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Dave: The Last Dance of the Evening
The birthday party had carried on well into the night. Dave was amazed by the stamina displayed by Paris’ parents, which threatened to outweigh his own. As the midnight hour approached, the smallest party guests were rounded up, though most of them seemed too hyper to sleep, most likely due to second helpings of the sugar laden birthday cake. A small boy of five apparently had skipped that indulgence, though, judging by the way he latched onto Dave’s leg and peered up at him, giving in to a gigantic yawn before mumbling “Are you my mummy?” Dave had been talking with Steve, who immediately snickered knowingly, forcing Dave to shoot him a ‘don’t even go there’ look before kneeling down and ruffling the boy’s hair, telling him in no uncertain terms it was time to go to his room.
Though he’d arrived with a plan to be polite, unobtrusive and not give any reason for stodgy members of the family to be shocked, Dave had slowly been worn down throughout the evening by the antics of Auntie Eileen. After he’d returned from his walk on the beach with Kate, she’d asked him to dance. The band had calmed out from the earlier Scottish tunes, and to Dave’s surprise, they played a nice easygoing rendition of “Moonlight Serenade”, well within Dave’s comfort zone. But as the song ended, she gave him a huge smile and refused to let go of his hand, and Dave knew he’d been had.
In mid-song, Eileen had slipped from his grasp, and before he could protest, she’d hauled Paris out from the edge of the crowd where he’d been leaning on a railing, grinning rakishly, watching Dave’s dilemma. “I think Paris wants this dance.” Dave chuckled, and asked, “yes, but who with?” To his surprise, Eileen made her move, and Dave was suddenly delivered an armful of Paris, right in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by dozens and dozens of Paris’ relatives. What could he do? Walking away would send the wrong signal, and he certainly didn't want to seem the big bad wolf among what he now considered family. Fortified by his conversation with Kate, the jokes shared with Danny, and in spite of Auntie Eileen, who he now wagged a finger at and gave a scolding look… Dave grabbed Paris around the waist, dipped him back low enough that his loose, longish hair brushed the dance floor, then brought him up directly into a resounding kiss, before quietly whispering, “The world doesn’t end cause the actor dances.”
As the band segued into “In The Mood”, Paris and Dave began to dance, awkwardly at first as their steps struggled to fall into sync, Eileen let loose with a rousing catcall whistle. A few folk laughed spontaneously and broke into a round of applause.
Eventually the party wound down, goodbyes were said, hugs were granted and wraps were located in the coatroom. Paris and Dave strolled from the hotel ballroom to the foyer, reluctant to see the evening end. Dave glanced back over his shoulder, looking through the doors leading into the ballroom, and muttered ‘it’s a lot bigger on the inside’.
The weekend was nearly at an end. Soon enough, they’d be on a plane flying home.
The next morning found the couple doing exactly that. They were both quiet, but happy enough in their daydreams, comfortable just holding hands and peering out the window at the view below. Dave replayed many moments of the weekend, committing them to memory. One particular memory came back to him often. “Just like that. You’ll know when the right moment comes along … although … it’s really a non-proposal isn’t it?”
How do you know when the right moment comes along? Time’s such a strange, sticky thing, really. It can seem like forever when you’re waiting on something, it speeds by you when you’re not looking and if you’re not careful, you’ve missed an important moment. And once it’s gone, you can’t reach back and grasp it in your hand. The past is the past, it can’t be changed. If time machines existed, we’d all go back and do some things differently. Dave squeezed Paris’ hand extra-tight as a memory from their early days pushed its way out of the dark corner he’d tucked it into, hoping it would fade.
“You probably know him better than me by now, know his tastes. Make it something he’ll always remember.” And then it occurred to him. His eyes grew wide, his mouth curved in a smile. Maybe they could re-claim part of their past. If not the time, at least the place. Perhaps they could have a time machine, just a little one. The only way to find out was to take a leap of faith.
Time would tell.
And the music for this piece comes at the end of the writing, not the beginning. :)
This ficlet indulged a bit of crossover concept that hijacked Ms![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cocoajava's fingers while she was writing.
