#but I think the hall for social dancing is probably better sprung

[sinni-ok-sessi]

riddle me this: why can I do three hours of energetic social dancing with, like, moderate achiness but no pain-pain, but two dances in class leave me barely able to walk?

[remywrites5]

Happy Birthday, Fel!

It’s not still @casualmaraudering ‘s birthday where she is but it still is where I am so I’m counting it! Just something short a sweet (because some friends don’t bother to tell you that their birthday is coming up so you have to scramble to write a thing! Anyway - hope you like it and Happy Birthday!!!)  ****  Remus had imagined that his university years would be spent making lots of friends and finally getting himself a boyfriend. Instead, it had consisted of a lot of homework, a lot of crying, one friend, named Regulus Black, and no boyfriend to speak of. Remus had found himself crushing on Regulus just a bit, until he learned that Regulus was aroace, and therefore completely uninterested in Remus as anything other than a friend. It hadn’t taken Remus long to get over his crush, after all, it was barely a crush to begin with.

           Remus and Regulus were sitting across from each other, working on their group project for their art history class, or at least pretending to do so in between sending each other memes.

“Oi, you wanker!”

           Remus glanced up in surprise and caught Regulus cringing. Regulus’ shoulders hunched forward, as if he were trying to make himself invisible. Remus blinked a few times, caught off guard by Regulus’ reaction, and looked around for the source of the voice.

           Someone was approaching their table, bounding over like an overexcited puppy, a big grin on his face. He looked exactly like Regulus, except his hair was a bit longer, his face a bit softer, where as Regulus was all sharp angles.

           Remus was about to ask Reg if he was okay when the stranger dropped into the chair next to Reg and put his arm around him. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

           “Of course I did,” Regulus said bitterly. “Why do you think I was hiding?”

           “That’s mean.”

           Regulus sighed. “What do you want, Sirius?”

           Sirius grinned and pulled Regulus closer, nearly choking him. “Well, first I want you to introduce me to the hot pink-haired boy across from you.”

           Regulus shoved Sirius’ arm away. “Remus Lupin, this is my idiot twin brother, Sirius.”

           “Oi, don’t introduce me like that!” Sirius said, scandalized. “I never see you around campus and this is how you behave?”

           “We’re in different departments,” Regulus reminded his brother. “I don’t have much reason to visit the foreign language department. Also, I avoid you at all costs.”

           “Rude,” Sirius said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was going to buy you a coffee, too.”

           “Only if you buy one for Remus too.” Regulus stipulated, gesturing towards Remus. Remus froze as suddenly both brothers’ attention focused on him. It really was unfair that people could be that attractive. Remus felt heat rising to his cheeks at the unwavering glances.

           “Hi,” Remus said, giving a little wave and then immediately regretting it. He felt so unbelievably stupid.

           “Hello,” Sirius practically purred, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand.

           “It’s – uh – nice to meet you,” Remus said, glancing away. “Regulus never mentioned having a twin brother.”

           “What?” Sirius shouted, turning towards his brother accusingly. “How have you never mentioned me?”

           “Because you’re embarrassing,” Regulus responded, kicking at Sirius under the table. “Now go get our coffees.”

           “Fine,” Sirius said, gracefully standing up. He pulled his long, dark hair up into a ponytail and grinned. Remus pretended it wasn’t doing things to him. It was very nearly an insurmountable task.  “Only because I am such an awesome brother.”

           “Don’t get ahead of yourself there,” Regulus told him, typing something on the keyboard of his laptop.

           Sirius glared at him for a moment and then quickly reached over and smashed a few of the keys, ruining whatever it was that Regulus was typing.

           “You’re so childish!” Regulus said, jamming his finger on the backspace key.

           Sirius laughed and walked over to Remus’ side of the table. “So what kind of coffee do you like?”

           Remus played with one of his curls nervously. “Uh, anything mocha is fine, but you really don’t have to – “

           “Nah, I got you,” Sirius said, nudging Remus with his elbow. “Be right back!”

                                                                       ***

           Remus didn’t think much of his bizarre run-in with Regulus’ brother. After all, it was a large campus, they were unlikely to meet each other again. Remus wasn’t about to go crazy over some guy he barely knew, especially when he figured Reg would have a problem with it. Remus wasn’t about to risk his one friend on some guy who probably wasn’t interested in the first place.

           There was an LGBTQ+ dance that Remus was determined to attend on campus. His goal of finally getting a boyfriend hadn’t changed, and since he barely socialized with anyone except Reg, this felt like the perfect opportunity to meet someone. Regulus had refused to go with Remus, so Remus was stuck going on his own. It was taking all of his courage to walk through the door by himself. He clutched the ticket he’d bought in his hand like a lifeline and tried to calm his nerves.

           “Hey,” Someone whispered behind Remus, their breath on Remus’ ear, making him shiver. Remus turned his head and came face to face with none other than Sirius Black. Remus swallowed thickly and took a quick step away.

           “Hi Sirius,” Remus said, gripping his ticket even tighter. “Are you going to the dance as well?”

           “It’s worse than that,” Sirius said with a lazy grin. “I actually helped organize it.”

           “Wow,” Remus said, impressed. “That’s amazing.”

           Sirius chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Is it? I was mostly roped into it by my friend, Marlene.”

           “I think it’s great,” Remus said, smiling encouragingly. “I’ve been meaning to become more involved in club stuff.”

