#neraine: is totally okay being Emotionally Close and Romantic as part of a preformance but is completely incapable of handing an Emotion

[nixniivalis]

♦ // teach shawn how to slow dance, neraine :|

Acts of Intimacy

♦ : Slow dancing

|| @mainevcnt​​ ||

Shawn talked a lot. Words flew out of his mouth like they were going out of style. In the past ten hours since she had met him Neraine learned he was very good at talking. Standing on the sideline, running commentary as she taught six-foot-and-some-pocket-change guys a box step. She had to tell him to spit out his gum, twice. He was a fighter, a man with bloody knuckles who put his foot in other people’s faces for a living. It was a real pity he didn’t go into comedic improv, Shakespearean theater, or Broadway. He couldn’t do movies but he was born for the stage. Shawn needed a crowd. He thrived, survived off the energy of an audience. His charisma was natural, his gesture animated, and his confidence unmatchable. No shame, no fear, only a desperate need for the spotlight. However, theater required teamwork and Shawn was too competitive. He was champion, heartbreaker, the greatest of all time-- the ‘wrestling’ worked for him. Appropriate fuel for his arrogance. 

The gymnasium laid in low light. Everyone cleared-out twenty, forty minutes ago. The building otherwise empty but for a janitorial staff vacuuming the halls of the performance center. In the room over, Neraine heard the sound of weights hitting the floor. Some other soul getting their late night reps in. Celia put her hands on her hips. The shadows casted odd angles on his face. She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Shawn to run out of steam. It took a second, all goofy grins, pure charm with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The magic lost on her unimpressed stare. 

Shawn ran his mouth, yes, yes, he knew how to dance, he could do a box step in his sleep. What about a do-si-do? He can pole dance and he was sure to rub it in that she couldn’t. Of course, Shawn preformed all these movies, as silly, ridiculous, or raunchy as they were. Hips gyrations and flailing arms spoke of a well-coordinated man. He had body awareness and a seamless grace. He’d be an easy student if he’d shut-up. 

“Are you done?” Neraine demanded. “I don’t have all night.” 

“Yes, yes, please, go ahead,” Shawn replied, bowing to her with a flourish, gesturing for her to bestow her wisdom upon him. 

She smirked, corner of her lip upturning. Neraine offered her hand to Shawn, palm upturned. He seized it in his own and slipped his arm around her waist, yanking her close. His grin was pure cheese, teeth, lifted eyebrows, a burning smolder to melt the hearts of tasteless women the world over. Shawn spun her around into a quick-skip step and jaunted them around the gymnasium. Big smile, singing some unrhythmic song as he swept her into the lively dance. Neraine choked on laughter, mouth pressed thin and breathing out her nose hard. Neraine twisted under his arm, spinning out, slowing their movement. She put her foot down, forced Shawn to a stand still. Neraine pulled him back and he shuffled into position this time. His palm polite on her waist and her hand scooped into his. Back straight, all prim and proper. 

“Is it out of your system?” Neraine asked him. Shawn nodded, biting his lip, and Neraine could see the physical effort needed to reign in his smart remark. He was stiff through the shoulders, all hard lines and tension. The uncertain, nervousness, of a man who might be out of his depth despite talking like he was an olympic swimmer-- just a little. It’s not like she’s won professional competitions doing this. 

Neraine interlaced their fingers. Lips parted, and gaze softened, she turned to watch their hands. The intricate, delicate movements of knuckles and digits, tangled, rising, falling. Neraine hummed, vague and old tunes, light, fleeting as memories. The leitmotif of a ballet from her childhood, hidden in the corps, a little girl dressed as an egg blue fairy. Beyond the sway and twisted of their arms. Neraine stepped into him. Lead him into an undefined step, she moved him. Capturing the idea of an audience in rapt attention to a romantic ballad. The awkward wedding shuffle of people who thought they understood a waltz. All emotion to supplant their technical failure. Or, at least, Shawn staring at her like she was nuts. It was all layers, masks, games, artificially generated feelings, pure expression. 

“It’s not about moving yourself,” Neraine murmured. She wound her arm around his shoulder, resting her cheek against his collarbone. “You need to learn to move someone else.”

She parted from him, captured both of his hands. This time she guided him back into the waltz position. A comfortable, but not distant, ways apart. His hand now on her opposite hip and Neraine holding him. She stepped into Shawn off her left foot. He tripped on her toes but with gentle coaxing and some firm verbal commands she talked him into the stride. It was all reversed, backwards for him and she saw him churning his brain to flip instinct. She guided him into long steps --not too long-- and a rise-fall, with the beat she muttered beneath her breath.. Worked them into the proper clip for the dance. Pivot on your toes, be lighter, you’re stomping. 

“I thought I was supposed to lead--” Shawn protested. 

“And let you ruin my dance?” Neraine quipped in return. “I don’t think so.”

Despite this protest she lifted her hand and Shawn spun her beneath his arm. Neraine reset their position, letting him lead this time. She guided him through the flourishes, the competition winning pivots, and all the fancy tricks not necessarily in the canon. A sweep with her draped over his arm, she didn’t need to teach him the lift. Then the elegant finale, now parted he bowed to her and she curtsied like she wasn’t in yoga pants. Neraine straightened, catching her breath and rolling out her shoulders. She eyed Shawn, the air conditioner clicked on, cold air struck her dry lips. Blood stricken down his face, red, red, crimson, and coating the white ring mat. The phone screen lighting the dark back hallway like a beacon. The corporate assistant on lunch break chattering about who Neraine just talked back to. Neraine averted her gaze. 

“That’s enough for tonight,” She said, jaw setting. She passed Shawn and picked-up her bag from beside the gym door. She slung it over her shoulders and glanced back towards him, “See you tomorrow.” 

The door swung closed behind her, groaning on the hinge. Neraine’s footsteps echoed down the tile halls. A forty minute ride home on longstrips of interstates on her mind. She emerged out the back and walked around the building. Past the well-shaped shrubs and into the rear parking lot. That morning she had parked her bike beneath a cedar tree. The streetlights burned white, casting glowing circles of moths and static. Hot summer night, sweat stricken down her back as she zipped-up her jacket. Neraine mounted, hand resting on the throttle. She heaved a sigh, it’d been a long day.