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“I don’t think I can do this.”
“Of course you can.”
“I’m really bad at this. Awful. Truly.”
“Me, too.”
You were given a flat look. “Not as bad as me.”
You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his and tugging slightly towards the door. “C’mon, O Fearless Captain, it won’t be that bad.”
His flat look shifted to something that was a little more like exasperated amusement. “I’m not fearless,” was the semi-grumbled retort, and though you were in no way strong enough to actually move him, he allowed you your small moment of victory by walking with your tugs.
The sign on the door read ‘Diana’s Dance House.’ It had been Bucky’s idea, purchasing a three-hour slot of private lessons for swing dancing. He’d shown up at your apartment, lips curled in a rather self-satisfied grin as he informed both you and Steve you’d be taking a dance lesson the coming Saturday.
You’d stared, and Steve had stared, and Bucky had winked and left the paper of information on your counter before disappearing. Steve had turned to you slowly, brow furrowed slightly in a sort of dazed confusion. “I don’t dance.”
You looked at him, unable to truly be annoyed at the dark-haired man for his stunt. “I don’t, either, really.”
Blue eyes crinkled in the corners slightly. “I’ll bet you're better than me, doll.”
You snickered. “Oh, undoubtedly, darling.” A moment of unsure silence settled between you, and you’d asked, “So, are we doing it?”
Steve sighed and picked up the paper, reading through it quickly. “Why not?” had been his response.
Well, this was why, you decided as you had to nearly force him through the door. Because he didn’t really want to. Because he was shy or embarrassed or uncomfortable, and you had no desire to put him in a position that caused him to be so miserable.
Ever kind and selfless, he forced a smile that in no way fooled you. “We’re gonna be late.”
You stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He arched a brow. “Weren’t you just telling me I won’t be terrible?”
“Yes.” But that didn’t mean you couldn’t see how much he didn’t like this. “I’m still asking you.”
There was no hesitation in his answer. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
Well, you could always leave early if he wasn’t enjoying it.
The studio was small and cheery, the dance instructor more so on both counts, and in less than ten minutes had you lined up and practicing basic steps. You could see the tense lines along Steve’s shoulders and back, the hard clench to his jaw and fierce discomfort in his stance as he moved stiffly. If Diana saw it, too, she didn’t say anything, though she called for a break only twenty minutes into the class, disappearing to her office for a moment.
You turned to Steve immediately, and he almost flinched back, shoulders curling down and head bowing. “M’sorry. I’m just not good at this.”
Oh, how it broke your heart, and you hugged him close, running your hands gently along his back, pressing your face into his chest. “That’s not true.”
You felt his silent scoff. “Sure it is.” But his arms came around you, holding you closer. “Buck used to take me all the time. I never did much dancing. Dames don’t wanna dance with someone they might step on.”
“Self-pity isn’t a cute look, my love.” The smile in your voice belied the bite of your words. “Those girls aren’t here. It’s just me. And I don’t care if you can’t dance; let’s just have fun. And, if it’s ever so miserable for you, we can just leave. I won’t be upset.”
He peered down, eyes wide and wary and tentatively hopeful. “No?”
You rested your chin on his chest, tipping your head back to meet his gaze. “No.”
Diana returned from her office, and Steve, adorable and Forties-mannered Steve, stepped a respectful distance back from you. The tiny dancer smiled. “Is everything okay?”
You glanced at Steve. This was his call. The blonde hesitated a moment, and then asked quietly, “Would it be okay if we leave early?”
The other woman never lost her smile. “Oh, of course. Would you like to reschedule?”
The blue eyes you loved such studied you for a moment, your relaxed stance and soft eyes and patient smile. “Yes.”
You couldn’t hide your small start of surprise, and saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards slightly. Diana’s smile widened. “Lovely! I’m open next Saturday. Same time?”
“Same time,” Steve confirmed.
Diana waved you out with her beautiful smile, and you turned to give him a confused glower as soon as you were in the car. “Reschedule?”
He didn’t answer until he’d safely pulled onto the road. “Yes.”
You waited, and when he offered no elaboration, raised your eyebrows. “Steven Rogers, you best not be forcing yourself into something you loathe just because you want to make me happy.”
“I’m not, doll.” He was entirely calm as he said it, no blushing, no stuttering, no nervous movements, and you recognized the truth in his statement. “I don’t want to do this today. But now I have a week to prepare and, I think, because next week it won’t be a surprise, I’ll be able to enjoy it.”
You eyed him and hmphed quietly, and he just grinned to himself, and the following Saturday, you pulled up at Diana’s Dance House. She greeted you, sugary-sweet and sunshine-bright, and you began. The first thirty minutes were rough, but he wasn’t as painfully stiff as before, wasn’t as obviously uncomfortable, and by the time the first hour was finished, he was moving through the basic steps of the East Coast Swing with varying levels of smoothness.
Diana approved and began adding in new, slightly more complicated movements. There was a moment of downright terror in Steve when she instructed him to spin you—rather, for him to act as the axis point whilst you rotated at high speed around him. It was all very windmill-like, and you knew, you knew without having to ask that he was scared he’d hurt you.
And Diana, bless her, suddenly remembered a phone call she had to make, scampering happily into her office. You turned to him, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno, doll. What if I go too fast? What if I can’t support you? What if I trip and take you down with me?”
You tilted your head to look at him coyly from beneath your lashes. “I do like when you’re on top of me.” He blushed and you snickered and added, “I’ve been trained by Natasha Romanoff. If you fling me towards the wall, I know how to land safely.”
He considered your answer for a moment, and then acquiesced with a reluctant nod. “Okay.”
You nodded, too, stepping towards him. “Okay.”
Diana reappeared, perfectly timed—the woman had a gift and you nearly loved her for it—bouncing towards you. “Okay, would you like me to demonstrate with you first, mamita?”
You didn’t care, but knew Steve would greatly appreciate it, and so answered affirmative. The tiny woman was a lot stronger than she looked, and you knew there was no need for you to worry about her losing control of you.
She started the music, and you started to dance, and when you spun, it was a moment of weightlessness and fearlessness and wonder. And then the moment ended, and the music paused, and Diana smiled. “Now you two?”
Steve was much calmer, having seen the move in practice, and when Diana restarted the music, didn’t hesitate to follow the steps. He wasn’t as natural in it as she was, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that he was a little clumsy, and a little off-beat, and a focusing just a little too hard. He was here , with you, learning to dance.
And when it came time for that spin, it was—it was—
Stars.
Swirls.
Exhilaration and beauty and you came out of it laughing breathlessly. Steve was grinning, too, and when the pattern finished, he hugged you close. “I did it!”
You couldn’t help your laughter of delight. “You did!”
He stepped back, holding your shoulders and staring down at you in a mixture of wonder and joy and triumph. “I did it! I danced! I danced with you!”
Diana looked as if she might squeal from pride, hands clasped beneath her chin. “It was lovely!”
Steve spun, holding out his hand to her. “Thank you so much.”
She shook it, and then nearly leapt to hug him. “You are a wonderful dancer, Mister Rogers.”
You laughed again at Steve’s startled expression, at the dazed and wondrous look still shining in his eyes as he returned the hug, and when he met your gaze, you blew him a kiss, and that triumphant grin returned.