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“‘We teach your wedding guests to dance to the music you love,’” Eames read aloud from the flyer Mal handed to him without a word. “Oh, Mal, really.”
“Do it,” Mal said in a tone that said she’d brook no argument from her half-brother.
“But I’m not a guest, I’m in the wedding party. And I already know how to dance,” Eames protested half-heartedly, and no sooner was the sentence out of his mouth than Mal stepped to him, set the flyer aside, put his hand on her waist, and took his other hand, holding it up and stepping back with one foot in an expert slide. In attempting to lead her, he stumbled.
“Fine, fine,” Eames grumbled. “So it’s been years since my last lesson, all right?”
“Decades,” Mal corrected.
-------
“I don’t want to learn to dance from some old matron named... Getrude or something,” Eames mumbled to himself as he parked his car outside the Levine Dance Studio. It was threatening to rain out, reflecting his mood. There was only one teacher at this studio, and the receptionist who’d taken his appointment, a girl who sounded rather young, had only confirmed the time and told him what to bring. He had no idea what his teacher was like, but he wasn’t in the mood to be optimistic.
In the lobby, the receptionist greeted him; she was a petite brunette, bright-eyed, and seemingly somewhat bored. There was a hint of frank appraisal in her eyes as she looked him over, and said, “Arthur will be ready in about five minutes.”
“Arthur,” Eames echoed, nodding. So not an old matron but an old man named Arthur. Potbelly, white hair in his ears, no doubt. Eames sighed, resigned, and took a seat.
He was flipping idly through TIME when a door off the lobby opened; he didn’t look up, still in denial about this entire venture, until the receptionist said, “Arthur, your next client is here,” and it would be rude to continue pretending he wasn’t here.
When he looked up, his jaw dropped.
His first view of this Arthur was from the back, as Arthur faced the reception desk and away from him. He was lean and slender, clad in light linen trousers which were closely tailored, cupping his perfect arse like a presentation. He wore a close-fitting waistcoat of pale sage green over a slightly darker green dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets. His dark brown hair was slicked back like a Jazz Age gangster’s.
He turned slightly to smile at Eames over his shoulder. He was sloe-eyed with a cupid’s-bow mouth, and slightly sticky-out ears that somehow both betrayed and enhanced his attempts at looking elegant.
As Arthur turned to face him fully, Eames made a mental note to thank Mal, and swallowed despite the dryness of his throat. He stood, getting himself together, smiling his most casually charming smile, and shook Arthur’s proffered hand. He had a brief urge to raise Arthur’s hand to his lips and kiss his knuckles. “William Eames,” he said, “pleasure,” and Arthur’s hands were big and his fingers were long and Eames took a deep breath.
“Arthur Levine. Follow me, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said, still with that enigmatic little smile, and Eames followed his perfect posture through another doorway with the vague thought that he’d follow that arse through hell and back.
Arthur closed the door after him, and walked to the center of the parquet floor; Eames took a moment to surreptitiously admire Arthur’s reflection in the mirrored wall before Arthur turned to tilt his head and look Eames over.
With his hands in his pockets, Arthur said, “So. What brings you here today, Mr. Eames?” Of course Arthur had a lovely voice, surprisingly deep.
“Call me Eames. My sister, well, half-sister, is getting married, and she insists that I learn proper dancing so I don’t make her look stupid,” Eames said with a shrug, grinning. “I’ve learned it’s easiest not to argue with her. I’m to be a groomsman, as the bride’s brother, so I’m sure I’ll have to dance with grandmothers, aunts, nieces, what-have-you.”
“Mm, and have you danced before?”
“At clubs on Seventies Night,” Eames said, and Arthur snorted lightly. “Not this sort of dancing in years, though. I took lessons ages ago.”
“Okay, so this might not be too tricky for you. What kind of music does your sister plan to have for her wedding?”
“Strictly vintage,” Eames replied. “Nothing later than 1960, I believe she said.”
“All right. We’ll start out with the basics,” Arthur said, “a simple waltz you can dance with the bride.”
He stood in front of Eames. “You’ll be leading, of course,” he says, “although I can teach you how to follow, too.”