           “Well, we meet every Thursday in you’re free,” Sirius said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He looked stylish in a black suit, perfectly tailored, his red tie undone around his neck and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Remus felt silly standing next to him, wearing his nicest pair of jeans and a green cardigan. He probably should have put more effort into his appearance for something like this.

           “I’ll definitely come when I can,” Remus promised, tugging on one of his curls nervously.

           “Hey, dance with me,” Sirius said, grabbing Remus by the arm and leading him into the activities hall where the dance was taking place.

           “W-wait, I didn’t give them my ticket!” Remus said in a panic as Sirius led him past the ticket booth. The person at the table merely gave Sirius a nod as they walked inside.

           “Don’t mind that,” Sirius said, sliding his hand down Remus’ arm to clasp his hand instead. “I’ll make sure they get it.”

           “Sirius!” Remus said, his face bright red. “I – I’m not much of a dancer.”

           “Don’t worry,” Sirius told him, pulling Remus in close and wrapping his arms around his waist. “It’s a slow one.”

           Remus had no choice but to put his arms around Sirius’ neck and get close to him. It was so overwhelming that Remus was scared he might die. Their eyes kept meeting and Remus couldn’t handle that much eye contact. So instead, he buried his face against Sirius’ neck and pretended he was fine. It may have been a bit intimate, but it was better than looking up at those intoxicating grey eyes. At least like this Remus felt like he could still form coherent thoughts.

           “This feels more like we’re hugging than dancing,” Sirius teased as they swayed together to the music. “Why won’t you look at me?”

           “Can’t.” Remus mumbled, squeezing Sirius tighter.

           “Why not?”

           “I’m worried.”

           “About?”

           “Doing something stupid,” Remus answered, hoping against hope that Sirius wouldn’t question him further. Sirius chuckled and pressed his nose against Remus’ hair. It felt nice, being held by Sirius in such a way. Remus wouldn’t mind staying there for a while longer. He felt his eyes slip shut of their own volition.

           “What if I do something stupid?”

           “Hmm?” Remus hummed, nuzzling his face against Sirius’ throat. “I won’t mind.”

           “Don’t hate me, okay?”

           “Why would I –“

           Sirius placed his finger under Remus’ chin and tilted his face up. Remus then lost any and all train of thought as Sirius pressed their lips together, his mind going fuzzy like it was full off cotton. It was gentle and undemanding, a simple press of lips against lips, and a moment later it was done. Sirius pulled back and let his thumb tenderly caress Remus’ cheek.

           “I’m sorry.”

           “What for?” Remus asked, his stomach dropping. He wondered if Sirius already regretted it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that. “D-did I do it wrong?”

           Sirius chuckled. “Of course not. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I just really have wanted to do that since I met you.”

           “Why?”

           Sirius shrugged. “You’re kind of adorable.”

           Remus scowled at him. “No, I’m not.”

           Sirius laughed and shook his head. “Even when you’re angry you’re cute as fuck. Your nose gets all scrunched up. I really like that.”

           “W-we don’t even really know each other that well.” Remus reasoned, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and Sirius. “We’ve only met once. This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

           “Sometimes you just know, right?”

           Remus felt his jaw drop. “Regulus – “

           “Will get over it. Don’t use him as an excuse,” Sirius said, frowning slightly. He looked kind of upset and Remus felt bad for having brought it up. Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and then exhaled loudly. “He doesn’t hate me as much as he pretends to.”

           The song had changed to a pop song Remus vaguely recognized, but Sirius and Remus remained slow dancing. It was kind of nice, like being in their own little world. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure what you’re asking me.”

           “How about a date?”

           “Okay,” Remus said, tucking his head back under Sirius’ chin. He liked being close to Sirius, it was somehow both exhilarating and extremely comforting at the same time. “When?”

           “How about now? Spend the rest of the dance with me.”

           Remus smiled against Sirius’ neck and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw. “I think I can handle that.”

                                                                       ***

           It was well past midnight and Sirius was walking Remus back to his dormitory. Their hands were laced together, swinging between them as they walked. They’d spent the rest of the dance talking and dancing, occasionally kissing. Just thinking about it made Remus’ toes curl in his shoes. He’d had his first date with a boy. A boy that he had kissed. There was going to be more dates and more kissing. His stomach was twisted into knots just thinking about it.

           “Remus?” Sirius said, stopping just outside Remus’ building.

           “Yeah?”

           “I kind of don’t want to say good night to you,” Sirius confessed, giving Remus’ hand a small squeeze.

           Remus felt his face go bright red, heating up in complete embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry, I’m not ready for – “

           “Oh god no!” Sirius said quickly, waving his free hand around to dispel Remus’ thoughts. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

           “Oh,” Remus said, thinking it over. He found that he felt the same way. Spending time with Sirius was easy, effortless, and even though Remus felt nervous around him, he didn’t feel like that was a bad thing. “I have an idea.”

           They stopped by Remus’ dorm so that Remus could quickly fill a thermos with hot chocolate and grab one of his spare blankets. He then led Sirius up to the rooftop, where people had put some sofas. It was a popular spot for people to come up and smoke or drink as long as they didn’t get caught.

           They sat side by side on one of the sofas and Remus put the blanket around them to share. They passed the thermos back and forth as they continued to talk. The more Remus watched Sirius, the more differences he could spot between Sirius and Regulus. It had taken Remus a long time to get Regulus to open up to him and agree to be his friend. Sirius was so open and friendly in contrast, things seemed to go so smoothly with him. Regulus was dry and sarcastic, while Sirius was more genuinely funny, making Remus snort more than a few times.

