Five Times Jack and Renee Danced
So I (as in leigh57) am posting this for adrenalin211 because she's too lazy convinced it's not good enough to put up. I beg to differ.
This is for ws_scribe, who prompted with the title.
The Holiday party is pretty extravagant this year and he keeps wondering if he’s underdressed.
Renee only wanted to go the second after Janis had assumed she wouldn’t, made a bet she couldn’t make it longer than an hour and a half. This challenge has Renee perusing the appetizer table and checking her watch every ten minutes.
But she’s wearing this dress.
It’s red and clingy and it has one of those v-necks that dip far enough down to make him hard in front of hundreds of people if he’s not careful.
She walks up to him, takes his hand and says, “Dance with me,” as she redirects them towards the dance floor.
He squeezes together the hand she’s not holding, his eyes moving around the room. Too many people.
“I don’t dance,” he says. “I’m not good at it.”
“Neither am I,” she says, shrugging off his concern. “But everyone here is drunk and I only have five minutes left.” She meets his reluctant gaze and sighs. “It would help a lot if you could distract me.”
(This is the dance they do when everyone is watching.)
It’s slow and his hands sweat like a self-conscious teenager’s. He leaves a few inches of space between their bodies at all times. Her hand is splayed against his back, cautious.
“Did I tell you how I feel about this dress?” Jack whispers, allowing himself to come in close against her ear as the song’s final notes fade out. He feels tingly, and it’s not the alcohol.
“I-” She swallows, her voice low. Her hand tightens around his. “I’m really glad we can go home now.”
++++++++++++++++++++
When she gets home from work he’s got a pot of bubbling stew on the stove; she can smell it from out in the hallway. He doesn’t hear her come in over the sound of "Start Me Up" blaring through the speakers on his laptop/make-shift recipe book.
His hips shake a little bit as he tests the flavor from the ladle. She leans against the doorway, unable to hide her amused smirk. This is the best thing she’s seen all week. He looks so happy.
She clears her throat, loudly, and when he turns to see her there she watches a blush liven his cheeks.
“Hi there,” she says. She takes off her coat as he watches her, an unspoken, How long have you been standing there? written all over his features.
“Hi,” he says.
She walks forward until she’s kissing the stew off his lips and he’s letting the ladle fall.
“Careful,” he mumbles against her lips, quirk of a smile. “If you start me up I’ll never stop.”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s got you dancing? The Stones? Or your cooking skills?”
He pauses, about to deny or play down the dancing, she’s sure, but he doesn’t bother. “Both,” he says. “You’ve gotta try this.”
(This is the dating dance they never did, that they’d skipped over because it was pointless from day one to hide or hold back.)
He takes a spoonful of soup, blows on it, and raises it to her lips.
All she can think of, despite its deliciousness, is that it tastes better indirectly.
++++++++++++++++++++
Dance Dance Revolution is the number one item on Teri’s Christmas list. After figuring out what it is, he clears it with Kim and Stephen and buys it for her, imagines her sparkling eyes on Christmas morning as he waits in the long check-out line at Best Buy, Renee’s cold hand in his.
Kim invites them over for Christmas Eve dinner. Wine, turkey and candles, and when Teri’d said, “No, I want GRANDPA to put me to bed”, he’d tried (unsuccessfully) to pretend like it didn’t make his heart stretch towards the outer edges of his body.
After she’s in bed he gets the all-clear to set up this DDR thing, as the kids are calling it.
“Don’t you want to test it out, Jack?” Stephen asks after they’ve figured out the wiring. There’s a smudge of red wine and a glint of mischief on his face.
“Great idea!” Renee chimes in, catching his amused expression. “To make sure it’s working for Teri.”
“There are two mats here,” Jack points out. A challenge. “Which of you smartasses wants to join me?”
Stephen is quick to speak, wrapping his arm around Kim. “I wouldn’t wanna cramp your style.”
Renee takes the mat next to his.
(This is the dance they do after too much wine.)
Renee sucks at it, he figures out after a minute or two. But not as much as he does; his socks slide across the mat, two seconds too late to hit all the colors, his mind a giant delayed reaction.
Kim’s laughter infiltrates his drunken concentration. Renee looks over at him, eyes beaming with the hilarity of their collective ineptitude.
He’s never seen her smile as much as she has tonight.