“Get me leading properly first,” Eames said, as Arthur stood toe-to-toe with him. They were of a height, and now he could actually look into Arthur’s face. Arthur, however, was busy with placing Eames’ hand on his back and his own hand on Eames’ shoulder. “Take my other hand,” Arthur said, and once Eames did, they held them aloft.
Arthur moved his feet so that they were alternating slightly with Eames’, the toe of his right wingtip nudging between Eames’.
“Step forward, put your foot between mine as I step back,” Arthur said, and they did.
Arthur went to his right, and Eames followed. Arthur stepped forward, Eames stepped back, and they moved to Eames’ right, then Eames went forward again.
“Like that, it’s a square,” Arthur said, looking down at their feet. “One two three, two two three, three two three, four two three.”
They went through it a few times, and Arthur went to put on some accompanying music. Eames started catching the melody of the music as it picked up and hit its stride. It was so familiar; he started humming as they danced, even as he was distracted trying to do the steps as smoothly as Arthur. He stumbled a bit, and chuckled.
“Is it too fast?” Arthur said. “I’m sorry, it’s the record from my last lesson, for a more advanced client. I should have started you on something slower.”
“No, it’s fine,” Eames said, “I’m not completely lacking in coordination. It’s just driving me mad because I know I’ve heard it before.”
“It’s Tchaikovsky,” Arthur said. “All right, keep your posture, don’t let your arms fall. You’re doing well otherwise.”
Arthur was lovely at this, solid but graceful. He moved like a dream.... “Shit, that’s it,” Eames said, “it’s a song.”
“Oh, yeah,” Arthur said. “They used it in the Disney movie. Sleeping Beauty Waltz. ‘I know you, I walked with you--’”
“--‘Once upon a dream,’” Eames finished with a laugh. “Oh, my god.”
“It gets a little crazy when it’s not at the clear waltz part,” Arthur said. “I’ll put on something slower.”
“No, you don’t have to,” Eames began, but Arthur was pulling gracefully away and going over to the turntable.
“Blue Danube,” he said, as he walked back and they assumed their positions again.
They didn’t just stick to that four-point little waltz in one spot; Arthur showed him how to move across the floor. They danced to most of the Strauss album, until Eames was starting to get a bit out of breath. Arthur noticed, and said, “Time’s nearly up. Let me put on something calming to end.”
He went to the turntable, chose something from the shelves below, put it on, and returned to stand before Eames.
“Brahms, Waltz for Violin. It’s short,” Arthur said, as the simple, sweet tune started. He stepped closer this time. Eames tried to not be too obvious about inhaling the scent of his aftershave.
The tune was stuck in his head after Arthur politely bid him goodbye and said he had done well, and that they’d learn the foxtrot for their next lesson. It was also stuck in his head on the drive home, and during supper, and when he drifted off to sleep.
-------
The thing was, Eames didn’t have a date to Mal’s wedding, and it was in six weeks. “That’s plenty of time,” he argued when she bothered him about it. In truth, however, there was no one he wanted to go with. Oh, he got plenty of attention; it was just that so few people captured his attention. Besides that, he was quite busy, and when he wasn’t working he was painting, or reading, or gambling, and aside from quick shags he picked up at bars on infrequent occasions, there was no one who truly caught his eye.
Until Arthur.
Well. It would be silly to ask the man you were paying to teach you to dance for a wedding to go to the wedding with you, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that completely blow his chances? Arthur was, essentially, a stranger. A captivating stranger, but a stranger nonetheless, and one he only knew in a professional capacity. Eames sometimes had to remind himself that despite his impulsiveness, he didn’t always have the best luck with strangers.
And Arthur must get hit on all the time by clients. While a wedding was a terrible first date, asking Arthur out before then for a date other than the wedding wouldn’t be that much better, what with the client thing still being an issue; and if he said no, well, Eames would have to take lessons somewhere else or hear it from Mal.
Furthermore, he had no idea if Arthur was involved with anyone, or even if he was interested in men. He could finagle the information out of someone, but still, it didn’t do getting ahead of oneself.
There was time.
