Work Text:
One, two, three, one, two, three
The dancers swung around the ballroom, hand-in-hand with their partners, dresses twirling as their male companions whirled them around; the tension of romance permeated the room, in glances between partners, in the delicate hold of the wrist as they danced across the floor.
All of this, of course, was merely a spectacle being performed for the enjoyment of onlookers behind a screen; just out of sight of the camera, the edge of the stage was flocked with set-workers; microphones dangled from boom poles; bright lights beamed overhead, very much not within the time period the shot was being set in; cables and wires and screens all ruined the illusion that this was a delightful ballroom dance from the early twentieth century, if one were able to look past the stage.
And any romance in the room was certainly not between the dance partners, Chase thought bitterly, or at least it shouldn't be. And if it should be, it should only be when he and Buddy were partnered together, which they wouldn't be, because unfortunately this movie wasn't about to feature a queer romance, instead falling into the same category of all those other boring dime-a-dozen "the guy gets the girl" love stories.
So Buddy, with the lead role, was on the other end of the stage, spinning around with the lead actress, and Chase was certainly not jealous because this was a professional setting, and he was professional, and he knew it was just acting and didn't mean anything, and jealousy was totally not the reason he kept tearing his eyes away from his own dance partner to watch as the beautiful man twirled the actress effortlessly across the room, wishing the entire time it was him he was dancing with.
"Cut, cut!" The director called out, his voice carrying across the stage. "Start again! One of you needs to keep his eyes in front of him."
Heads turned towards Chase, no one needing to question who the person to blame was. Buddy quirked a brow at him, his expressions seemingly stuck between wanting to smirk at Chase's antics and being annoyed at his inability to do his literal job correctly.
"Let's take it from the top!"
The door to the apartment swung open, the man barging in with an annoyed huff, tossing a bagful of groceries on the dining table. They ended up having to retake the scene at least six more times, because of Chase's inability to keep his wandering eyes in check, and it was just so painfully obvious he was the reason for it. He had hoped running some errands would get him to cool off, but apparently no, it didn't. Whatever, it was fine, what's just one annoying day—
"Well I see someone's home late."
Buddy emerged from the bathroom, still drying his hands with the towel that he brought into the living room-kitchen combo. "Rather riveting day it was."
"Ughhh, are you seriously gonna rub this in my face because—"
"Yes, I am, because you are an idiot who cannot do his job correctly." The taller man had idly tossed the towel onto the table, now using his unoccupied hands to wrap around Chase's torso from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. "Luckily for you, you're a rather adorable idiot who cannot do his job correctly."
"Hmph." Chase tried to ignore how his partner was rubbing against his cheek, settling into the crook of his neck to place a drawn-out smooch. "It's not my fault some lady got to dance with my drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend instead of me."
"Mm-hmm." Buddy had twisted Chase around, so they now faced each other, hand-in-hand, mimicking the stance of the waltz they had been doing earlier. "Well, if it got you in such a tizzy, how about a little dance with just the two of us, right here?"
Before the blond could even respond, he was being dragged into the dance, his feet following Buddy's movements as if it were the most natural thing in the word. It was difficult; it was no ballroom, no stage on a set, instead a cluttered apartment with a table and couch blocking most of the space. They'd bump into the bookshelf, the sofa, the table, each time with a giggle or snicker or hey, watch it; there was no music except the thrum of their own heartbeats keeping the time.
It was nothing fancy, yet somehow, it was grander than any true ballroom could be.