#but i suppose kizomba a dance battle and a make out will have to do on their own XD

[sabraeal]

Strictly Come Dancing, Part 3

A ballroom dance AU Part 1 | Part 2

Obiyuki Week, Day 6 Lust | Chastity

It would be nice if, for once, a club’s parking lot wasn’t nearly three blocks away from the entrance. Especially tonight.

“I can hear you back there, you know.” Shirayuki casts a glance over her shoulder, but only dares to look at his feet, five steps behind hers. “Grinning.”

“You fought for my honor.” She doesn’t need to see him to know that Obi’s mouth is pulled wide, stretching from ear to ear. “Can you blame me?”

She can’t, that’s the problem. She knows exactly how much that means to him.

Obi’s shoes scuff on the pavement, and then he’s right at her shoulder. “You know, if you were like one of Kiki’s knight dealies, I’d have to give you my maidenhood or whatever.”

“Maidenhead,” she corrects, cheeks flaring red. “And why was she telling you this?”

“For reasons. You know how it is.” Obi shrugs. “Though I suppose you’re five years too late to be getting that.”

“Obi.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to give you instead though.” His chin tilts, thoughtful. “Maybe Kiki does. I mean, ladies couldn’t go about always being maidens. And then I can --”

“It was an accident,” she squeaks, clapping her hands over her cheeks. Her palms burn where she touches them. “I only meant to invite her to one of our practices, or maybe even a competition, not--not---”

“Having a dance battle,” Obi fills in gleefully. “Over me.”

Shirayuki slides her palms over her eyes and groans. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“I don’t,” he assures her, bumping shoulders. “That’s why I filmed it instead.”

She jerks up, head whipping around, and -- there it is, right on his phone: her freeze-framed Critical, dance shoes and all.

“Delete that!” she hisses, leaping for it. He’s too quick; her fingers barely brush the screen before he yanks it away. It glows overhead, maddeningly just out of reach.

“Nope! Mine forever.” He grins when she jumps, giving it a taunting shake. “I’m gonna show this to everyone tomorrow.”

“No,” she whines.. “Don’t!”

“I’m gonna,” he promises. “You should be more proud of yourself. This is a big thing for you!”

He’s right, as much as she hates it. Torou might have been the better dancer, but she’d put up a fight. Six months ago, she’d have taken one look at that dance floor and broken an ankle. This is...growth.

That does not mean she wants Kihal to get her hands on it. That’s just asking for it to end up on the website, and she just does not need to become The Girl Who Did That Dance Battle Once. Not the reputation she’s looking to build.

“Beside,” he says, grinning at the screen. “It’s already up on YouTube.”

She will kill him, and no one will find the body. “It’s what?”

“Hey, I didn’t put it up there. I took this video for my own personal enjoyment. And the people who I’m going to show it to, which is everyone,” he adds. “But some other guy got you at a much better angle. He texted me the link while you were going to the bathroom.”

The noise that tears from her is inhuman, like a sheep’s dying bleat. “I knew I just should have gone at home.”

“It’s not your fault you have a small bladder,” he tells her, shoulders twitching against hers in a shrug. “Besides, it would have been on YouTube anyway.”

“But at least I wouldn’t have known about it.” She shakes her head, dropping her hands, and never has she been more glad to see a public parking sign boasting $36 ALL DAY. “Oh good, we’re here. Any further and I think my feet would have fallen off.”

“Oh,” Obi purrs, bold now that her back’s turned. “You know I’m always willing to sweep you off your feet, my lady.”

She lifts an eyebrow, even though he can’t see it. “I thought I was the knight?”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I’m a very progressive maiden. I don’t see why we both can’t be the knight, once and a while.”

“How scandalous, sir.”

He lets out a hum of a laugh. “What was scandalous tonight was my lady’s dancing.”

