Work Text:
It was getting harder and harder with every passing minute for Linhardt to ignore Caspar groaning behind him. He'd been at it for almost ten minutes now, shuffling around doing Goddess-knows-what and breaking the silence with increasingly frustrated sighs. No matter how deep Linhardt buried his nose in his book, he could only tune it all out so much.
A quiet thump and a muted curse later, Linhardt finally shut his book and turned. "Alright," he said, "Caspar, what in the world are you doing?"
Caspar blinked at him, frozen in a frankly mediocre dance position and wobbling unsteadily. His arms were extended in front of him, curving around an imaginary dance partner, and Linhardt could only imagine that if they'd been real they would have been getting their toes stepped on.
"Are you…dancing?"
"Trying to," Caspar admitted, letting his arms fall and his shoulders slump. "I'm not getting very far though."
"I can see that."
"Aw, c'mon Linhardt! This is where you're supposed to say, 'No, Caspar! You're doing a great job! You won't make an idiot of yourself in front of the entire monastery!'"
"What are you talking about?" Linhardt sighed. "Is this about the ball coming up at the end of the month? You realize you don't have to dance with anyone at all, don't you? And even if you do, it's not as if everyone will be watching you."
Caspar groaned again, hiding his face in his hands and sitting listlessly on the edge of the table. Linhardt pulled his books away before they could get trapped under Caspar's thighs. "It's not about the ball," Caspar finally said. "If it was just that I wouldn't care. It's about the damn White Heron Cup."
"The house dance competition? Please, it's not like the professor is going to pick-" The moment he got a look at Caspar's forlorn expression, Linhardt froze, eyes widening. "Oh my…did the professor actually pick you?"
"I figured it wouldn't be a big deal!" Caspar whined. "Ferdinand practically begged her to pick him instead. I should have just let him do it, but no! I had to go and open my big mouth and convince the professor that I could dance as well as anyone else and now look at me!" He was on his feet again, thumping his forehead against the nearest wooden pillar. "And now I can't back out of it. Believe me, I asked."
"So you'll be representing the Black Eagles in the White Heron Cup?"
Caspar made a noise like he was dying. "Maybe if I just ignore it it'll all turn out to be a bad dream…"
"Well, considering that it's relatively likely that we're going to lose, you could just stop worrying about it altogether. Would that help?"
"What? How is that supposed to help? I don't want to lose!" He pouted. "And if all you're gonna do is insult me I'll go practice in my room instead."
Linhardt let out a sigh as he turned in his chair. Seemed he was going to get nowhere with his reading today. "I'm not trying to insult you. It's nothing personal, Caspar. I already heard that Hilda and Mercedes will be representing the other two houses, and they're both excellent dancers. I simply meant that they would be difficult to beat for anyone. I certainly couldn't manage it."
"Yeah…you're probably right…" He sat back down again, thankfully in a chair this time rather than on top of Linhardt's books. "Right about now I'm almost wishing my father had forced me to go to the same dance instructor as my brother. But I guess I wouldn't have any excuse to use it. Not like I have to worry about wooing a noble partner without any inheritance weighing on my shoulders."
"Believe me," Linhardt said, "You aren't missing out on much."
Caspar offered a playful little smile. "You mean the dancing or the wooing?"
"Both." Linhardt hoised himself up, straightening the books on the table into a neat stack and getting to work pulling the chairs out of the way. "Help me move this table, would you?"
"Uh…why?"
"I hated every second of it, but I did attend those dance lessons that you managed to avoid. And practicing with a partner is bound to be more helpful than stumbling around on your own."
Even with the sunlight fading and a good number of the candles needing replacing, Linhardt could still make out a blush creeping over Caspar's cheeks. "Wait, you – you want…you're offering to help me practice? Dancing?"
"Only if you help me move this table."
Caspar's gaze flicked from Linhardt to the table and back again at least three times before he finally squared his shoulders and gave it a good shove. "I thought-" he grunted, "-you were convinced…I'd lose…"
"Even if you're not likely to win, that doesn't mean you need to embarrass yourself. Maybe you won't out-charm Hilda or Mercedes, but you can still put in a respectable effort." Linhardt grimaced. "Ugh…now I'm starting to sound like Ferdinand. If I start waxing poetic about the duty of a nobleman to carry himself with grace, please do me a favor and put me out of my misery with an axe to the forehead."
Caspar barked out a laugh as he leaned back against the table. "Like you could ever outdo Ferdinand when it comes to talking about nobility and honor. I'll dance circles around the competition at the White Heron Cup before that ever happens."
"That's comforting, actually." Linhardt made his way to the center of the newly cleared area they'd made for themselves between the tables, trying to call to mind all those damn lessons years ago. He'd been lectured so often about the placement of his feet and the position of his shoulders that it was almost second nature even now. Like his muscles had never quite forgotten his dance instructors stern whacks to his back and arms to mangle them into proper alignment. "Do you want to start by leading or following?"
"Uh…which is easier?"
