mustbethetruth | You can dance if you want to

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You can dance if you want to

Who: Holmes and Watson
When: The night of the party~*~
Where: The location of the party
What: Holmes and Watson get their booties to the dance floor.

It had taken some convincing from Watson before Holmes had agreed to attend the party with him. In general, Holmes doesn't go in for parties or large-scale social events where he would be required to talk to people; they really hold no interest for him beyond meeting other people, and he would rather stay at home and read or experiment or, as is the case lately, explore his relationship with Watson a little further. In London this was made easier by the fact that he could meet more interesting people doing his job, or masquerading as someone else on the streets; it was also impossible to know every single person in London.

It is extremely possible to know everyone here, and in fact it would likely prove advantageous. This is precisely how Watson convinced Holmes to join him this evening, and this is precisely the only reason he will confess to having for being there.

In all honesty, there is a part of him that's interested in an opportunity to go to such an event with Watson. In his youth, he was slightly more social, in more of a social scene, involved in the theatre as he was. The theatre was still a safe space for him then, and up until it ceased to be so he rather enjoyed spending time there, being involved in that life. Largely since university and Victor he has lost his taste for such involvement, but now he is in a safe space again; they could, theoretically, go to this party and behave however they wanted and there would be no repercussions. It is, almost, his youth again, and instead of the fear of discovery, there is instead the thrill of discovery, of knowing he no longer has to hide what is an undeniable part of himself.

He finds his nerves are settling now that they've already arrived and carved themselves a spot to sit. He appreciates this lull, the chance to collect himself, particularly because he's gearing up for another bought of nervousness and he wants to be able to approach it with a clean slate.

"This music is dreadful," he announces, tapping his fingers lightly against the table.

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"It is, rather," Watson agreed, with a small snort of laughter. "I haven't made up my mind whether it's the genre I dislike or the musician."

He hadn't been entirely certain of why he had wanted to come to this, except that it had been something different. He had had high hopes. So far... well, so far nothing particularly interesting had happened, merely sitting off to one side with Holmes, but then, parties did often take time to warm up.

This wasn't like any party Watson had ever been to, either. That didn't help.

"Perhaps it will improve," he suggested.

"And perhaps not," he returns distastefully, tapping his fingers again. He isn't tapping them in time to the music but because he is anxious, waiting for the right moment to launch into his plan. And then it comes; the music changes to something a little more appropriate for dancing, and he stills his hand against the table.

"I've never had the occasion to find out if you were a very good dancer," he says lightly, looking casually over the crowd and hiding his nervousness before he turns an appraising look on Watson. "Are you?"

Watson looked at Holmes in mild surprise. To say that he had thought longingly of the dance floor was not an exaggeration -- he had certainly enjoyed dancing in the past -- but to have actually stepped out on the floor seemed somehow out of reach. There was a crowd, he was with Holmes, the idea of dancing with a man seemed strangely alien and impossible. And he certainly had a very strong suspicion as to where Holmes's question was leading.

"I have been told by partners in the past that I am a good dancer," he said, modestly. "It is, of course, hard for me to judge."

It's clear that Watson won't turn him down for this; Holmes has caught some looks on his face that were highly suggestive of his desire to step out onto the floor, and Holmes can already read acceptance in Watson's expression now. All there is left is the nervousness of taking to the floor and of hoping he is not too rusty at this; behind all that is a small, quiet thrill.

"Then allow me to offer up my services as a judge." He holds his hand out toward Watson and stands, obviously demanding that Watson say yes.

Watson stared at Holmes, and at his hand, and for a brief moment could not really form any sort of response. Outright refusal was simply not a possibility -- there were few requests Holmes could make of him that he could or would not comply with, and this one was simply not one of those rare ones that he might consider refusing. At the same time, it would have been a lie to say he was entirely comfortable with this idea. Most people would be clever enough to work that out, and while one or two people knowing about them was one thing, having everyone know, even if there would be no significant risk from it, was a slightly frightening thought.

"In front of everyone?" he clarified, not taking his eyes from Holmes's face, although he rose, slowly, and pressed his fingers into Holmes's grasp.

He raises an eyebrow and looks away from Watson only for a moment to cast his eyes about the room. "We could go into the hallway, but it might be difficult to hear the music."

