Fic: Cheek to Cheek
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irishvampire13
Title: 'Cheek to Cheek'
Rating: G
Word Count: 828
Claim: Twelfth Doctor/Missy; 3 Prompts--Actions
Prompt: #2--Dance
Notes/Warnings: Takes place sometime after Season Eight; brief reference to 'The Keeper of Traken'
Summary: She sighed, a huff of exaggerated exasperation. "Does everything have to be about life and death between the two of us?"
Los Angeles, California
1936
He wasn't sure why he'd come to this place. The band was playing just a bit too loudly, the dancers and other patrons enjoying themselves too much. They were society's more affluent members, bent on partying as though there were no tomorrow.
"You'd never know the Great Depression ever existed," he muttered into his glass, glaring at his reflection across the bar.
This face glowered far too well. He still wasn't sure that he liked this new-ish face just yet; it seemed to be taking more time to adjust to.
The focus of the frown shifted from his own reflection to that of the figure who settled on the stool beside him. "How did you find me," he asked.
She tilted her head, as though his question were somehow absurd. Perhaps it was. "Don't I always know where and when you'll be? Does anyone else know you as well as I do?"
It was a fair point. He didn't bother to press further. Instead, he lifted his tumbler in a mocking toast. "Congratulations."
She seemed to make a deliberate point of ignoring his sarcasm. "Dance with me," she abruptly requested.
He raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down on the bar. "Or else?"
She sighed, a huff of exaggerated exasperation. "Does everything have to be about life and death between the two of us?"
"Since when isn't it," he demanded, watching as she traced her fingertips along the rim of his glass. "I've known you for too long to believe that this is just an innocent invitation onto the dance floor. Besides," he added, lifting the glass, "what makes you think that I dance?"
He frowned at his drink a moment before it reached his lips, remembering. Knowing the individual beside him, the very best he could hope for was that she'd merely slipped a sedative into it. The worst...wasn't worth contemplating. Either way, it was hardly worth letting his guard down.
There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she watched him push the glass away from him. "Have you tried," she asked him. "This new body of yours might give Fred Astaire some competition, for all either of us know." She placed a hand over his, squeezing gently. "Dance with me," she whispered.
"Fine," he grumbled, allowing her to draw him from the bar. "If it'll get you out of my hair for a while afterward."
Smiling enigmatically, she guided him out onto the dance floor, her arms irresistibly enclosing him. For all that he was technically the one leading, it felt very much like she was the one in control.
Just as she'd always preferred.
He tried not to stiffen as she leaned into him. A faint humming met his ears, soon replaced by actual singing.
Heaven
I'm in Heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek
"Don't you just love Irving Berlin," she murmured. "He has a way of getting right to the...hearts...of the matter."
"Why do you always survive," he asked abruptly.
Her fingers tickled at the back of his neck. "Why are you always surprised?"
"Stop flirting," he barked, just loudly enough for the couple next to them to shoot a surprised stare in their direction. "Sorry," he told them with an uncomfortable grin. "I didn't mean you."
"He means me," his partner finished for him. The other couple nodded, carefully drifting to another part of the dance floor. "He always means me," she whispered pensively, turning her gaze back to him. Her eyes flashed in feigned innocence. "Would you prefer that I flirt with somebody else? Would you have the decency to get jealous?"
"Dream on," he replied. "You're more the jealous type than I am; we both know that."
"You were always so charming," she told him ironically. "But I'm afraid that I'll have to cut this little visit short."
"Must you," he muttered, voice still laced with a bitter sarcasm that, oddly, he couldn't summon the feeling to justify. "Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself."
In reply, he received an almost birdlike head-tilt. "So sorry to disappoint you, then. Say something nice before I go, dear," she requested. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the unsuspecting humans around them, and her face scrunched coyly. "Or else."
He couldn't help laughing. Much as he had every reason to hate this person in his arms, the old affection always bubbled to the surface.
"I always thought blue eyes suited you," he confessed. "Ever since you took Tremas years ago. Blue eyes are...tricky. They can hide so much."
She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. "Perhaps that's why you've had blue eyes so often," she murmured, kissing his cheek. She slid out of his arms, disappearing into the crowd.
