Unity of the Divided

Beautiful Movements

I push him backwards, heading towards the centre of the ballroom as I send him a sly grin. I'm not far behind though, as he won't take his hands off me.

When he realises what I want his eyes alight, a fire burning so brightly in a midnight sky and it's mesmerising. An orchestra at the far end of the ballroom play the first notes of a song promising passion and fierceness, they know us all too well.

His left hand takes my right, the calloused skin of his palm is grounding but I feel like I'm dreaming, tingles running through me as his thumb traces the back of my hand. His right arm snakes around me and I'm pulled flush against him. I reach up and trail my fingers lightly down his neck, watching his eyes fall closed, and I'm delighted at the slight shiver he gives at my faintest touch before resting my hand on his shoulder. He exhales and his eyes open, capturing mine once more in a look of longing as he drags his fingers lazily across my lower back, finding a possessive hold on my waist. I supress my own shiver.

He grins down at me, a mischievous look lighting up his features. We begin our steps, quickly falling into familiarity as our bodies recognise the feel of one another. The movements come naturally, as if this dance was made for us. This beautiful choreography being one we've done many a time, yet the fire behind it never dies.

Only a handful of other couples dare attempt this dance, leaving many crowded at the edges of this dance space. So many eyes on us yet I only seek one pair. It is him who lights the fire inside me, whose desire awakens an insatiable longing only he could attempt to satisfy.

Opposites in every sense of the word, a decree of the natural balance, the universe, everything that's existed and will depends on it. The two dancing in Caedaw's ballroom, Creation and Destruction, him and I. And in this moment that's all that matters.

He tilts me backwards; my arms fall behind me, head back and eyes closed. He drags a hand along my thigh that's risen to his waist, fingers splayed underneath and so very close to somewhere secret. I gasp.

His lips are grazing neck, breathing me in.

"You look divine," he whispers against my hot skin, heat floods my insides as I inhale sharply.

He doesn't wait for a verbal response, the way my body betrays me tells him plenty. I'm pulled upright and held to him. Now I see the smug grin he wears, satisfied by the tells of my pleasure. He inches his fingers higher, a slight graze against me and I swing my risen leg to propel myself away, the force spinning me round and round as I edge away from him. This part of the musical story where one chases another I find strangely relatable.

Then he's back, hands taking their firm and sure hold once more like he deserves it, slight wildness creeping into his crimson eyes framed by dark lashes that never leave mine. It seems that brief moment apart had realisation kicking in that our time together is limited. His grin is wolfish, and I'm reminded of how little he smiles, he says there's not much to smile about, yet a raise in the corners never seems far when I'm near.

His arm slips around me and that's the sign to twirl. My back brushes it with each turn I make, the speed he spins me with is dizzying but I'm smiling. Unbound joy igniting as in these seconds no one exists, I forget about the Divide, forbidden moments with my cosmic opposite since existence is all I see. Briefly a wide smile with perfectly straight teeth flashes, but at this speed I can't be sure.

The dynamic between us is forever changing, consistency isn't a term we know when it comes to each other. Desire is a familiar friend yet tells nothing about how he'll treat me for turn eight.

We spin together, him holding me, me clinging to him, as the song nears its end. The passion, the want, the need for me is clear on his face, he makes no attempt to hide the desire I inspire inside him. I'd be lying if I said I don't feel the same. Eyes so dark with wanting that the red is practically black have me enraptured, hands so confident in his possessive hold on my body that I'm arching into him.