Dropping the act, he starts to lead Watson toward the dance floor, apprehension already starting to prickle its way down his back. He would be lying if he did not admit that he wasn't entirely sure about this either, in front of everyone, but they could never hope to ever be completely sure about it until they did it.

"We will be fine," he reassures him, giving his hand a light squeeze. "There is nothing anyone can do to us here, and if they try, then we will simply get a chance to freshen up our fighting skills." He turns them to face each other and steps slightly closer, watching Watson carefully; he raises his hand to settle it against Watson's back.

Watson glanced behind him as Holmes placed his hand on his back. He wasn't sure why he looked, except that the entire situation was so strange. He had never danced with a man, he was not sure if he was supposed to lead or follow or some hybrid of the two, and he hadn't a clue how to dance without leading in any event. It couldn't be that hard, surely, but it had never come up.

He settled his arms around Holmes, his touch faintly hesitant, and his expression expectant and anxious. The last thing he wanted to do was make a mistake here and now.

"This is acceptable?" he asked, shifting closer.

"Passably," he says with a gently teasing tone. Slowly, he starts them moving, hyper aware of where he's touching Watson and where Watson's touching him; he's nervous about pushing Watson's boundaries too far, unwilling to make him exceedingly uncomfortable with any overenthusiastic displays of affection.

Underneath his nervousness, however, Holmes is running on adrenaline, absolutely thrilled to be holding Watson and dancing in the middle of a crowded room; he's sure it comes through in his expression, though he does his best to temper it.

"You're nervous," he says, picking up again on his teasing tone. "I haven't danced with anyone in over ten years. Of course, I was extremely skilled at it." He sniffs, pulling on a haughty air.

"Of course you were," Watson said, with a shake of his head. "You're quite unfairly talented, you know."

The teasing relaxed him, for whatever reason, and he gave Holmes a brief, but very warm, smile. Even if this did turn out to be a disaster, he was rather glad to have been able to do this much. "It may have been ten years, but you're still quite extraordinary, rusty as you must surely be. With men or women?"

The smile is very reassuring, and Holmes returns it, his spirits climbing to rather obscene heights. He's dancing with a man and no one is stopping them, no one can stop them. Oh, people have noticed, but they aren't doing anything, and he and Watson are completely free. It's an intoxicating sensation, one that he hasn't had completely since he retired from the stage. There's a freedom in dressing as an old sailor and wandering around London, but this is slightly different.

"A little of both, actually," he confesses, already halfway to reminiscing merely by holding Watson in his arms; it isn't a huge leap to divulge a little more of his past. "A very little of one and a little more of another. Did I tell you I was seriously courting a girl for a time?"

He was definitely getting the hang of this. It was different from dancing with a woman, to be sure, but he could very quickly grow used to this. And no one seemed inclined to come over and chase them off, either, which was even better.

"Really?" Watson inclined his head towards Holmes, interested. "Seriously, you say. I wouldn't have thought it. And you danced with this young lady, who I think was far luckier than she probably realised. After all, I had to wait years for the experience."

"She was hardly lucky," he returns, though Watson's interest is amusing. "My intentions were serious mostly for investigative purposes. I was attempting to see if I could rouse any sort of interest for the fairer sex at all in this girl who my parents highly approved of. I could not." He shrugs slightly, easing into the dance very happily. Watson is quite a good dancer himself, and a good deal more handsome when he's dancing, which is saying quite a lot because Holmes already finds him handsome to begin with.

"You, on the other hand," he says, lowering his voice. He smiles warmly and pulls Watson a tad closer. "I'm very interested in you."

Watson smiled, shifting his hand on Holmes's back. He wasn't sure what it said that he was so terrified by this situation; he had gone to war, he had been shot, he had chased after gigantic spectral hellhounds and savages wielding poison darts, and yet none of that seemed quite as unnerving as dancing where everyone could see. Of course, he'd never been one to quail in the face of danger.

"I had noticed some degree of interest," he said, carefully. It was becoming far too tempting to kiss him, and he really was not in the least sure he could manage that. "I suppose I ought to count myself very lucky, even if at the expense of yourself and this young lady."

"Oh yes, perhaps you should. Not many people hold the distinction of having danced with me. You have been admitted into a very exclusive club, my dear boy."

