(Y/N) POV:

The adrenaline, the buzz of the performance is something I still remember, still feel buzzing through my veins even though the competition is over. It remains fresh in my mind, that electric feeling of giddy exhilaration, of breathlessness, the world feeling as if it had melted away, had been only us dancing on stage and a group of eyes that I had felt fixed on me, had felt trained on me and had seen up close, heavy with pride and appreciation when they'd congratulated us afterwards. I remembered the breathless kisses and gasps of breath between incredulous laughter and murmured words. It was something that didn't leave.

Didn't leave even as I set the bouquet of flowers into a glass vase to set on my windowsill, didn't leave even as Mi-sun unnie and Habaek oppa had drawn me between them, had celebrated with me in a mess of laughter and tears and cuddles.

It remained with me and settled into my bones. Made me feel alive and exhilarated in a way that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was like everything was suddenly so much more, so much more vivid, so much more vibrant and so much more intense. As if performing had unlocked something inside me and it was constantly bubbling and fizzing out, unstoppable and wild.

And it made me both nervous and excited for the upcoming contemporary duet. Made me excited because we'd be competing on a song that I hadn't danced to for decades, excited because I'd get to dance my history, dance my past, dance for that part of myself that remained locked away and dance it in the present, dance it today when everything had changed, when the world and the people around me had changed. And excited because I'd get to dance it with someone who I trusted, someone who I'd entrusted a part of my heart to. I'd get to dance it with Jimin and that alone was exhilarating.

But with it came nerves.

Came the fear of not being able to perform to the legacy I'd created, of failing the past version of myself, of failing Habaek oppa and Mi-sun unnie who'd seen this dance form from nothing, who'd been there as I pushed my body to its limits and crafted this dance as a way to heal, as a way to accept me for me.

I was scared of failing the old me who'd risen, broken and battered and learnt to build herself up again.

I was scared of disappointing Jimin and not being able to perform properly.

I was scared but that in itself became the force driving me forward, became the thing that made me push myself to dance harder, better and fiercer than I ever had.

And it was this mixture of feelings and hopes and dreams that I'd associated with the song, with this performance that had me slipping out of the house earlier, had me heading out for the dance studio an hour or so before I was meant to meet Jimin to rehearse.

I head in, quietly making my way to the studio, the silence broken by the beep of the code being pressed in, hand closing around the handle and tugging it open, looking forward to warming up and getting a few run-throughs myself.

And stop short at the sight of a figure sitting with their knees drawn to their chest, looking down at something but head having risen towards the sound.

Soft round cheeks that curve upwards as he smiles and eyes forming half-crescents as he beams at me, fluffy strands of hair peeking out from under his hood.

Jimin bounces up easily, hand curved around his phone as he moves towards me.

"(Y/N)! You're here early." He greets as he steps towards me, arms wide for all but one instant until they're wrapping around me, scooping me close into a hug and tightly keeping me close.

My hands snake around his back to tug him closer, surprised by his early presence but so comforted by the warmth of his embrace, by the way his lips press kisses to my temple, down to my cheek.

"You are too Jiminie." I say when I lean my head back to look at him.

His eyes sparkle with pride and victory. As if celebrating something.

"I had a hunch my angel would be here bright and early before time. So I wanted to beat her to it." He says with an easy grin.

I smile, caught out and peck his cheek before the two of us separate, my hands busying with setting down my bag and tugging off the jacket and stepping out of the loose trousers so I was in my dance outfit. A fitted outfit because loose clothing could become a nuisance when dancing contemporary, when so many moves required partner work, required closeness and required touch that didn't get lost in loose fabric.

And find Jimin's eyes on me once I straighten up, thoughtful and contemplative.

"Something the matter Jiminie?" I ask, moving towards the barre that Jimin had had brought into the studio, there for us to warm up and stretch at before rehearsals.

