangs head sheepishly* On the bright side, you got two chapters all in one lump, right? I hope you think so anyway. Scifigirl and Thelma-hopefully the visuals this chapter made up for the interruption in the last one. Moon, if you'd update AQOT a little more often, you wouldn't have time to pace. (hint hint) Flamedancer, thanks! Cheers Darlin, know what you mean. Pass the lighter back this way when you're done. *grin* Rishtalak- now that I know your other sig, I will watch for you over there too.
Warmth at her wrist was the only warning Sara had as the Witchblade pulled her into a vision. It wasn't as intense as previous experiences, it seemed like the scene she was watching had been laid over reality. She was vaguely aware of the explanations and demonstrations coming from the couple on stage, their voices changed to carry the timber of a voice dead for at least forty years.
Elizabeth Bronte, American spy during the Second World War, had loved dancing as much as Sara. Granted, at the time it was much more formal than the primal gyrating that went on at the clubs nowadays, but the joy in the movement was the same. The two pages of reality suddenly touched, and Sara knew everything Elizabeth did about the Tango.
It was a place very like this that Elizabeth had met a dashing English spy using the name Kurt Wagner. Kurt bore a striking resemblance to Ian, especially with his face clean-shaven. He had managed to work his way up the ranks in Hitler's organization to the personal assistant to one of his research and development heads.
Elizabeth had not known the name of his superior, mistakenly believing it to be unimportant. She was just to be his contact for one night, him passing her dangerous information under the cover of a dance. An evening of dancing and flirting, ending with a night of stolen pleasure flashed before Sara's eyes. It was a one shot thing; neither thought they would see the other again.
They might not have, the war and their occupations being what they were, except that evening Elizabeth caught the eye of Kurt's superior. Becoming his mistress made her much more useful to the cause than being a courier. Sara shied away from the rest of the information coming to her; she did NOT want to see that.
"Sara, are you all right?" Ian asked softly, he could see the Witchblade glowing on her wrist. The faint red gleam was more noticeable in the dim lighting. Afraid they would start to attract notice, Nottingham laid his hand over the Gauntlet, forgetting that he was not wearing his gloves.
The Witchblade did not punish him for his impunity, as it had countless other males who had been so bold. It seemed to feel his concern, for the gem dimmed under his touch and released Sara from its mental grasp.
"I'm fine, just another vision. This is one pushy piece of jewelry, let me tell you," Sara glanced down at her wrist. Ian's hand still covered the stone in a gesture that looked completely natural.
This was an unexpected bonus to their relationship. Sara had someone to talk to about the Witchblade that wouldn't think she was crazy. Pezzini had felt the urge to share with her partner, Danny Woo, but never could quite bring herself to do it. He was her best friend, and she was afraid to test their relationship that way. He would probably understand, but what if he didn't?
"What did the Witchblade show you?" Ian was back on high alert, eyes searching the area for any possible threat.
"Let's just say it gave me a dancing lesson." Pezzini hedged, having no intention of telling him everything the Gauntlet had shown her. She didn't want to bring up Kenneth Irons just now, because then they'd have to deal with his possible reaction to what they were doing. That was a can of worms she'd rather open another day.
"Does this mean that you know how to Tango now?" Ian knew she wasn't telling him everything, but he was used to that. At least they were not in immediate danger.
"Actually, yes it does." Sara didn't actually remember the names for everything, there were a surprising number of specific terms, but she remembered the moves. She also knew that at it's most basic, the Tango was public foreplay, a battle of the sexes that could only be described as a win/win situation. A wicked little grin played around her lips at the thought.
.
"Its popularity in France assured the Tango's place in the ballrooms of the rich, despite its more risqué moves, like the enganche." Carmelita wrapped her leg around her partner's thigh. It was a move Sara highly approved of.
"Now we're cooking with gas." Sara purred, imitating the woman on stage. The feel of Ian's hard thigh under hers went far to bring Carmelita back in Pez's good graces.
Nottingham trembled at the unfamiliar sensation, a strange tension pooling low in his abdomen. He had worked very hard to keep a tight rein on the sensualist hiding under his skin, not knowing what was appropriate when. That binding had been fraying since Sara had opened the door to her apartment tonight, and this latest intimacy was his undoing.
Pezzini had a feeling she had gone too far somehow. Ian's eyes had become drowning dark, his lids half closed. It was a hungry, predatory look. His hands changed on her, just a subtle shift, but it was amazing how much a few inches could change intent. The hold that had been supportive was now a statement of possession.
Sara raised her chin in defiance, even as her leg slid along the length of his on its return to the floor. She did not belong to him, and he was out of his mind if he thought she did. He had not earned the claim he was staking, not yet.
Carmelita and her partner concluded the lesson and thanked everyone again for coming. Neither Sara nor Ian heard a word of it, lost in the challenge issued.
*********************************************************************
A new song began, filling the tense silence between the two. Sara whirled away with the music, the three step turn putting her about two feet away from Ian. She stopped in the open space, one hand on her hip, and the other flat on her thigh. She tilted her head up and slightly to the side haughtily. The challenge was plain, 'Come and get me if you dare.'
Nottingham paused as she moved away, his brain playing catch-up with his libido. He literally ached with desire. He had lost control for a moment, something he simply did not do. It was glorious and terrifying at the same time.
