Work Text:
Al Green softly plays through Frenchie’s kitchen Bluetooth speaker as she and Izzy clean up dinner.
“Hey,” she says, “do you want to dance?”
Izzy looks a little thrown off, like she does when something unexpected happens.
Izzy hesitates, trying to remember the last time she danced stone cold sober.
"Just kidding," Frenchie says with a wave of her hand.
That won't do. Izzy puts down the dishcloth and takes Frenchie in her arms. They just sway a little at first, getting into a rhythm before moving much more. They each have one hand on the other's waist for some reason, and Izzy's trying to maneuver them into something closer to dancing when —
“Ow,” Izzy says. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry! I thought I was leading!”
Izzy’s socked feet hurt , and what’s more her pride is wounded. As if she’d ever make Frenchie lead. She takes her more firmly into her arms, pointedly placing Frenchie’s hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t immediately get stepped on again, which is a plus.
“I know I’m not leading,” Frenchie says, “but can I twirl you?”
Izzy scowls and Frenchie makes big, pleading eyes.
“Fine,” Izzy says. “One time. One twirl. No dipping.”
Frenchie beams and twirls Izzy, giving the slightest of dips a try. Izzy glares.
“You’re so beautiful,” Frenchie says.
“Fuck off,” Izzy replies.