stuff i like

You laughed, shaking your head fondly at Eddie—fondly, always fondly, because you really couldn’t seem to look at him any other way.

He stifled a laugh of his own, biting his lip, settling in his seat. He lifted an eyebrow briefly, gesturing for the two of you to go on.

Beside you, Volt nosed the side of your face—it was one of the few times you thought he moved like a cat. His cheekbones impressed themselves on yours, it felt like.

“Let’s give Eddie something to watch?” he whispered. “A little show?”

“Why, you wanna give him one?”

You let a finger trace playfully down his chest.

He guided your hand to his waist instead.

“Well. Maybe later, darling. Be a good little spark for me and tell me what you want. This dance is about you.”

“About us, Volt. You and me.” You caressed his cheek. “How about you lead?”

“Are you sure, darling? You know I hardly mind either way.”

The first time you danced with Volt, you had led.

I find leading and following equally enjoyable, with the right partner, he had said.

It was one of the things you liked about him, the singular thing, really, that made you decide you wanted to kiss him, which, you did.

Of course, your dance had barely been a waltz—it was an excuse to sway together more than anything else, and had been cut short by an extreme crisis of the electrical variety.

Still.

Even in that moment, you saw what style he had, what incredible balance you could have together.

And so this time it was different. This time, you wanted to feel safe in his arms, now that there wasn’t anything to worry about in the club anymore.

For once, you wanted to show Volt how much you trusted him. How easily, really, you’d put your life in his hands. But you were getting carried away.

This was just tango.

You nodded, sure. “You lead.”

Volt placed his right hand not at your waist, but higher. Just past the side of your chest, stopping before the line of your spine.

Before your first lesson, you had been a little afraid of tango—everything you knew about it you knew from every popular impression of it. The head snapping, the intense expressions, and most of all, partners being thrown—across the way, in a quick dip, and down the floor, even.

While tango could consist of some of that, you found, it was rare, and was more often a byproduct of what was really going on—an expression of need through the body.

For another person, for a merging of souls, for a mutually beneficial good time.

In short, for the erotic.

Not sex, exactly, but something more transcendent. Sex came close, but tango could come closer.

Or so they say.

You rested your left hand just past his bicep, near his shoulder. It felt right, you thought. You wanted to feel his muscle shifting through this shirt, wanted to know in advance where he might go. It would, you knew, be futile, but you liked knowing you could feel the dance this way.

You also simply liked how he felt, but there was no crime in that.

He gave you a little wink before pulling you closer, the crook of his elbow somewhere below your armpit. He adjusted to your height, leaning a little, before finally offering his hand.

You clasped it like a lifeline.

Above and around you, a song started playing. For your tango, Volt had chosen something dominated by what seemed to be a multitude of violins, and a lone bandoneon quietly breathing in the background, a steady lighthouse in a dark expanse. The strings kept a high pitch, and somehow sounded light and airy.

Quicker than your song with Eddie had been.

For a little bit, Volt just looked at you, searching. From your left hand, you felt his muscle shift twice—two false starts until he simply looked a little to the side and slowly slid his left foot across the floor.

You followed almost right away, sliding your right, just as he was starting to close the distance with his right foot.

But then you took your time closing the gap.

He had no choice but to wait, his right foot steady, toes pointed, the tip of his shoe to the ground. You took little steps with your left foot, sliding in a zigzag, taking your time to meet your right.

He waited for your feet to finish in their answer before finally dropping his right heel to the ground.

Volt smiled, hovering on the edge of a chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You felt a little pleased with yourself.

As the violins swelled into a warm chorus, the melody filling the room in earnest, he led you in a turn, sliding his foot once more. You answered the same way, a playful following—drawing it out, biding your time with teasing footwork.

As you tried to close the distance in rapid steps, your ankle accidentally brushed the side of his leg.

He lifted an eyebrow, smirking, before doing it again.

This time, you made no accident of the contact.

When your ankle made contact with his leg, you stayed here. He led you into a shallow side dip. As the dance demanded, you trusted him, and leaned in. Volt carried the weight from your leg almost entirely, bending his knee, before moving back up.

You continued much like that as the melody drew upward into a light, airy ripple.

