Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
She was expecting him to want to plant his ass. But she wasn't super great at reading people, yeah? So she wasn't like disappointed to have read him wrong. He lifted his chin toward the dance floor, and she fucking smiled, teeth and red lips and fuck, yeah.
He told her to behave, and she didn't promise a fucking thing. She laughed, and it was a happy carefree laugh. It was youth in soundwaves, and she swayed her hips when he settled his hand there. Yeah, she was trouble, and she didn't care.
The dancers made room, and it was like this ocean parting and then closing again. Some biblical shit, but she liked the Cuban saints better. They fucked and cheated and got jealous, and that just made more sense to her than some old man in the sky with a Santa Claus white beard.
The song changed, and the dancers made sounds of approval that slid through the crowd like a snake, chitter and hiss and pleased sounds as the trombones went loud. The girl from earlier whooped from a few feet away, and Sam laughed.
Hand on his shoulder, and other on his hip, and she was already breaking the fucking rules of the dance, but fuck if she cared.
She was better at this shit without the crash from the night before, more sure in her own body. Too many curves to be considered white-girl pretty. No fucking board, no all up and down, and her footwork was fast and close. Close, back, close back, and she laughed with each retreat, and it wasn't even indecent. But she was happy, yeah? And it showed on her face.
Her blonde hair tangled around his arms when she neared, and she was a rock of hip against him, skin already picking up a sheen, because the air conditioning wasn't fucking central. She felt alive, and she loved it.