( reacting to the music isn't inherently wrong. kimberly's not a trained dancer, not in any of the classical sorts of ways. she's never taken a modern dance class, nor ballet or tap; her movement comes from years of cheerleading, gymnastics, and general appreciation for music. high school dances and nights out with friends have trained her informal techniques more so than anything else.
so when the music plays and the beat begins to thrum in her veins, kimberly takes his hand in hers, pulls herself to him to close that distance, and gently encourages his own motion. the sway of his hips, the rock back and forth, the easy shift of his weight from side to side as they move to the beat; it's close and far, darting in close enough that her breath skims across his skin, only to step out again, never letting go of his hand.
it's temptation, this sort of music. the brass and the drums, the way the tempo rises and falls like breaths in and out, the seductive harmonies in a language kimberly doesn't understand. it calls her closer to him, spins her around when she steps away again, hair splaying out around her with each turn. by the end of the song, she's let her free hand curl around the back of his neck, pulled herself flush against him, a pleased smile at the natural rock of his hips as he moves to the beat. )
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( reacting to the music isn't inherently wrong. kimberly's not a trained dancer, not in any of the classical sorts of ways. she's never taken a modern dance class, nor ballet or tap; her movement comes from years of cheerleading, gymnastics, and general appreciation for music. high school dances and nights out with friends have trained her informal techniques more so than anything else.
so when the music plays and the beat begins to thrum in her veins, kimberly takes his hand in hers, pulls herself to him to close that distance, and gently encourages his own motion. the sway of his hips, the rock back and forth, the easy shift of his weight from side to side as they move to the beat; it's close and far, darting in close enough that her breath skims across his skin, only to step out again, never letting go of his hand.
it's temptation, this sort of music. the brass and the drums, the way the tempo rises and falls like breaths in and out, the seductive harmonies in a language kimberly doesn't understand. it calls her closer to him, spins her around when she steps away again, hair splaying out around her with each turn. by the end of the song, she's let her free hand curl around the back of his neck, pulled herself flush against him, a pleased smile at the natural rock of his hips as he moves to the beat. )
I told you you could dance, baby.