-------
At their next lesson, the following week, Arthur was wearing darker trousers, a gray shirt, and a tie. His sleeves were rolled up once more. Eames was slightly disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a waistcoat today. But then, how disappointed could he really be?
They went over the waltz again, to make sure Eames had it down, and then Arthur started to teach him how to foxtrot. It was rather similar to the waltz, Eames thought, although the music was different.
“Is this how you usually dress?” Arthur suddenly asked in the middle of the lesson, breaking Eames’ concentration. “Sorry,” he added, looking contrite. “Just wondering.”
Eames looked down at his clothes. He was wearing a striped dress shirt and his usual sort of trousers, retro style with wide legs, cuffs, and pleats, and his two-tone oxfords. “Yes? More or less.”
“Just wondering,” Arthur repeated, “because your style is kind of like some of the people I dance with competitively.”
“Oh?” That was interesting.
“Yeah, I swing dance. I was a little surprised when you said you hadn’t danced before, with those pleats and your shoes and your wallet chain.” Arthur’s cheeks looked a bit pink. “Nevermind.”
Eames hid a smile. “I just like the look, that’s all. We all have our affectations, I suppose.”
This time, Arthur had a CD playing, and they danced to a mix of different versions of “Cheek to Cheek.” Eames found the Louis Armstrong-Ella Fitzgerald version the most charming, lending itself as it did to a slower, more relaxed dance. After a while Eames caught himself singing along quietly under his breath. He looked to Arthur suddenly, and Arthur just smiled.
The two hours were up all too soon.
-------
For the third lesson, after a review of the waltz and the foxtrot, Arthur told Eames he was going to teach him the East Coast Swing, saying it was relatively simple and good for dancing with kids. He put on an instrumental of “It Had To Be You,” which sounded as though it was from the Forties (Arthur said it was by Artie Shaw), and they began.
“You’re doing well,” Arthur said after a while.
“I’ve always been a star pupil,” Eames replied, just saving himself from a small stumble.
Arthur chuckled. “Teacher’s pet?”
“Naturally.” Eames winked before he could stop himself. “Actually, bit of a troublemaker, I’m afraid, but a quick learner.”
“Ah,” Arthur chuckled softly again, but said no more.
For their fourth lesson, they danced a mix of the different styles, so that Eames could easily recognize what sort of song went with which dance. Arthur threw in some cha-cha for good measure, and the sinuous movements of his hips were a bit distracting.
“Well,” Arthur said at the end, “you initially registered for four lessons, so, I guess this is your last one. Unless you want to take more.” He wasn’t looking directly at Eames when he said this.
“Oh? Like what?” Eames had forgotten this was supposedly his last lesson. “Rumba? Salsa? Tango?” He was only listing names of dances, not really meaning much by it.
Arthur actually blushed. “Well, I don’t know if you’ll have Latin music at the wedding, but.... If that’s what you want.”
“We’ve got two more weeks until the wedding, why not learn?” Eames said.
------
“So. Latin dancing,” Arthur said at the beginning of the fifth lesson. “Quick rundown. Just a taste. I don’t expect you to be able to do a routine or anything.”
Latin dancing was, it seemed, quite a bit faster, more sensual and fluid, and more complicated. It wasn’t likely that they’d be dancing like this at the wedding, certainly not if Eames had to dance with grandmothers, aunts, and nieces. But as Arthur danced with him, such matters were the furthest things from his mind.
There were a good deal more turns in this sort of dancing, and it was a bit tricky. Arthur’s hips were once again very distracting, and Eames was beginning to work up a sweat.
And that was just the salsa.
The rumba didn’t cool him down much.
The tango was... well.
They were much closer for the tango than they were for their previous dances. Arthur’s instructions were more like murmurs in his ear, though it wasn’t clear whether Arthur intended them to come across that way. But then, Arthur had suggested he take more classes, hadn’t he? Even though these dances had no application to the wedding he’d be going to? Ah, but what instructor would turn down more money?
“I want to try something,” Arthur said.
Eames looked at him and nodded. They paused.
“Put your arm more tightly around me, put your right cheek to mine,” Arthur instructed. “We’ll keep our upper bodies together and mostly move our legs. Step forward, do those previous steps this way.”
