A Beautiful Life

Larger than Life [Backstreet Boys]

December 1977, Goldview

Sakura was conceived on the dance floor. Well, almost.

In truth, she was only a few hours later. But he knew when the seed was planted. When the disco ball glittered against her form in all its perfection, embracing every piece of exposed skin, each delicate curve. Her long black hair swung with the movement of her hips, and such a beautiful sway it was, that his eyes followed her, drifted from hip bone to hip bone. He became lost in her, taken by her beauty, the way she moved. From the sunlight that beamed from her smile.

Johnny Nelson hadn't been a fan of ABBA, especially their more popular hit Dancing Queen. But when he saw her dancing and taking the floor with her friends, how elegantly and freely she moved—those perfect hips, her pants emphasizing the point of each bone—he decided it was now his favorite song. And it must have been written for her.

Her body was speckled with the stares of others. She was not for his eyes only. Not yet. But he'd make sure she would be his. Because the night he first saw her and watched her dance was the night that he knew he was in love with her.

In love with her presence, with the sweetness that bled from her. In love with her smile, how her skin shone as a luminous pearl coated by the reflect of mirrored lights. She was sparkling. Like an angel, a shimmering pixie. Some ethereal, majestic being, yet it felt like sin just looking at her. Condemned to flames for resting his eyes upon such trepid beauty.

Platform heels glided across the dance floor in ease, a gentle curve to her back. Those hips again, swaying, shifting, arms elongating above her head. The soft curve of breasts cradled in a cropped white halter top, pants hugging at her hips—those fine hips—flared into dramatic bellbottoms at her ankles.

Her stomach was exposed. Thin, delicate lines creasing where muscle should be. But only just subtly, because she was just so soft. He wondered what it would feel like to touch her—her hair, trickling over the bare skin of her waist, dipping into the curves, tracing those lines.

"You jivin' yet?"

It felt like he had been jerked into a different world. No longer focused on the allure of her as if she was the only one in the room. Suddenly he could hear the clamor of the music, the vibrato of the beat as it tried to pound its way out of his chest. Sharp smells of alcohol itched his nose. The reflective lights from the massive mirrored ball twisting above them became more bothersome than captivating.

Johnny leaned his back against the bar, tequila sunrise in hand, feeling the rounded edge press into his spine. And he looked over at the man next to him, standing shorter despite the heavy platforms he wore. Shaggy hair, a shimmery brown shirt unbuttoned half-way down. Several rows of gold chains rested against his collar bone.

Johnny watched him down another shot, throwing his head back, a swirl to his bellbottom slacks as he turned his body to face him. He slammed the shot glass against the counter, though the noise was engulfed by the music.

"Well? Are you?"

Johnny sighed, digging his fingers into his neck. "Yea, sure. Definitely, Lenny."

His brother's eyes narrowed to their usual bleak slits, a suspicious lift to his brow. "What's got you so bugged out?"

Johnny grew visibly flustered, placing his drink on the bar as he scanned the dance floor. He found her again quickly, his gaze locking on her as she did a series of precise turns, lifting a foot to her knee before kicking her leg forward with glorious flexibility.

Lenny huffed, lounging his elbows on the bar top. "Which one?"

The sequin headband wrapped at her forehead glistened beneath the reflective lights. And that smile—consuming her face, pressing sweet dimples into her chin. Large, uncontrolled, elated. She was something else, out of this world.