As far as tango was concerned, a good leading partner’s job was really to make it seem like whoever was following was only being taken along for the ride. In reality, of course, this wasn’t true—any and all steps performed by whoever was following would be entirely their idea.

It was only supposed to look like you were being led.

But Volt led you so graciously, adjusting his own next move by the way you had just answered, holding you close, taking you in his arms, that at times, it really did feel like the whole thing was entirely his idea.

Even as your hand resisted his, as tango called for.

You felt the warmth of his hair, so close to the side of your face. Though you leaned into him over the course of the song, even this closeness seemed to be a byproduct of his leading.

In tango, though, it was all but a perfect mirage.

Because toward the end, as the reediness of the bandoneon finally cut through the strings, you waited much longer than usual to follow Volt.

And as he waited, you understood, with a start, that all along, he had been leading you with a softness.

Almost capitulating, relenting, surrendering to you the entire time.

The song entered its final seconds—the violins drawing out a long, aching phrase, the bandoneon softening to a low breathy murmur.

You realized that the whole time, his leading had actually been a form of yielding.

As the song faded, you finally looked up at him.

A little awed, you said, “Thought you were leading.”

He smiled at you, and kissed down your neck. You felt goosebumps down your back all the way to your ankles.

“I did. That was how I wanted to do it, darling.”

With a chuckle, you said, “You make it easy to love you, you know.”

A shit-eating grin on his face, “Good.”

You laughed, resting the side of your face on his chest, slowly letting go of your hold. You hadn’t danced in so long that you actually needed to cool down somehow, you heart was beating madly.

Up at the bar, Eddie met your gaze. He sat there, just looking at you and Volt. Not saying anything, just smiling.

You raised an eyebrow.

He raised an eyebrow.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you and Volt finally went back to him.

Later, they told you a little more about what had led them to tango.

Volt was in the middle of explaining how it had all finally come to a head.

“It got to a point where I would sometimes, on purpose,” he glanced at you, “drive him a little mad before a dance…”

“Yeah, you did.” Eddie smirked. “Sometimes I got so annoyed I’d carry on with tango just out of spite.”

“And that, live wire, was really the only way I could know just how much he was hurting.” Volt brushed Eddie’s hair out of his forehead. “You didn’t want to tell me otherwise, did you, darling?”

Eddie grimaced. “Yeah, I… amp, I used to get so angry that I couldn’t… couldn’t fix the…” He broke off into a weak laugh.

“Darling.”

Volt tucked a finger below his chin, persuaded him to look up. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” you said. “Didn’t seem like any of it was. Ever.”

Eddie turned a lovely pink.

Suddenly, Volt’s bright eyes seemed brighter.

“Oh, this is perfect, darling. Now, there are two of us here to remind you of that fact if you do get into one of your adorable bouts of self-loathing.”

“Stop it—“ Eddie whined.

“See, there’s that pout. He’s so kissable when he’s being like this, isn’t he, live wire? I know I certainly didn’t mind it at the time…”

You quickly agreed, “Yeah.” And when Eddie tried to frown at you, you added, “You are, Eddie.” You leaned in to give him a kiss.

He clutched at the side of your face as you pulled away, muttering, “Another one, baby…”

You leaned back in, and he put his arms around you, kissing you again.

“Whatever you want.” Eddie gave you a smile and leaned closer to you. You put your right hand a little past his waist, settling on his lower back. You felt his palm press behind your shoulder, bringing you closer.

You couldn’t help it—you pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Kisses are to be reserved for after tango!” Volt playfully exclaimed, his elbows settling behind him on the bartop.

You chortled, “And hecklers will not get their turn…”

Volt put a hand to his chest in mock indignation, “I can’t believe you’d be out to hurt my feelings this way, live wire.” Try as you might, you couldn’t help but giggle. Damn it.

“Did you have a song in mind, baby?” Eddie chuckled in your ear.

“Volt can choose,” you said, glancing at Volt, the glimmer in your eye a peace offering. Volt winked at you, “Leave it entirely to me, my sweet spark.”

Volt queued a different song, this one faster, less elegiac. More moderately paced than what they danced to, this one had an equal assortment of strings and percussions—cellos and pianos dominating, with bandoneons (what you mistakingly called accordions the first time around) providing much of the background melody.

