Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 13*

God, Harry, what are you doing to me?

The moment we got inside of my apartment, as I excused myself to change out of the leotard and take my hair out of the dance bun, Harry took it upon himself to dump out the water bucket in the living room. Without any prompting or anything. He just walked to it and took care of it while I made myself more comfortable. I thanked him probably ten times for it since we sat down.

And then, when he saw me emerge from my bedroom in the same pair of grey sweatpants I was wearing earlier, paired with a black hoodie, my hair pulled into a loose, messy bun, he muttered "pretty baby" and planted a kiss against my temple. I thanked him with the way my cheeks turned bright pink.

"This movie is just so fucking good." Harry's voice speaks out.

We're sat on my couch watching Dirty Dancing, my back resting against one arm, his on the other. He insisted that I lay my feet in his lap so that he could rub them for me after "seeing how hard I danced at the show." He's been working his thumbs into my arches for the past ten minutes, having taken a break when he got too enthralled by the movie. And all I have to say is that it feels fucking phenomenal. Even when he isn't actively massaging them, his fingers trace up and around my ankles, doing anything to keep in contact with me.

Truth be told, I think I've watched him more than I've watched the movie. He's capturing all of my attention. Which is a feat, considering the fact that a literal god in the flesh is on my television screen in the form of Johnny Castle. Every time a song starts to play, Harry sways lightly along to the beat, almost looking like he, himself, wants to get up and start dancing.

Every so often the movie will recatch my attention, but it usually ends in me squirming a little in my seat, from the combination of Harry's touch and the sexual tension creating a cloud in my living room. With Johnny and Baby's hands on one another, leaving lingering touches and kisses, all I can think about is Harry's hands on me in the same way. I'd be lying if I said my panties weren't dampening the more I thought about it.

There's not very long left in the movie – Johnny is about to break into the show and dance with Baby – and I can't help but feel a little down knowing that means Harry's going to leave soon.

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner." He mutters in sync with the movie, his head twisting around on his neck as he continues to massage my ankles.

It makes me giggle and he gives me a beautiful smirk in response.

As Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey get up to start dancing, Harry sets my feet down on the ground and swivels to stand up. He holds his hand out towards me and wiggles his eyebrows.

I laugh at his goofy expression, "What are you doing?"

"C'mon, Bee, get your ass up and dance with me!" he yells, trying to dig my hands out from the pocket of the hoodie I had changed into.

I toy back and forth with the idea of pouting and complaining about being too tired to, but I know he'd take me too seriously and sit back down. And, if I'm being honest, no matter how exhausted I am, I'll gladly get up and dance with him. His excitement is contagious, bubbling and spilling over, infecting everything around him. And I'm a willing victim.

I pretend to be reluctant in taking Harry's hand, standing up and letting him guide me forward a few steps to give us room. As the music starts in the movie, Harry's hands snake around my waist and mine reach up to his shoulders, with about a foot of space between us. I yelp in surprise as his palm flattens against my back and yanks me into him, so that our bodies are flush against one another.

"What is this, a middle school dance? I've got a pretty girl in my arms, I want her riiiight up next to me."

I let out a laugh, letting my palms slide up and down his shoulders, taking in the light stubble growing across his cheeks and chin, spotting the pretty little birthmark on his cheek, tracing the jutting line of his jawbone up towards his ear.