Chapter Text
Nick, quite all at once and with subtle deliberation on Jordan’s part, had decided it would be “in his best interest” to learn how to dance - specifically from Gatsby. He had already attended several of Gatsby’s unrestricted parties, and while Jordan’s gentle teasing on Nick’s reluctance to dance was initially funny, it began to manifest in what one may call ‘self-consciousness,’ a very dangerous quality in such environments. Dancing lessons were a supposedly harmless way of not only alleviating said quality, but learning a necessary social skill - all while getting close to the man he held a hopeless crush for. After the first smile Gatsby had so generously bestowed upon Nick, such radiance hadn’t left his mind. Just to be close to him would be enough.
Determined, Nick stood promptly and dressed in his finest, most frequented suit, and cut across the trimmed grass between his modest home and Gatsby’s extravagant mansion. The simple sight of those large wooden (and likely incredibly expensive) doors erased any doubt in Nick’s mind… this was his most daring adventure in quite some time. Their sheer size dwarfed him, made it all the more difficult to finally reach his fist up to knock upon the gleaming mahogany. Upon doing so, a butler much too accustomed to Nick’s presence opened the door and greeted him with a scornful glare and a shout of “Mr. Carraway at the door, sir.”
Perhaps I should begin announcing my planned visits, Nick thought to himself.
Gatsby made his appearance shortly after - the sight of him alone made Nick’s knees weak and he struggled out a wave to suffice as greeting. There it was, that glowing smile once again, ever shining in the sunlight.
“Good afternoon, old sport!” Gatsby grinned. Nick returned the gesture, nervous.
“Hello, Gatsby,” Nick sighed in fruitless attempt to calm his nerves, finally settling in a weak but pleasant smile. “How’ve you been lately?”
“Fine, fine! Come inside, old sport, it’s good to see you again.”
Gatsby stepped back and held the door for Nick to enter, who took gentle steps into the ancestral home; everything was shiny and neat as usual - glittering light spilling from the chandeliers, shining on the walls and floor. Stunning decor lined every corner. The sight always took Nick’s breath away. Gatsby, shutting the door after Nick, approached him from behind.
A brush of the Gatsby’s fingers across Nick’s back and a firm squeeze on his shoulder sent trembles down the brunet’s spine. Living alone and closeted had left Nick so touch-starved that any contact with Gatsby at all did well to excite him.
“What can I do for you?” said Gatsby, wrapping an arm around Nick and pulling him into a brief hug from the side. Nick swallowed hard and allowed himself to accept the embrace, intensely aware of the new proximity between the two of them.
“A-ah, yes… Well, Gatsby, I’ve—“
“Please, old sport, call me Jay,” said Gatsby in a slightly muted tone, “you’ve known me far too long to address me as my business partners do.” Naturally, the following smile radiated such beauty that Nick nearly forgot his intended purpose. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Yes, Jay,” he began with tender emphasis on the newly acquired name, “I’ve been speaking with Jordan recently. She and I agree that my dancing skills are... sub-par, if existent. I came here in the hopes that I may be able to get advice from, or perhaps... a lesson, if – if you’re up to the task, of course, from my...” Nick bit his lip. “Friend.”
Gatsby raised his eyebrows. “Why, of course, of course. Anything to help you and Jordan,” he nodded. Nick was inclined to corrected him. But given the current state of affairs, decided it wasn’t worth it. Let Gatsby believe he had something with Jordan, he was fine dancing under any pretense. Gatsby clapped Nick on the back and led him through the endless maze of a house to the main dance hall, the center of his Saturday parties. He took his hand, and Nick savored his crush’s touch as he entered the massive room. Once in the very middle of the dance hall, Gatsby turned to face him.
“Now, this is a simple slow dance,” Gatsby started as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Nick’s russet eyes wandered down to trace the blonde’s now exposed forearms. He accidentally tuned out the dance instructions as he admired the tanned skin and toned muscle, finally shaking himself out of his thoughts when he noticed Gatsby wasn’t talking anymore.