Shirayuki opens her mouth to protest -- even if she’d done Torou’s routine wholesale, there was no way she could have made it as sultry and seductive as the original -- but he doesn’t mean that. He means before. When he’d dared her to show him what she’d learned out on the floor, and she’d --

Probably embarrassed herself, if Torou’s the sort of girl he’s used to.

“Let’s just...” She gestures vaguely to the lot, a tiny patch of pavement sandwiched between two squat buildings. “Get going. I’m sure you’re tired from having to pretend it was sexy.”

Loose gravel crunches as he pulls to a stop. “Didn’t I tell you? Everything you do is sexy to me.”

It’d be nice if her blush could stick to her cheeks; at least then he wouldn’t see it with her back to him. But she can feel it burning down her neck now, collecting at the tips of her ears. The light here may be dim, but Obi isn’t blind, and -- and it would be nice if her skin could give her just two seconds of privacy, instead of making her wear her thoughts on her sleeve whether she wanted to or not.

She huffs out a laugh she hardly feels. “Stop teasing.”

Her foot lifts, momentum carrying her forward, until fingers band tightly around her wrist. She only has a breath to look back, to follow the line of her arm all the way down to where it meets his, and then --

Then he tugs.

It’s second nature to yield to him, to let him lead her into a turn that pulls her tight against his chest, no space between them. She’s used to this, as much as anyone can be used to standing this close to someone as stupidly attractive as Obi is, but it’s -- it’s different now, not like how it is when they’re under the practice room lights or all dressed up on the competition floor. The knit of his sweater tickles her palms, and he’s warm where she touches him, a furnace.

And none of that has anything on his eyes, a gold so molten his heat sears her too, flowing through her veins until her knees quiver and her skin flushes not just on her face or her chest, but everywhere.

“What did you tell Ryuu?” he rumbles, his hand sliding down her wrist, fingers trailing over the soft skin of her forearm, “I joke but I never lie.”

She can’t stop looking at his mouth, watching the way it shapes his words, thinking about how it had been on her barely an hour ago. Even now she can feel where his stubble scraped her, how his teeth had nipped at the place where her neck and shoulder met, how his lips had dragged lower, breath ghosting over her collarbone -- “Are you?”

His palm stutters on her bicep, his gaze dragging away from its torturous journey to her eyes. He watches her watch him, and she knows the moment he traces the trajectory of her focus, when he realizes just what she wants.

His breath catches, and with a slow, controlled exhale, his fingers wrap around her arm, squeezing it with enough pressure that it’s no longer comforting but -- but --

A promise. “I wonder.”

On the dance floor he devoured her; they’d moved in a way that, had there not been so much denim between them, would have flagrantly ignored a solid half of public decency laws. She wants him to do it here too, to push her up against one of these ugly buildings, brick crumbling the moment her back touches it, and show her exactly what he means when he tells her that her rumba lacks heat. 

But he doesn’t move.

There’s so little space between them the lack of air makes her dizzy, makes her knees weak, but she still can’t close it, can’t bear to be the one that gives first. When Zen had kissed her that one, botched time, he’d been the one to step in, to bring her close --

And though she hates to follow, Shirayuki has never learned to lead herself.

Please. She thinks it so hard the word forms on her lips, and Obi leans in, eager --

“Ei! Gata!”

Shirayuki jerks back, straining against the arm that bands tightly against her back. It loosens, just slightly, as Obi blinks, the moment jarringly broken, and she looks to see --

It’s that girl, the one from the club. The one who had taught her to -- ah, do things. With her body. She’s with a pack of others girls, all about at pretty as she is, loitering just outside the parking lot on the other side of the street. They all give Obi an appreciative once over.

Obi’s looking too, brow furrowed, concerned, holding her like he’d like to stand between them, like he thinks they might --

Oh. Get into a fight with her. Like Torou.

“It’s okay,” she starts, pressing a hand to his chest. That gets his attention right quick, his eyes fixed on her in a way that leaves her floundering for a good second. “I, um, know--”

“That’s right, baby!” the girl calls out, smile stretching from ear to ear. “You get it.”

