FIC: Strictly Ballroom
Title: Strictly Ballroom

Author: RoaringMice

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Prompt: Strictly Ballroom

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Slash, Swearing

Category: Romantic Comedy

Summary: What happens when you dare to take a chance.

Notes: This is loosely based on the film, “Strictly Ballroom”, and was written for the ReelSGA challenge. One need not have seen that film to enjoy this story.

x-x



“All right, everyone pair off and give that a try,” the instructor said, twirling away from her partner as she passed through the throng of students.

Rodney tried to look… well, if not enthused, if not even pleasant, at least non-threatening as the others in his class found partners. When the few other men had been gobbled up by fast-moving females, the women started pairing off with each other, and only then – only then did one of the women approach him, a wary expression in her eyes.

With an apologetic wince, he slid into position wordlessly, one hand holding hers, the other at her lower back. The music started – a slow waltz, thank God – and they began moving across the wood floor, the Christmas lights strung along the ceiling giving the dimly lit room an almost magical glow. Rodney felt far from magical.

He’d learned not to take offence at the fact that, despite being one of the few men in the beginning class, he was often one of the last chosen. He knew it wasn’t his personality, although he’d not be surprised if some found his forthrightness off-putting. But in this particular case, it was not that. Nor was it his appearance. Sure, he was maybe a bit overweight, maybe a bit out of shape, and maybe he was losing his hair. But again, that wasn’t it. Other men in the class were far less appealing, looks-wise.

“Rhumba,” the teacher called out, and the music changed, horns surging into a Latin rhythm. Rodney shifted gears, trying to get his feet and hips moving in time to the music.

He’d only taken this damn class because, since he’d started teaching at U of T, he’d been gaining weight. He’d tried aerobics and swimming, but found them both deathly boring and entirely pointless. Of course the actual point of it all was to get fit, lose weight, but that type of exercise for exercise’s sake didn’t work for him. You didn’t learn anything doing such exercises. There was no progression in the sport, no goal. It’s not like you could test up to aerobics level 2 or something, or use your dashing aerobics skills in real life. So he’d done it for a while, became bored, and quit. But when they’d opened this dance studio directly on his commute home, he’d decided to give it a try. He’d figured, at least with dance you were always progressing. There were new skills to learn, new dances, each with an increasing level of complexity, and that, he supposed, appealed to the academic side of him. And he’d figured the skills learnt would be useful for getting girls. Maybe. Girls had to like a man who could dance, right?

“Ouch”, his partner said sharply as he trod on her toe.

“Sorry,” he said, resigned to the routine by this point. He’d thought taking this class would be fun; instead, it was depressing. He’d stop coming if he hadn’t already paid for the series. The reality was that he was both too stubborn and too cheap to quit.

“Ouch,” his partner said again, pulling away from him this time.

Rodney’s shoulders slumped as his hands fell to his side. Sure, women liked men who could dance, but he was quite clearly useless at this. “Sorry,” he murmured again. He held up his hands, and she slid into position with a frown.

Yeah, sure, maybe girls, women, whatever, liked men who could dance, but they hardly seemed to like dancing with him. Maybe they could sense he was nervous around women. He hadn’t had a date in over two years; hadn’t had a “successful” date in longer.

“Ouch, damn it.”

Or maybe it was simply the fact that he kept stomping on their damn feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said as they stuttered to a stop, the other couples moving around them. “I think I’m a little distracted.”

“Well, un-distract yourself,” she said bitingly, hands on her hips, brown eyes blazing.

“Sarah, if you would join Leon,” their teacher said from beside them, and with a hand on Rodney’s arm, she turned him to face her. He looked up, and up – damn, but she was tall – into her dark eyes, and she raised one blonde brow as she guided him back into the steps. “I’d like to speak to you after class,” she said quietly.

“All right,” he said uncertainly. Damn and double damn, he thought, feeling as if he’d just been called into the pricipal’s office. He broke his gaze, staring past her as she let him lead her through the steps – although it was really her doing the actual leading. He caught sight of their reflection in the mirrors that covered one wall of the room, and then his eyes caught movement at the door.

A man strode past the class, mirror catching his reflection as he skirted the edge of the room. Rodney’s eyes, and seemingly those of every woman in the room, locked on him as he moved; although he seemed oblivious to impression he was making. It wasn’t that he was tall, although he was a nice enough height. It wasn’t that he was all that good looking, although with his dark hair and fair skin, he was handsome enough. It was more the way he moved, with a command, assurance, and posture Rodney’s grandma would have killed for him to have. The dark-haired man practically slid across the wooden dance floor, headed for the door to the back.

How that man walked was how Rodney wanted to dance: fluid, graceful, and with assurance. If he could master even one third of what that guy had…

He hadn’t realised he’d said that last aloud until his teacher said, “You’d move like that too if you’d been doing this for twenty five years.”

“He take private students?” Rodney asked, jokingly.

“John doesn’t teach adult beginners.” She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand before she broke away. “Okay, people,” she called out, moving to the CD player by the wall. “Mambo!”

Rodney couldn’t help but groan.

x-x

As the rest of the class filed out, the teacher… Suzette he thought her name was, and if that wasn’t a dancer’s name… waved him over to the CD player. She began filing the various discs they’d used during the class, hands busy and eyes on her work; still, she must have sensed when the last student left, because it was only once they were alone that she asked, “Are you planning on continuing?”