           Before Remus knew it, the sun was peeking over the tops of the trees. Sirius stood up and stretched, raising his arms high over his head. He then turned and held out a hand to Remus. “One more dance?” he requested with a small smile. “While the sun comes up?”

           “We don’t have any music,” Remus informed him, but stood up all the same.

           Sirius slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He then grabbed his airpods out of the case and put one in each of their ears. Remus waited patiently as Sirius scrolled through his phone, looking for the right song. Like Real People Do by Hozier began to play in Remus’ left ear and Remus found himself falling back into Sirius’ arms. The slow and soft melody felt perfect to the quiet of the early morning.

           Eventually they stopped dancing, too wrapped up in kissing each other to remember to move their feet.

           There, in the chill of an early September morning, Remus discovered what it felt like to fall for Sirius Black.

[fleckcmscott]

The Knot

Summary: Arthur and Y/N finally have the wedding they discussed on their sprint to City Hall.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,238

A/N: This was requested by @sweet-nothings04​. It is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for the support and beta-reading!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The nightly routine Y/N had developed over the years was a simple one. Her barely-there foundation, neutral eye shadow, eyeliner, and light mascara would be washed away with soap and water. After changing into a nightgown, she'd brush her teeth and hair. Moisturizing cream would be dabbed on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. (A couple of thin lines had formed at the corners of her mouth, and she hoped to prevent more.) She'd crawl into bed beside Arthur, they'd talk and cuddle, then she'd kiss him good night and wait for sleep to take her. It was a relaxing end to the day that didn't require a lot of effort.

But this evening was not routine. What Patricia seemed to have planned for it put Y/N's habits to shame. Peeking into the mint green satchel she'd brought caused a grimace. It was possible the clay and honey cosmetic masks wouldn't be too bad. The toe separators and nail polish and pumice stones didn't interest her. And the floral, spray-in hair perfume was pungent. God. All this fuss prompted Y/N to pour the both of them the rest of the wine.

"This is too much for me." Y/N frowned in the bathroom mirror and examined the mud on her face. "How long do I need to keep this on?" she asked, the alcohol making her grumble.

"Ten minutes." Patricia set a timer and placed it on the sink. "And don't whine. This stuff is why no one knows I'm over fifty."

"And here I assumed it was your vibrant personality." After taking a sip from her glass, Y/N turned to the tub. There were about five inches of hot water in it, topped with pink foam that smelled like artificial roses. It reminded her of the dusty, scented candles her grandmother had kept in the bathroom, but never lit. Patricia sat on the edge, dipped her feet in and waved for Y/N to join her.

Patricia started scrubbing the ball of her foot. "Are you excited?"

Y/N made a thoughtful noise. When she and Arthur had gotten married at city hall a year ago, she hadn't needed a wedding - she'd needed to be married to him. He'd wished for one, though, and she'd promised him that. "The wedding I had before was stressful. I could go without it." A gentle smile came across her cheeks. "But I am for him." She sighed contently as she submerged her feet. "When we were filling out the invitations a month ago, he was so happy. He pasted one in his journal - he showed me the page - and put exclamation points all around it."

That wasn't all he'd done. Arthur had convinced her to practice a slow dance to one of his mood music records. It hadn't taken much effort for him to talk her into it. ("I've imagined this a lot," he'd told her.) She figured she'd gotten pretty good, having learned to let him lead her instead of trying to anticipate his steps. His generous encouragements and the pleasure in his eyes had helped.

Snorting, Patricia grabbed a nearby smoother and began working on her heel. "How did a hard-ass like you end up with a sweet man like him?"

"He thinks I'm sweet." Y/N shook her head, splashing around with her toes. "Don't tell him he's been had."

At the buzzing of the timer, Y/N sprung up and went to the sink. Getting the mask off was as annoying as she'd suspected. The packaging said to use a cloth, lukewarm water, and circular motions. But the clay was stubborn and didn't want to leave her face. Patricia apparently found it hilarious, laughing all the harder when Y/N looked at her with indignation. Three washrags and an empty glass of wine later, her skin was clear. Irritated, but clear.

Patricia gestured over her shoulder as she dried off. "There's a present for you in my bag. You said no gifts, but it's nothing. And I didn't want to give it to you in front of Robert and Matt tomorrow."

Intrigued, Y/N retrieved the bag from the floor and sat next to her on the tub's edge. Matt, Y/N's former boss, she could understand. But what would Patricia give her that she didn't want her own husband to see? It only took a little digging to find the box, slightly bigger than her hand, with a red ribbon around it. "You shouldn't have." She opened it and pulled out what was inside. Her best friend had given her a black, satin thong with side ties. She stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. "It's so tiny," she exclaimed, the triangle front barely large enough to cover her palm. "I don't have the ass for this!"

Winking, Patricia nudged her upper arm. "It won't stay on long enough for Arthur to notice."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Arthur was at a pub with a friend for the first time in his life. He'd been to comedy clubs plenty of times, and Y/N had introduced him to numerous restaurants. But his general lack of interest in drinking and absence of companionship had never made bars a desirable destination. It had been Gary's idea, though. And with his company, Arthur was part of the crowd instead of apart from it.