The barre was a familiar sight. Nostalgic for all sorts of reasons. Good and bad. And when I began warming up, began stretching and bending, I knew that this time round, that in this lifetime it would be remembered as something good, as something that represented that closeness between the two of us and the trust to have a partner with me for this dance.

This time, dancing represented one of the strongest, happiest and most healing periods of my existence.

And that was because of them.

Because of the man facing me, loose easy smile on his face but just as serious as we began warming up together, stretching and looking at our postures in the mirror.

"Nothing's the matter. Just...excited to dance together." He says, hand leaning forward from where it had been stretched over his head, to lightly tickle and dance across the back of my calf.

I wriggle, leg trying to twist away from his teasing touch.

"I'm excited too. So much that I can't ever express it." I say, words sincere and ringing true, heart bursting and filled to the brim, spilling over with emotion.

And yet even if I can't express it, won't ever have sufficient words to, his eyes that meet mine are understanding, knowing and filled with silent empathy.

As if regardless of whether I say it or not, regardless of whether I'll ever find words to express it, that he knows and he understands. And that without words he understands how much it means to me.

-----

The music continues to play even if Jiminie isn't here. It plays and fills the studio, comes to wrap around me as it sinks and comes to settle in my bones, a constant thrum of the melody that keeps me moving, that guides and urges me to keep dancing, keep moving and to keep being guided and tugged by the hauntingly familiar notes. As familiar to me as the sound of my breathing.

A part of me is what it was. A part of me that fights to take over, to consume me, to swallow me whole and to make me powerless to the music, to become nothing more than the black swan trying to spread its wings once more.

And even as the studio remains empty, save for myself, the music comes and chases away the emptiness, tugs me to dance and guides me through the movements by muscle memory, to dance it as it had once been. The original dance of the black swan. The original tale of its rebirth. The original tale of me, learning to let go and yet living with the ghosts of my past. The tale of me as I learnt to build myself up once more.

And as the music reaches its crescendo, a powerful orchestral piece that tugged and yanked at those emotions, that pulled them to the surface, I push myself into a spin, twisting and spinning across the floor, feet controlled and stable as I pirouette and then leap. That soaring, exulting feeling of flying, of being airborne and suspended, weightless and free, all strings cut and floating.

But before I land, before I can come to sink to the ground for how this piece would've ended, for how the black swan's wings would come to settle and rest, I find myself being caught, strong firm hands that cradle my body, grip assuredly and confidently at me and press me to a muscled, toned body and my eyes open, fix to our reflection and see the way Jiminie's body cradles mine, hands supporting me as he spins us and comes to slowly draw me down, my legs lowering until we're standing together, his body behind mine as we look into the mirror.

Heart thumping, blood singing and breaths harsh in my ear, the feel of his hands remain on my waist  as he meets my eyes in the reflection, dark and hypnotic and powerful.

"You can perform this dance as a solo?" he asks, words soft and whispered, intimately murmured to me, lips brushing across the shell of my ear.

My breath, hurried and quick, shallowly drawn in become quickened slightly, affected by his close proximity and how his eyes don't drift away even as he speaks, head bent ever so slightly so I can feel the warmth of his lips press in close to my ear.

"I was just...dancing." I say.

His hands tighten on my waist. Feel chiding and reprimanding. Eyes making it clear that he doesn't believe me.

"And just dancing is this sensational? This stunning?" he asks.

I feel my heart beat accelerate, feel heat wash over me with how low his voice drops, how it becomes thick and heavy with his natural satoori.

"When it's with you." I manage to get out.

His head turns to press his lips to my cheek, chaste and soft but leave the scorching imprint of them behind when he moves away.

"Now angel. Let's do a run through together. And see what sort of display we make."

JIMIN POV:

I stand in the doorway, unable to move and unable to tear my eyes away from the sight, from the stunning display (Y/N) becomes as she dances in the studio, turning and twisting and moving to the song as if it tugs at her, compels her to move, to be lost in it.

And there's something so silently powerful and captivating about the way she dances, at the way her eyes focus on the mirror, burn with a fire, with an inferno that seems to fill every crevice of her.

