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I transition from a fouetté turn into a renverse tilt jump, landing lightly then dropping to the canvas as I work the floor with long lines and smooth strokes. Bending at the waist, I flip forward into a split, then sweep my legs together before stepping upwards in one graceful move. I use every single part of my body to express how I feel. From the tips of my fingers to the tops of my toes, I burn the fucking canvas with my dance.
I feel.
Boy, do I feel.
This is who I am. This is who I was born to be.
A girl who dances like flames rampaging through a forest. Powerful, potent, oxygen stealing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone step into the cage. Someone familiar.
My throat tightens. My stomach churns. My chest heaves.
My heart fucking leaps.
I come to a standstill, blinking back the shock, and holding my nerve.
Even if he wasn’t dressed head to toe in black, even if his face wasn’t covered by a black mask with just the eyes and mouth cut out, I’d know who it is.
Xeno.
He strides towards me, the taut muscles of his stomach contracting beneath his skintight top as he moves. My throat constricts as he ducks beneath Nancy’s legs, stepping into the circle the girls are making around us as they’re lowered back onto the canvas, the men dropping behind them as they fan out into a wall. Nancy captures my eye, giving me a look asking if I need help. I shake my head telling her it’s okay, to just go with it. She nods and begins to dance, wrapping her long legs around her partner just like I’d choreographed. The other girls follow.
“You’re back,” I breathe out, my hands pressing against his chest, my fingers skirting over his bare skin between his top and mask. Xeno being here wasn’t part of the plan, but I just go with it, and like the true professionals they are, the girls continue dancing. One by one they wrap themselves around their partners, grinding on them. It’s sexy as fuck.
“Look at you,” he whispers, bringing up his hands to cup my face. Electricity zings between us, the air potent and crackling, eddying with emotion. Passion.Fire.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dancing with you.” He places his arm around my back, jerking me against him. Air whooshes out of my chest as my body slams into his. “Don’t think, just move.”
He dips me backwards, mimicking the couples around us, one leather-clad hand sliding up my thigh and lifting my right leg around his hip whilst the other holds onto me firmly. Xeno grips me tightly, the beat of a new song vibrating up through the canvas as we move. It’sFire on Fireby Sam Smith. My head tips back as I bare my neck to him, the ends of my hair reaching the canvas.
He leans over me, just like he did that first time he danced with me in the studio. This time he isn’t hiding who he is from me, just the rest of the warehouse. I can see his beautiful eyes burn fiercely behind the mask he wears before he lowers his mouth over the bare skin of my chest. For a moment he holds me there, pressing a lingering kiss over my beating heart whilst the couples dance around us, their movements whipping up the air and covering my skin in goosebumps.
“Tiny,” he laments, his lips sliding over my clavicle, and my neck as he lifts me back upwards. “I fucked up.”
He presses a gentle kiss against my lips that is almost painful in how heartfelt it is. I’m all for passionate kisses, but this is something more. This is a promise of everything I’ve always wanted. There’s a tremulousness to his kiss.
He’s holding back.
This is the slow trickle of water through a crack in a dam, waiting for the moment to burst. This is the low heat of a flame flickering to life, waiting for the tinder to catch and burst into an inferno. This is a heart slowly cracking open, but not wanting an audience in that moment when it does. This is a boy called Xeno, kissing a girl he calls Tiny.
This is an apology, and a declaration.
“Xeno, this is dangerous…” I mutter against his mouth. My heart’s pounding in my chest, not just because he’s kissing me the way he is but because out there in the darkened warehouse are men who still have the power to hurt us.
“Keep moving,” he responds, gripping my right hand within his and gently pushing against my left shoulder so that I spin away from him. He chases after me, catching me before I collide with one of the couples, and with his hands on my hips, he uses the momentum to lift me up above his head. My hands grasp his shoulders as I pull in my core and level my legs horizontally above him. It takes great strength and trust on both parts to be able to perform a lift like this. Being able to pull this lift off without practice just tells me what I’ve known all along, that Xeno and I were made to dance with each other.
The way we move together is instinctual, just like it is with the rest of my Breakers. He grins, baring his perfect white teeth as he lowers me down his perfectly toned body. Lust and passion—that sets my whole body alight—glimmers in his eyes.
Sam Smith sings about passion colliding, fires alighting, desire burning, and the timing couldn’t be more fucking perfect. That’s what we are Xeno and I, we’re passion, desire, lust, hunger.Love.
I feel that.
As we dance, Ifeelhis love. It’s fierce. It takes my breath away.
Xeno presses another kiss against my lips, his teeth edging against my bottom lip, nipping at my skin with a low growl that rumbles through his chest into mine.
