Work Text:
The warm glow of the paper lanterns painted Connor’s skin in soft colourful washes as he watched the couples glide around the dance floor. Hank allowed himself to stare, just for a moment, while Connor was distracted. Taken by a sudden notion, he polished off the last of beer and stood, pulling at Connor’s sleeve.
‘Come on, let’s take a spin.’
‘What?’ Connor startled, digging his heels in slightly. ‘Dance?’
‘No, fishing. Yes, dance. C’mon.’ He pulled again, and Connor reluctantly stood.
‘I don’t know how,’ Connor observed the figures gracefully spinning by.
‘You’ll pick it up,’ Hank needled, moving to the edge of the dance floor. Connor stayed standing by the table, eyeing him uncertainly.
‘I don’t have any network access, I can’t look up the steps.’
Hank rolled his eyes. ‘Guess you’ll have to learn the old fashioned way,’ he extended his hand toward Connor. ‘It’s a waltz, not brain surgery.’
Connor suddenly found himself powerless to refuse. He reached forward, sliding his hand into Hanks. It was bigger than Connor’s, and had rough callouses across the palm. He allowed himself to be pulled onto the floor.
‘Relax,’ Hank reassured him, ‘it’s a piece of cake. I’ll lead, so your hands go here,’ he took a firmer grip on the hand he was holding, and lifted Connor’s other hand to his shoulder. ‘And my hand goes here,’ he slid his right hand down Connor’s arm and off his elbow to settle on his waist. ‘And we step a little closer,’ they both shuffled their feet towards one another. ‘Now, this is a box step, so the rhythm is gonna be one-two-three, one-two-three,’ his voice took on a musical lilt, and he swayed them slightly to the beat. ‘And away we go.’ A gap opened in the crowd and Hank pulled Connor into the fray, counting under his breath as they went.
Connor instinctively looked down at their feet, watching Hank’s and trying to replicate their movements.
‘Hey,’ Hank chided, ‘don’t look at your feet, look at me.’
Connor glanced up, one side of his mouth dipping in annoyance as he teetered, trying not to stand on the toes of Hank’s boots. ‘How am I supposed to learn if I don’t look at my feet?’
‘Some things you’ve just gotta learn by feel, okay?’ He reached over with their joined hands and tilted Connor’s face up by the chin. ‘Trust me.’ He guided them over to a quiet corner of the floor. ‘If you get too hung up on what your feet are doing you’ll get all in your head about it.’ Connor looked doubtful. ‘Look, you’ve just got to follow my lead. If I tilt this hand towards you,’ he tilted their clasped hands, ‘you’re stepping that foot backwards. If I tilt it towards me,’ he demonstrated, ‘you’re going forwards. If I pull a little on this hand,’ he squeezed Connor’s hand gently, ‘we’re moving that way. If I squeeze a little here,’ he gave a subtle push on Connor’s waist, ‘we’re moving that way.’ He raised his eyebrows, meeting Connor’s eyes. ‘You focus on where your body needs to go and your feet will get you there. Got it?’
‘I think so,’ Connor nodded. Hank smiled, and led them back out onto the floor.
This time Connor kept the count on his own. He focused on the feeling of Hank’s hand around his, the heat of his palm on Connor’s waist. Every subtle tilt and push of Hank’s hands gave him a direction to follow, and soon they were moving smoothly around the room, Connor’s head held high. ‘When did you learn to dance?’ He asked, once he was confident enough to let himself be distracted.
‘Christ, years ago.’ Hank’s eyes left Connor and moved over his shoulder, looking into the past. ‘My dad taught me, a week before my wedding. Saved me from making a huge ass out of myself, as usual.’ He smiled, his eyes finding Connor again. ‘If I can do it, anyone can, right? Not so hard.’
Connor barely heard him. Hank’s grey hair was dyed muted blue and orange and red in the lantern light. His eyes were bright as they looked at Connor, framed by the soft crow’s feet that emerged when he smiled. His hands felt warm on Connor’s body, even through his shirt on his hip, every minute movement sending a flash of feeling through Connor’s sensors. Without warning, all of these seemingly insignificant observations crashed together in Connor’s chest in a vast and infuriatingly unknowable feeling. Since he’d awoken he’d found emotions to be considerably more complex than he’d ever imagined, and to still be surprised by new variations was both frustrating and thrilling. He’d also learned that emotions often guided actions; anger to a violence, sadness to tears. This feeling, whatever it was, propelled him forwards into Hank’s arms. He pulled their joined hands to rest between them, leaning his head on Hank’s broad chest.
Hank paused for the briefest of moments, his feet stuttering mid-step, the hand on Connor’s waist squeezing. Then he exhaled, long and slow, and Connor felt the softness of his bearded cheek press against the top of Connor’s head. He slid his hand backwards, up from Connor’s waist to the middle of his back, stroking softly. Their waltz slowed until it was barely a shuffle.
‘You okay?’ Hank’s voice rumbled under Connor’s ear, his breath ghosting through Connor’s hair.
‘Yes,’ Connor replied honestly. He felt Hank’s heart beat beneath their hands, and he understood: some things you’ve got to learn by feel.