++++++++++++++++++++
It’s quiet and cold when they get home, the absence of Teri’s prattling extroversion and some working heat.
There’s a glitch or something in the thermostat, so the furnace only kicks on lately if he jacks the heat up to an uncomfortably warm temperature.
He hears the pipes clanking in their old apartment, walks over to Renee, who is changing out of that green sweater and into one of his long sleeved t-shirts. She replaces her fancy black pants with some fleece bottoms.
He moves behind her once she’s comfortable, kisses her neck, warm against his cold nose.
(This is the dance they do when there isn’t any music.)
“Did you like your first Christmas present?” she asks. He moves his attention to the lobe of her ear. Her breath hitches.
“Can I show you how much?” he rumbles against the soft skin of her cheek before their lips meet.
She smells like vanilla, tastes like dessert.
She nods, reaching for the zipper of his jeans. “Why don’t we get you more comfortable?” she offers, sliding them down.
She hums when his hands reach under her t-shirt, his fingers parading up her spine as she arches into his touch, her breathing in fluttered unison with the radiator.
He feels warm everywhere.
++++++++++++++++++++
It’s 5 A.M. on Christmas morning and Jack’s in the shower because he doesn’t want to be late. He doesn’t want to miss Teri’s face when she wakes up to see that Santa Claus came.
She finds this endearing, would be excited about it if she weren’t so damn exhausted.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she brews a steaming hot, fucking strong pot of coffee, and strips off her clothes to get in the shower.
He’s still in there when she needs to be, so what the hell.
The thing is, she’s not used to sharing one shower with someone else, changeing her morning schedule around to accommodate a second person. She’s getting more and more used to it. She likes the process.
Jack usually whines adorably when she jumps in with him all rushed like this, because, in his words, “It’s the easiest place to get distracted.”
(This is the dance they do when they’re pressed for time.)
He hands her the shampoo as she gives him the soap, expertly in tune with each other’s cleansing sequence. They shift around, alternating the spray, brushing bodies, sharing warmth. Sometimes he lets her massage his scalp with the all-in-one stuff he uses. Today, he kisses her until she’s the one that laments the tight timetable, breathing a Merry Christmas, Renee into her mouth before exiting.
Merry Christmas, she thinks.
This is for ws_scribe, who prompted with the title.
The Holiday party is pretty extravagant this year and he keeps wondering if he’s underdressed.
Renee only wanted to go the second after Janis had assumed she wouldn’t, made a bet she couldn’t make it longer than an hour and a half. This challenge has Renee perusing the appetizer table and checking her watch every ten minutes.
But she’s wearing this dress.
It’s red and clingy and it has one of those v-necks that dip far enough down to make him hard in front of hundreds of people if he’s not careful.
She walks up to him, takes his hand and says, “Dance with me,” as she redirects them towards the dance floor.
He squeezes together the hand she’s not holding, his eyes moving around the room. Too many people.
“I don’t dance,” he says. “I’m not good at it.”
“Neither am I,” she says, shrugging off his concern. “But everyone here is drunk and I only have five minutes left.” She meets his reluctant gaze and sighs. “It would help a lot if you could distract me.”
(This is the dance they do when everyone is watching.)
It’s slow and his hands sweat like a self-conscious teenager’s. He leaves a few inches of space between their bodies at all times. Her hand is splayed against his back, cautious.
“Did I tell you how I feel about this dress?” Jack whispers, allowing himself to come in close against her ear as the song’s final notes fade out. He feels tingly, and it’s not the alcohol.
“I-” She swallows, her voice low. Her hand tightens around his. “I’m really glad we can go home now.”
++++++++++++++++++++
When she gets home from work he’s got a pot of bubbling stew on the stove; she can smell it from out in the hallway. He doesn’t hear her come in over the sound of "Start Me Up" blaring through the speakers on his laptop/make-shift recipe book.
His hips shake a little bit as he tests the flavor from the ladle. She leans against the doorway, unable to hide her amused smirk. This is the best thing she’s seen all week. He looks so happy.
She clears her throat, loudly, and when he turns to see her there she watches a blush liven his cheeks.
“Hi there,” she says. She takes off her coat as he watches her, an unspoken, How long have you been standing there? written all over his features.
“Hi,” he says.
She walks forward until she’s kissing the stew off his lips and he’s letting the ladle fall.
