catch22 (catch22) wrote,
catch22
catch22

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Mood drill.

The tension love creates is beautiful. I kind of understand now when they talk about the tension in Latin dances like the Tango…and oh God how I love to Tango though I’m only decent enough to not step on toes. Picture this: Hot summer night and two people alone in a dance studio. On the South side the wall is covered with mirrors. On the North side two bars run along the wall. The east side contains a door and a second rate sound system. The west side a 2 windows that that take up 2/3s of the wall.

It’s Late afternoon and the sun is hazing through the blinds setting the lighting to warm oranges, yellows and reds…heating the room ever so slightly. She’s doing bar work. First position, second position, third position, fourth position, second position, third position, first position…she repeats. Her heart races faster and faster as she aims for perfection. Stray hairs escape her bun that she so carefully clipped up in the dressing room. Her muscles warm eager to push and pull against the resistance

He enters the room and goes to the sound system searching for the correct music. She’s lost in her own world spinning and spinning stopping with the precision only the gifted possess, the mediocre envy, and the enthusiasts admire. He turns and admires the grace she uses as she spins on her toes; to one leg, leaving the trailing leg bent ever so slightly; slowly pulling it in so the arch of her foot cradles her knee; back to her toes and then stopping with such precision facing the mirror. She notices him and blushes. His blue eyes meet hers and he fails at suppressing the boyish smile, hiding it with a small bow. She curtseys. He pushes play.

Tonight Tango it will be. Her left hand runs up his muscular arm which already cradled her by the small of the back. The other hands meet in a refined partnership of strength. Ever so firmly he starts…slow, slow, quick, quick, slow; the space between them right now unmarred, uncrossed. He increases the pressure on her back and she spins into him. Both his hands move down and he lifts her with ease, sets her down and he spins her out again only to pull her back into the invaded space, holding her close for a few bars before sending her spinning on her own. He follows with his own spin. They circle each wanting back in both keeping their distance. Their eye contact never breaking, nothing else in the world matters. Finally she spins into his arms. He leads her backwards and she follows enough using the exact tension in her muscles to restore the previously unmarred space. He spins her back in and she kicks her leg and rests it on his shoulder as he drags her for 4 bars of music. They pause his had traces her body from the small of her back and finds her hand. Her hand traces his jaw line for a moment before she shifts her weight back slightly and lets her leg lead her into a spin away from him. He pulls her back to him invading that space and lifting her into another spin. One leg wraps around his leg the other one forms a perfect diagonal line to their bodies. He sets her down and pulls her close, not giving her the chance to escape. The music ends and her head rests against his chest. More tendrils of hair has escaped the bun. Both exhausted with beads of sweat resting on the brows from the exertion stay frozen as the last note fades from the room, followed by the emotion; an emotion which will never leave completely.

She looks up and smiles shyly, not wanting to stand up, wanting to be held forever. He lets go and she stands up. He goes to the bar to work and she leaves waiting until the next time.
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