Rodney clenched his hands behind his back. “Why?” he answered, not sure he liked where this was going.

Suzette sent her gaze in his direction. “Because you don’t seem particularly interested in what we’re doing here.”

His eyes widened. “I am, it’s not that. It’s just that…” His hands flew up in despair, taking in the room around him as he spoke. “I suck at this. I don’t normally do things I suck at. I’m usually the best, and here…” His lip quirked downward. “Well, I suck.”

She turned to face him fully, the Christmas lights lighting her hair in reds and golds. God, she was beautiful. Every woman he’d seen here in this studio was beautiful. Heck, based on the guy who’d walked through earlier, even the men here were beautiful.

Suzette pursed her lips slightly, the effect pensive. “Listen,” she said. “I know you were joking earlier, but if you want to continue, you really should consider private lessons.” As Rodney frowned, she went on. “You might be more comfortable. It’s more one on one, you’re always dancing with a skilled partner, and I think you’d make more progress.” She nodded toward the far wall, where the instructor’s photos and names were posted. “Several teachers here take adult beginners, and I could recommend some if you’d like.”

Rodney could tell that she was being honest with him, and not just trying to sell him on more lessons. “Thank you,” he said hesitantly.

“You’re welcome.” She returned his smile. “Despite what you think, you’re not hopeless, Rodney. With practice and hard work, some day you will not ‘suck’ at this.”

Rodney huffed a mirthless laugh. If that’s the best he could hope for – not sucking – well, actully, that wouldn’t be so bad. “Thank you,” he said again, quite sincere this time.

x-x

Rodney entered the studio’s lobby with two coffees – one for himself, and one for Suzette, which was actually her name in the end, and he’d been duly impressed with himself for remembering it. He’d also brought a box of donuts for the class, deliberately picking something everyone would want, but as dancers, albeit low level dancers, they probably wouldn’t eat. Noting that someone had already brought a fruit plate, he slid the donuts and the coffees onto the low table, just in front of the reception desk.

It was the last day of the group class, and he hadn’t picked an instructor for private lessons yet. He still wasn’t sure he would. He’d grown comfortable with Suzette, but she going to be working as choreographer for a show this summer, somewhere in Quebec. If he was going to do this, he needed to pick someone else; and this summer would be the perfect time, as he’d planned a summer of research rather than teaching, and thus his schedule was about to become far more flexible.

He took a seat in the nearest chair, sliding into his dance shoes, pushing his street shoes and backpack under the chair for the duration. As he was leaning over, someone walked by, and he looked up to see that man – the one who’d walked through his class weeks ago – James? John? pick up a donut, take a bite, and nod a thanks to him as he passed. Rodney’s brows flew up and his eyes followed him as he moved through the lobby and into the studio beyond. That had surprised him. In the past, when he’d seen the dancers here confronted with a spread, they always picked fruit if they even had anything at all. This was probably the first time he’d seen an elite level dancer eat a donut.

Finished with his shoes, he entered the classroom to warm up. Suzette was already there, although the man – John, maybe – was nowhere to be seen. “I left you a coffee,” he said to her, nodding in the direction of the lobby.

“Thanks,” she said from where she was stretching on the floor.

Rodney walked over to where the instructor photos were posted, eyes glossing over the pictures until they settled on John. Soon enough, Suzette was standing beside him. “So who takes adult students?” he asked, voice quiet.

She pointed at three of the women, all shellacked within an inch of their lives – competition photos, obviously. John was also done up for his picture, but even with all that, there was a spark in his eye that belied his stiff appearance. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at John.

“Oh, a new teacher,” she said. “A long time competitor. He’s really good dancer.” She turned to face Rodney. “Actually, he’s taking adult students now, for the first time. His partner blew out her knee, and they’re out for the season.” She winced. “If you’re interested, he could probably use the money.”

As other students began entering the studio, bringing a buzz of conversation with them, Suzette moved in their direction.

Rodney remained where he was, staring at the photos.

After class, while the others were eating – everyone noticing but avoiding the donuts, as he’d suspected – God, he was evil when he wanted to be – he’d wandered into the darkened studio again, intending to check the photos one last time. Instead, he saw someone standing shadowed in the near darkness, centre room, in position, poised, tension in his stillness. Rodney froze just inside the doorway, eyes adjusting to the low light, caught between staying and going. The decision was made for him when the man started moving. Rodney watched as he went through an entire series of postures reminiscent of those of a bullfighter – stylized, passionate, sharp and yet flowing, the light from the doorway just enough to show the movement, and its reflection in the mirrors. There was no music – the only sounds were the stomps of the man’s feet, the soft susurrations of his arms and legs as they moved, and Rodney’s own breathing. Lost in the moment, Rodney stood frozen until the man finished and stepped deliberately into the light being thrown from the doorway, looking at Rodney as if fully aware he’d been there the entire time.

“Hey,” John said, breath coming fast.

“Hi, sorry, I…” Rodney hesitated, and took a step further into the room. “Actually, I wanted to ask if you were available for private lessons,” he asked nervously, wishing he could take the words back as soon as he’d said them.