“Careful,” he mumbles against her lips, quirk of a smile. “If you start me up I’ll never stop.”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s got you dancing? The Stones? Or your cooking skills?”
He pauses, about to deny or play down the dancing, she’s sure, but he doesn’t bother. “Both,” he says. “You’ve gotta try this.”
(This is the dating dance they never did, that they’d skipped over because it was pointless from day one to hide or hold back.)
He takes a spoonful of soup, blows on it, and raises it to her lips.
All she can think of, despite its deliciousness, is that it tastes better indirectly.
++++++++++++++++++++
Dance Dance Revolution is the number one item on Teri’s Christmas list. After figuring out what it is, he clears it with Kim and Stephen and buys it for her, imagines her sparkling eyes on Christmas morning as he waits in the long check-out line at Best Buy, Renee’s cold hand in his.
Kim invites them over for Christmas Eve dinner. Wine, turkey and candles, and when Teri’d said, “No, I want GRANDPA to put me to bed”, he’d tried (unsuccessfully) to pretend like it didn’t make his heart stretch towards the outer edges of his body.
After she’s in bed he gets the all-clear to set up this DDR thing, as the kids are calling it.
“Don’t you want to test it out, Jack?” Stephen asks after they’ve figured out the wiring. There’s a smudge of red wine and a glint of mischief on his face.
“Great idea!” Renee chimes in, catching his amused expression. “To make sure it’s working for Teri.”
“There are two mats here,” Jack points out. A challenge. “Which of you smartasses wants to join me?”
Stephen is quick to speak, wrapping his arm around Kim. “I wouldn’t wanna cramp your style.”
Renee takes the mat next to his.
(This is the dance they do after too much wine.)
Renee sucks at it, he figures out after a minute or two. But not as much as he does; his socks slide across the mat, two seconds too late to hit all the colors, his mind a giant delayed reaction.
Kim’s laughter infiltrates his drunken concentration. Renee looks over at him, eyes beaming with the hilarity of their collective ineptitude.
He’s never seen her smile as much as she has tonight.
++++++++++++++++++++
It’s quiet and cold when they get home, the absence of Teri’s prattling extroversion and some working heat.
There’s a glitch or something in the thermostat, so the furnace only kicks on lately if he jacks the heat up to an uncomfortably warm temperature.
He hears the pipes clanking in their old apartment, walks over to Renee, who is changing out of that green sweater and into one of his long sleeved t-shirts. She replaces her fancy black pants with some fleece bottoms.
He moves behind her once she’s comfortable, kisses her neck, warm against his cold nose.
(This is the dance they do when there isn’t any music.)
“Did you like your first Christmas present?” she asks. He moves his attention to the lobe of her ear. Her breath hitches.
“Can I show you how much?” he rumbles against the soft skin of her cheek before their lips meet.
She smells like vanilla, tastes like dessert.
She nods, reaching for the zipper of his jeans. “Why don’t we get you more comfortable?” she offers, sliding them down.
She hums when his hands reach under her t-shirt, his fingers parading up her spine as she arches into his touch, her breathing in fluttered unison with the radiator.
He feels warm everywhere.
++++++++++++++++++++
It’s 5 A.M. on Christmas morning and Jack’s in the shower because he doesn’t want to be late. He doesn’t want to miss Teri’s face when she wakes up to see that Santa Claus came.
She finds this endearing, would be excited about it if she weren’t so damn exhausted.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she brews a steaming hot, fucking strong pot of coffee, and strips off her clothes to get in the shower.
He’s still in there when she needs to be, so what the hell.
The thing is, she’s not used to sharing one shower with someone else, changeing her morning schedule around to accommodate a second person. She’s getting more and more used to it. She likes the process.
Jack usually whines adorably when she jumps in with him all rushed like this, because, in his words, “It’s the easiest place to get distracted.”
(This is the dance they do when they’re pressed for time.)
He hands her the shampoo as she gives him the soap, expertly in tune with each other’s cleansing sequence. They shift around, alternating the spray, brushing bodies, sharing warmth. Sometimes he lets her massage his scalp with the all-in-one stuff he uses. Today, he kisses her until she’s the one that laments the tight timetable, breathing a Merry Christmas, Renee into her mouth before exiting.
Merry Christmas, she thinks.