They were seated at a small booth near the kitchen, away from everyone. Their conversation was sparse. Despite his overall increase in comfort, Arthur still had a hard time with social situations. Granted, Y/N had told him he was steadily getting better at them. And now, with the effect of the Fuzzy Navel in his hand, he was doing all right. There had been no forced laughter (which only happened a few times a month), no bouncing of his legs, and no nail biting. He was proud of himself for that, especially given the hint of nervousness he felt.

Tomorrow was their big day. The wedding was going to be at their apartment. There would only be four guests: he'd made it clear Penny wasn't welcome, and the elderly woman Y/N had invited, Ms. McPhee, had declined with an apology and cookies, saying she was too ill to go anywhere. Dinner would be potluck style. Finally, he'd fucking have what he'd dreamed about for years. Although it was implied every time he touched Y/N, he'd get to vow, publicly, to stay with her forever. To take care of her, no matter their circumstances. To love her ceaselessly. And, he reflected, she'd promise to belong to him, too. He grinned around his cigarette as he smoked, looking into his drink, joy rushing through him at the thought.

Gary took a swig of his porter. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"

"Yes." Arthur answered without hesitation. "But I don't know why Y/N wanted me to spend the night out. We're already married."

"You can't sleep with the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."

Tradition. His chest tightened at that. Tradition hadn't meant anything most of this life, anything besides futile yearning. He couldn't remember if he'd been read to as a kid. Lost teeth probably ended up in the garbage. Holidays had always been too expensive to take part in, and with Penny's apathy and all the hours he'd worked, he hadn't had the energy to try. He was glad to be making up the deficit with Y/N. Still. This was an odd custom, and not really applicable to them. "But I've been sleeping with her for two years." Almost as soon as he spoke, he realized his double entendre. He brought a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Sorry, Gary."

A sly smile crossed Gary's face, but he didn't seem upset. Which made sense - filthy jokes and dirty tales often flew around the locker room at HaHa's. The shorter man reached into the breast pocket of his striped shirt, then held out a small package. "Here. I got this for you."

Curious, Arthur examined the cellophane enclosed carton. The teal box of NoDoz said it would keep him awake, was fast acting, and safe as coffee. And there was a sentence, written in a cursive font on the bottom edge: "Number 1 with Newlyweds!" Oh. Oh. He knew what they were for. Once in a while he'd come across The Honeymoon Game when flipping through channels. The tablets were often mentioned, along with comments about "being busy all night long." The burning in his cheeks only amplified his giggles as he tucked them in his pocket. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, too."

"You're welcome. It's just the sofa." Gary gave a shrug. "What time did you want to get back home?"

Arthur recalled the list of errands Y/N had helped him make. He had to stop at the flower stand near their place and get a white carnation for himself and a bunch for her. Garlic bread needed to be ordered at Marchetti's, to go with the lasagna Y/N was attempting. He wanted to give himself a good half hour to change, fix his hair, and practice saying what he'd written.

Gary agreed getting back to the apartment in the early afternoon would be fine. Arthur wasn't expecting his follow-up question. "How'd you know she was the one for you?"

Trying to hide the embarrassment behind his answer, he sipped his cocktail. "Gary, no other woman ever wanted to be with me."

"I'm sure that's not true," Gary replied. Arthur didn't move to correct him. Maybe he'd successfully hidden his prior failures from his former co-workers by simply not joining in when they all talked about women.

It took time to come up with a response. When he gave it, the words were quiet, his tone almost reverent. "She never acted like there was something wrong with me." The corner of his mouth quirked up as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "No one else ever did that. Not even my mother." Realizing he may have insulted Gary, he backtracked quickly. "You- You were always nice."

