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“What’s he doing here?”
Bog jumped, thoroughly distracted from attempting to sway to some sort of beat with the little blonde who absconded with him. The blonde grinned at the interloper, with a quick mercurial shrug.
“I brought him. He’s with me.” She answered in the same way someone would explain a gangly puppy tagging at their heels. Bog was suddenly the center of attention, the blonde’s guiless blue eyes and the smoky hostile gaze of their visitor. She perused him, top to bottom, obviously judging and finding him lacking.
“I carried a watermelon.” His voice was embarrassingly squeaky. Instantly he wished he’d have let the blonde juggle the two melons herself not twenty minutes ago and spare himself this horrendously awkward moment. In fact, had he knew this moment was in his future he would have smashed the damned fruit himself.
The brunette allowed her smoky gaze to rake him up and down slowly, a taunting, infernally irritating grin on her lips, before she nonchalantly turned and melted into the colorful crowd. Bog crumpled in on himself.
“Carried a watermelon?” He seethed at himself. The blonde laughed her voice disgustingly like bells.
“Your lucky. Last guy who had to endure the patented Marianne glare wasn’t able to make a single coherent sentence for at least a week.”
“Would that I could be so lucky” Bog mourned lowly.
Despite the fact that his desire to flee and hide, perhaps nurse his wounds with scathing thoughts toward the tiny harpy who wielded her sharp gaze so adeptly, he found himself drawn back to the outskirts of the dance floor by the blonde. Dawn, she introduced herself, and Bog still couldn’t quite understand why his brooding glare and monotone single syllable answers hadn’t scared off the little bit of skirt. He was sure the same thunderous expression had cowed even his mother on occasion but had no effect on the effervescent little Dawn.
He shuffled to something like what the beat was, unable to pull from her gravity. Her eyes would get so big and reflective and Bog found himself cowed. Best not let this little secret out, his mother would have a field day. And possibly a wedding on her hands before she’d even known the chits name.
Dawn’s gaze was drawn to the center of the floor, and her graceful swaying stopped. Relieved he stopped as well, finally had enough to extract himself from the sticky situation. Then he looked as well and was floored.
The brunette, she of the cruel eyes and mocking tongue, was twitching her swooshy black skirt out and back in, paired with some faceless partner, and she was… glorious. Her shirt was blue and purple and she was laughing and grinning wickedly, and her feet never stopped moving, a complicated pattern that pulled her knees and swung her hips and the taunt stretch of skin underneath that thin shirt. Bog’s mouth went dry and he raised himself up to his full height for the first time that night.
When he finally tore his covetous gaze from those… dangerous hips of hers it was to clash, suddenly, with her mocking gaze.
Oh. Wouldn’t someone just put him out of his misery? Truly, this was the worst trip he had EVER endured and that included the trip to Disneyworld where his mother came out of a visitation with one of the Prince’s with her shirt on inside out when he was seven.
And it would never end! To add injury to insult she was sashaying his way. His abrupt turn was aborted when he found tiny Dawn right beneath his arm. To move was to trip and damned it he was going to greet his doom sprawled on his admittedly narrow backside.
“C’mon.” Marianne, that was the harpy’s name, greeted him tipping her head towards the center of the dance floor. Bog gave her his best stare, the one where he drew down his eye brows and curled his lip.
“What.” It was one of his better ones, short, but still filled with a cocktail of distain, disgust and mockery. Against all odds it only fed her smile which stretched over her lips becomingly, dripping in mockery.
“Scared?”
Oh she had to go and do that, and now he had no choice, he drew down his head and followed her fluttering skirt. She pulled him closer when he would maintain his distance; her tiny hands gripped his hips intimately… and with such a grip! She was stronger than she looked.
“Geez, your nothing but legs and arms aren’t you?” Marianne murmured, and then dropped her head back to meet his gaze.
“Too tall for your teachings eh?” He grinned nastily. Her mouth parted before she pursed her lips in determination and all too soon he regretted his heckling.
She was suddenly there, one deliciously curvy leg between his, her hips under his hands and damned if he couldn’t span that tiny waist with both hands. Her arms drew around his neck, pulling him down until he curled into her and she was… well. She was everything, wasn’t she? Those bright eyes locked with his as her body rolled with his, and their breaths mingled. The room became muffled and all he heard was the deep bass tone of the beat and, unable to control himself, he began to roll with her.
All of the sudden the challenge left her eyes and those petal soft lips parted again. He could feel the minute changes in her body this close, and was able to better accommodate her, to keep as much of their bodies touching at all times and well, if in the end it looked like dancing, all the better. Bog never thought of himself as romantic, but yes, here and now he could almost convince himself he was drowning in those heated eyes.
Abruptly Marianne untangled herself from him, loud and laughing before throwing herself again at another one of those well proportioned faceless partners, grinding and moving and …
Laughing at him. LAUGHING at him.
Bogs hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and he felt the familiar, comforting mantle of rage cloak him. He was cold, the warmth of just a moment ago not even a fading memory and the cold allowed him to think while the anger brought with it the willpower to turn and, with what little dignity he had left, evade the grasping fingers of the little Dawn.
He only stopped once, at the door, to look back. The crowd of workers writhed against one another, he couldn’t tell one from another. No one was watching, no one cared that he left, there was no humiliation here. Just a woman making a connection with him… before literally THROWING herself at someone else, anyone else to avoid him. Bog’s eyes closed as the phantom feeling of her in his arms flew through him and he felt as if he’d… lost something.
Ridiculous.
Gods, this was going to be the worst summer, he thought, braced against the door briefly. Then he left.
On the opposite side of the dance floor, around a small corner leading to the hallway, Marianna was propping up a wall gasping in breath, over heated and blushing furiously, and dry mouthed and imagining those long fingered hands playing over her and those blue, blue eyes setting her on fire.