And I watch with an aching overfilled heart that thumps wildly with pride and love and appreciation for her raw emotion and honed talent, for this devasting piece of beauty that was her dancing, becoming a part of the music.

And the same feet that had frozen at the sight of her, that had been unable to move had hurried forward, heart soaring when I saw her twist to leap into the air, had moved to pushed me to get into position immediately, hands going to cradle her close, to turn the solo piece into a duet, to support her body as we complete the move together, as a pair and my eyes meet hers that flutter open to hold each other's gaze in the mirror, her body pressed to mine.

And slowly I lower her down, support her until she's standing upright, but my hands remain on her waist, hold her towards me, my body blanketing hers, that heavy pulse of passion that had been in her dance still lingering, coming to wash over me as I look at her in the mirror.

"You can perform this dance as a solo?" I ask, amazed and so stunned by it, by her performance but her closeness is something I didn't know would show in my voice. How it affects me to have her close, voice dropping low as I lean in to whisper the words to her, hands chasing after the heat radiating off her, tightening fractionally on her waist.

"I was just...dancing." She answers, her eyes still holding mine, so powerful, so silently alluring, voice slightly breathy, slightly rushed. Exertion and adrenaline making it tremble.

And yet as I hold her, I can't help think that she's avoided answering the question, has tried to play it off, my hands tug her close even as I lean forward.

"And just dancing is this sensational? This stunning?" I ask.

It felt like every time she surprised me, every time she blew away my expectations and made me remain constantly in awe of her, remain constantly enamoured and smitten by this sheer pure, powerful aura that she exuded as a dancer.

And time and time again I fell weak to it, became prey and powerless to her.

"When it's with you." she answers, voice full of honesty and sincerity, full of unrepressed emotion.

I lean forward, head turning to press my lips to her cheek.

"Now angel. Let's do a run through together. And see what sort of display we make." I say.

I watch as she nods, our eyes finally tearing away from each other to twist and face each other, silently communicating, silently trusting, silently knowing that we've got each other, that we're going to do this together. That we're going to dance as a team, as one- unified by the music, unified by the moves, brought together by each other.

And see the resolve and strength in her eyes, see the passion and determination reflected in them.

And as we come to stand in formation, come to stand in our opening position and the music begins to play, I know deep down, know innately that it'll be one of the most powerful display ever.

-----

One run through. And then another. A break down of the choreography. Focusing on the more complex and technical elements.

The orchestral part of the song plays again once more, filling the studio and as (Y/N) turns, our hands meet, her body curving and gliding to twist and turn on the floor, our hands connected, a tether of connection as she looks up and meets my gaze. Trusting and dark, fiery and sweet. Strong and equally as unrelenting, being drawn up by my hand, twisting and rising to her feet. My body drops downwards as her leg extends, rising to grip her right thigh, other hand banding across her waist as I lift her up. And as we turn our bodies come to face the mirror, coming to still as her leg bends backwards and body arches against me, splayed and her other leg bent inwards. I come to a stop as we examine our position, eyes scrutinising every angle, heart racing and breaths coming out quick and hurried now that we've stilled, now that the adrenaline that had been coursing through as we dance, slowly begins to ebb away, enough for our bodies to feel consumed and alight by it, but enough that her head falls forward, no longer tilted back to expose the curve of her throat.

And as I hold her, hand gripping her thigh and waist firmly I can't help but note the utter trust in her posture, the way her arms don't fall to grip me but watches me with confident, assured eyes, watch as she watches me, my eyes drifting away to take in my stance, testing silently to see if it needs to be fixed, if I can improve the move.

And slowly my eyes drift to her once more, to the way her body remains beautifully arched against mine, a sensual curve that wraps around me, presses against me.

The sight of her has my throat bobbing as I swallow heavily. Fingers fumbling the barest instance for securer purchase on her.

Grip. Grip could be tighter.