John took a step closer, and Rodney could see the sweat at his hairline. He swept a casual hand up through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “You’re in the beginner class, right?”

Rodney nodded, nails digging into his palms.

“Why not ask Lori or Angela?” John asked, nodding toward the pictures on the wall.

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. “To be honest, they make me nervous. All of them make me nervous.” He waved a hand at the pictures on wall, realising it was true as he said it. “I figure with a guy, there will be less of that…” he made a back and forth motion between them with his hands, “so maybe I can focus on the steps, not on the fact that her…” he made hilly motions at his chest, illustrating breasts, “are like, right there.”

John quirked a lip, obviously trying to smother his response.

“I know it’s lame, but it’s the truth.” Rodney could feel the heat in his cheeks. “Is that weird? I know you’re a guy and I’m…” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know if that’s okay or anything, or if it’d be weird to…” He trailed off weakly.

John raised one brow. “It’s not like I’ve never danced with a man before.”

Rodney raised an eyebrow in return.

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I have taught dance teams, and it’s pretty common for male coaches to teach a male student the man’s role.” John gave him a quick once over. “Yeah, all right,” he said.

Rodney smiled.

“I’ve got the time,” John went on. “And since I won’t be competing, I can use all the cash I can get.”

Rodney’s smile dropped away. That didn’t exactly make him feel loved and wanted.

John strode forward, and they shook hands.

“John.”

“Rodney.”

“I’d want to see you twice a week, and I charge forty five bucks per half hour, if that’s all right.”

It wasn’t – that was more than he’d expected – but he was committed now. And if it worked, it’d be worth it. They figured out days and times, and Rodney left the studio with a bit of a bounce to his step. Twice per week, Tuesday and Thursday nights, 8:30pm.

Ninety bucks per week. Shit. But that was all right. He’d cut down on coffee or something. Or skip a few meals. Or… hell, probably both of those things. Whatever, he could benefit from eating less anyway, maybe drop some more weight. He’d find the cash.

It’d be worth it; he had to believe it’d be worth it.

x-x

The lights in the studio were low, the twinkling lights along the ceiling adding what might, in other circumstances, be a bit of a romantic air to the place. But Rodney wasn’t here for romance.

Taking a deep breath in, he stepped into the space, nervously casting his gaze around the room until resting it on John. The man was at the bar on the far wall, his back to the doorway, running through a series of moves that Rodney somehow knew were ballet, although he wasn’t sure how he knew that. Too much tv or something. John hadn’t noticed him yet, purely focused on the motion: one hand on the bar, the other flowing through positions; up, out, down, out, the movement curving through his entire body but controlled, so controlled, every flex of the finger, every shift of a shoulder. Damn.

Rodney cleared his throat, and moved fully into the room, tearing his eyes off the dancer in front of him. The space felt different without other students in the building. Yeah, less crowded, Rodney thought, sarcastic even with himself. Tonight would be just him and John. Or John and him; he might be a PhD, but he’d never been a master at grammar.

“You do ballet as well?” he asked to catch John’s attention.

“Just in support of the ballroom,” John said, stopping the exercise and turning to face Rodney. “I’m no ballet dancer, but it’s really good for posture, stretch, and core strength.” John grabbed a small towel off the bar, quickly wiping it over his face and hair. The man even looked good sweaty, Rodney thought in disgust.

“Looked pretty good,” Rodney said, voice coming out a bit rough. Then he bit his lip, feeling like a complete idiot. Of course it looked good. This guy had probably been doing it since age three. Who the hell was he to critique?

John nodded his thanks. Striding to the CD player, he threw a disc in and a waltz spun out, filling the space with music. He waved a hand for Rodney to approach. “Let’s see where you’re at.”

Rodney stepped up to face John and jerked his hands up briefly, then let them drop to his sides. “Erm, how do I approach this?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Just like you normally do.”

“But, I mean,” Rodney said, shifting uncomfortably, “with my hands and, um, who leads?” he finally stammered.

“You do.” John gave him an amused smile. “Pretend I’m the girl.”

“Oh, right,” Rodney said. He could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, so he looked down and assumed the position, his body within inches of John’s, right hand just below John’s left shoulder blade, his left hand clasped in John’s right and held out from their bodies at eye level. He could feel John’s arm resting along his right arm, John’s other hand gently grasping his shoulder.

“Head up,” John said, and Rodney’s eyes snapped to meet his. “Relax, and lower your shoulders a bit,” John went on, and as Rodney made the adjustment, John then said, “Elbow up, good, and ONE two three ONE two three,” and they were off.

Oh my God, Rodney thought, heart in his throat as he did his best to lead his partner – his tall, good looking, professional dancer partner – across the floor.

“Are you breathing?” John asked.

Rodney exhaled and said, “I am now.” He stared at John’s eyes, which were brown, maybe. Or were they green? Hazel? Even this close, it was hard to tell. But they were verging on light, not dark, and very nicely framed by his dark lashes, made all the more striking by his dark hair. His mom would call them “Irish eyes”, and he supposed John must have some Irish in him, based on his colouring. He’d always been one for that whole Irish-fair skin-light eyes-dark hair look. Anyway, nice eyes. Rodney knew people liked his own blue eyes as well. About the only thing they liked about him. And he probably shouldn’t be musing on his dance instructor’s eyes. He tore his eyes away and down.