He stared at the space she'd just occupied, sighing heavily. "Perhaps."
irishvampire13Title: 'Cheek to Cheek'
Rating: G
Word Count: 828
Claim: Twelfth Doctor/Missy; 3 Prompts--Actions
Prompt: #2--Dance
Notes/Warnings: Takes place sometime after Season Eight; brief reference to 'The Keeper of Traken'
Summary: She sighed, a huff of exaggerated exasperation. "Does everything have to be about life and death between the two of us?"
Los Angeles, California
1936
He wasn't sure why he'd come to this place. The band was playing just a bit too loudly, the dancers and other patrons enjoying themselves too much. They were society's more affluent members, bent on partying as though there were no tomorrow.
"You'd never know the Great Depression ever existed," he muttered into his glass, glaring at his reflection across the bar.
This face glowered far too well. He still wasn't sure that he liked this new-ish face just yet; it seemed to be taking more time to adjust to.
The focus of the frown shifted from his own reflection to that of the figure who settled on the stool beside him. "How did you find me," he asked.
She tilted her head, as though his question were somehow absurd. Perhaps it was. "Don't I always know where and when you'll be? Does anyone else know you as well as I do?"
It was a fair point. He didn't bother to press further. Instead, he lifted his tumbler in a mocking toast. "Congratulations."
She seemed to make a deliberate point of ignoring his sarcasm. "Dance with me," she abruptly requested.
He raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down on the bar. "Or else?"
She sighed, a huff of exaggerated exasperation. "Does everything have to be about life and death between the two of us?"
"Since when isn't it," he demanded, watching as she traced her fingertips along the rim of his glass. "I've known you for too long to believe that this is just an innocent invitation onto the dance floor. Besides," he added, lifting the glass, "what makes you think that I dance?"
He frowned at his drink a moment before it reached his lips, remembering. Knowing the individual beside him, the very best he could hope for was that she'd merely slipped a sedative into it. The worst...wasn't worth contemplating. Either way, it was hardly worth letting his guard down.
There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she watched him push the glass away from him. "Have you tried," she asked him. "This new body of yours might give Fred Astaire some competition, for all either of us know." She placed a hand over his, squeezing gently. "Dance with me," she whispered.
"Fine," he grumbled, allowing her to draw him from the bar. "If it'll get you out of my hair for a while afterward."
Smiling enigmatically, she guided him out onto the dance floor, her arms irresistibly enclosing him. For all that he was technically the one leading, it felt very much like she was the one in control.
Just as she'd always preferred.
He tried not to stiffen as she leaned into him. A faint humming met his ears, soon replaced by actual singing.
I'm in Heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek
"Don't you just love Irving Berlin," she murmured. "He has a way of getting right to the...hearts...of the matter."
"Why do you always survive," he asked abruptly.
Her fingers tickled at the back of his neck. "Why are you always surprised?"
"Stop flirting," he barked, just loudly enough for the couple next to them to shoot a surprised stare in their direction. "Sorry," he told them with an uncomfortable grin. "I didn't mean you."
"He means me," his partner finished for him. The other couple nodded, carefully drifting to another part of the dance floor. "He always means me," she whispered pensively, turning her gaze back to him. Her eyes flashed in feigned innocence. "Would you prefer that I flirt with somebody else? Would you have the decency to get jealous?"
"Dream on," he replied. "You're more the jealous type than I am; we both know that."
"You were always so charming," she told him ironically. "But I'm afraid that I'll have to cut this little visit short."
"Must you," he muttered, voice still laced with a bitter sarcasm that, oddly, he couldn't summon the feeling to justify. "Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself."
In reply, he received an almost birdlike head-tilt. "So sorry to disappoint you, then. Say something nice before I go, dear," she requested. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the unsuspecting humans around them, and her face scrunched coyly. "Or else."
He couldn't help laughing. Much as he had every reason to hate this person in his arms, the old affection always bubbled to the surface.
"I always thought blue eyes suited you," he confessed. "Ever since you took Tremas years ago. Blue eyes are...tricky. They can hide so much."
She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. "Perhaps that's why you've had blue eyes so often," she murmured, kissing his cheek. She slid out of his arms, disappearing into the crowd.
He stared at the space she'd just occupied, sighing heavily. "Perhaps."