Ian had felt her instinctive rejection just before she moved away, and feared that he had frightened or disgusted her with his lack of restraint. That idea quickly died when he met her eyes as she stood just out of reach. Her gaze smoldered with a heady mix of desire and defiance.
He recognized the stance; it was a classic opening posture that set the tone for a challenge dance. Rather like, dare he say, throwing down the gauntlet. Ian felt his lips curl upward slightly at the pun. It would appear that the Witchblade had truly taught Sara the Tango, right down to the more subtle nuances. This could prove to be a very interesting addition to the evening.
Ian circled her still form, putting the hunger she inspired in him into his motion. His steps matched the beat, steady and strong. He let his eyes wander appreciatively and possessively over her form. The dress hugged her curves as lovingly as he'd like to, showing off a sleekly muscled physique.
He would have preferred to have the circle be tighter, so he could brush against all that gloriously exposed flesh, but it was to soon for that. If he crowded her too much this early on, Sara was not above showing how she gained all that muscle. Ian did not want to be punched for being to forward; he'd seen how hard she could hit.
As he finished the circle he gave an amague, or aggressive flourish, directed at the rest of the dance floor. If there was anyone fool enough to challenge his right to this woman, he'd better show his colors now. No one came forward. In fact, there was a rather large bubble of space between them and the other dancers.
Ian nodded in satisfaction. His left hand came up to arc over his head, while his right settled on his hip in imitation of hers. He could feel her eyes moving over him and paused, letting her look her fill.
The next beat in the music had them both moving forward. They brushed by each other, heat igniting anywhere they made contact. Both turned sharply, the beat calling for a stamp of the foot they had lifted off with to spin, which they did. They were only inches apart. Ian stepped forward and Sara stepped back. Then she took the step back, and it was his turn to retreat. Nottingham stepped forward again, not willing to relinquish the lead to her. Through it all they maintained that little artificial distance.
Sara turned as if to flee, one arm conveniently cast backward for him to catch, which he did. Ian's grip was just below her elbow. She spun into his grip, letting her weight fall onto him so they were a single solid line from chest to the lone ankle resting just inside his. Her other leg was raised behind her, bent upward at the knee.
Neither could believe how good the other one felt. Ian purred; his head tilted down to stare into the emerald source of the flames that burned him so sweetly. Sara could feel that soft rumbling all the way down to the pool of heat in her lower abdomen. They stood frozen in the small eternity of the break in the music. The tension between them continued to rise until the rhythm picked up again.
Nottingham's feet followed the beat without letting go of the treasure in his arms. He walked in a small circle, Sara revolving with him on the ball of her foot in a calesita. Once the turn had finished, she swung her raised foot down and forward, sweeping his forward leg. He was forced to step back, and then again as she continued the llevada, clearly enjoying her moment leading.
Sara moved them about five feet before the music changed and Ian took the lead back from her, moving them in a mirror image of the way they had come. There was a pause in the music, halting their momentum. Taking advantage of the moment, Sara executed a media vuelta, or half turn, away from Ian.
He caught the beginning of her move and echoed it, although he drew the line at doing the kick with her. Nottingham did not want to chance splitting out his pants doing a pastada, which would certainly bring the evening to a premature end. Once her leg returned to the ground, he pulled her back into their former position.
Ian spun on one foot in an enrosque, the other hooking behind. Sara followed his coiling turn, letting him take them in a new direction. She smiled; the beat had taken on a light, playful tone. It seemed perfect for ocho milongueros, a criss-cross walking step. They covered a good bit of the dance floor before the music changed tone again.
This time, they both performed the media vuelta in the same direction and dropped into the caminar. The two strutted as far along the dance floor as the beat allowed before the cut that seemed perfect for a dip. Ian looked deep into her eyes and lowered his head. The world fell away, leaving only the two of them.
Sara watched as his lips descended toward hers. She was finally going to find out how he tasted. She wanted slide her lips against his, to see if they were as soft as she remembered them being against her fingers, to nibble that full, almost pouty lower lip, and to slide her tongue past the barrier of his teeth in a mutual exploration. She could feel his last exhalation of breath, then their lips touched lightly.
"Ah, amore. I do hate to interrupt, but the house rules are clear. No groping, no kissing."
The voice was an annoying buzz at the edge of his perception. Ian was tempted to ignore it, but Sara had stiffened in his arms. The moment was clearly over. Now that he was focusing, he realized the voice belonged to the owner, Carmelita. With reluctance he straightened, bringing Sara up with him. He let go; she was practically vibrating with anger.
Releasing Sara turned out to be a mistake. She rounded on the woman who had interrupted them, her breath coming out in a sharp hiss.
"That's three," was all Sara said before her fist curled and her arm drew back.
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! Sorry this has taken so long to post, but I'm an idiot. I've been updating at Connections and my homepage, but somehow forgot to put it up here. *hangs head sheepishly* On the bright side, you got two chapters all in one lump, right? I hope you think so anyway. Scifigirl and Thelma-hopefully the visuals this chapter made up for the interruption in the last one. Moon, if you'd update AQOT a little more often, you wouldn't have time to pace. (hint hint) Flamedancer, thanks! Cheers Darlin, know what you mean. Pass the lighter back this way when you're done. *grin* Rishtalak- now that I know your other sig, I will watch for you over there too.