rude_not_ginger | for faiththatfuelsu: Cheek to Cheek

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• Come on and dance with me
I want my arm about you
That charm about you
Will carry me through
Right up to

Heaven
I'm in heaven
And my heart beats
So that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find
That happiness I seek
When we're out
Together dancing
Out together dancing
Out together dancing
Cheek to cheek •

"Dancing," she says.

"Dancing?" he asks.

"Don't tell me you don't know what that is. Cause I'll just throw a dictionary at you and find someone else to take me."

"No, no, I know. Just…where?"

They go where she wants, first.

It's a dingy club in Los Angeles with smoke hanging in the air and young bodies gyrating against each other while loud music bangs through the clearly unsynchronized speakers. People dance in tight clothes and ridiculous high heels and he feels terribly out of place.

He doesn't dance these sorts of dances so he fixes the speakers and stands to the side.

She dances alone for a while, and then drags him onto the dance floor, wrapping her arms around his neck and moving against him. He awkwardly tries to keep in step.

"Seems all your boasting was shit," she says, her lips twisted into a smile that is clearly supposed to be condescending but sits on her face in a way he decides is very pretty.

"Not these sorts of dances," he replies. "This is more public sex and less dancing."

"Fine then, Doc. Show me dancing."

They go where he wants, next.

It's a starlit club off of Robeath and Coreterigi Minor where everyone dances very formal, intricate waltzes. He wears a tuxedo, she finds a floor-length silver dress and cuts the slit on the side up to her hip when the one already on it isn't nearly short enough for her tastes. They fit in beautifully, but he can tell she already feels out of place.

She doesn't dance these sorts of dances, so she heads to the bar and orders something she can't possibly drink and stands to the side.

He dances with a Tereleptian princess for a while, but eventually he steps back to her and takes her hand. She follows, but she can't quite figure out where to put her feet.

"Left," he says. "Right. Back. Simple rhythm. It's just like---"

"Fighting," she says. He thinks she's thinking about the choreographed fight moves in movies, but she's really thinking of the repeated steps she's learned from years as the Slayer.

"I was going to say 'dancing'." He spins her out, and pulls her back into his arms.

She grins that crooked smile again and when the music starts anew, she dances without any hesitation or errors.

"It's the same thing, Doc," she says. "I just don't think anyone's danced with you the right way."

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 412
For

faiththatfuelsu. I PROMISE I WILL PUT THAT RP UP RIGHT AWAY *shame*