Eames was used to being able to see his feet at least peripherally. With Arthur this close, he couldn’t, and had to go by feel. He was tempted to close his eyes, but didn’t want to trip entirely. He kept time with the music, kept Arthur moving with him, and realized that he was now actually leading the dance, rather than dancing lead while Arthur followed. It was a fine distinction.
“You’ve got it, little clumsy, but you’ve got it,” Arthur murmured, and they kept dancing like that until the song ended.
When they separated, Eames looked at Arthur to see whether he was even a fraction as affected by that as Eames was. Arthur’s expression was serene, his posture as upright as ever, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. When he met Eames’ gaze, the flush intensified, and his eyes seemed to darken, but that was all.
“Next week we’ll review everything, and then you’ll be ready,” Arthur said.
-------
Arthur planned for their last lesson, the review, to consist of all the dances Eames had learned in the order he’d learned them, which, generally speaking, was in order of difficulty. They spent the most time on the ones he’d actually be most likely to put to use at the wedding.
The Latin dances were last. Truth be told, Eames had been looking forward to a reprise of the tango ever since the song ended when they’d last danced it.
Although Arthur made to stand slightly apart as they’d begun it last, Eames pulled him closer so that their bodies were flush. Arthur touched his cheek to Eames’, and started to move with him. And they danced.
“I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else but you,” Eames found himself saying, quiet. Arthur froze for a moment and nearly stumbled. Nearly. Recovering, he cleared his throat. Eames felt his face turn red. In silence, they kept dancing, the tension easing back into simply moving together again.
The last dance of the last lesson. It was now or never.
“Arthur,” Eames murmured finally, letting his words carry just a bit of weight, “do you happen to be free this Saturday afternoon?”
The silence that followed seemed a lot longer than it probably was.
“Actually,” Arthur sighed, “no.” He sounded sincerely regretful, Eames realized through his disappointment. “I’ve got a wedding to go to, ironically enough.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, my college roommate’s getting married. Dom’s a mess.”
“Dom?” Eames stopped short, pulling back to stare at Arthur. “Would that happen to be Dominick Cobb?”
“Yeah.” Arthur blinked.
“Dominick Cobb who’s marrying Mallorie Miles? My half-sister?”
Arthur stared. “Yeah. Shit.”
“Arthur, tell me you don’t have a date to this wedding.”
“I don’t.”
“You do now.”
Arthur nodded. “It would seem I do.”
-------
Eames called Mal that night.
“Mal,” he said, “did you know that Dom happens to be friends with the dance instructor at the studio you gave me the flyer for?”
“Oh, is he?” Mal laughed. “What a... coincidence. Did he not have a date either?” she asked, innocently.
“Mal.”
“Oh, do not pretend you are upset with me. You learned to dance and you both have a date to the wedding.”
-------
Mal’s wedding colors were tones of blue, to match her and Dom’s eyes. It was something Eames teased her about.
It wasn’t so funny when Eames saw Arthur in a navy suit and a sky-blue tie. Eames himself was in midnight blue, with a cornflower boutonniere. Eames, as part of the wedding party, had been at the church for quite some time when the guests started arriving. He was leaning against a pew when Arthur came walking up to him, smiling. “You look lovely,” Eames told him, and Arthur replied, “You sound surprised,” eyes crinkling with amusement.
Mal called him to help with something or other, and from then on, everything was a rush and a blur. Until the actual ceremony.
Mal was nothing short of exquisite, but then, Eames had no doubt she’d be anything else.
Arthur sat in the second pew, and during the ceremony, Eames kept looking at him, not really realizing he was doing it at first until Arthur met his gaze and smiled. Eames pressed his lips together to keep from grinning and looked back to Mal.
After the ceremony, the wedding party gathered for portraits, as the guests started on their cocktails. Once Eames was free from his duties, he strolled to Arthur’s side, and joined him in drinking some Champagne as they watched Mal pose beaming for various portraits.