“Head up,” John said quickly.

Rodney jerked his head up and looked over John’s shoulder.

John stopped their movement and broke the dance hold. “Look at me here,” he said, pointing to his forehead, just between his eyes. “Not there,” his hand waved over his shoulder, “or there,” his hand waved toward the floor. “If you’re looking at your feet, you’re going to step on mine.”

So they began again, moving back into position and through the steps. This time, rather than focusing on his partner – too distracting – Rodney focused on the music. The emphasis on the first beat, the trailing “two, three”, falling into the rhythm. That is, until he stepped forward when he was supposed to go back, and crashed into John so hard that the instructor, instinctively it seemed, held him in tight.

He met John’s eyes again. “Sorry,” Rodney gasped, stepping away and, for lack of something to do with his hands, pulling down his shirt.

“No, it’s all right,” John said with a soft smile. That lit up his eyes. Damn it.

“We should work on the partnering, anyway,” John said as the music stopped, the song over. He waved Rodney forward, and they settled into position again as the song began again. “Elbow up, and there. Firmer,” he said, pressing himself forward into Rodney’s hand and shoulder. Rodney gave way, confused, and John shook his head. “No, no. Again, please. Press back into me.” When Rodney gave way again, John stepped back, looking thoughtful. “Wait, you be the girl for a second –” He repositioned Rodney’s hands, “This is what I want,” he said, and pressed into Rodney with firm pressure. “But this is what you’re doing. Go ahead, press.” When Rodney did, John’s arm collapsed and Rodney fell forward and into the man, their chests bumping. “So firmer,” John said as they got back into position, Rodney again taking on the man’s role. “Don’t give way. Give me something to press into. It’s through that touch, that pressure that we communicate.”

“Oh,” Rodney said.

“Again,” John said.

They began dancing, and this time, Rodney was off time.

“Count with me,” John said, and started counting aloud as they moved, “ONE two three, heavy beat on the one.”

Rodney tried to follow the rhythm, but between focusing on the many elements of the position, plus the steps, and the fact that he was afraid to look at John’s eyes again, he knew he was off.

“You need to count with me,” John said as they moved just off the timing. He stared directly into Rodney’s eyes, and Rodney couldn’t help but meet his gaze. “Aloud,” John said.

Feeling like an idiot, Rodney stared into the centre of John’s forehead, and started counting along with the man. But hell, it worked, and after a while, they stopped counting and he started to feel as if he was actually dancing. He could feel John’s body reacting under his hands, the flex of the man’s muscles under his fingers. John was slight, but very well toned, and felt completely different from dancing with a woman. Not in a bad way, mind. Just different.

They continued dancing, John making the occasional correction as they moved, and Rodney started to feel a lot of his initial awkwardness slip away as he actually started getting kind of into the dance. It came as a total shock when John stepped away with a smile. “Good lesson. See you Thursday?”

“Great, yeah. Thanks,” Rodney said with surprise. As John stepped away, Rodney gave a quick glance to the clock. A half hour really had passed; it didn’t seem nearly that long, and they hadn’t even got past the first dance.

Actually, that might not be a bad thing. Maybe working one dance at a time would fit him better. Spending time on one dance had allowed him to get it kind of okay, rather than messing it up, and, having never got the first dance, hurrying on to the next.

Rodney stepped into the lobby as the music cut out – John must have shut down the CD player. He sank onto one of the chairs, more tired than he used to get from the group class, but that was a good feeling, not a bad one. Thing was, now he had a problem. He’d asked John to be his teacher so he wouldn’t be distracted by holding a woman’s body, and get all flustered. He hadn’t counted on the same thing happening with John. Not that he’d never been with a man before. Fact was, he had, but he’d always swung way more toward women. Must be those eyes.

It was hopeless. That man was so far out of his league as to be, like, in Vancouver or something.

And now that he was thinking about it, he was growing suspicious of his own motives in picking John. Had he really picked him so that he wouldn’t be distracted by a female partner, or was that only part of the story? “Damn it,” he said aloud.

John his poked head out the door. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Rodney said, mustering a smile best he could. When John disappeared again, he bent over to untie his dance shoes.

He knew this feeling. In his throat, almost a flutter, and his stomach. He was getting all googly over the man. “Damn it,” he said again, this time softer.

x-x

Rodney went directly to the bar and began the stretches that John had shown him in a recent lesson. He’d purposefully parked some distance away from the studio, then walked over so that he’d be good and warm before he got there; he couldn’t really stretch if he hadn’t done something physical first. Hell, he couldn’t touch his toes even if he had.

“You ready?” John asked, stepping into the room from the lobby. He dumped his bag on the floor beside the door, sitting beside it as he re-laced one of his shoes.

“Yeah, almost,” Rodney answered.

John joined him at the bar, and, several feet away with his back to Rodney, immediately bent over and, not simply content with touching his toes, placed his palms flat on the floor and folded himself in half. Of course, the fact that this afforded Rodney a near-perfect view of John’s ass was nothing to be trifled with. And actually, for a dancer, it wasn’t that great an ass. Kind of flat. But still, nothing he’d sneeze at. And with that thought, he watched as John actually grabbed one calf and raised his free leg backwards and up, reaching toward the ceiling with his toes. It was like he was doing a split, but head down and standing on one leg, the other up toward the heavens.