And as my fingers grip her thigh more firmly, splayed across the fitted material, I hear a muted gasp as my fingers press more firmly to the toned muscle definition that the soft curve of her thigh can't disguise. My hand around her waist tightens, pressing more firmly against it and I feel the slightest of trembles, feel the muscles under my touch contract and shift.

And bite back a groan at the sight of her, trusting and pliant in my arms, body bent and sensually curved, head dropping forward slightly as it bends and when she straightens I feel a thick pool of heat at the way her eyes flicker dangerously, at bitten reddened lips, at the way she twists slightly when my grip tightens, incidentally shifting against me.

My eyes fixate onto the way she looks so intimately pressed to me, ears running the sound of that muted gasp, of that suppressed bubble of sound that had slipped out. Standing here, holding her body and keeping it gripped towards me reminded me of another time, another place. Of another slither of sound, another gasp, another reaction to each other.

Remember the way it had felt to guide her body to move against mine, remember how little prompting she'd needed to make those moves more deliberate and pronounced, to guide her hips with mine and remembered the way she'd leant in to press herself against my back. I remember the night, heady and intoxicating and the gasp she'd let out then. How pretty it was and how I wanted nothing more than to coax out more.

And holding her now, feeling her body supported by me, feel how easily she trusts me and allows me to hold her like this, displayed like this for me, I want nothing more than to hear more, feel my skin tingle with electric want when my slow, careful steps has her shifting against me, body pressing back and consequentially arched more.

But she remains like that as I take slow deliberate steps towards the mirror, close so we can see exactly how our eyes burn and focus on each other, how her gaze moves to drift to my hands curled against her leg.

"How does this feel?" I ask, voice slightly hoarse and rough.

She tenses in my hold before she looks up, tears her eyes away from the sight.

"It feels...feels like I know I trust my partner. Trust them with my body." She says, the implication of her words makes my breath come out strangled, a groan swallowed at the fire that coaxes me forward, that curling, burning heat that entices, that urges me to meld us together.

"What else does it make you feel?" I ask, words heavier and lower.

"It makes me feel treasured. It makes me feel like you like what you see." She says, voice breathy and wavering slightly.

Her hand comes down to brush across strands of my hair, to push it away from my face, head tilted almost lazily as she regards me.

It's a delicious heady mix of feeling both powerful as I hold her and yet powerless to her, to the distracting way her fingers lightly brush against my scalp.

"Do you? Do you like what you see?" she asks.

I nod.

Gently lowering her down and bending with the movement. Crouching behind her as her legs lower. My hand squeezes the inside of her thigh, hand trailing over the back of her leg as I stand, the arm that was still around her waist, tightening, tugging her back to hold her to me.

Feels so familiar to earlier and yet so utterly different.

"I love what I see. I love the soul that calls to me and I love the person who burns with so much feeling, so much passion." I say, so certain of it. There's nothing else to describe the way my blood sings with this closeness, or the way my soul soars just at the sight of her, feeling light and airy and so complete. 

And when she presses back into the touch, when she relaxes against me, I feel a burst of pride at the show of trust and intimacy, at the way her hand presses against my arm and grips it.

And feel satisfaction when I spin her around and a startled yelp spills past those rosy lips, hand now on the low of her back, leaning in to press her against the mirror, body caged in with mine.

"Jiminie..." she begins, head tilted back to look me in the eyes, my name a soft murmur.

"Yes angel?" I whisper back, moving close towards her, smiling when she moves back and there's no place to go, fingers scrabbling on the smooth glass, failing to find purchase. Trapped between my body and the pane of glass, my knuckles brush against the cold surface.

She breathes out, a soft exhale.

And I see in her eyes nothing but the same emotions reflected back, the same longing, the same want and the same trust.

No reply. 

I lean in, lips barely apart, brushing against hers when I speak.

