Chapter Text
“So, how is it going with Jerry?” Kim inquired, sitting in front of Milton at Phil’s.
Krupnick sank into reflection. It had been about three weeks since he started dating Martinez, and the honeymoon phase of their relationship was in full swing. He thought of how soft Jerry’s kisses felt on his skin and lips, how gentle the touches were, how tender the embraces, how long their rendezvous, and how comfortable they seemed to be around each other.
Although he had to admit that his favourite display of affection involved Jerry caressing his cheek lovingly with his thumb, forehead to forehead, eyes to eyes. At these moments, Martinez looked like a puppy - cute and hopelessly devoted. Krupnick suspected he himself wasn’t any different.
Milton contemplated an answer for another second, unable to keep from smiling sheepishly.
“You know, Jerry is surprisingly sweet,” he finally answered, genuinely.
“And surprisingly not fickle anymore,” Crawford added with a sardonic lift of the eyebrows, and they chuckled.
“Well, according to him, I am his first love, that’s why he’s so serious about our relationship,” Krupnick took a sip of his beverage.
“First love? How is that possible?” Kim reacted with a mixture of confusion and incredulity.
“Apparently, he never used to feel this strongly about any of the girls he liked, which made me think that he’d never actually fallen in love before me,” Milton explained, shrugging slightly.
“That makes sense,” Crawford nodded, and then ate a couple of fries. “By the way, we thought you totally didn’t notice that Jerry was in love with you.”
“As if I wouldn’t notice significant changes in my best friend!” sniffed Krupnick but then he remembered something. “Look, Jerry did so much to woo me that I felt bad for rejecting him so many times…” Milton confided to Kim. “So, I’ve decided to repay the debt.”
Kim darted her eyes to Milton suspiciously, “How?”
Instead of replying, Krupnick only grinned mysteriously.
***
“Jerry, I never properly thanked you for all the effort you had put into your plan,” Milton admitted after greeting Jerry in the dojo when they were alone.
“Yo, Milton, why is there a CD player here?”
“We need it because today…” Krupnick comically tore off his street clothes, revealing a dance costume, and then made a characteristic step sequence with his arms long and chin up high, “…we’ll be dancing flamenco.”
“No way!” cheered Martinez, throwing his bag somewhere far from them and clapping his hands excitedly.
“And I’ve done my research. What I gathered is that the word flamenco, referring to the artistic genre, dates back to the mid-nineteenth century, but there is no certainty of its etymology. And as for the dance itself, el baile flamenco is known for its emotional intensity, proud carriage, expressive use of the arms and rhythmic stamping of the feet,” Milton rambled, having got carried away. “I also studied flamenco from the perspective of music theory, and as Emma Martinez has writ-”
Krupnick’s tirade was suddenly brought to a stop by Jerry’s finger on his lips.
“Shh, that’s not the language I speak, Milton,” Martinez purred suavely.
Milton deflected the finger to vocalize his bewilderment, “Since when you don’t speak English?”
Martinez threw his arms up in indignation, “No. I only wanted to say that…” All of a sudden, Jerry glanced up alluringly at Milton, and the atmosphere changed abruptly, “…why use words when we can speak with our bodies?” he gestured invitingly with his hand.
Krupnick smiled with a contented look and turned on the music.
They came closer to each other.
…Soon enough, however, the main problem in Milton’s plan emerged – the lack of shared practice. They were not in a movie where the characters dancing in pairs for the first time were perfectly nailing it. Thus, even though he knew the basics, it wasn’t enough to keep up with an experienced dancer like Jerry. They were also performing different forms of flamenco (Jerry – the classical flamenco, Milton – the modern one), so their dance was nowhere near being synchronous – they were barely managing to meet in the middle. Everything about the dance was painfully awkward, and it was only a matter of time before Krupnick would mess it all up completely.
Sure enough, he stomped on Jerry’s foot the second he lost the rhythm (the compás, prompted his now knowledgeable in flamenco mind).
Martinez took the hit like a champ and never stopped moving for a second. But for Milton, it was the last straw.
“Gah!” he exclaimed and angrily turned off the music. “I screwed up.” He sighed in exasperation. “Now I know how you felt those five times.”
“Hey, Milton, hey,” Jerry took Krupnick’s hand gently to prevent him from storming off as he looked him emphatically in the eyes. “It’s okay, you can’t expect to become a pro dancer after a couple of weeks. I spent years learning flamenco and there’s still room for improvement.”
His words seemed to calm Milton down a little. Jerry then had his arm around Milton’s shoulder.
“But you have nothing to worry about,” Martinez continued, a smug expression on his face. “With a teacher like me, you’ll be ready for the next flamenco pair competition.”
“Jerry, they won’t let us enter,” Krupnick reasoned.
“Who cares? We’ll still have fun,” Jerry stated simply, holding his boyfriend close.
Milton couldn’t disagree with that.