#kitchen dancing

inside, though, warmth begins in small places.

a low hum of christmas music drifting from the speaker on the counter, crackling slightly like it’s waking up too. the smell of toasting bread. steam rising lazily from the kettle. and kuroo, already barefoot on the kitchen floor, hair messy, hoodie hanging loose on his frame, sleeves half-pushed up but crooked.

he hasn’t noticed you yet.

or maybe he has — maybe he’s waiting. he sways a little where he stands, back to you, hips moving with no real rhythm. the kind of “dance” that isn’t dancing so much as it is him being alive in the morning, loose and unbothered and entirely himself.

his foot slides. his shoulder rolls. his fingers snap once, offbeat. he bends at the waist in a movement so absurd you almost snort.

and he hears it — that tiny, stifled laugh you couldn’t hold back.

he turns around instantly.

a grin breaks over his face like sunlight spilling across snow.

“good morning to you too,” he says, voice still warm with sleep.

“what,” you murmur, leaning against the doorway, “exactly was that?”

he straightens, clears his throat dramatically, and gestures vaguely at the air. “my… interpretive routine.”

“interpretive of what?”

he steps toward you with slow, exaggerated swagger, hands lifting to settle on your waist. his palms are warm. his thumbs stroke gently along the sides of your hoodie as he leans his forehead against yours.

“interpretive of…” he pauses, then whispers with a grin, “being in love before breakfast.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

the music changes to something softer, a classic christmas tune, and kuroo inhales like this is his moment. he pulls you gently toward the center of the kitchen, feet sliding across tile, arms curling around you like you’re the anchor he always returns to.

it’s not a real dance. not even close. he keeps stepping on your toes. he mumbles the wrong lyrics. his sway has no tempo. but the apartment fills with laughter — the kind that blends with the rise of morning light and the warmth creeping through the room.

you fit against him like the natural next step.

“tetsu,” you laugh, a little breathless, “i need to finish breakfast.”

he shakes his head, dipping you backward dramatically — so dramatically he nearly drops both of you.

you yelp and grab onto him, and he snorts into your cheek. “nope. i require a full routine first. non-negotiable.”

“you’re unbearable.”

“mm. but handsome.”

“and humble.”

“tragically so.”

he pulls you upright again, hands steady on your back, and just holds you there for a moment. the music fades behind the quiet of your breathing. the kettle clicks again. the scent of bread mixes with his cologne — warm, clean, a little like cedarwood.

you feel him exhale against your shoulder.

“hey,” he murmurs softly. “i like mornings like this.”

you smile into his hoodie. “messy?”

“domestic,” he corrects, squeezing your waist gently. “the kind where you’re here, and i get to be like this without trying.”

you pull back just enough to see his face — golden in the morning sun, eyes soft, mouth curled into something private, something only for you.

his fingers brush your jaw, tracing the faintest shape of your smile.

“don’t stop dancing,” you whisper.

“never,” he promises. “not if you’re watching.”

and so breakfast waits a little longer, forgotten on the counter, while winter light spills across the kitchen floor and kuroo keeps moving with you in his arms — slow, clumsy, warm, the kind of motion that feels like home from the moment it begins.

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Hours upon hours of yelling and drinking and playing stupid games later, and Price and Gaz had already gone to bed.

Soap, who hadn't had enough to be well and truly drunk, decided to just dance to the music he had set up to play on the radio, trying to convince Ghost to dance.

Ghost, similarly unsloshed due to hating hangovers, sipped his bourbon from his second glass of the evening, drifting between scrolling mindlessly on his phone while listening to the music and watching the Scot make a fool on himself as he threw his everything into dancing with and for no one.

Another attempt to get him to dance gets him standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, and watching as Johnny swayed his hips to a song he didn't recognize.

He loved this man. To the moon and back, he loved this man and he didn't have the courage to talk to him about it, to try to take what would make him so happy he would burst.

He loves this man and he hates how it makes him act.

How it makes him feel.

Johnny turns around to Simon's eyes on his body, and starts dancing a little flirtier, and little looser, putting more sway into it.

Drinking his bourbon isn't helping him keep his cool. especially when it runs out as another song comes on and the tempo changes to something faster, something to get the Scot bouncing around and singing rather loudly in the early morning.

Simon doesn't realize he's watching too intently until Johnny stops dancing, radio being turned down.

"If you're not going to do anything, don't stare at me like you're going to eat me." Is the first words spoken and not sang in a long time.

The prolonged singing make his voice huskier, deeper.

Simon wants to feel it rattle his bones.

Putting his glass down on the counter behind him, Simon moves closer, using his few inches of bigger height to his advantage to crowd Johnny up against the counter across from his.

Simon brackets his sergeant by placing his hands on the counter behind him and hovering their faces inches apart.

"Who says I stare at you like that?"

He feels as Johnny shivers against the breath hitting his face through the mask.

He sees his pupils widen in obvious interest.

Simon reaches up to his balaclava, pressing the front of his body against Johnny's and leaning his head out of his range of sight to take it off and put it against the countertop behind Johnny.

A whine and a humorless chuckle reach his ears as he sets it down and makes sure there's nothing behind Johnny.

"That's not fair LT. You can't take your mask off where I can see it?" Is punctuated when Johnny grabs Simon's hips and starts swiping his thumbs up and down the hip bones so gently you'd think Simon was something precious.