"Let me show you how much." And then that tether of control and restraint snaps, nothing else holding me back when my lips crush onto hers, hot soft heated mouth meeting my own as I kiss her, finally get the taste of her sweet lips that I'd longed after, yearned after for so long. My hand goes to cradle her jaw, to tilt her mouth up to mine as I kiss her, deep urgent presses of my mouth to hers, needing to feel them against me, needing to commit to memory that soft plushness that gave under my touch, that pushed back with the same urgency and need that my body thrum, made it press further into her, hips pinning her to the glass and keeping her there.

I can't get enough of her as my lips chase hers, chase after the softness and chase after the feel of them, chase after the way they're just as needy and fiery pushing against mine, a pressure that's equally as forceful and yet so gentle, melding with mine, giving way to mine. My tongue swipes against her lips, against the seam of them, brushing over her lips and delving in when they part in silent invitation and brush through the inside of her mouth, deeply and slowly exploring, those simmering embers flaring up when her tongue brushes against mine, when it moves to slowly move with mine, entangling together. I draw her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging slightly just to hear her breath hitch, to feel the way she trembles and arches, chest brushing against mine, hips flush, bucking and pushing away from the glass. My teeth sink in, nipping at her soft lip, hearing the small groan, tongue laving over where my teeth dug in to soothe away the sting, slow and unhurried before licking back into her mouth. It's a constant flame that burns, no longer hurried but just as urgent and needy of this feeling, of the way her hand slides away from the glass to fist into my shirt at the waist, to silently tug me closer and anchor me to her, her knuckles grazing against bare skin, a delicious distracting touch of how her knuckles rub against my skin, the way her thumb begins to rub small circles into my waist, slow lazy drags of the pad of her thumb as she kisses back, as she teasingly moves her tongue away from mine. The heat of her body is a sensual curve against mine, pushing up to kiss harder, knuckles sliding away from the cool glass with the way her back arches away. 

And it seems as if I'll never get enough, never get enough of the heady taste of her on my tongue, of the way she feels against me and the way I feel so content, so irrevocably full and complete. I'll never get enough of her breathless, muted whimpers into my mouth or the way her hand continues its dizzying tracing onto my skin, her other hand sliding into my hair to tug at strands of hair, to tug me closer and closer. As if any distance apart is too much, as if anything but the melding of our bodies, so pressed close until we can't tell if any gap remains is something unbearable.

And my lips slide away, slide away from the sight of those swollen, kiss bitten lips that part and breathe heavily, red and glistening, resisting the urge to dive back in towards them. Instead my lips slowly trail down the curve of her jaw, breathing against her skin as I place open-mouthed kisses to her throat, body leaning in to press her to the glass, hips pushing against hers to keep her there, to keep her still.

My lips curve up against her neck when she shivers, moving against me, head tilted back, lips parted in a silent gasp. That won't do. And press my lips more firmly against her throat, trailing them down to kiss at the curve where her neck and shoulder meets, teeth dragging lightly across her skin.

"Jiminie..." she whimpers out, hand sliding away from my waist as both hands come to cradle my head, to guide it down further even as she twists away from the touch, hands tugging at my hair and holding my head in place, stilling me when my lips brush across the bare skin of her shoulder. I press soft kisses to her skin, lips lingering longer and longer with each kiss, lips parting to brush my tongue across skin, teeth dragging before sinking down, clamping down on skin and sucking harshly, groaning against her shoulder when her hips push relentlessly to mine, a pressure that has heavy, thick desire to pool low in my gut. 

My hands grip her waist, trail down to squeeze at her hips warningly, trying to still them, hating and loving the sensation, how distracting and dangerous it feels as the heat builds higher and higher, pulsing in my body and pushing against skin, trying to burst out. Wanting nothing more than to give in, after finally having her, after all that longing, after all that restless wanting for her.

And feel her tremble as I keep sucking at her skin, teeth sliding away to brush my tongue over the new mark, to press softer pecks to her skin, kissing back up the curve of her throat, across her jaw and kissing those swollen lips once more, hearing her groan into them.

I chase away the thought that wants to make her groan again, chase away the thought as I press soft kisses to her lips, hands loosening around her.