“How the hell do you do that?” Rodney asked in amazement.

John, upside down, raised a brow at Rodney – or would that be lowered it, if he was upside down? Anyway, he said, “Practice.” John repeated the move with his other leg, and this time, staring at Rodney, said, “Weren’t you…?”

“Oh, right,” Rodney said, realising only then that he was staring. He continued on his own exercises, moving from position to position, gently stretching his muscles as he kept half an eye on what John was doing. Which was, all things considered, worthy of consideration. Hoping to distract himself, he asked, “You’re American, right?”

“How can you tell?” John answered with a glance to Rodney as, now upright, he slid, ever so slowly, into the leg he had up on the bar.

“The hair was a dead give away… How do you think I can tell?” Rodney asked. That might have come out harsher than he’d intended, so he softened it with a joking, “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“I grew up in Nevada,” John said, switching to the other leg. “Lived in California for a while. But my dad’s Canadian.”

“Is that what brought you to Toronto?”

John let his leg drop and turned to face Rodney. “My partner was – is – Canadian. When we teamed up, I came here so we could represent Canada in competition.”

“You can do that?” Rodney asked, ending his own stretching session.

John’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “A lot easier than she can represent the US, yeah.” He waved Rodney forward, and they walked to the CD player together. “I want to try something different,” John said as they reached it and he began rifling through the discs. “Did they teach you Rumba in your group class?”

“Rumba?” Rodney asked, trying to remember. It had only been a month or so, but it felt like forever since he’d been in that class. “Maybe.” As John, with his eyes on the disc in his hand, did a few of the steps, the memory slid into place. “Yes. Right, right, right,” he said with confidence, snapping his fingers.

“Good,” John said. “ ‘Cause I’m thinking we should start some Latin rhythms.” He slid the CD into the player, and a surge of music came out, far different from that of the waltzes, swing dances and foxtrots they’d been doing. “Rumba’s a good one to start with, because it’s not too fast, and it teaches you how to move your hips.” He took Rodney by one hand, giving him a twirl before he pulled him closer, although there was still a lot of space between them. He moved through the steps, still holding one of Rodney’s hands, and Rodney matched his feet until he got it. “And the hips like this,” John added, and again Rodney copied the movements. John watched for a minute, nodding vaguely, looking thoughtful. “Listen, Rodney. This is rumba.” He exaggerated the movement of his hips, smiling seductively as he approached. “It’s supposed to be erotic, sensual, kind of sexy. So, you know...” He waved his free hand at Rodney’s hips. “Rumba.”

Erotic? Sensual? Rodney felt far from it as he struggled to move his hips in anything even approximating what his instructor was doing. It felt completely awkward. Of course, on John, all this looked natural. On John, it looked really, really sexy. Hell, on John everything looked sexy.

“That’s it,” John said with a bit of a smile. “Better. You’re starting to get it.” Then John pulled him fully into position, placing a hand at Rodney’s shoulder, and facing each other, they began moving together. After a while, Rodney felt himself relaxing, focusing less on the steps, which were actually simple, and less on the hip movement, which was actually complex, and more on the dance itself, the music, and the man in his arms.

After a few corrections, and a restart of the song, John asked, “You losing weight?”

“Trying,” Rodney answered, and he had been. The dance had really been helping, and he’d started running about three weeks ago, hoping to push the weight loss. Not that he was fat or anything, but he had been getting soft around the middle. Speaking of which, the hand he had at John’s waist was making him extremely conscious of the feel of man in front of him.

“Looks good,” John said, staring directly into his eyes.

“Thanks,” Rodney said, staring right back. As their eyes locked, he could feel his heart in his throat. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Was John possibly…? No, no way, he thought, tearing his eyes away. It was just him. Had to be. And who wouldn’t be all googly over this man? He was good looking, tall, thin, and he could actually dance. Really dance. Not only that, but once he started to relax, to be himself, he was actually quite nice, even a bit of a goofball, losing that uptight, hoity toity attitude. If he’d ever even had it. Maybe that’d just been Rodney projecting his own insecurities onto the man. And maybe he’d been hanging out with the psych department too much.

“Rodney, you’ve got to look at me,” John said.

Look at him? Oh, Christ on a cracker. But he did, and then, as his eyes locked onto John’s, the other man said, “Rumba is the dance of love.”

“Love,” Rodney said, low in his throat, feeling a bit lost.

“Look at me like you're in love,” John said with a soft smile.

Oh, yeah, Rodney thought. That should be easy. His smile matching John’s, he danced the night away – well, the next fifteen minutes, anyway, as they worked on the dance until the end of their lesson, which came far, far too soon for Rodney’s taste. He felt it as a palpable loss when John broke away from him, again with that soft smile. Rodney let his fingertips trail along John’s lower back as the man stepped away, an indulgence he knew he’d agonize over later, but at the moment, it was so worth it.

“I wanted to…” John broke off, clearing his throat and shifting his feet awkwardly. “You know, there’s a dance test here in about a month. We could try for that, if you’re interested.”

“What?” Rodney asked, going tense. “You think I’m ready?”