Simon chuckles right in Johnny's ear, turning his head to let his breath and the smell of bourbon ghost over his neck, causing the shorter man to shiver intensely.

Simon backs up so their bodies aren't so closely slotted together while still keeping it so Johnny can't see his face, barely touching the man at this point as the tension rises between them.

"What are you goin to do if I keep staring like that? Hm?"

This question is answered with Johnny letting go of his hips and grabbing at his shoulders in a hug instead, slotting his face into Simon's shoulder and covering his eyes for him.

In surprise, Simon wraps his arms around Johnny's waist, burying his face in the soft mohawk that routinely mocks him and his inability to get his hands on it.

The hug lasts for a few minutes, both of them relishing in the warmth of the other, slowly swaying and falling asleep as they stand.

A laugh from the Scot brings Simon back to the present. "What's so funny?"

Johnny brings his head up, resting his chin on Simon's shoulder. "I got you to dance with me. You can keep staring, it's a fools errand, what your eyes convey anyway."

That piques Simon's interest, he loosens his hold on Johnny's waist and stands the tiniest bit straighter. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

"Been told all my life lovin' me is hard. This isn't the alcohol talking, just the truth."

Simon tenses at that, letting go of the Scot completely to a sigh of disappointment from the man. Simon is the first to pull away, and the first to pull him back as Johnny tries to retreat.

Simon grabs the Scot by the chin and brings his face up to meet his eyes, ensuring that he has his attention before speaking.

"Johnny, whoever told you that you're hard to love was dead wrong. I never thought after I became Ghost that I would ever feel like this again. Loving you is as easy as opening my eyes. Loving you is the breaths I take every day, the blood running through my veins. Loving you is nature in and of itself and it's so easy to do it that I don't even have to think about it because when I see you, it's like I've been stretched out and softened again.

"Around you, I'm not just Ghost anymore. You're the reason I can do this and take my mask off and finally be Simon for the first time in a decade."

Johnny is crying at this point, Simon cradling his face and wiping the tears away and he holds back his own.

"Johnny, loving you is ingrained in every part of me that I'm so afraid that if you die, the stars will stop shining and the sun will vanish. Loving you is so easy because you're the perfect embodiment of something unreachable and untenable but you're right here. You're in this kitchen, on this base, in this country. And the best part is? Out of all of this, do you wanna know what I like most?"

Johnny grabs Simon's wrists and nods, pressing a kiss to the pulse point on his left hand as Simon continues to wipe his tears.

Simon pulls him closer, resting their foreheads together and whispering now.

"The best part is you're right here with me. The best part is, out of all the possibilities, all of the ways our lives could have gone, out of everything, I get to hold you and love you as you are, and you're perfect."

As he stops speaking, Johnny closes the gap, kissing Simon slowly and sweetly as they continue to sway to unheard music. Johnny brings his arms around Simon's shoulders, deepening the kiss, ignoring the taste of cheap booze and cigarettes. This is all he wanted, this is all either of them wanted for so long.

“Go in the crib, steal your stepfather's credit card,” Stiles yelled out from down the hall, with absolutely no tune. He slid into the kitchen, his socks providing a lot more slip than he was actually capable of handling. After balancing himself at the last second on the edge of the table, he continued, “And take the car and do circles in the parking lot. Scream at the top of our lungs like la la la!”

“La la la la la la la la la la,” Liam joined in, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Was he in the living room? Outside? Derek had no idea, but he was now in the kitchen. “We on that la la la la la la la la la la!”

“What the hell is going on?” Derek asked, looking between the Stiles and Liam.

“This is your fault,” Theo grumbled, putting his face in his hands. “You should’ve just turned it off when I warned you to.”

“What even is this song?”

“They heard it at Sinema last weekend and they’ve been singing it all week. You haven’t heard them?”

“No - I’ve been working a lot.”

“Good for you. I’m never going clubbing with them again.”

Stiles was moving too spastically to really be considered dancing, as he sang, “Little lady on my side, show me how you ride out. Be a good one and I'll take you to my hideout.”

“Pretty little bitch, dripping like some water though - I be on that strong and coming for that lo-lo.” Liam body rolled over to Theo and took his hand, pulling him away from the counter. As Theo was dragged into the center of the kitchen, he made sure to fix Derek with a half-hearted glare. Liam was undeterred by his boyfriend’s apparent annoyance. “What I did, let her go - she's back now. She went real hard until she threw her back out!”

Liam took Theo’s hands and raised them, then turned around so he could press his ass against Theo’s groin as he began grinding against him.

Stiles laughed and mimed throwing cash at them while Liam kept singing the ridiculous song.

Derek didn’t miss the smile creeping onto Theo’s face - and by the wink Stiles shot Derek’s way, Stiles hadn’t missed the grin that had somehow crept onto Derek’s face. Whatever smile may or may not have been there for a second disappeared when Stiles held his hand out to him.

“Hey, Bitch. Do you really, really, really wanna go hard?” Stiles asked him playfully.

Derek rolled his eyes, but took Stiles’ hand nonetheless. He let himself be led onto the makeshift dancefloor, where Stiles began moving against him. With Derek’s guiding hands on his hips, the dancing wasn’t half-bad.