May I Have This Dance?

Andromeda watches the crowd of people as they dance and mingle, a finger tapping idly on the stem of her champagne flute. Angora outdid herself on the decor this year— gossamer drapes hang from the ceiling, and when they catch the light in a certain way they shimmer like faerie wings, subtle enough to be a dream. The chandeliers are similarly ethereal, the candles on their arms flickering in shades of amber and honey. 

The delicate black lace of Andromeda’s mask crinkles when she smiles at the girl on her arm. “Are you enjoying yourself, Millie May?” she asks, voice soft and low in her chest, drifting through the live orchestra’s music like cigarette smoke.

"Oh-- yes! Well. It's all a bit much." Millie's voice slips down into a polite whisper, tight with the usual amount of clipped pitch in Andromeda's presence. It's not meant as an insult-- Millie's attention sweeps the softly shimmering ballroom, her embarrassed wide eyed stare visible even beneath the plum colors of her mask. Her eyes wander up to sneak in a look at her host and flit away again just as quickly.

"Thank you for inviting me, nonetheless." 

Even by Andromeda's standards, an invitation to Angora's gala felt like a heavy handed generosity. There was only so much Millie could possibly glean for the job in such a place. Maybe this didn't amount to much more than an afterthought to a lady with as much access as Ms. Orabel had, but to Millie this was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity. So distant from her usual routine she hadn't even thought to consider it, want it, or even think of attending  until the offer had been extended. The pleasant shock of it all left her blinking sheepishly up at her host and then around at all the fine decor as if in a glittering dream.

“If you think _this_ is too much, you should have seen last year’s gala, pet,” Andromeda says with a warm laugh, shaking her head. “The things buns were wearing last year… well, there is no accounting for taste, I suppose.”

She smiles at her, and lets go of Millie’s arm, trailing her hand down to her lower back. “Is there something I can do to put you more at ease? More champagne perhaps?”

Heat threatens to flood Millie's face and she tries very hard to focus on the meaning of Ms. Orabel's words. It's like fighting a tide to stay above the shape of them, the lingering touch of gloved fingers to the exposed skin of her back. Millie stifles a shuddering sigh. Wonders briefly if Ms. Orabel-- Andromeda-- has any idea how responsible she is for the lack of ease most of the time. Focus is one of her strong suits though, and Millie gathers herself enough to return a nervous smile. Tries not to read too much into the hand on her back. Her client did pick this dress out for her, after all. It's only natural she take a moment to enjoy it.

"Champagne would be-- nice, I suppose?”

Andromeda’s smile widens, and she allows the tips of her fingers to dip just past the edge of her backless dress before pulling away, tucking a lock of hair behind Millie’s ear in the same motion. 

She’s so _sweet,_ so responsive to touches and words. At some point after their first meeting, Andromeda realized Millie was unaware of her flirting… adorable, frankly, given the shape of her horns. 

Andromeda fully intends to allow her to figure it out on her own— and to have fun with her in the meantime.

“Certainly, pet, although— I was hoping for a dance before the night is through, so we shouldn’t get ourselves drunk to the point of stumbling, hm?”

"Oh! Ah--" Millie finds her voice caught and clears it with a small apology and nervous laugh. She catches the wide smile on Andromeda's face and finds it easier then, to return it in kind. 

"Dancing, Miss?"

Her eyes flit to the dance floor, a clear space in the middle of the ballroom lit dimly with hanging chandeliers. The light filters through colorful sheer drapes, painting the space and figures beneath in ethereal color. It's beautiful, and daunting. She finds herself drawn closer to Ms. Orabel's arm.

“Indeed, do you know how to waltz, pet?” Andromeda asks warmly, and allows Millie to draw close to her side, leaning down slightly to look at her. “It’s surprisingly easy, even for a novice— easier still if you’re leading, though I’m afraid you don’t have the height for that.”