“Well, to be honest, not right now,” John said. “But by then you would be.” He turned away, but over his shoulder, added, “We might need to fit in an extra lesson or two toward the end there, but we could make it happen.”

Rodney watched him as he turned off the music, the resulting silence almost deafening. A dance test. No, wait. Extra lessons. With John. Right.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out weak.

“Great,” John said, striding back toward him, his heels clicking against the floor.

“But,” Rodney said. At John’s leading look, he went on. “Is it okay if we’re both guys?”

“I’m your coach, that makes it okay,” John said. “But we’ll find you a female partner, if you want.”

The silence hung in the air between them.

“No,” Rodney said, the quietness of the word belied by the firmness of his tone.

“Good.” John broke out into a full-on grin. “Good,” John said again. He touched Rodney on the arm before he stepped away.

Rodney stood there a moment, completely paralyzed. When his brain started working again, the first thing he thought was: Oh. My. God.

x-x

“You can sit here,” Rodney said, ushering his grandmother into the lobby and getting her settled in one of the chairs. “You want some coffee or something? There’s a shop just…” He waved toward the door and right.

“I’m good, Rodney, I’m good,” she said with a patient smile. She pulled a book out of her bag, waving him away with a hand. “Go, have fun.”

Rodney gave her a quick nod, then slid into his dance shoes and entered the studio proper. He turned back when he heard her voice.

“Actually,” she said, grey head pearing around the doorframe. “Bathroom?”

“To the right of the reception desk.”

“Thanks,” she said, ducking back again.

John’s voice came from behind him. “Someone I should know?”

“My grandmother,” Rodney said, turning to meet the man. “We went out to dinner, things ran late, and…” he shrugged.

“Well, let’s get started so you get out on time,” John said.

Rodney nodded and began some very gentle movement, trying to get his body warmed up. Once he was ready, John put in some music and they started on the rumba again. Rodney kept his gaze trained in between John’s eyes. Since that time a few lessons ago, when he’d thought that John might possibly be interested in a bit more than dance lessons, there hadn’t been a flicker. It was to the point where he’d swear he’d imagined it all. The issue with that was that his own feelings hadn’t changed. But God, he thought, feeling the flex and shift of John’s muscles under his hands. This man was so out of his league.

“Rodney,” John said, interrupting his reveree.

“Hmm,” Rodney said.

“This dance is supposed to be about sex, remember?”

“Yeah.” He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. Not that he’d been thinking about that. Not at all.

“So why are you dancing like a physics professor?”

“Because I am a physics professor?” he said, deadpan. John gave him a wry look, but Rodney knew what he meant. In fact, it was worse now, because he knew the dance well enough to know that something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasn’t the steps, or even the hip movement – those, he was doing all right. It was something else. Maybe less that he was doing something wrong; more that something was missing.

The song ended, and Rodney heard clapping from across the room. His grandmother was leaning in the doorframe.

“Not bad,” she said. “But you’re dancing like you’re in dance class.”

“I am in dance class,” Rodney said, stepping slightly away from John, although John kept hold of his hand.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Funny. You know what I mean.”

“She’s right,” John said. “For this, or for any partner dance, you have to pretend your partner is the centre of your world. Your job is to display her – or him,” he amended with a smile, “for the world to see how gorgeous she is.”

“And come on,” his grandmother shot out with a twinking glance toward John. “Look at this guy. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

Rodney felt heat rise to his cheeks as his eyes locked on John’s. “Yeah,” he managed roughly.

“You need to add a little heat,” John said, with a soft squeeze of Rodney’s hand.

“Yeah,” Rodney said again, mouth on autopilot as his heart raced. Heat, he thought, mulling over the word. Maybe it was that he was too afraid to give this any heat, for fear that his feelings for John would become a little too obvious. “John –,” He started, but gave it up for lost, and tore his gaze away. Steps be damned. This man wanted heat? He’d give him heat. He’d give him the emotion. “Let’s try again,” he said, sotto voce.

John tugged him into position, and on the next swell of music, Rodney’s eyes snapped to meet John’s. This time, he threw himself into the dance, not even worrying about technique so much as the man with him. He noticed that his grandmother was no longer in the doorway, but his eyes were still on John as he let himself fall into the dance, until at the end, he was so surprised by the music stopping that he fell forward. John caught him in both arms. But didn’t release him. Instead, they stared at each other, both breathing heavily, both seeming caught in the moment.

God, John’s eyes were gorgeous. Hazel, definitely hazel. A man could lose himself in eyes like that.

Rodney could feel John’s hands on his upper arms, holding him firmly. John leaned in closer, pulling him in slightly.

Was this really happening? Could John actually be –?

But no. John pulled away suddenly, and the moment was lost.

Rodney almost swore aloud when John actually turned away and strode toward the CD player. With his back to Rodney, he began busying himself with the discs.

No way. He was not letting this happen, or, erm… not happen.

Rodney walked to where John was standing. “Talk to me,” he said, voice low. He touched John on the arm, but the man pulled away.

Not looking at Rodney, John said, “It’s rumba. It’s pretend.” Tossing the CD he was holding back into the pile, he walked away without another word, disappearing through the door to the back.

