Barlyle oneshots

Dancing

Phillip loved to dance. Ever since he was a boy, dancing had been an escape. An escape from his father, an escape from his responsibilities, an escape from anything that made the world a little darker. So it was no surprise that when working at the circus became stressful, he would close his eyes and dance to a silent rhythm.
One such occasion was the evening before a show, such a show that they would be new tricks, new songs, new everything. Phillip had been working overtime trying to sort out the expenses and costs. It was late at night, and tears of frustration were started to sting the young man's eyes.
Naturally, he stood up and began to dance. There was no music, so from the outside perhaps it would have looked strange. But inside Phillip's head, the melody was loud and strong.

Barnum was finishing up work with the troupe (he'd been supervising Anne and W.D.'s new trick) when he heard a crash from the office. He sighed. What on earth was Phillip doing in there?
He jogged over, pushing the door open to see a disgruntled Phillip sprawled haphazardly on the floor, one foot resting on his desk. Phillip looked up at him and blushed. Barnum chuckled.
"What have you been doing in here?"
Phillip scowled, bright red. "I was dancing, if you must know," he said quietly.
Barnum raised an eyebrow. "Dancing?"
Phillip nodded.
The ringmaster shook his head in disbelief. "Well, next time ask me before prancing around our office, knocking things over left right and centre."
"Oh yeah?" Phillip tilted his head to one side, a hint of challenge shining in his eyes. "Why don't you show me how it's done?"
Barnum grinned. He stuck his hand out to help Phillip up. "With pleasure." Not letting go of Phillip's hand, he leant down and kissed it softly. "May I have this dance?"
Phillip rolled his eyes. "Alright," he said, "But please don't step on my toes."
To Phillip's surprise, Barnum had no trouble pulling him into the typical ballroom pose, gripping one hand tightly, his other  placed on Phillip's waist. The young man inhaled sharply at the touch. Hesitantly, he rested his hand on P.T.'s shoulder, not meeting his showman's eyes.
Barnum hummed tunelessly, leading the dance slowly. Left, right. Left, right. It occurred to Phillip that this would be a rather compromising position for anyone to find them in, but and this moment in time, he really didn't care. He found himself relaxing into the embrace, letting Barnum pull him closer, so Phillip's face was almost touching the ringmaster's shirt. He breathed in Barnum's familiar scent, and moved in, closing the distance between them.
And then they were slow dancing, Phillip's head resting on Barnum's chest, the formal stance lost, his arms wrapped around the older man's waist, Barnum's arms slung over Phillip's shoulders. There wasn't an inch of space between them, their bodies pressed tightly together. Phillip lifted his head upwards, nuzzling into Barnum's neck.
They spun in slow circles, swaying this way and that, the outside world forgotten. To Phillip, the world was fuzzy and warm in Barnum's arms - he was safe.
Then Lettie banged on the office door, and the moment was lost. Phillip smiled up at Barnum, and let the showman go. Barnum winked at him as he left, following Lettie into the ring. Phillip grinned after him, still in a happy daze. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who danced when he was stressed.