Gary visibly brightened and waved at a waiter to order them both another round. Arthur sat back against the torn cushion of the booth, already slightly dizzy from the first one. It was going to a long, hopefully good, night.

~~~~~

The preparation for the 4:00 PM ceremony did not go as smoothly as planned. The dish Patricia brought, which she had wanted to keep a surprise, was macaroni and cheese. Y/N ran out and bought three salads from the deli so there'd be an option besides pasta. She'd made a small tear in the hem of her light blue wedding dress, one she'd picked up at a consignment shop, when she'd gotten caught on a doorway. And Arthur insisted on not seeing her in her dress beforehand, so she spent most of the time cooped up in the bathroom. She could hear Arthur's hushed tones as he paced the living room and spoke to Gary ("I'm gonna fuck up. What if I start laughing?"), and Gary trying to reassure him ("Arthur, just read it.").

But those snags were nothing compared to the issues at her first wedding. The flowers had never arrived. The cake topper had fallen, splitting the groom's head in half and breaking off the bride's arm. And, about halfway through it, she'd realized she was making a mistake. Presently, standing in front of the mirror while she fiddled with her high, split neckline and waited for Patricia to get her, she knew she hadn't erred. Doubt never entered her mind when it came to Arthur - only love, happiness, and gratitude.

When the door opened, Y/N ran her palm along the embroidered lace of the dress's bodice, smoothed the chiffon of the full-length, A-Line skirt, pulled at the wrists of the long, translucent sleeves, and took a deep breath. Her heart quickened when the faint notes of Arthur's favorite, sentimental Jackie Gleason Orchestra LP reached her ears. She stepped out. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, leaving space in the middle of the room. Their four friends stood there expectantly. Then she looked at Arthur, and the excitement she'd told Patricia she felt for him suddenly became her own.

He'd slicked back his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be formal, curls loose around his ears. The white button-up he was wearing was a tad large around the shoulders. But the likely second-hand black vest and trousers he wore fit perfectly. The carnation in the waistcoat's breast pocket was a nice addition. He was wearing his red and yellow tie, still the only one he owned, in spite of it being part of his Carnival outfit.  As she approached him steadily, she studied his face. The affection in his soft expression caused her breath to hitch, as did the drawing together of his dark brow as he admired her. She giggled, hoping he liked the nontraditional dress.

There was no need for the question, however. As soon as their hands met, he clutched hers and smiled. The autumn sun, which was already halfway down the sky, brought out the deep chestnut undertones of his brown waves. And the clear green of his irises glistened beautifully in the bright light. If it would have been acceptable, she would have kissed him on the spot. Instead, she settled for mouthing, "You're gorgeous." The blush that resulted, the way he lowered his head as he grinned happily, and his silent, "You, too," made her stomach flutter.

Listening to what the yellow-pages officiant said was nigh impossible. And from the expression on Arthur's face, he couldn't concentrate, either. But they managed to get through the basic vows, those same, time-honored words spoken at nearly every wedding she'd attended. (Except for "worshiping" and "obeying" - she'd insisted those parts be removed, explaining they were equals.) They'd each come up with their own short pieces, too, and at his insistence, she went first. "I didn't come to Gotham to find love. I just wanted to leave everything behind. Then I met you. You made getting remarried the easier decision I've ever made."

What Arthur said in return, reading softly but clearly from a worn piece of paper, had her beat. "People think I'm weird. But you don't." His Adam's apple bobbed and a slight tremor entered his voice. "You're my one and only person that can understand me." His rasp turned into a hiccup at the end, and he sniffled and scoffed while he tucked his notes away. The clench of her throat was immediate, and she threw her arms around him, not waiting for the words "you may kiss the bride" before joining their lips.

~~~~~~

​​​A wedding day was supposed to be special. Out of the ordinary. Exceptional. Anything but regular. But Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt normal for as many hours in a row as he did today. The flash of a pocket-camera when he'd cupped Y/N's face and kissed her after she'd lunged at him. Their short dance, with the shallow dip they'd practiced and her stepping on his foot only once or twice. The gentle "I love you" he'd murmured against her lips. The acceptance of her friends when they congratulated them both. All of these extraordinary moments coalesced into a warm, tender, soothing ache that, in spite of his doubts, confirmed he was a real person, worthy and capable of love.

The glass door opened behind him, and, expecting Y/N to drag him back inside, he flicked his cigarette away. But upon turning he saw Patricia, drink in her hand. They'd spoken briefly a few times since initially meeting a couple years ago. Arthur didn't yet have a clear impression of her. Y/N and she were close, he knew, and they often met for lunch. And Patricia had helped her try to stop the Wayne Foundation case from going forward. Observing the older woman, he noted the gray scattered throughout her hair, the lines on her face that were less prominent than his own, the minimal rouge on her cheeks. She reminded him of Penny before her health had declined. Before everything had changed.

"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, indicating the pack he was holding.

He blinked at her. "Sure."

She stepped to him as he retrieved one for her. After she plucked it from him and placed it between her lips, she took his lighter. "Y/N doesn't know. Keep it that way. You may not have picked up on it yet, but she can be bossy."

Chuckling, he cocked his head. Y/N had warned him about her bossiness early on, but it wasn't as bad as she'd claimed. Sure, she was assertive about certain things. But smoking was the only thing she was overly pushy about. The reason for her nagging prevented it from being more than a minor annoyance, though: she wanted them to spend a hundred years together, she'd said, instead of him dying prematurely of lung cancer. Blunt to a fault, as usual, with an inkling of sweetness underneath.

"Y/N was crazy about you from the start," Patricia said, pulling him out of his musings.

A glow blossomed in his chest and he dropped his gaze bashfully. "She talked about me?"

She smirked up at him, as if she was about to reveal a secret. "She gave me a note with hearts and exclamation points on it after you slept together."

Eyes widening, he turned back towards the street and focused on a manhole cover. It shouldn't have surprised him - he'd spoken with Gary about Y/N - but it did. And meant the world to him. But he was beginning to wonder what else she'd disclosed. Christ, was Patricia aware he'd been inexperienced? Had Y/N said he'd done a good job? Had she...Could she have talked about his body, the way the men at HaHa's described the women they were seeing? Those notions were laughable, he tried to tell himself, and attempted to push through them amid his growing discomfort.

Patricia gave his forearm a maternal pat, allaying his unease. "It was because you were gentle with her." He watched her angle her body towards the window and peer inside, and he followed her gaze. Y/N was pointing at a spot in the living room for the folding table they'd rented, along with six chairs. "She's gritty - she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has you to let go with."

Nodding slowly, Arthur understood. He was a good partner, a good husband to Y/N. And it wasn't only the woman he loved more than his own life saying it - it was her closest friend, her confidante. Intermittently, his conditions made it difficult, particularly on those days when he needed repeated validation, or the fury he carried deep within him threatened to bubble up. (Though it had gotten better with treatment, the stability his life now had, and Y/N's support.) Patricia recognized that he was trying and believed he was doing well. Accomplishment wasn't a sensation he often experienced, but the foreign sensation creeping into him must have been it. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "I love her a lot, too."