Linhardt fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The leading position is typically for the taller of the two partners…"
Caspar groaned. "Fine…guess I'll…follow then…"
He stood in front of Linhardt, looking painfully lost. He was staring at his hands like he had no idea where to put them, his feet shuffling nervously. "Here-" Linhardt reached for him, taking his hand. He pressed their palms together, curling his fingers around Caspar's. "Now put your other one on my waist. And keep your back straight."
"Back straight…right…" Caspar's hand carefully rested under Linhardt's ribs. "Like this?"
"Right…Keep your head up. No, don't lift your chin-" Linhardt pressed his free thumb against Caspar's jaw, angling his head down. "Keep your eyes on me, but try and stretch out your spin. Like you're…well, like you're trying to grow taller."
"Alright already."
"It's not a jab at you, I promise," Linhardt said, forcing down a laugh.
"It better not be. I'm closer to your knees, remember?"
Linhardt snorted. "Are you going to take this seriously or not?"
"I am, honestly! Just…What's next? What do I do with my feet?"
Linhardt let his hand rest over Caspar's ribs. "Didn't the professor already teach you the steps?"
"Well yeah, but I was practicing…ya know…alone…not…"
"Right, with your poor imaginary dance partner who was undoubtedly getting their toes trampled?"
"Linhaaaardt…"
"It's fine," Linhardt insisted, smiling. "Just relax. You want to mirror what I'm doing. When I step forward…" He took a careful step forward, right foot edging toward Caspar's left. "…you step back." Hesitantly, Caspar mirrored his movement. "Good. See? It's not all that difficult, is it?"
"Yeah…one step down, and about a hundred to go. We don't even have music."
"Sorry for not being prepared with a full band for this impromptu dance lesson," Linhardt fired back. "You just need to keep a count in your head. A waltz is just a simple three beats. One, two, three…one, two, three…"
Step by step, they fell into a rhythm, determination etched onto Caspar's face and his back rod-straight as he focused on every little movement. It was almost funny, watching his brow knit in concentration. Linhardt could practically see him counting the beats in his head.
"You can loosen up a bit, you know."
"Huh?"
"You look like someone is shoving a lance up your-"
"I'm concentrating, okay? It's not easy, remembering where to put my feet. My imaginary dance partner might not complain if I stepped on their toes, but I'm pretty sure you would."
"Well so far, my toes are safe, so you're not doing a half bad job." He almost smirked as an idea came to his mind. "But there's more to dancing than just taking steps forward and back."
"What do you – LINHARDT WHAT THE HELL-"
Caspar practically flailed as Linhardt dipped him backwards, one foot flying up toward the bookshelves while his hands grasped onto Linhardt's collar and sleeves. "I told you to relax," Linhardt said as he pulled him up again. "It wasn't like I was going to drop you."
"Could have fooled me! Warn a guy next time, huh?"
Linhardt offered his hand. "How about you try it then?"
Caspar blinked at him, staring at the hand he'd stretched out toward him. "Try…dipping you back like that?"
"Well, you're stronger than I am. It shouldn't be hard at all. Just don't go whacking my head on anything please…"
That knot between his brows was back again, his lips pursed as he took Linhardt's hand. And before Linhardt had time to line his feet up again he was flying backwards, arms wrapping around Caspar's shoulders for purchase, the soles of his boots slipping out from under him-
His back hit the floor, and then Caspar hit his chest.
"Ow…"
Caspar scrambled off of him, face beet red. "Uh…I think I did it wrong."
"Do you think?"
"Are you okay?"
He pushed himself up off the halfway petrified wood floor, rubbing the back of his head and taking Caspar's hand when he offered it. "Fine," he said. "Though it's probably for the best that you won't be dipping anyone else in the competition."
"Maybe I just got a little carried away…" Caspar muttered as they made it back on their feet.
"Here – try it again."
"Wha – seriously? After I just slammed you into the floor?"
"You just went too low too quickly." He took Caspar's hand again, guiding his arm to wrap around his torso. "Just hold me a bit more firmly. And don't dip me so far back this time. Go slow."
"Right…" Caspar mused. "Slow…"
He felt himself tipping back again, but instead of the uncontrolled descent of last time, it was a gentle bending backwards. He let Caspar hold his weight, feeling his hair hanging off of his neck, fingers tightening on Caspar's biceps as he leaned into it. "There you go," he said with a smile. "It's a little odd, looking up at you for once."
"I'll drop you."
"No you won't."
Instead of following through on that threat, Caspar lifted him up again until they were both firmly back on their feet. Caspar was grinning at him. "Ha-ha! I knew I could manage it! You're not half bad as a teacher, you know that?"
"Well, I didn't plan on getting slammed into the floor, but all things considered you're not that bad of a student." He grasped Caspar's hand again, tugging him close and settling back into their comfortable dance position. "Try leading this time. We can practice the footwork for the competition."
"Oh, so I'm still allowed to lead even if you've got that height advantage you're so proud of?" Caspar jabbed, and this time Linhardt really did roll his eyes.
"I have total faith in you."