“I... Sorry, what was that?” Nick asked, a bit fretful of disappointing the man. To his relieved surprise, Gatsby only gave a subtle laugh.
“Here, old sport, allow me to demonstrate. Come - put your hands on my hips,” Gatsby instructed.
Ah.
Nick blinked in surprise and slowly stepped forward, reaching his hands just close enough to rest just a little above Gatsby’s hips, arms stretched out as far away as he could to keep their fragile distance. There was no mistaking the red tone on Nick’s face. The blond chuckled and guided Nick’s hands lower on his body. Nick drew in a quick breath as Gatsby’s hands settled over his, sliding down to his hips painfully slowly and yet not slow enough. He was close to shivering.
“Now, that’s better,” Gatsby said as he finally lifted his hands off Nick’s. “Now come closer,” he took a step to close some distance, “Because this will be a dance between you and Jordan, I’m going to play the lady’s role and let you lead me, alright? Jordan would have her arms about... right here.” He lifted his arms and threaded his fingers together behind Nick’s neck, guiding him closer still. In such intimate proximity, Nick could smell Gatsby’s cologne – surprisingly warm, comforting, and reminiscent of French vanilla.
“Once again, you’re leading the dance. It’s not difficult,” Gatsby reassured him. “Just sway with me.”
Gatsby showed Nick how to slowly shift his weight and from side to side to an imaginary tune. Nick was intensely aware of every movement, every subtle touch, every mistake he made, being in such close proximity to Gatsby in a traditionally intimate dance. His composure was being severely tested - his breathing was shaky and slow as he tried to calm himself. Gatsby considered this a lesson between friends, and Nick had to keep it that way. He turned his attention to the ground, staring decidedly at their feet as they swayed.
“By the way, old sport,” Gatsby whispered, “You may want to make eye contact.”
Gatsby took one hand from behind Nick’s neck and placed a finger under his chin, directing his vision upward until their eyes were locked. Nick had never seen Gatsby so close before, he had never had the chance to notice the green flicks in the blue of his eyes like an artist’s final hidden details of a masterpiece. He had never had the chance to notice how the wrinkles were already forming at the sides of his eyes from smiling, or how long Gatsby’s eyelashes were. He had never such an expression of longing before now.
Nick couldn’t handle the pressure. Gatsby’s hand returned to rest behind Nick’s neck and every graze of those fingers against his sensitive skin made Nick shiver. His grip on Gatsby’s hips tightened as if he were hanging on for life itself. If any time were right, it was this moment. Nick cleared his throat and looked back down.
“Jay. There’s something I need you to know,” he started quietly.
“Yes?” hummed Gatsby, and Nick closed his eyes. His voice was so much lower in their secrecy, almost too delicate to hear. Nick leaned his head on Gatsby’s shoulder and felt the blond almost tense under him.
“I... don’t know how to say this,” Nick let out in a low breath. “There’s just something in the way—“
A knock at the dance hall doors rang sharply, interrupting Nick, and one of Gatsby’s butlers entered the room as the two scrambled apart.
“Chicago is on the phone, sir,” said the butler as he suspiciously eyed the couple.
“Yes, yes… Thank you, Henry, that – that will be all,” Gatsby stuttered. Nick and Gatsby watched the butler give them one last look before he turned to leave the room. Gatsby returned his gaze to the brunet.
“I’m sorry, old sport, I really must take this—“
“No, of course, Jay,” Nick promised. He almost swore he saw a flush creep up Gatsby’s face. His own cheeks felt as if they were burning. Very nearly had they – had he been caught confessing such dangerous feelings.
“See you again Saturday?” Gatsby said quickly, stepping back from Nick.
“Of course,” replied Nick as casually as he could. “Looking forward to it.”
—
Gatsby walked Nick out to the door and they said their final goodbyes and the evening drew to a close. Nick’s breath was still shaking from the afternoon’s events. He swore he could still feel Gatsby’s touch on his neck as he drifted to sleep in bed that night.