“Oh, for…” Rodney said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

x-x

That night, Rodney spent well over an hour of what should have been research time sitting on his ass on the couch, using his laptop to look up John’s old competition videos on YouTube. Why he hadn’t done it earlier, he had no idea, but now, he wanted to see what the man was like when he was really dancing. More than that, it was sort of a quest to figure John out, because he just didn’t get it. No way had that almost-but-not-quite-a-kiss been in his imagination. He may not have all the social graces, but he had enough savvy to know what had happened – well, almost happened.

There were several videos of John with his partner, dancing at various competitions in Canada and elsewhere, and Rodney was having a hard time reconciling the stylized, overly made up, sequined man from the recordings with the John who was just John, the John who’d almost kissed him.

The John who’d almost kissed him, but then hadn’t.

And why the hell hadn’t he? It’d looked like he’d wanted to. Was it that Rodney was his student? Or that, and this would be truly chilling, John was the only in-the-closet gay ballroom dancer in Canada? Oh, that would really and truly suck. He so did not want to do the coming out of the closet thing again – he’d had quite enough of that in his twenties.

Rodney’s phone rang, snapping him from his reverie. He answered it, but barely even got a chance to say “Hello” before his grandmother started talking.

“So what’s up with you and that nice young man?” she asked.

Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t ask this on the ride home?”

“You didn’t look like you wanted to talk about it then.”

“And I want to talk about it now?”

She laughed. “So, about that nice young man,” she said again, leading.

“He’s just my teacher,” Rodney said.

“Really?” she asked. “He seemed interested in more than that.”

Rodney closed his eyes, wondering just how much his grandmother had seen. “It was just a dance. It’s like acting,” he said, mirroring what John had told him earlier.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, for…”

His grandmother laughed again. “Good night, Rodney.”

“Good night,” he groaned.

x-x

Rodney shuffled his feet on the carpet, then crossed one leg over the other and started fidding with his shoelaces. He’d never been good at waiting.

John was actually late for their lesson – that had never happened before. The stupid lesson was only half an hour long – a half hour he’d come to really, really like, but today had been really, really dreading – and John had missed most of that, now.

What if he didn’t show up at all?

Maybe he’d totally freaked John out. Maybe, after what had happened, John hadn’t expected him to show up. Maybe… Oh, shit, what had he done? Had he driven the man away? Was he not even willing to be his teacher any more? Oh, God.

Rodney heard the door open, and he raised his head warily.

John stood there, looking sheepish, which only made him more attractive. Damn it.

“I’m sorry,” John said, seeming to mean more than ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ Shutting the door behind him, he asked, “Can we talk?”

Rodney nodded, tight and nervous. Thank goodness there wasn’t another soul in the studio. If John was about to fire him or something, he didn’t want witnesses.

As John sat beside him, Rodney shot out, “You’re late,” immediately wishing he could take it back. Sometimes his mouth got ahead of his brain.

“I know,” John said.

“Where have you been?” Rodney asked, this time more gently.

“I was off being an idiot,” John replied with his typical brevity.

“You better now?” Rodney asked, his mouth running off again.

John put a hand on his leg, and Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You know what I said about the rumba and it being pretend?” John asked, staring directly into his eyes.

Surprisingly speechless, Rodney was unable to do more than nod.

John gave him a soft smile. “I think I made a mistake.”

And with that, John leaned in and kissed him. And oh, it was everything that Rodney had thought it would be, especially when John wound a hand around his back and pulled him closer, because God, that was… Oh, that was something.

x-x

Rodney slid his hand across the table, nudging John’s fingers. “Was it that I’m your student, and you didn’t want to…?” He raised his eyebrows in implication, taking a sip from his coffee as he peered over the rim.

“Nah,” John said, turning his own mug in his hands. “We’re both adults, I figure we can handle it.”

Rodney cast a faux-surreptitious glance around the nearly empty coffee shop, as if watching out for eavesdroppers. “Was it that you’re actually closeted, and…”

John grasped Rodney’s hand for a moment, then released it. “Hardly,” he said with a laugh.

“So what was it?”

John winced. “It’s that my life’s not quite,” he hesitated and sat up straighter, adding, “conducive to long term relationships.”

Rodney felt that in his gut. He put down his mug. “What do you mean?”

“I like you,” John said, looking down at his coffee. When he looked up again, his eyes drove right through Rodney. “But I’m a dancer. I’m here in Toronto right now, but I spend a lot of the year in New York training, a good chunk travelling for competitions, and…” He shrugged, but Rodney got no impression he was dismissing the issues. “I’m here, now, only because Kathleen was injured. Normally at this time of year I’m a thousand miles away.”

Hold on. “Was?” Rodney said.

“What?” John asked, brows drawn down.

“You said Kathleen was injured. Past tense.” When John didn’t answer, Rodney went on. “So you’re, I mean, we just…” He stumbled over the words, his hands emphasising each as he went. “And now you’re telling me that…” He heaved a huge breath. “So when, exactly, were you planning to tell me that you’re leaving?” He hoped, despite everything, that John would tell him he wasn’t leaving, that he was staying in Toronto, maybe retiring, teaching full time, or… something.

John, to his credit, met his eyes. “I don’t know yet. Couple months, maybe.”

“Couple months?” Rodney gasped.