As it turned out, Caspar wasn't half bad at leading either. His steps were a little clumsy, and the backs of Linhardt's thighs whacked into one of the chairs once or twice, but by the time they fell into an easy rhythm, they were turning and swaying with ease. Linhardt couldn't help but feel a little proud of it all, smiling widely as Caspar dipped him back again. "Perfect," he said. "Caspar, you're full of surprises sometimes, you know that?"
Caspar pulled him back up, practically preening as their chests pressed together again. "Yeah, well it's all thanks to you." They began to move again, almost out of habit by now than anything else. It barely felt like a waltz anymore. It was more like a lazy, meandering dance without any rhythm or timing. Just swaying together, comfortable and unhurried.
It was…nice. Very nice, in fact.
"This is almost fun," Caspar said, a blush creeping back onto his cheeks. Linhardt was so close that he could see it spreading between the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. "I thought was making a huge mistake, but…maybe I won't make a complete idiot of myself at the White Heron Cup after all."
"Even if you do, I'm sure people will forget about it quickly," Linhardt offered. "The ball is right after the competition, and parties like that have a way of drawing peoples' attention."
"Yeah…the ball. I almost forgot about that, I was so wrapped up in all this competition stuff." He fell silent for a good few seconds before glancing up at Linhardt again. "Are you going?"
"To the ball?"
"I figured you'd hate that kind of thing. All the crowds and dancing…"
"I don't hate it," Linhardt mused. "Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things I'd rather be doing. Thanks to my name and my crest, I'm sure I'll have to turn down plenty of people looking for a dance, but luckily people like Ferdinand and Dimitri will make much better targets."
"Targets," Caspar snorted. "You make it sound like you're gonna be dodging arrows all night." He caught his lip between his teeth. "Well, I probably won't have all that many people asking me to dance. Not that I mind. But…maybe I could…save you from having to turn quite as many people down?" They were barely moving now, but Caspar's hand was still pressed firmly in Linhardt's, his other palm resting over his ribs. "After all, if you're dancing with me, nobody will get the chance to come after you."
"People usually dance with their dates at things like that."
Caspar's blush intensified even more, so deep that it almost obscured his freckles. "O-oh…yeah, right…I mean, do you…do you have a…" He swallowed. "Do you have a date? To the ball?"
"Well, no." Linhardt spared a glance over at Caspar's hand, draped over his own. "Until just recently I really was considering skipping the whole thing."
Caspar didn't look up at him. He was busy biting down on the inside of his cheek, his face red up to the tips of his ears, and Linhardt swore he could almost feel Caspar's heart pounding where their chests were pressed together.
Or was that his own? It was hard to keep straight. He hadn't even noticed it racing.
"Linhardt…I…"
It seemed like the words just wouldn't come to him, his nose wrinkling in frustration. He shook his head, and a moment later he was…leaning closer…almost like he was-
"What are you two doing?"
They both whirled around to face the door so quickly that they both nearly toppled over, spinning around to face-
"I-Ignatz!" Caspar squawked. "Uh…nothing?"
"Practicing for the White Heron Cup," Linhardt added breezily. "Caspar is representing the Black Eagle House, and apparently our professor's instruction left something to be desired."
"Just be glad you're not dancing for the Golden Deer. Professor Manuela has barely given Hilda a chance to breathe with all the dance instruction the last few days." He sighed. "I'm just glad I didn't get stuck doing it. Did you uh…need any help moving all these tables back? Tomas gets pretty huffy when you mess with stuff in here too much."
"Nope!" Caspar insisted, grinning too wide and answering too loudly. "Nah, we're all good here. We're done, actually, so I'll just-"
He got to work pulling the tables and chairs back into place, not asking for help even once and probably adding a generous number of new scuffs to the already ancient floor. Linhardt watched as he clumsily dragged the chairs back to their proper places and didn't even bother arguing as Caspar grabbed his wrist, bid Ignatz a hasty goodbye and dragged him into the hall.
"If you're this worked up over Ignatz catching you practicing your dancing, you'll have a hard time actually competing," Linhardt pointed out as they rounded the corner.
Caspar's gaze was fixed on the floor. "Yeah."
It was then that he noticed the deep frown on his face. Linhardt leaned in closer, carefully pressing a hand against Caspar's arm. "Caspar? Is everything alright?"
A moment later, Caspar turned, like he was readying a punch, but instead of a fist flying at his face, all Linhardt got were Caspar's lips pressing clumsily against his.
Caspar kissed him. Right there in the middle of the hallway, and Linhardt felt like he'd had his feet swept out from under him for the second time that evening.
When he pulled away, face bright red and eyes wide, Caspar cleared his throat. "Thanks," he squeaked. "For…for the dance lesson."
"So that was a thank you kiss?" Linhardt breathed.
"Yes. No. Agh, no it's-" His hands curled into tight fists as he squared his shoulders. "Come to the ball with me." He drew a shaky breath. "As my – my date. Come to the ball with me as my date. Please."
Well.
Linhardt hadn't seen that coming.
He smiled anyway and said, "As long as you promise to let me lead."