Her arm waves, and Shirayuki blinks, confused, until she repeats the motion and --

Oh. She’s, um. Smacking an ass. Right.

“Oh, her?” Obi grins. “I like her. She’s got some great ideas.”

“Home,” Shirayuki decides firmly. “We’re going home.”

She’s halfway to the car by the time Obi jogs up begin her, laughing under his breath.

“See,” he says, too innocent. “She thinks you’re sexy! And I have to say, she looks like she’s an authority on it.”

“No, that’s not--” Obi lifts up his eyebrows, far too inquisitive, and she just huffs, hurrying to the car with as much speed and authority as these heels can give her.

“Are you trying to say that you think Senhorita Gata’s tastes are --?”

“No. It’s just -- a misunderstanding,” she grits out. Obi’s car is a clunker -- though compared to some of the others in the lot, it looks practically brand new -- but she feels better once her fingers brush the handle, once she has her hands on something solid. “She just...she thinks that you and me, that you and I--” she waves her hands, flustered-- “that we’re, you know--”

Dating is impossible. The word gets stuck in her teeth, too much of a stretch to even speak. Fucking is straight out.

“--That you want me,” she finishes lamely, on a sigh. “Like that.”

It’s silent in the lot. Cars rush by in the distance, back on the main road, and the girl and her friends are still shrieking across the street, muffled by the buildings around them as they pile into their cars. Power locks were a luxury when Obi’s car came off the line, but never has she wished harder for it to be just a year or two older so she wouldn’t have to wait, so that instead of standing here, anticipating his laugh, she could be locked away inside. It might not have that fancy sound dampening stuff either, but metal and glass would mute it well enough.

But that laugh never comes.

His shadow falls across the car, tripled in the floodlights. She can’t tell where he’s standing, but it’s both too close and too far. “Obi...”

One hand falls on the top of the sedan, just by her shoulder. The other clasps her elbow, turning her, slowly, gently, before it settles there too. She’s caged in by his arms, but it’s his eyes that trap her like a fly in amber. “Maybe she’s not the one misunderstanding what I want.”

Despite the lack of air, Shirayuki manages, with great gravitas, “Haah.”

Obi’s mouth cants at a corner, teeth peeking out from between his lips, and he, impossibly, leans closer. “You know, Kiki says that ladies would give favors to their knights before battle.”

Shirayuki knows that. She was a young, impressionable teen girl once; she’s watched A Knight’s Tale an unhealthy amount of times -- what else could she do when there was not only a cute knight and a hot lady blacksmith, but also Chaucer? Still, she just stands there, dumb, watching him watch her while her heart rate raises to something close to palpitations.

His gaze, unmistakably, settles on her mouth. “And I never did give you a favor.”

“What would you have given me?” she blurts out, because of course this is what she fixates on, instead of -- of -- doing anything else, like flirting. “Your shirt?”

Obi jolts back with surprise, blinking. “That’s not where I was--” He stops, considering her. “Do you want me to take my shirt off?”

“No!” None of this is going the way she hoped it would. She needs to make a -- a mouth parliament, so she can get some oversight on the words coming out of her mouth. “I mean, not any more than usual!”

His nostrils flare. “Than usual?”

“That’s not what I--” she is really screwing up this whole conversation-- “I mean, you know how you look!”

That was a mistake. Now he looks far too pleased with himself.

“No,” he hums, fingers trailing down her jaw. They hook behind her ear, and with barely any pressure, tilt up her chin. “That’s not the favor I meant.”

Her breath whines out of her lungs. “Then--?”

Her only warning is the warm air across her lips, and then his follow; a soft brush that sends sparks shooting right down to her toes. Once, twice, and just as she opens her mouth --

He pulls away. Her eyes flutter to half-mast, and even with the bronze of his skin and the weird lighting of the lot, she can see a blush flare across his face. “I--”

She is really, really not interested in talking.

Her hands fist in his shirt, and she yanks him back down, mouth open under his, and --

And it’s a lot different, this time.