I feel her breathe deeply from under me, feel my own breaths quickened and rough when I lean away, when I look into her eyes and see nothing but love and trust in them. Her hand comes to slide up the plane of my chest, comes to curl around the collar of my t-shirt, fingers splayed as she looks at me.

Doesn't speak as her lips spread into a smile, as she pushes away from the mirror to lean up, brushes her lips chastely against mine.

And then she turns, turns to slide out of my touch but doesn't move, rather reaches for my arm and draws my hands back onto her, to wind around her, low around her hips, hands brushing the low of her abdomen. And when she's satisfied, she leans to press herself against me, to lean to rest against me.

And I sense the bubbling teasing mischief before it strikes.

"So Minnie...do you like the display we make?" she asks.

And arches her neck to let the sight of the red mark on her shoulder be more displayed, a fiery glint in her eyes.

My finger teases at the waistband of her fitted leggings, the edge of my pinkie sliding to dance under the fabric, to brush slowly over her low of her abdomen, finger catching on fabric.

I freeze, stiffen behind her, feeling the loud thud of my heart echo in my ears, over the roaring sensation.

And groan when she pushes her hips back.

My finger slides out, sliding up once more. Safer territory. 

"That's not for today Jiminie baby..." she teasingly says.

Relief mingling alongside desire at the way her want fills her voice.

"After all Minnie, we're meant to be practicing. And this...this sort of practicing will have to wait." She says.

My head drops to press against her shoulder, groaning against her skin.

Tease.

"Minx." I breathe.

And her delighted laugh is exuberant and giddy. Delighted.

"If you wish it."

And its then I realise. That this is a dangerous game we play, teetering and wobbling on a tightrope, unsure as to when we'll fall. When we'll plunge headfirst without any support into that feeling of pleasure.

And be swallowed whole by it.

(.....SO! THAT WAS THEIR DUET PRACTICE BUT LOOKS LIKE THEY GOT A TINY BIT DISTRACTED! WHOOPSIE DAISY? AND WHEW! IT HAD TO BE GOTTEN OUT THEIR SYSTEMS AND LIKE MINNIE SAID...HE'S BEEN FEELING THIS LONGING SINCE AT THE CLUB! SO...NOW OR NEVER! AND HE WAS JUST SO DRAWN TO HER DANCING, TO THE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN THEM THAT I CAN'T FIND IT IN ME TO BLAME HIM! LET ME KNOW ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AND REACTIONS PLEASE MY LOVES! AND AS FOR YOU MY DARLING Midiiplier ...IT'S BEST IF I DO GO HIDE NOW. I CANNOT SHOW MY FACE IN SHAME! SO TOODLES AND FAREWELL SWEETHEART! IT WAS NICE KNOWING YOU...I CAN FEEL A MURDER COMING ON! ANYWAYS! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY! VERY MUCH HOPE SO! AND...WONDER IF THE BUILD UP TO THE DANCE IS LIKE THIS, I'M CURIOUS HOW GREAT THEIR CHEMISTRY ON STAGE WILL BE! AND BTW...I HOPE MY DANCE DESCRIPTION ISN'T BAD?? LIKE NO DANCE EXPERIENCE WHATSOEVER FIRST OF ALL...BUT I REALLY HOPE THAT IN THIS SHORT DANCE SEGMENT IT WASN'T HARD TO IMAGINE IT...?? ANYWAYS! ALL COMMENTS WELCOME! CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT! STAY SAFE AND TAKE CARE LOVES!)

QUESTION...SOMETHING DIFFERENT OR NEW YOU'D LIKE TO SEE ABOUT THIS FIC? WHETHER THAT BE MORE INTENSENESS? MORE MATURE MOMENTS ALONE OR IN SMALLER GROUPS? IT CAN BE SMALL MOMENTS OR LARGE?

Mine is...I don't know really but I liked exploring smaller dynamics and shared moments as well as the book being more mature heavy in sense of feelings and experiences? If that makes sense

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3