John pushed his coffee away. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Rodney said sharply. “You know, it shouldn't suprise me that someone like you, with your...” He waved a hand up and down, indicating John’s body, “...could be as...as...” He stammered, pointing at John defiantly. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other again,” he said angrily, throwing up his hands.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” John replied, not matching Rodney’s heat. He seemed more defeated than anything.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Rodney echoed, voice now gone completely flat. Feeling like he’d just been kicked in the stomach, he stood. “I won’t be in for my lesson on Thursday.” At that, he turned and left.

x-x

Rodney stood at the mirror in the dressing room, fidgeting with his hair while he waited for the test to start. There were several other men in the room, each somewhere in the process of getting dressed in various outfits, from the plain and functional to the fabulous and flamboyant. But this was his first test, and he was only doing low level dances, so, at his instructor’s advice, he had purposefully kept his outfit simple: black trousers, black button down shirt. He looked all right. He’d lost a decent amount of weight in all this, so much that he’d had to buy this outfit new, and it actually fit him pretty well, showing off what was good about his body, hiding what wasn’t. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he met his own eyes, and decided that he looked ready, but he felt far from.

It’s not like he didn’t try after that incident with John. He’d kept up with the dancing, switching to one of the female coaches, but it wasn’t the same. It’s like the dance had gone out of him, along with the heart, and although he could do the steps far better than he did back when he started, he’d lost what made all of this into *dance*. After he got this test done, he was seriously thinking about quitting. Or maybe not. He’d kept going with all this half in the hope of seeing John at the studio, but he hadn’t seen John since that day in the coffee shop. He knew that John was avoiding him, but hell, it’s not like that wasn’t mutual – he pretty much knew what times John was at the studio, and it’s not like he’d gone out of his way to find the man, more like he’d just kept hoping… well, he guessed he hoped John would seek him out. But he hadn’t. Maybe they were both stubborn bastards. Damn. It was just as much his fault as John’s.

Maybe he’d overreacted, back in the coffee shop. Or maybe not. He’d gone from thrilled to angry to sad in, like, zero to sixty, and it’d left him shell shocked. Now he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Loss, maybe. Hurt.

God, if he hadn’t already signed up and paid for this test, back when he was still dancing with John, he would not be doing this. But without a doctor’s note, the money was gone, so here he was.

Glancing at the clock on the wall – his instructor had told him to leave off his watch – he realised that he had only about fifteen minutes before it would be his turn. Standing, he gave a final tug to his shirt, then turned and pushed through the door.

Music immediately surrounded him, and he walked to where the other dancers were milling in the hallway. He could see his teacher’s blonde hair, piled high on her head, about mid-way through the crowd. Past them, he caught a glimpse of the pair testing… he thought it was a Paso Doble… in the main studio. He wasn’t sure which dancers were performing, as he couldn’t see more than the tops of their heads and the occasional upward reaching hand.

As the music ended with a flourish and the crowd clapped – one person giving a loud whistle – Rodney heard his name, along with the others in his warm-up group, being called. Closing his eyes, he murmured a soft prayer.

When he opened his eyes, John was standing in front of him.

“John,” he exhaled, blinking rapidly.

“Rodney,” John replied, expression flickering from composed to something far from it. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and Rodney realised that it was he who’d done that Paso Doble. He looked down to where John had just grabbed both of his hands in his own. He should have recognised those hands.

“We should talk,” John said softly.

Rodney knew he should pull away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “They just called my warm up.”

“All right,” John said, pulling him by one hand and tugging him forward through the crowd.

Rodney followed because he was too shocked to do anything else. When he passed his teacher, she caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile.

How the hell many people knew about him and John? Or was that “he and John?” He lost that train of thought as John pulled him into position and they began the first dance he’d be testing, a waltz.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” John said, his words in time to the music surrounding them. “I should have told you, but our choreographer is in New York, and believe me, I don’t want to go, now that, I mean, but I have to, and…” He stumbled over the worlds. “God, Rodney, please,” he said, a break in the rhythm, his eyes showing his desperation.

Rodney felt like a deer caught in the headlights, his feet moving mechanically, ONE two three while he listened to what John was saying, or trying to say.

“I want to spend time with you until then, and when I get back, too.” John gave a tight half smile. “Or even better, if you could go with me… I know it’s ridiculous, and it’s premature, and it’s probably impossible, but I have to take the chance and ask, because I’d be seriously kicking myself if I did not. So will you at least think about giving this, I mean me, a chance?” He squeezed Rodney’s hand tightly.

It was probably the single longest speech Rodney had ever heard John give.

And he thought John had just asked him to go to New York with him.

Which he could do, he thought in surprise, because he was a tenured professor on sabbatical, and if he wanted to extend his damn sabbatical, he could. Or maybe take on some of those distance learning classes that none of the other professors seemed to want to teach. So if he and John started dating, and it worked out, he could… He actually could.

The music switched to the rumba, and they shifted position, moving to the music.

Heart in his throat, Rodney asked, “Are you sure?”

John smiled, and it lit up his eyes. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

“All right, then,” Rodney said, amusement in his tone, although his heart was beating a mad rhythm. “Under one condition.” He gave a passionate flick to his hips.

John leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Name it.”

Breaking position, Rodney pulled John in close. Giving his best, evil smile, he said, “I get to lead.”

And this time, he was the one who did the kissing.

x-x

End

x-x

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