"A certain Doctor Who episode called ”The Doctor Dances” addresses some rather interesting concepts regarding attitudes towards gender and sexuality. Longtime fans of the series may have been shocked by the allusion to the fact that yes, perhaps the Doctor does ‘dance’, but I felt it was handled in a simply wonderful fashion. And apparently that concept has carried to my view of Dave facing a large roomful of folk, knowing that in our society he most likely would not be accepted by all of them, should he choose to dance for all to see with the partner of his choice."
Though he’d arrived with a plan to be polite, unobtrusive and not give any reason for stodgy members of the family to be shocked, Dave had slowly been worn down throughout the evening by the antics of Auntie Eileen. After he’d returned from his walk on the beach with Kate, she’d asked him to dance. The band had calmed out from the earlier Scottish tunes, and to Dave’s surprise, they played a nice easygoing rendition of “Moonlight Serenade”, well within Dave’s comfort zone. But as the song ended, she gave him a huge smile and refused to let go of his hand, and Dave knew he’d been had.
In mid-song, Eileen had slipped from his grasp, and before he could protest, she’d hauled Paris out from the edge of the crowd where he’d been leaning on a railing, grinning rakishly, watching Dave’s dilemma. “I think Paris wants this dance.” Dave chuckled, and asked, “yes, but who with?” To his surprise, Eileen made her move, and Dave was suddenly delivered an armful of Paris, right in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by dozens and dozens of Paris’ relatives. What could he do? Walking away would send the wrong signal, and he certainly didn't want to seem the big bad wolf among what he now considered family. Fortified by his conversation with Kate, the jokes shared with Danny, and in spite of Auntie Eileen, who he now wagged a finger at and gave a scolding look… Dave grabbed Paris around the waist, dipped him back low enough that his loose, longish hair brushed the dance floor, then brought him up directly into a resounding kiss, before quietly whispering, “The world doesn’t end cause the actor dances.”
As the band segued into “In The Mood”, Paris and Dave began to dance, awkwardly at first as their steps struggled to fall into sync, Eileen let loose with a rousing catcall whistle. A few folk laughed spontaneously and broke into a round of applause.
Eventually the party wound down, goodbyes were said, hugs were granted and wraps were located in the coatroom. Paris and Dave strolled from the hotel ballroom to the foyer, reluctant to see the evening end. Dave glanced back over his shoulder, looking through the doors leading into the ballroom, and muttered ‘it’s a lot bigger on the inside’.
The weekend was nearly at an end. Soon enough, they’d be on a plane flying home.
The next morning found the couple doing exactly that. They were both quiet, but happy enough in their daydreams, comfortable just holding hands and peering out the window at the view below. Dave replayed many moments of the weekend, committing them to memory. One particular memory came back to him often. “Just like that. You’ll know when the right moment comes along … although … it’s really a non-proposal isn’t it?”
How do you know when the right moment comes along? Time’s such a strange, sticky thing, really. It can seem like forever when you’re waiting on something, it speeds by you when you’re not looking and if you’re not careful, you’ve missed an important moment. And once it’s gone, you can’t reach back and grasp it in your hand. The past is the past, it can’t be changed. If time machines existed, we’d all go back and do some things differently. Dave squeezed Paris’ hand extra-tight as a memory from their early days pushed its way out of the dark corner he’d tucked it into, hoping it would fade.
“You probably know him better than me by now, know his tastes. Make it something he’ll always remember.” And then it occurred to him. His eyes grew wide, his mouth curved in a smile. Maybe they could re-claim part of their past. If not the time, at least the place. Perhaps they could have a time machine, just a little one. The only way to find out was to take a leap of faith.
Time would tell.
And the music for this piece comes at the end of the writing, not the beginning. :)
This ficlet indulged a bit of crossover concept that hijacked Ms
cocoajava's fingers while she was writing. "A certain Doctor Who episode called ”The Doctor Dances” addresses some rather interesting concepts regarding attitudes towards gender and sexuality. Longtime fans of the series may have been shocked by the allusion to the fact that yes, perhaps the Doctor does ‘dance’, but I felt it was handled in a simply wonderful fashion. And apparently that concept has carried to my view of Dave facing a large roomful of folk, knowing that in our society he most likely would not be accepted by all of them, should he choose to dance for all to see with the partner of his choice."