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“No. Absolutely not.” Dylan crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet firmly, scowling.
With the weariness of a seasoned traveler (or someone who’d had this conversation a few too many times) Alek pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. “Dylan, you don't have a choice in the matter. The good doctor insisted.”
“I still don't see why she thinks I have to do this barking nonsense in the first place,” the blond grumbled. “I'm a secret agent, for Darwin’s sake. Not a dancer.”
“ You're still a secret agent. Dr. Barlow needs a guard and aide at these types of things, you know. It's your duty.”
Dylan’s shoulders hunched, face unreadable and jaw clenched.
Alek regarded his friend for a moment, looking stiff and awkward in the zoological society’s grand ballroom. It was quite early, and the breaking light of dawn cast long shadows through the sparkling windows and stretched larger than life around them. Alek knew that Dylan was more than capable- he'd taken to fencing quick enough, and was an ace airman- but he was also as stubborn as a rusted bolt. He wondered how Dylan ever got anything done, digging in his heels like this. He was nearly tempted to ask him that outright.
“Did you really sneak into the military without thinking you'd ever have to attend a military ball?” he asked instead, genuinely curious. From what Dylan had said about his brother’s lessons, Alek thought at least a simple waltz would have been relevant.
Dylan flushed deeply and cast his gaze around the room, flitting everywhere but in Alek’s direction. “I was going to figure that one out once I got past the exams. Jaspert’s a clart dancer, anyhow. He trod on my toes every May Day and Christmas for ten years.”
Chuckling at the image, Alek ignored Dylan’s glare and stepped around him to approach a small table by the windows. On it sat a rather fat toad. It looked as normal as any other, but Alek knew now from experience that it was very much like Eddie Malone’s. It could record and play any sound, and in this case he needed it for his dance lessons. “Well, then there should be no problem,” Alek drawled with a teasing lilt to his voice as he fed the toad a small treat from his pocket. “I'm sure you'll find me a much better partner. Unless you'd rather I went and fetched the Count? I'm sure he would be delighted to wake up and instruct you at the crack of dawn.”
“Don't you dare, your highness . I'll take you over him any day.” Dylan quickly stepped up to join Alek, appropriately motivated by the threat. Alek grinned.
“Excellent.” Clapping his hands together once, Alek took Dylan by the elbow and led him a few feet away from the table before squaring them up. Dylan still had a good few inches on him, and for once Alek was glad about it. It would make this much easier. “Now give me your left hand,” he instructed.
Dylan frowned. “Left? It's right, isn't it? I have danced some before, you know.”
Alek blinked, but quickly softened his gaze. “You're not in Glasgow anymore, Mr. Sharp,” he said gently. “I'm teaching you the correct pose you'll be using from now on. You’re going to lead.”
Understanding flooded Dylan’s face, and he absolutely beamed as he took Alek’s hand. “Alright,” he said proudly, swinging their joined hands. “Now what?”
Swallowing around a hitch in his breath, Alek reached up with his free hand to place it lightly on Dylan’s broad, strong shoulder. “N-Now you take my waist.” He winced, cursing himself for the uncharacteristic stutter.
It didn't go unnoticed. With a cocky smirk, Dylan did. His free right hand rested in the slight curve of Alek’s waist and and settled there, a reassuring weight. He grinned suddenly, looking very satisfied with himself. “Well would you look at that. I'm learning.”
“Not yet, you're not,” Alek muttered in German.
“Aw, come on Alek. Don't tell me this is like fencing, where we have to keep the same stance for hours on end,” Dylan groaned.
“I wish.”
They both startled at the unexpected words, Alek perhaps more than Dylan from the sheer sincerity of them. He found he rather liked being held like this. It was… something.
Dylan’s hand tightened on Alek’s waist, pulling him just slightly closer. “What’s that saying?” he asked softly, barely a breath. “You have to dance close enough that you could hold some papers between you?”
Alek suddenly found himself unable to force much air from his mouth, either. “That- that's for the Latin dances. We’re waltzing,” he whispered. They were already close enough that he could count the freckles on Dylan’s nose, see the sunlight from the windows catch the rare ginger tint of usually blond hair, watch it refract in eyes that looked like the open sky.
“I'm sure-” Dylan licked his suddenly dry lips and shivered when Alek’s eyes snapped down at the movement. “I'm sure no one will notice the difference.”
Slowly, Alek nodded. He let himself be drawn in by the waist, and then he was chest to chest with Dylan and feeling a tad weak in the knees. “That's good. We- we should-”
“Play Waltz number 5,” Dylan said out loud, and somewhere behind them the toad opened its mouth and began to play.
Dylan wasn't an officer and an agent for nothing. He swept Alek along, often fumbling his steps but never once stepping on Alek’s feet or squeezing him too tight. He also never let any space come between them. That was just an added pleasure.
As they danced, Alek gradually relaxed enough to give small corrections to Dylan’s form- nudging his elbow down here, telling him to loosen his shoulder there, and soon enough they were counting softly under their breath together and wheeling across the ballroom floor. Alek explained spins, and what counts they happened on for Dylan. It was easy to just tell him what to do and let him guide Alek into it than try to memorize the other part, so that's what they did. They got better each time.
Alek allowed an increasingly confident Dylan to lead until he recognized the last few bars of the dance. “This is the last part,” he said in warning. “You don't have to do anything fancy, just-”
Of course, Dylan was already moving. On the first count, he stepped forward with his left foot and entered even further into Alek’s space- gripped his hip and lightly nudged so all of Alek’s weight landed on his muscled forearm. Alek gasped and clung to Dylan’s hand, momentarily caught off guard by the shallow dip, but recovered after only a second. Those arms had held him above the ocean in a thunderstorm, had braced him against an entire river of rainwater cascading down the back of a living whale- they wouldn't let him fall now.
Dylan leaned forward, gently knocking his forehead against Alek’s as the final strains of the music dissipated into echoes. Laughter danced in his eyes, was written in the curve of his lips. “Steady on your feet there, your princeliness? How'd I do?”
“Perfect,” Alek breathed. He knew he was flushed but God’s wounds, he didn't even want to stop. “You're just perfect, Dylan. Surprise me- is there anything you can't do right after the first try?”
Dylan appeared to think about it before nodding solemnly and pulling Alek back to an upright position. “Actually, yes. If I'm going to be waltzing around like Prince Charming, I reckon I'll have to brush up on this whole kissing business. Have got any idea where I could find a tutor?”
“Romantic fool,” Alek murmured moments later, lips bitten red and hands buried in golden hair. “You're a menace. I've half a mind to tell Dr. Barlow not to let you dance with anyone at all .” His comment lost its bite as it ended on a sigh, his voice quavering at the slow licks at the base of his neck.
“Ah ah, Alek.” Dylan chuckled against his skin and nipped at the spot before kissing it in apology. “I get to lead now, remember?”
As if he could possibly forget. Nor did he want to, not for the rest of his life.