For a moment, you felt at a loss about how to lead Eddie through it.

Sensing your trepidation, he offered you his outstretched hand. You took it.

And when you pressed your weight into it, he did, too.

This was another thing about tango—it was a test of commitment. You leaned into each other, you provided your end of the weight, contributed equally to the balance needed. You, under any circumstances, do not allow your hand to go limp.

You stay and hold firm.

And so you did—you pressed your weight into Eddie’s space, trusted the force of his hand.

He did, too.

You took a moment to figure out how to begin, just looking at him; he observed you in return. Waited.

Eddie had a way of taking you unaware with his gaze—it was a real privilege to be on the receiving end of it at all. Unlike Volt, who had no qualms about looking anyone in the eye, Eddie didn’t like regarding just anyone. And so his grey gaze came to be a benefit bestowed upon the object of its direction.

Which, at the moment, was you.

And so, you decided, that was how you wanted to lead. You decided that for the entire song, you wanted to get lost in Eddie’s eyes.

You decided it was more important than wide, expansive footwork—more important, even, than traveling across the floor.

At the end of a long cello line, you took your first step, sliding your right foot slightly to the side. Eddie followed with his left. You put some force on your right foot, leaning into Eddie’s space—he leaned back, adjusted for the new weight. Still looking at you, regarding you.

You sprung back.

Pressing your hand onto his back, you brought him with you, resting back on your left foot. You felt his palm press onto yours, felt him adjust for balance.

As the cello drew out the melody, at the end of the resonant opening, as the piano started to meet the cello in a shimmering note, was how you began with Eddie.

You swayed that way for a bit—small steps, barely any footwork, relying on the transferring of weight, taking turns upholding the balance, rocking back and forth.

Even the way you gazed into each other’s eyes seemed a weighty negotiation, alternating in intensity, almost unrelated, something beyond the simple act of seeing.

From where Volt was, it seemed the two of you were dancing not to the music, but to this strange concentrated look.

Lost in Eddie’s eyes, you begin a sequence.

Stepping your left foot forward, you tug at his hand, spinning the two of you a little in place. As you did, your ankles crossed, your weight shifted. Eddie clutched your hand to accommodate it.

He glanced down briefly.

And quickly looked back up once he had located your foot—staring at you so earnestly, this look of almost admiration you could never quite grapple with.

You repeat the steps.

That was how tango with Eddie went. Small steps, small spins, small repeated moves side by side. Another spin to unwind your ankles, then stepping again, spinning, crossing, doing it over and over. He sometimes glanced down to look at your feet, but returned to you every time—observing, looking, seeing.

It wasn’t perfect, but no first tango was.

In Eddie’s arms, you suddenly had the impression that this was maybe what life was all about. Maybe this was what people meant when they said that tango was for right now.

When the piano notes resounded, its cascading keys briefly taking precedence, you leaned more into Eddie—he leaned more into you.

And as the cello and the piano faded together, a deep steady swell over measured chords, your torso crushed into his, his gaze crushed into yours, your heart, you felt, crushed into a million pieces.

At the last second you moved your hand, higher, from where it was just above his waist—pressing on the center, near the small of his back.

Eddie’s palm moved, too, lower, pressing just above the curve on your back.

No longer clear who was leading who, for the last few seconds of the song, he leaned back—you followed. You pulled him back to you—he followed.

The piano faded out in a steady pulse, slowly falling.

Only the low resonance of the cello remained to finally draw out the song.

Then a final note stretched finally into silence.

The music had faded, you knew, but you couldn’t quite tear your eyes away.

It was Volt that finally broke the spell.

“Bravo, bravo!”

He put his hands together for a resounding applause.

You both looked at him—a pleased grin on his face, his eyes shining.

“That was incredible, darlings.”

You give him a shy half-smile, feeling Eddie press a kiss to your cheek.

You turned your head to kiss him fully in turn, smiling into it now, a little in disbelief.

“Love you, live wire,” he murmured against your lips. If you weren’t so close to him, you might have missed hearing it at all.

“Love you, too, Eddie.”

He ran a hand up and down your back.