She shrugs, the delicate fabric of her shawl pooling in her elbows with the motion. “Once the rhythm is understood, it’s an easy enough dance regardless. Now the foxtrot or the _tango—_ those would be much trickier, but this isn’t the proper setting for either… well, perhaps the foxtrot, if they picked up the pace a bit. Seems unlikely however.”

She pauses, and waves a hand in the air. “Ah, apologies for holding the conversation hostage, dear. A dance first, or more champagne?”

"No need to apologize, Miss!" Millie assures, praying quietly she hadn't given off the impression of being bored. She loved to hear Ms. Orabel talk. There was a depth to her voice that Millie could feel all around her, a practiced carelessness to her words, a great deal of the time discussing things Millie hadn't known before. She loved learning, and she learned a lot on her client's arm, wherever Andromeda decided they should go that day. Maybe that was the point. 

"Dance first, then drinks?"

Truth be told she hardly drank at all, but the shorter girl could already feel her cheeks coloring at the thought of what was to come. 

"I'm not familiar with either, but I'll try my best.”

“We’ll have fun together regardless, and trust me, you are a _delight_ to teach all sorts of things,” Andromeda says with flashing smile, then turns on her heel so she and Millie are face to face. She extends a hand to Millie, and gathers her long skirts in her other hand, bending at the hips to bow to her.

“Well then, Millie, may I have this dance?” she purrs as their eyes meet.

Millie smiles and wonders at her flourish, lost for a moment in all the color and ceremony. Andromeda's eyes are playful as she extends a hand. Millie bows in kind, mirroring her client's movements with a blush and takes the precious hand extended to her.

Andromeda sweeps onto the dance floor, and the crowd parts before her in a wave of hushed tones and rustling fabric. Andromeda turns to face Millie, and puts one hand at the small of her back, the other remaining twined with Millie’s. “Listen for the beat, and follow my steps,” she murmurs, a smile on her lips, and they flow into the melody like water.

Andromeda's embrace is both light and stern, a guiding hand to keep the two of them in time. With her in charge Millie hardly has to think-- barely has room to. The gala's music hums steadily around them and Millie steps to its beat, relinquishing her last few thoughts to that soft push and pull. Andromeda motions to turn her and Millie lets herself be turned. She pulls her and Millie lets herself be pulled. When Andromeda steps confidently and quickly forwards, sideways, back, Millie allows her feet to follow, to chase after hers and pray they do not fall. Inevitably she does stumble, trying and failing to match the breadth of her client's stride, and Andromeda sweeps her up into a whirl of skirts and chiffon as if she had always meant to twirl her. 

"Miss--!" 

Millie giggles behind her mask, utterly entranced, heart pounding at least twice as quick as the waltz itself.

Andromeda’s laughter is soft and low as she guides the twirl into a dip, one hand low on Millie’s back, the other gliding up her arm to cradle her shoulders. The heat of Millie’s skin burns hot against her own, and Andromeda wishes for nothing more than to chase that heat with her lips, with her tongue.

Another night perhaps. 

With another fluid motion, Andromeda pulls Millie back to standing, back to following the orchestra as the music crescendos.

They lose themselves in that rolling dance, the smell, the taste of fragrance in the air, the proximity. Delight in Andromeda’s purrs of approval and Millie’s fits of laughter as her client guides her around and around the floor, no two turns quite the same. 

Dancing with Ms. Orabel sets Millie’s heart pounding and yet, by their third turn around her posture relaxes. Her eyes wander sheepishly, hands no longer tremble. As long as Andromeda continues to lead as well as she does, there is no reason for her lungs to be so tight in her chest. 

“Thank you, Miss.” 

Millie whispers, unsure how else to acknowledge their newfound comfort. It even occurs to her to lay her head against her client's arm as the two of them twirl around. She sees that in others across the floor. They must be in a different sort of relationship. 

Millie chides herself quietly, but smiles. Blushes when she sees the look on Ms. Orabel’s face. Maybe their work could wait after all, abandoned to enjoy a night out dancing and drinking champagne in strange company.