This is possibly the best idea he's had in -- certainly a few hours, at least. Watson is a wonderful dancer, and thoroughly charming, and Holmes almost feels as ridiculous as he did occasionally in his youth. His body is still flushed with adrenaline at this opportunity, and to be having this first, truly unhindered dance of sorts with Watson makes it all the sweeter. It will be difficult for him to refrain from kissing Watson at the conclusion of this dance.

"Believe me, I shall take every care to properly appreciate this privilege," Watson returned, smiling. He leaned forward a little, and said, in a throaty low tone and close to Holmes's ear, "And if I have my way, it shall remain very exclusive indeed."

Saying so gave him a thrill of nervousness, but one he was able to supress easily enough. He drew back again, his smile innocent as though he had said nothing particularly interesting.

He's only surprised for a moment when Watson leans in and begins to speak so seductively in his ear; his words are very forward and nonetheless provocative, and Holmes reminds himself not to kiss Watson here, in front of everyone. That may be the next step, but maybe it isn't the time for that just yet.

"That is just as well," he returns, his voice also noticeably lower. "There are not many who are fit for the honor. I have very high demands, you see, and I prefer strictly dedicated membership."

"I am very dedicated, believe me." Watson tightened his arms around Holmes, trying to resist the urge to lay his head on Holmes's shoulder, at the very least. It would have been a little too intimate, and too vulnerable, for mixed company, maybe. "At any rate, I fully grant that it may be very selfish of me, but now that I've had this remarkable experience, I'm not inclined to share it with anyone else. You may take that as a sign of my dedication, if you wish."

Holmes gives a soft, warm smile, and then indulges his desire to get closer to Watson somehow; he negotiates with himself and draws near enough so that he can rest his cheek alongside Watson's. It's such a small, simple gesture, but it's enough to overwhelm him, slightly, with its degree of intimacy.

"That is acceptable. I will decline all the future applications of any other men who may come seeking after this privilege," he says teasingly, though his voice is low. He is, of course, completely serious. He's been content to remain faithful to his feelings for Watson all this time -- only occasionally indulging in physical trysts with other men, and only because he could not have Watson in such a way -- and he sees no reason for that to ever change.

Watson exhaled faintly. He would have been hesitant about dancing in public like this with a woman, and he wasn't sure that this would be acceptable here, either. Still, he did not pull away. If this was the line at which their dancing became socially unacceptable, he was happy in his ignorance for the time being before people started to complain.

"I am glad to hear it," he murmured. This was really remarkably comfortable, remarkably easy to lose himself in, very easy to forget about the rest of the party. "I would chase them off, believe me."

He was talking nonsense, but he was hardly listening to himself anymore. He didn't care.

"I don't think chasing would be necessary," he murmurs as the song ends. To be honest, he is reluctant to step away, and he wonders if Watson would be willing to return to the dance floor again, or if just one dance is their quota for this first evening of daring to flaunt their closeness in front of everyone. He would be understanding of that, certainly, but dancing with Watson is much too pleasant to consider doing it just once.

As the music fades away and Holmes must step back, he decides very suddenly to allow his mouth to brush Watson's cheek just barely. It can hardly be considered a kiss, and certainly not a deliberate one, and someone would have to be paying very close attention to them indeed in order to see it. He simply couldn't resist.

"Thank you very much for the dance," he says with a lightly impish smile. "You weren't too terrible for your first time dancing with a man." He is, of course, completely teasing.

Watson, utterly charmed as he was, could only smile for a moment. To be perfectly honest, he was still halfway expecting someone to come over and express their disgust or displeasure, as unlikely as that seemed now. He wanted to kiss him, properly, but found himself unable to do this. It was frustrating. It was something to work on, he supposed, but... not just then. Not with... everyone there.

He settled for reaching out to brush his hand over Holmes's wrist. "Thank you," he said, "for reminding me how extremely fortunate I am. Not that I am in any danger of forgetting it."

Holmes smiles, charmed himself, and looks to the floor, aching to touch Watson, or kiss Watson, or pull him into his arms, but he doesn't indulge any of those desires, not just yet. Perhaps once they reach their table again, or maybe he can lure Watson out of the room and ravage him in the dark corner of a hallway for a few minutes. It is fairly excruciating to have such an intimate moment but not be able to kiss Watson in any real way.

"Allow me to remind you any time tonight that you might wish," he murmurs, then reaches out to adjust Watson's jacket, which doesn't need adjusting. "So long as the music is acceptable," he adds, recovering more of his sardonic tone.

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You can dance if you want to

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