Ethereal, Calculated

The medic stood there—rigid, arms stiff at her sides. Like a soldier, not a dancer. The medic was always so tense when pressed against people.

A sigh slipped past the Captain’s lips as she stepped behind her, hips brushing against Kara’s. Her hands settled on the medic’s waist with practiced ease.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice a low purr.

Gently, she shifted her own hips to the side, coaxing Kara’s along with hers. The contact was firm but fluid, a steady guide rather than a demand. The Captain smirked softly to herself—amused at the tension trembling beneath her hands—but her focus stayed locked on the rhythm.

The medic's cheeks were already a glowing red, visible even in the dim cabin light. She tensed again when her hips were tilted and touched. Clearly mortified.

“No,” the captain whispered, adjusting the medic's hips again. Making sure to calculate the timing. “Be like water. Just follow my movement, Kara.”

She rolled her hips forward, guiding the medic to glide backward in tandem. Then, a slow, deliberate figure-eight began, her palms encouraging Kara’s body into the motion. This time, it flowed—hesitant but not forced.

Her hands moved around to Kara’s front, her body pressed closer, molding behind her. One hand remained at her hip while the other slid slowly down her arm, fingers finding hers. She lifted her arm gently—up, down, like the waves—and used the rhythm of her own body to turn them together until they now faced the cabin door.

“What if someone sees?” Kara whispered, panic clinging to her voice.

The Captain chuckled against her ear. “It’s not like we’re fucking, Kara. Stop worrying about what they’ll think.”

She stayed close, hips still moving with the beat, slow and sure. “That’s what kills your confidence. Fear of how you’re seen. But this dance—” she paused, adjusting Kara’s rhythm with a subtle press of her hip, “—isn’t about sex. Not the way they think. It tells a story. It shows expressions. It moves like the sea, endless and wild.”

With a slow exhale, she peeled away from the medic's body and spun gracefully, ending up in front of her.

The captain’s grin widened as she drank in the woman's flustered expression; eyes hidden but clearly burning beneath the blindfold, lips parted in speechless breath.

“Next round, I’m tying you to me. Arms and hips, little one,” she said, her tone wicked with promise. “But I’ll let you off the hook—for now.”

Dancing was to be a moment of blissful ethereal fluid movements, the captain's often like the waves of the sea, ever soft, yet breaking through slowly. Every movement was to seem blissful and out of the world for all to see, to gaze upon to feel the movement deep within themselves. Something like a second nature to capture any and all.