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Misstep

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Myshka.”

“Yes?”

“Get off floor.”

“Look,” you say, gesturing at your fiancé with your hand. “This is where I’m going to end up anyway. May as well not prolong the inevitable. Besides, aren’t you telling me to be more efficient?”

Piotr chuckles and shakes his head as he looks down at you. “With doing laundry, perhaps. Not with dancing.”

You can’t figure it out. You can fly, for fuck’s sake! The amount of coordination and acrobatics required for that is almost mind-boggling.

And yet, when it comes to dancing, you’re an absolute klutz. You may as well have three left feet, for as often as you trip over your feet –or step on Piotr’s.

“Instructor said it would benefit us to practice,” he says as he scoops you off the floor and sets you on your feet –only for you to crumple to the wooden floor once more like a rag doll. “Y/N.”

“Why couldn’t we have our first dance music be the Macarena?” you lament. “Or the Cha-Cha Slide? I’m a wizard at the Cha-Cha Slide!”

Piotr snorts, then holds out a hand to you. “Y/N. Pozhaluysta.”

You sigh, then take his hand and stand up. “I just don’t like sucking.”

“No one does, moya lyubov’. That is why we must practice.” He steps across the empty classroom –one of the many in the wing of the Institute that’s still under construction—and turns on the music the instructor had provided, then turns to you and holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

It’s corny, it’s cheesy, and you can’t help but giggle as you take his hand.

Unfortunately, that’s where the fun ends.

Your inability to dance in any formal fashion rears its head once more as you try to dance along to the music in a very basic waltz. You trip, stumble, and barely avoid jamming the heels of your practice shoes through your fiancé’s toes on several occasions.

Part of the problem is the size difference. Piotr’s strides are miles longer than yours, making it difficult to keep up with him.

But the other part of the problem –namely, the one that the instructor pointed out during the most recent class—is, well…

Myshka.” Piotr stops, forcing you to stop as well, and kisses the top of your head. “You are trying to lead again.”

“I can’t help it!” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air in exasperation. “This stuff freaks me out! I’m just not good at it! I could practice for ten thousand years, and I’d still never—”

“Back up. What about this ‘freaks you out?’”

You pause and take a moment to recollect what you’d just said –and, sure enough, you did in fact say that. Huh. You stare down at your shoes, jam your hands in your jeans pockets, and shrug. “I don’t know. I just… I worry about stepping on your feet.”

Piotr’s lips curl inward in an attempt –a bad one, at that—to hide an amused smile. “That is it? You are worried about stepping on my feet?”

“Shut up!” you whine. “It’s not funny! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You are right,” he says as he wraps his arms around you. “It is not funny; it is cute and very sweet of you. But I seriously doubt you could hurt me, moya lyubov’.”

“Are you kidding me?” You balance on one foot –which requires you to brace yourself against your fiancé—and angle your other foot so he can see the heel attached to your shoes. “These things are daggers! They’re certified lethal weapons! And you…” You look down at his feet, and even you can’t resist grinning when you look back up at him. “You’ve got really big feet, babe. They’re kinda impossible to miss.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “Fair enough –however, if you were to step on my foot hard enough to possibly hurt me, I would shift into my armor on reflex at pain. And then I would have to worry about stepping on your feet.” He pauses for a moment, then winks at you and adds, “And also find new clothes.”

“Well, now I just want to step on your feet,” you tease, pretending to aim for his foot, then laugh when he moves it out of the way.

Piotr laughs with you, then leans down and kisses you sweetly. “Ya lyublyu tebya, msyhka.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

He strokes his thumb along the swell of your cheek. “I have idea. Why not try closing your eyes?”

You waggle your eyebrows. “Well, that depends entirely on whether or not you have something to blindfold me with.”

He smirks and brushes his lips against your temple. “Perhaps later.”

And that has marvelous implications, but…

“I don’t know.” You sigh and grip the material of his shirt. “Me closing my eyes seems like a good way to raise my odds of falling on my ass.”

“I would not let you fall,” Piotr promises. “Try it? And if it does not work, we can try something else.”

The thought of dancing with your eyes closed is definitely daunting… but you seriously doubt your skills can degrade any further. You’re already pretty much at rock bottom.

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Piotr walks over to restart the music, then walks back to you and puts one hand on your waist and takes your hand with his remaining hand. “Ready?”

You grimace, but nod and close your eyes.

At first, it goes about as well as you’d thought it would. You basically stumble all over the place like a newly born fawn –and, as an added bonus, not seeing only adds to your anxiety over tripping or stepping on your fiancé’s feet, which means you’re stiffer than usual.

However, to his credit, Piotr doesn’t let you fall. He takes things slowly, letting you adjust to the sensation of dancing with your eyes closed and the rhythm of the music. “Relax,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I have you.”

And you do. It takes time, but your shoulders slowly relax and you eventually find a rhythm that works.

Piotr’s lips press against your cheek. “Myshka. Look at me.”

You open your eyes –and blink a couple times because light—and there he is, smiling at you like you’re the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen in the whole world. You beam up at him. “Hey.”

“Hi. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You are dancing.”

You gasp when you realize that you are, you’re dancing, you can do it! “I’m dancing!”

Piotr’s eyes crinkle around the edges as he laughs fondly. “You are. You are doing so well.”

Things smooth out further now that your eyes are open and you lose your last bit of nerves. The two of you move elegantly –albeit not perfectly—around the room, twirling slowly as you move in time with the music.

Then Piotr moves his hand to the small of your back so he can hold you closer, and you lean your head against his chest—

And you dance, and dance, and dance, and dance.