They went inside and put up the chairs and set the table. There wasn't a table cloth, but Y/N had taken out their "good plates," with gold filigree on the rims. One of their cotton napkins went missing, so Y/N put a paper towel under her cutlery. After he lit the two cream taper candles he'd found in a drawer, everything looked perfect.

The food and drink were something else. The only macaroni and cheese Arthur had ever had come out of a box. Patricia's tasted savory rather than salty, but he wasn't sure if he liked the tomatoes it had in it. Although the pasta was too soft, Y/N's lasagna was good, if a bit heavy on the sauce. The garlic bread helped with that. The salad was mostly ignored; he only ate the small serving she stuck on his plate. The scotch Gary brought was passed between himself, Matt, and Robert. Arthur did try a sip, but it was exceedingly strong and stole his breath. He decided to stick with wine.

As the evening went on, Arthur grew pleasantly warm and drowsy. Y/N and Patricia had taken over most of the banter, guffawing and being mildly foolish. Matt had brought a chocolate sheet cake for twenty-four instead of six, and Y/N had to hold her stomach to quiet her tipsy laughter when it was sliced. Arthur's hand crept to her thigh and squeezed lovingly, his eyes locked on her with adoration. The depth of his feelings, his keen awareness of her, her presence at his side, was drowning out the rest of the room. It didn't take long for her to turn to him and mouth, "Let's say good night."

Y/N sent everyone home with leftovers and a hug, and forced Matt to take most of the cake with him. Gary gave Arthur a wink and a nod as he left, and Arthur snorted as he shook his head and shut the door. Propping himself against it, he sighed, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head. She came up behind him and kissed his shoulder. "Patricia's going to have the photos developed in triplicate and give us the negatives."

He twisted to face her and put his arm around her shoulders, slightly dizzy. "Does that mean we'll get copies?"

Giggling, she pressed into him and nuzzled his cheek. "Yes. We'll get three copies." She looked up at him as she leaned back. The ardor in her gaze made his pulse skip a beat. Then she lead him to the bedroom without preamble, blowing out the candles on the way.

He'd read and seen enough to recognize what was expected of him. This was their wedding night. It was when the music would swell and the screen dissolved to black in the old movies he would watch. He was supposed to take charge and make love to her. And he wanted to. Truly. But he'd eaten more than he usually did in two days. That combined with only having slept a couple of hours the previous night, anticipation having kept him awake on Gary's couch, lead to the tiredness he now felt.

Her hands were everywhere, though, roaming his back as their mouths melded together. Arthur slid his tongue between her lips, and he could taste the wine they'd toasted with and spent the rest of the night drinking. Breathing raggedly, he swallowed her moan and held the nape of her neck. When she presented her back to him, he paused before caressing the lace on the back panels of her dress. He took the dainty zipper between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled it down. The intimacy of what was happening, of Arthur Fleck unfastening the dress of his bride, made him shudder. Once the bodice was completely undone, he pushed his forehead to her and kissed the soft skin at the top of her back.

The dress fell slowly, catching on her breasts and hips as she brought it down. When she turned to him, his brows lifted. She was wearing the smallest pair of black panties he had ever seen. They barely covered her sex. He huffed. "Where did these come from?"

A grin broke out across her cheeks. "Patricia was convinced you'd love them."

Smirking, he gave a little nod. "I do." They were tied at her waist. If he just pulled the string, she'd be revealed to him. "You're so pretty." His fingers teased a bow, trying to will himself to perform. But he wasn't feeling it. "Um." He chuckled sadly, knowing he was about to disappoint her. "I ate too much. And I think I'm drunk. I'm sorry." He winced and looked away from her.

Y/N stared at him, then laughed throatily and squeezed him close. "Oh, thank god. Me, too. It's been a busy day."

His grasp on her tightened. "But a good one?"

"A wonderful one." She pecked his mouth and moved towards the bed, not bothering to take off her bra before slipping beneath the blankets. "You can untie me in the morning."

As Arthur undressed, he folded each piece of clothing and placed it on top of the vanity. He'd take care of it whenever they got up. By the time he sat on the bed in his briefs to take off his socks, Y/N's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. Sleep always seemed to come easily to her. Carefully, he got in beside her and stroked her hair back. Not wanting to wake her but needing to touch her, he kissed her brow bone faintly, gliding his fingers along her cheek. Then he ran his hand down her side and teased the string on her hip, loosening the knot until he could whisper his fingertips over her without obstruction. She mumbled quietly but didn't stir.

