Dave(hearts)John: Remember when Dave learned to ball dance completely unironically?
"Dave!" John cried out, breathless and giddy as he slumped into a chair, "You never told me you could dance!" Tonight was their fourth date, and as it had been Dave's turn to plan, the whole thing had come as a surprise.
"John," Dave murmured, baritone voice calm and steady, "You knew I could dance, we met at a night club." There was just a hint of a smirk at the edges of his lips, not that the tone of his voice gave it away.
"Where you DJ. This is totally different and you know it!" John accused. Dave made a noncommittal noise, merely scooted his own chair closer to John's so that their knees knocked together. All in all the picture they presented, with their heads together and hands entwined, was hardly in keeping with the austere atmosphere they'd immersed themselves in.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity more, foreheads pressed together as John stared with intent into Dave's expressive eyes. And they probably would have stayed that way until John had gotten the information he craved, had Dave not suddenly taken advantage of their immediate proximity to each other.
Having, during their silent staring match, moved subtly forward, Dave had found himself in prime position to begin ministrations on John's person. With great pleasure, his fingertips trailed little circles on the inside of John's thighs as Dave himself rolled his hips forward and bit his lower lip. If John weren't so very aroused, he would have found his date's actions humorous.
"John," Dave said with an exhale, "I brought you here to dance, not so you could interrogate me." His hands caressed their way to John's hips, where they gripped gently. "So," Dave drawled, "Are we going to dance?"
John swallowed visibly, trying very hard not to stare at his boyfriend's very tempting, very visible hints of muscled chest. Was it not a crime to be a tease, especially a tease that purposefully wore a form-fitting dress shirt with two buttons left open (and then leaned in to accentuate it!)?
"Fine," John huffed, pushing his chair back and away from Dave to get some space. "One waltz, just one, and then you tell me when you learned how to ballroom dance!"
"Or," Dave suggests, voice low, "we could do three more waltzes, go back to my place for the night…and I'll tell you right now." His voice is rough, but there's just a hint of self-satisfied purring in it, and his expression is downright predatory.
John spends a second thinking about it. "Nic Cage marathon or I say no." he demands, punctuating his sentence by standing.
In answer, Dave gets to his own feet and steps in close, smiling triumphantly. "Professional ballroom dancer," he whispered into John's ear, "Four year running state champion. Started at thirteen, continuing to today. Now," and Dave paused to blow air on the shell of John's ear, "let's go dance."