There’s no shyness in this, no need to coax him; the moment his lips touch hers, she’s open to him, and he takes it, tongue licking into her mouth, hands falling from the sedan to her -- her ass, pulling her against him. He’s hard already, panting as she whines against his mouth, and it’s just like the club, where there’s no space between them, but it’s still too far.

One of this thighs slots between hers, and it’s all the invitation she needs to roll against him, to hook her fingers in him belt loops and rock her hips into his. His mouth slips from her on a groan, and it’s -- it’s too much but not nearly enough, one hand sliding up under his shirt --

“Okay!” he gasps, practically throwing himself off her. There’s only six inches of space between them, but they both stand there, tense, like they’re ready to leap across the canyon to close it. “We need to--to--” Shirayuki prays he doesn’t say stop -- “get in the car. Now. Before...stuff.”

“Stuff?” she pants, hopeful.

He doesn’t answer, just shoves his hand in his pocket, cursing under his breath. His jeans aren’t tight, not like how she’s seen some boys wear them, but they hug to his hips like they were made for him. She appreciates the aesthetic, but it’s clear that it’s impeding the rest of her night.

“Let me,” she breathes, reaching for him, and he jerks away. For a moment, she’s afraid she’s misunderstood -- maybe he doesn’t want stuff to happen --

“You,” he says, with a look full of censure, “are only going to make this worse.”

She nearly protests -- she is very helpful, the most helpful --

And then she sees the way his jeans bulge against the inseam. Ah. Yes. Putting her hands near -- near there would not be helping at all.

He has to work his fingers into the pocket, but only few seconds of fishing sees him victorious. The car keys chime, loud in the silence, continuous and dissonant like bells on a sleigh. He steps toward her, hand outstretched, and it’s not until the key is in the lock and the noise stops that she realizes -- his hands are shaking.

She has to side step so he can open the door, but she slides in right after, and --

“What are you doing?” He stares at her, incredulous.

She blinks. “You opened the door.”

“I -- yes?” He leans in, so close, and she rises to meet him --

Plink.

Eyes flying open, she’s just in time to see his fingers pull away from the back door, the silvery lock pulled into the open position.

Right. Because Obi’s car is practically old enough to drink. There’s no power locks; there’s not even a keyhole on the back door --

The back door that leads to the backseat, which is where people make out, when there are people who are used to making out in cars. Not the front seat, with the center console between them. The sort of thing a twenty-year-old should know, if she had any experience besides awkward kisses on fire escapes.

Obi knows all about that, all about her history -- or lack of it, but it would be nice if she could at least pretend to be a little competent.

Still, his gaze tangles with hers, intent, even as he slides over, opening up the back and --

The back. The place she should be going if they’re going to do stuff. Kissing stuff.

Maybe more than kissing stuff.

She launches herself up, hands braced between the passenger seat and the driver’s, trying to get her knees under her on the console. Obi’s car is small -- in all honesty, ridiculous tiny for a man his size -- but Shirayuki’s small too, and she’s never met a space she couldn’t squeeze through --

Until now. Her heels catch on the lip of the console, her forehead whacking painfully into the overhead lamp. A thin beam of light illuminates the back seat.

She sits back, stymied. Then tries again for good measure, cutting to darkness again, and --

“Don’t break anything,” Obi pleads, laughter shaking his words. “It’s a real bitch to find parts for this thing.”

“I’m not going to, I just--” she grunts, reaching back, yanking the buckles of her shoes -- “there.”

They clatter to the floor; she doesn’t bother to watch them, already shoving her way through, throwing herself onto the backseat with a worrying creak. She only just avoids whacking herself on the headrest, but she’s too flushed with victory to worry over it.

Obi hunches by the back door, eyes wide, one eyebrow raised. “Are you good, or...?”

“Yes!” she yelps, trying to arrange herself to look welcoming, to look like a girl who potentially goes around getting kissed in the back of cars. Whatever vibe she’s going for must be off; Obi spares her an incredulous look before he straightens, shutting the fort door.