Smiling, he breathed against her temple. "I hadn't been happy one minute of my entire fucking life before you." He sniffled and swiped at his nose, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes I am now. Like today." He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, his arm going around her waist to tuck her back against him. "Thanks, Y/N Fleck."

~~~~~

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[politicalpadme]

Pas De Deux, a Jedi Dance Academy AU (Part 7 of 7)

AO3 | First Position  | Second Position | Third Position | Fourth Position | Fifth Position | Jeté

It was the moment. The moment his whole life had been building towards.

Anakin took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists. He felt the heat of the lights on his brow, caught sight of Boba upstage right, poised to shoot down the ramp and start the show. The boy's face was scrunched up with focus. Boba was the wildest of his students but also the most driven. He reminded Anakin of himself. They both had something to prove. The music began. Anakin and Boba both counted the beats to the entrance, the stage was dark except for the "moonlight" that allowed Boba to see the ramp. On cue he let go of the board and dropped onto the stage, the sound of the wheels careening toward the center nearly as loud as the orchestra. Artoo flipped a switch and a thousand twinkling lights danced as Boba completed a turn, kicked off his board and into a jump. The audience gasped audibly. As seven more boys on boards took the stage Anakin allowed himself a smile.

"Did you see, Mom? Did you see how high I got? I bet I could jump over a whale." Anakin had never seen a whale, but people took boats out to see them from the dock five blocks over and he was sure they were big.

Shmi smiled and agreed, "It was a very big jump." She grasped his hand and pressed his palm. "Did you feel it here?"

"In my fingers?"

"In your whole body. Fingers to toes."

Anakin frowned. "I dunno. What's that feel like?"

His mother knelt and met his eyes, piercing blue, like the waves and the sky. "Do you remember the thunder storm three days ago?" He nodded. It had rained all day. They spent a few hours in the library and another couple in an internet cafe. But at night they were huddled in the sandstone outcropping they called home. It provided a spectacular view of the lightning hitting the water. "When the thunder sounded and the sky lit up, did you feel it?"

Anakin closed his eyes and tried to picture the storm. The rough waves and the splashing rain and the lightning that seemed to shoot straight down from the stars. He remembered the weight of the air and how his face was wet from rain and spray both. He remembered how the rumbling thunder seemed to come from everywhere. He looked up to meet his mother's eyes. "I think so. Yes."

"That same energy is in you." She touched a finger to his heart.

The audience applauded as the boys scampered off the stage. Anakin clenched his fists one last time, raised up on the balls of his feet, and met Ahsoka's gaze across the stage. The lighting shifted from stars to a kind of technological latticework to represent the robot stronghold. Artoo designed all the effects from her own drawings. No one had ever allowed her to play the way Anakin did and she'd taken full advantage. The music swelled and Anakin stepped on stage, Ahsoka in sync across the way. They crept towards each other in circles, their bodies low and eyes alert. As the music picked up lights suddenly shot across the stage and they mimicked dodging blasts. The duo met in the center and the dance morphed into something more intricate as they stepped and out of each other's space. The lights changed again, Anakin and Ahsoka hit a button on their wrists and shafts of blue light burst forth. They continued the dance, leaping and spinning and lifting in a frenzy of play battle.

"I don't think they like me." He tried to say it with a scowl — who cared what a bunch of Jedi Academy losers think of anything! But the truth is Anakin cared. He wanted them to like him. He wanted to belong.

Qui-Gon patted his shoulder. "They don't know you. Give it time."

"I'm trying." He looked away and rubbed an eye with his fist. He was lonely and he didn't know how to talk to the other students or their teachers. "I don't know the right words."

"What words?"

"Like 'pirouette en dedans.'" Anakin rubbed his eye again but it wasn't working. He felt the tears welling up. "I know how to do it but I don't know the words."

Qui-Gon gave him a measured look. "Do you like your teacher?"

"Obi-Wan?" The social worker nodded. "I guess. He's nice to me."

"He was my student once."

"Really?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "He knows all the words but he's still learning how to set them free. I'm hoping you will help him."

Anakin frowned. "I don't understand."

Qui-Gon straitened. "Pirouette en dedans." Anakin's frown deepened but he stepped back and performed a spin turned inward. His teacher's teacher nodded. "You can learn the vocabulary. They will refine your technique. But you were born a dancer."

Anakin threw his leg back and dropped down as Ahsoka spun around him, the blue lights shooting from both her wrists cut across the stage, now bathed only in low light, the "robots" defeated. Finally Ahsoka turned into her final pose and the stage went dark.

Applause filled the auditorium but Anakin barely heard it. He returned to his place in the wings and focused on his breathing. The quiet rumble of the music for his dance with Padmé began. He lifted his eyes to watch her entrance as the strings launched the haunting melody. Her movements were quiet and small compared to what came before, but no less driven. And so beautiful his heart ached. The orchestra grew louder cueing Anakin to join the dance. His hand snaked around her waist and they danced as one.

"Anakin, something's happened." Obi-Wan kept talking but Anakin didn't remember the words. He remembered the sorrow in his voice and the softness. He remembered the sound of the rain still falling outside and the damp smell of the basement. He remembered digging his nails into the palm of his hands. He remembered the terrible knowledge that it was all his fault. It was four days before his sixteenth birthday. They were coming to see him.

The whole Academy mourned Qui-Gon. He was one of their own. Yoda's student and Obi-Wan's teacher before he left ballet behind to work in the community. The memorial was packed and the ceremony long. Anakin stood quietly beside his mentor.

Shmi's burial was much simpler. Just Anakin and Obi-Wan and the family who'd hired her as a housekeeper. Qui-Gon probably arranged that, too, but Anakin never asked. The Lars were kind. They considered Shmi family and Anakin was comforted she was happy. But he didn't know them and he wasn't sure he was ready to know who Shmi had been without him. Everything was awkward.

