Work Text:
“Agent Zayne, are you allergic to smiling or am I just really bad at dancing?”
Zayne turns to look at you, eyes cold as ever. “Are you enjoying this so much that you’ve forgotten our mission? We’re meant to be looking for any possible information, if this crucial part of the briefing has left your mind.”
As your feet move in sync to the music, step after step as the learned choreography is repeated by both of your muscles for the millionth time, you frown. “Well, I think you’re doing a terrible job of making it seem like we’re not spies. We’re meant to look like a classy couple, if this crucial part of the briefing has left your mind.”
“It has not.” He looks back away from you, smile still yet to appear. “Look at all of these snobbish citizens. Do you really think that they give a shit about anyone else in this room? No one’s looking at us but you. Now pay attention.”
“I don’t think you’re taking this role seriously enough, and it infuriates me.” You whisper aggressively, intentionally pounding the corner of your heel against his foot.
He reels back, letting go for a moment as he looks down at his feet. You innocently take your heel off his shoe as you stop dancing, waiting for his response. Zayne’s eyes sharpen, digging into your skin like daggers, until you feel a hand around your waist.
“Looks like your partner isn’t the best at dancing.” An unfamiliar voice teases, as the hand around your waist turns you to face the source.
A purple haired boy smiles down at you, not even giving a moment of attention to Zayne. You scan his features, dimly lit under the chandelier, when you realize that this is who you’ve been looking for all along — Rafayel, the prince of the kingdom. He sets down his glass on the tray of a waiter passing by, focusing all his attention onto you. “I’ve got a handful of experience in dancing. I tutor some noblemen at this waltz specifically.” He extends his hand towards you. “Care to see my experience in play?”
You stare at his outstretched hand, heart beating through your chest. You glance back at Zayne, who looks as indifferent as ever, and you feel anger bubble in your stomach at how little he seems to care that you’re about to be whisked away by a highly valuable target. When Zayne doesn’t even begin to argue, perhaps hinging on the chance that you’d refuse, you decide on the more dangerous option. Smiling back up at Rafayel, you take his hand. “Of course. It’s not every day I get to dance with the prince.”
Rafayel seems pleased as your fingers intertwine with his, and he backs away into the middle of the dance floor while Zayne is lost in the sea of elites. What the prince said about his tutoring seems to be true — his dancing is like no other, movements fluid and graceful as each step is executed with elegance. Even you, a newly trained dancer who only knows how to do this specific dance because of the mission, feels skilled when in the care of a professional like Rafayel. He makes it so easy.
“So, may I ask your name, pretty lady?” Rafayel whispers into your ear as he pulls you closer, a move of the dance that Zayne particularly hates. It feels gratifying to actually do it with someone who doesn’t turn away.
“No matter. We can find that out later, if you’re really curious.” You smile up at him, his fierce eyes crinkling with amusement. Although you’d love to humour the prince, you’re here for one thing and one thing only — information. You feel you can do this with or without Zayne, that asshole.
Your movements and Rafayel’s lineup perfectly as you spin into his arms, finding yourself against his chest and gazing into his eyes and reddish face. Your face gets warm as you twirl back out, choosing to stare down at the floor instead of looking at him. He shares the same sentiment as you notice his own head hang momentarily, and you chuckle to yourself as your feet remember the moves moment by moment.
Time passes, slowly and surely, and the last steps of the song are before you and your new dance partner. Gracefully, you lean over Rafayel’s arm as your leg extends over his other hand, breath heavy as you relax into his hold. He stays firm, face inches away from yours, panting with effort as he grins. “You’re not bad at dancing, miss.”
“And neither are you. I’d say you’re the best dancer I’ve met.” You take your leg off his elevated arm as you fall into him, acting the weak and damsel part that you usually do. “I can’t help but say I’m impressed.”
Rafayel hesitates for a moment as you lean into him, before placing his hand at the top of your back gently. “Do you want some… private dancing lessons, perhaps? I have a spare room up on the second floor that no one’s using right now. I can teach you some more dances.”
My chance is here. You pretend to dwell on it, pulling away from his shirt while still keeping the fabric in your hands. “You know what… I’d love t—”
“We’re leaving.”
