The Other Stark

The Bar 1943, New York Part 2

His large, warm hand gently cradles Elaine's as they weave their way to the dance floor. All around them, soldiers in uniforms dance cheek to cheek with girls in brightly colored dresses. they reach a quiet corner and James draws her into a proper dance position, his hand slid into place on the lower part of her shoulder blade and Elaine can't help but wonder who taught this young man educate. 

Most young men she'd ever danced with had used the close position as an excuse to let their hands drift lower than was decent. The way the other girls in finishing school talked, it felt like she was supposed to take their impropriety as compliment. But she knows better now. This is the real compliment. A man who behaves himself, who waits for permission, even when his eyes tell her he'd love nothing more than to pull her in so there was no space at all between them.

"I never did get your name, doll." He murmurs as he guides her through a smooth box step.

She ignores years of classes and looks up into his eyes instead of tilting her chin up and to the left like she should. "Elaine Stark."

She feels his thumb stroking lightly, back and forth along her pointer finger as he holds her in a proper frame. And she realizes it's an invitation to break the formality... but only if she wants to. And she wants to.

"Stark?" His eyebrow shoots up, clearly surprised to hear a name he recognizes. "As in the flying car guy?"

She moves her hand from his arm up to his shoulder, and he takes the opening to slid his hand down ever so slightly and then around so it's placed in the center of her back, pressing her just a bit closer to him. His other hand, holding hers, he lowers to his chest and she feels the wool of his uniform brushing her knuckles as they sway.

She tilts her head down and looks up through her lashes in her best approximation of the coquettish gaze so many of her school mates had seemed to have perfected but she'd never had the desire to try before now. "My brother."

"Well, I'll be," James chuckles and it creates crinkles around his eyes that make her insides flip. "I caught part of his spiel earlier. Seems like he's kind a real genius type."

"Seems like." Elaine agrees, while her brother is not at her level, he is still a genius by most people's standards. "Scared off?"

His hand tightens ever so slightly around hers and the hint of a smirk curves the corner of his mouth. "Not a chance." 

She can't help the smile that pulls at her own lips in response.

"So what's it like growing up with a man like Stark as your brother?" James asks.

Elaine raises an eyebrow. Howard doesn't excel at keeping a low profile so she doesn't know if he's referring to her brother's supposed unparalleled genius or his rather widely publicized playboy ways. "A man like Stark?"

"The kind of man whose hellbent on changing the world..." James clarifies. "Pardon my language."

Her expression relaxes. While she can't deny her brother's lifestyle leaves something to be desired, she is never keen on hearing the condemnation of others, because it forces her to make a rather public spectacle of herself in his defense. She might call him out on his behavior, but as far as she's concerned, no one else gets to. 

"Well... I suppose it's a pretty big shadow." She says, her expression darkening slightly as her thoughts drift back to standing backstage earlier, knowing that Howard will always be the one in the spotlight and she'll always have to stand just a little behind.

She feels a slight pressure on her back as he gently encourages her closer to him. 

"I don't think anyone or anything could keep a dame like you in the shadows for long." He murmurs.

She takes the encouragement and allows the last bit of space between them to disappear. She feels the heat of his body despite all the layers between them. She wonders if it's really him, or an impression conjured by the growing heat of her on body. It's all so sudden, but despite the strangeness of it, she knows she's never felt as at home as she does in his arms. She wishes she could freeze the moment and make it last a little longer than one brief night on a dance floor in Manhattan.

###

As the hour grows ever later, she feels a slow, throbbing panic building inside her. She tries not to notice the clock on the wall or the fact that morning is trudging slowly but surely closer. She doesn't want to think about tomorrow or what it means when they not longer sway on the dance floor, pretending that time will wait for them to be ready. She rests her cheek against his chest and feels his thumb rubbing small circles on her back.

"How is it a girl like you doesn't have a sweetheart?" He murmurs into her hair.

"Who says I don't have a sweetheart?" She can't help the small smile that plays on her lips, giving her away and finds herself glad that he can't see her face just now.

"Do you?" She hears the edge of something in his voice. Jealousy, perhaps?

"No." She says, to end the torment. She feels a huff of relief leave his chest.

"You're quite the tease, doll."

"Says the man who came in here with a girl on each arm." She says, moving away just enough to look up into those eyes that drown her.

He grins, sheepishly. "You saw that , did you?"

"I did." She nods.

"Well, that was then." James says, lightly squeezing her hand, folded so perfectly in his.

"And now?" She asks, a sudden wave of doubt washing through her, because what if this thing she's so sure they're both feeling and felt from the first moment their eyes locked has all been in her imagination? What if she falls and he's not looking to catch her?

"Now?" He asks. He lifts her hand up to his lips and brushes the faintest whisper of a kiss against her knuckles as the music wraps around them. "Now these arms only have room for one."