Anakin fell into a depression. He had trouble sleeping, he barely ate. He'd never been a great student but his grades plummeted, even metal shop, which he loved. And worst, he wasn't dancing. He went through the steps, with precision, but no heart. He couldn't give it up — it was all he had now — but he couldn't connect. He couldn't feel the lightning. And he couldn't cry.

A month and a half after his birthday he threw a brick through the window of the community center Qui-Gon founded. The glass shattered, littered the sidewalk and one shard lodged above his right eye. It stung. Anakin pressed his hand over the glass, pushing it deeper into his skin. The pain was the first thing he remembered feeling in weeks. Tears sprung into his eyes, his vision blurred and he dropped to the ground, too exhausted to stay standing.

"Are you okay, son?"

Anakin blinked at the officer peering at him with kind eyes. He shook his head and growled, "I'm not your son." He wasn't anybody's son.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan's worried visage appeared next to the stranger.

"They called you?" Anakin wondered how long he'd been sitting here. The sun was low in the sky.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Are you all right?"

"My head hurts."

His mentor tsked, and addressed the officer. "I'm taking him to the hospital." They started arguing, something about protocol and paramedics on their way. Anakin wasn't listening. He was looking at the way the broken glass glittered in the sunset. But Obi-Wan must have prevailed because now he was lifting him up off the ground. "Don't worry. We'll figure this all out."

Anakin was silent for the trip to the emergency room. He responded to the nurse's questions with one word answers. Obi-Wan hovered like a mother hen. "Will it leave a scar?" he asked the doctor.

"Most likely."

Obi-Wan tsked again. Anakin didn't care.

Stitched and cleaned and bandaged, he was released. Obi-Wan drove him back to school and watched him take two painkillers. "I'll come see you in the morning." He pressed Anakin's shoulders and started toward the door. The boy looked up suddenly, eyes bright, and he reached out to grasp his mentor's arm.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I'm here."

Anakin nodded, and swallowed, and started to sob. He fell forward into Obi-Wan's waiting embrace and cried.

When all the tears were spent, Anakin slept for three days. On the fourth he woke at dawn, went for a run and then headed to the empty practice hall. He grasped the barre, imagined sand beneath his feet and launched into a warm up routine. Obi-Wan arrived ten minutes before class time and watched from the door.

"How are you feeling?"

Anakin glanced over. "Better." He stepped into the center of the room and faced the mirror. "I'm ready." Obi-Wan nodded and motioned for music to begin. Anakin lifted his arms.

And he danced.

The music swelled to its final crescendo and Anakin lifted Padmé up over his head, to the stars. The music ended, the lights fell and everything was silent. Anakin lowered Padmé and grasped her hand. He was shaking, sweating, his heart pounding. The lights came up, he and Padmé lowered their heads and the applause finally began. It was thunderous.

The lobby was crowded with well-wishers. Sponsors and family — Anakin waved to Pooja — and representatives from every company he'd ever heard of.

"Well done, sir."

"Brilliant work, young man."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"And you, young Skywalker, we will watch your career with great interest."

Anakin wasn't exactly sure all of the comments were entirely praise, but enough were that it didn't matter.

“Ms. Kryze?”

“Yes?” She stood with the practiced posture of a former ballerina, her feet at rest in third position. Tall, quite attractive, and styled impeccably, while she’d seemed approachable from his perch backstage, now Anakin found himself oddly intimidated.

“I’m Anakin—”

“Skywalker,” she finished with a wide smile, and extended a hand. “Your dance was quite something. Extraordinary, really, the innovation.”

Anakin frowned. “Thank you?” That all sounded good, but Anakin had trouble reading her, and worried he was missing a tinge of sarcasm.

Satine’s expression softened, subtly. “I mean it,” she assured him.

“Thank you,” he repeated, with a smile. “I was hoping… I’d like to invite you to dinner.” Her eyes widened with confusion and a touch of panic. “With my partners,” he rushed to explain. “And my mentor.”

The panic faded but the confusion remained. “I’ve very little say in who is invited to join our company…”

“Oh! No!” Anakin flailed. “It’s not a—” A bribe? He wouldn’t know where to begin. “It’s nothing to do with that. It’s my—”

“Anakin, I told you to leave her alone.”

Satine and Anakin turned in unison, Anakin embarrassed, Satine surprised. Obi-Wan stood behind and between them, arms crossed, expression grumpy — but in his eyes was a vague, regretful, longing.

“Obi-Wan!” said Satine.

He wanted to apologize, for Anakin, for anything, but he stumbled over his tongue and barely managed her name. “Satine…”

“Master—” said Anakin.

Satine blinked. “He’s your teacher,” she realized.

Anakin nodded. “Since I was nine. And he’s never once told me stories of his time in school.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan objected, but his student ignored him.

“I was hoping you might fill in some gaps,” he finished, with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. Satine raised an eyebrow; the boy was entirely too charming for his own good. She glanced at her old classmate, friend, dance partner, and lover. She’d seen him now and then over the years — ballet is a small world — but never said much more than pleasantries, nor held a gaze longer than a minute. Now, he looked trapped. Afraid she’d say yes, but possibly equally afraid she’d say no. She flashed him a smile. The one he returned was tentative, but genuine.

Satine turned to Anakin, watching with a studious silence. “I would be delighted.”

He grinned. "Great!" He caught sight of Padmé, watching from behind a pillar. "Excuse me." Anakin ran to Padmé, picked her up into his arms and spun her around.

"Oh Ani! I know you'll have so many offers."

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "I wouldn’t have any without you."

"Don’t be silly," Padmé laughed.

"I mean it." She quieted at his serious tone and met his eyes. "Not just you, lots of people." Mom, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, the skater boys, Ahsoka, Artoo, Threepio, even Master Yoda. "But you're special." She smiled with flushed cheeks. "I love you, Padmé."

She reached a hand up to touch his cheek. "I love you, Anakin."

The showcase closed the season, and completed their training, but it wasn't the end. This was only part of the story.