It feels like an eternity before he bends back down, angling to slide into the back, and there’s something about his face that says second thoughts, maybe even third ones, and she just --

She goes for it.

Her lips barely bump his before he catches her shoulders, laughing. “Kid, let me close the door first.”

“Oh!” She settles back, watching how his shoulders stretch under that sweater as he reaches over. “Can you fit?”

“Of course I can fit,” he scoffs, even as his hair brushes the ceiling. “This isn’t the first time I’ve--”

He stops, lips pressing together. “You know what? Not going to sabotage myself like that. I can fit.”

The door closes with a metallic clank -- he really needs to take this thing to a garage -- and then he sits back, spine ramrod straight against the seat, hands clenched on his knees. There’s not enough space for them not to be touching, but he’s tense enough to make it feel that way. His jaw works, and there it is, the second thoughts sitting just beneath his skin.

“Obi.” She doesn’t know what she wants to say; do you want to still and we don’t have to sit heavy on her tongue, and she’s not sure which one is right --

His head snaps towards her, and she sees it, the heat behind all the hesitation. Maybe she’s not the one misunderstanding what I want. “Ye--?”

Her hands clap to his ears, dragging his mouth to hers. The moment they touch it’s as if they never stopped, his hand palming the back of her head, drawing her closer as he licks at her mouth, sending heat searing down to her toes. The other one smooths down her spine, fingers clutching at her cardigan, and she --

She would like to be back where they were before too. Her hands yank at the bottom of his shirt, urging it up his flexed stomach and he grabs the back, hauling it over his head.

It’s only too bad the light is still there.

“Oh no!” she gasps, reaching for him when he hisses, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “Are you--?”

She promptly loses her ability to words as the fabric falls away, and every inch of his chest is revealed still dewy from the club.

Oh. Oh wow. She knew Obi was built; when they’d first been paired he’d always managed to arrange their practice right as he was finishing up his routine, sweat-slicked and shirtless, but -- but it’s been months now, and he’s, well...cut.

His mouth curls. “See something you like?”

“Please,” she sighs, leaning into him. “Don’t ruin this.”

When he kisses her this time, it’s different, purposeful. With far more finesse than she managed, he pushes her cardigan from her shoulders, peeling it down her arm so that every inch feels like a caress. The air’s still cold in the car, and her skin pimples in the chill, but then his fingers trace the strap of her halter, and -- well, she definitely doesn’t feel cold, that’s for sure.

His hand splays across her back, the tips of his fingers resting on bare skin, and they’re so hot she’s sure they’ll leave a brand, that any time she puts on one of those skimpy Latin costumes, everyone will know he’s touched her. He presses into her, and with barely more than that she’s falling back onto the seat, his mouth jostling from hers to land on her cheek.

“Oh,” she murmurs, flushed. Only she could make something this sexy so awkward. “Are you--ohhh.”

His mouth sucks hard, just behind her ear, and that is -- that is like nothing anyone has ever done to her before, oh god. Her toes curl, wrapping themselves in the denim of his jeans, and when her thighs squeeze his hips--

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, hips bucking into hers, and then she just -- looses a full minute.

By the time she comes back to herself, her hands are fisted in the bristle of his hair, head thrown back, his mouth flirting with her collar bone. Her thoughts are fogged, distant; the only thing she can focus on is the way his hips rock into hers and the feel of his lips against her skin, and when he tugs, hesitant, on the knot of her halter, she can only manage an embarrassingly enthusiastic moan.

It doesn’t occur to her until everything suddenly stops that, oh yes, she hadn’t worn a bra today.

Obi jerks back, eyes wide and dark as he stares down at her. For the longest time, it’s all he can do, just breathe and look.

“Obi.”

He blinks, gaze dragging up to hers, and she can see -- he wants to take this further, wants to ask if this is all right --

“Obi,” she breathes. “I think you should take me home.”