Zayne’s voice cuts through the music before you feel a tug on your arm, yanking you away from Rafayel. You squeal as you’re dragged from behind, the bewildered prince left in the middle of the dance floor. You turn to Zayne, more furious than ever. “What the fuck are you doing, Agent Zayne?! My chance was right there! You just fucking ruined everything!”
Zayne doesn’t answer, still pulling you out the door. Rafayel is lost in the crowd, out of sight, and you have no choice but to fight Zayne’s grip. You whisper angrily, “Agent Zayne, let go of me!”
You loosen his hold after a lot of movement and finally push his hand off of your arm. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Just leave.”
You look at Zayne properly for the first time since he interrupted your dance with the prince. He’s red, hot, and sweating, the usual glacier in his eyes replaced with rings of fire. His breath is heavy and his arms are trembling. Concern overrides your determination to get information, and you decide to abandon the mission. “Woah— Zayne, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just go. Complete the assignment.” Zayne refuses to make eye contact, instead shooing you away weakly.
“Your health is more important than the mission, Agent Zayne. What happened to you?”
“I said it was nothing.” Zayne’s voice is low and quiet, but still more aggressive than usual. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking. You still have time. You can go back to him.”
“Why are you acting so different? Are you that upset that Rafayel called you a bad dancer?” You squint at him. “This isn’t very Zayne-like of you.”
“I…”
Zayne is speechless. For the first time since we were assigned as mission partners, however many years ago that was, the silver-tongued Zayne has been robbed of his words.
“I don’t want to see you dancing with him.” His voice is a whisper, almost drowned out by the classical music.
Your heart sinks. “...What?”
“I don’t want to see you dancing with him.” He repeats, slower and more thoroughly. “I don’t know why, but I’m filled with immeasurable rage right now. Why were you leaning into him? Why did you keep locking eyes with him? And why did it look like you enjoyed it so much?...”
“I– Zayne, it was acting…” You murmur, feeling a bit guilty. You did want to make him feel a bit angry that he didn’t try to get you to stop dancing with Rafayel earlier, but maybe you took it a bit too far. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you don’t need to be sorry. You did your job perfectly. He even invited you to his private quarters. It’s just that…” Zayne pinches his nose bridge. “Something’s wrong with me…”
A familiar song comes on as you’re about to respond; you had also learned this song with Zayne just in case they’d changed up the music midway. You slowly walk forward and reach for Zayne’s hands, your fingers fitting snugly between his. “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s dance, Zayne.”
Zayne hesitates, staring into your eyes with a helpless look. His tensed shoulders begin to relax, pushing himself into the beginning position against you. He clears his throat before speaking. “You’ve dropped the honourific of Agent, I see.”
“This time, we’re dancing because we want to dance. I don’t want you to think about the mission, the organisation, or Rafayel. We’re dancing this time not because we have to, but because we want to.” The beginning of the choreography comes to life, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony. “You’re not a bad dancer, by the way.”
“I’d hope not. I practiced a long time for this mission.” Zayne’s lips curl upwards, reminiscent of a smile. Your heart melts seeing it, a rare semblance of joy on your partner’s face for the first time in a long time, and you spin and lean into his chest just like you’d done with Rafayel.
Our eyes lock. You twirl out before pressing yourself against his chest, as done in the original performance. You link hands once more as you stare up at him, the heat of the moment overwhelming each and every one of your senses. You chuckle, realizing the absurdity of the situation. “I didn’t know you were the jealous type.”
“I am n—... well.” Zayne admits after a moment of re-evaluation. “Maybe I am. To be fair, I didn’t think I was until ten minutes ago.”
“Me neither.” You hum to the tune of the piano quietly. “So, you like me?”
“Shut up and dance.” Zayne redirects the conversation, clearly not ready to face this realization in the middle of a ballroom with you in his arms.
“Yes, sir.” You tease, spinning back against his chest. He takes your hand and you lean towards it, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his knuckle. “We can talk about it later then.”
“You’re—” Zayne is too overstimulated to argue, instead looking to the side to hide as much of his red face as possible. “Yeah. Let’s talk about it later.”