devil’s dance.

by leyca.

-.-:-.-

-/ “and a one, two, three.”/-

-.-:-.-

Her hand is in his as she is led to the dance floor. The room is empty save for them, a
comfortable silence, and something warmer. Her chest throbs with something distant
she can’t name, and she can’t help but let it come closer when he gently pushes the
hair out of her face.

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna teach me how to dance?” he playfully
quips, and she can feel the low chuckle reverberating through his chest.

The warmth from his fingertips still lingers in her cheeks, and she feels it spread thru her
hips, her hand, and the space between them. Biting the bottom of her lip, she
cautiously takes a step backwards, motioning for the boy to follow suit.

It’s strange how evident the difference is between dancing with Jordan and dancing
with the devil. Dancing with Jordan feels like spreading her non-existent wings and
gliding across the air; it feels carefree and liberating, playfully hanging around with your
friends until the cusps of dusk. Dancing with the devil, oddly enough, feels like
cocooning herself in a blanket during the winter; it feels warm and intimate, softly
speaking with someone dear until the ungodly hours of the morning.

There is none of the danger nor the eternal flames. There is none of the seductive
tantalization nor of the searing flesh. There is none of the piercing cold nor of the
bleeding heat. There is only the melting winter and the whispers of two thoughts
becoming one.

She looks up at him as they take their cautious steps, and her breath is abruptly taken
away by the utter softness in his eyes. She can’t help but feel the distance shorten
between them, and she can’t find it in herself to look away.

This is bad. Really bad.

A soft squeeze against her palm interrupts her reverie as the other raises their joined
hands in the air.

“You’re supposed to twirl your partner by the end of the performance, right?” he asks
with a grin, and she can’t help but laugh and nod. With a playful hesitation, she spins in
his grasp and stops with a vibrant smile.

He looks lost and entranced for a few seconds before grinning and letting go of her
fingers. “Nice job, Penn.”
Oddly enough, she aches to reach for those calloused fingers of his and intertwine
them with hers once more. For another dance, or for the sake of intimacy? She doesn’t
have it in herself to dilly-dally; shame she hasn’t been blessed with the gift of emotional
density, nor has she been blessed with the gift of emotional boldness neither.

Before she knows it, the performance is already halted to a stop. The lights die down
and the performers shed their masks of grace and elegance. The walled audience
applauds in silence as the curtains fall. The electricity in the air slows to a hum as the
waltz parts into two and they settle, unknowingly with red on both of their cheeks.

Diablo only laughs as he leans back on the couch and turns to Penn. “Well...that was a
thing.”

She only smiles as silent laughter parts her lips. She’s no longer dancing with the devil,
but she’s now dancing with Diablo. Charming, warm, and gentle Diablo.

It’s a dance she’ll like to try again.

-.-:-.-