Cake-cutting and dinner came next. Eames couldn’t wait to dance, but unfortunately, there were rather a few courses involved. On the decided plus side, however, once he left the wedding party’s table (with Mal’s permission, of course) for the one where Arthur was sitting, he had plenty of time to talk to him about all manner of things: where they were from, where they went to university, what they liked to do, what books they’d recently read.
The dancing started, the first of it involving Mal, naturally. Before Eames could dance with Arthur, of course, he had to do his duty dancing with Mal and the other ladies of the family. He was rather tipsy at this point, but he managed to make a good showing of it, not wanting to disappoint Arthur. Or Mal, as well. Luckily, there was no need to get fancy.
He was dancing with a twelve-year-old niece and had been for some time when Arthur cut in. At the sight of Arthur, the girl got flustered, her smile revealing her braces, but Arthur smoothly thanked her for taking good care of Eames, and then they were dancing once again.
“Wonderful to see you again, darling,” Eames said.
As it was early yet, and the older guests were still present, there were plenty of slower numbers and Big Band songs to dance to. They did occasionally change partners, but as it got later and more guests started leaving, and it got warmer and the music started to change, they gravitated back to each other.
After they shed their jackets and tossed them over the backs of their chairs, and had some more Champagne, Arthur rolled up his sleeves and went to the DJ. Eames wondered what he requested, but when he came back, Arthur didn’t say. It only became clear fifteen minutes or so later, when a decidedly Latin beat started playing.
“It’s just a salsa,” Arthur said with a grin. “Not even a fast one. C’mon, dance it with me.”
“Who says I won’t?” Eames answered, mock-indignant. “I’ll show you. You didn’t even think I’d have to do this sort of dancing tonight.”
“Teacher’s pet,” Arthur said.
They started in the basic salsa steps, of course, until Eames raised his hand and spun Arthur -- something they’d only gone over once in the studio -- and was rewarded with raised eyebrows and a nod indicating Arthur was impressed. Eames did it two more times, once less smoothly and then much more nicely.
The next song was faster, and Arthur was definitely into it, especially when it came to his hips and general pelvic region. Eames tried to keep pace and match Arthur’s movements, which was getting more difficult as he was tired, tipsy, and hot, but other than that he was spectacular. It was like nothing else, moving with Arthur like this. He must be the very devil in the sack, Eames thought, and laughed. Arthur gave him a questioning look. “Your hips are distracting me,” Eames explained, and Arthur grinned.
“You’ll manage,” he said. Eames did his best for the rest of that song, and the next.
The song after that was slow, making for a good break, and Eames went to sit down for a bit with Mal, who was sitting for a bit, while Arthur went to the restroom and got some water. Mal was smug. “I have the best ideas,” she told him. Eames didn’t argue.
Eames saw Arthur putting down his glass and went over to him, offering his hand. “Will you oblige me with one last dance?” The song was another slower one.
To his surprise, when Eames put his arm around Arthur, Arthur moved closer, flush against him, pulling him into leading an honest-to-god slow dance which found Arthur’s head resting lightly against his.
“I’ll dip you if you fall asleep,” Eames murmured.
Arthur scoffed, amused. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d knee you in the groin.”
Eames snickered.
“This is reminding me of prom,” Arthur said after a bit, “only at prom, we were a lot drunker and we made out in the limo.”
“I’m sure we can get drunker and find a limo as well, if you wish to recreate your special night,” Eames said, tilting back just a bit to look at Arthur, who was still flushed with exertion (and drink) with his hair slightly mussed. “Were you as good a dancer then?”
Arthur smiled, and shook his head. “I needed a lot of practice.”
“The best things require practice,” Eames said gravely, nodding.
“Making out required practice, too,” Arthur said, and before Eames could reply Arthur paused in dancing and kissed him, firm and brief.
“That was your segue to kissing me?” Eames teased.
“Shut up,” Arthur said, and kissed him again, this time properly.
Eames was in possession of his faculties enough to not make a spectacle on the dance floor at his sister’s wedding reception, and they kept the kiss decent, although for Eames at least that was a bit of a challenge.
Although they were exhausted, they kept dancing. Eames didn’t want to stop, really. They’d have to kick everyone else out, turn out the lights, turn off the music, and then forcibly remove them, he told Arthur, who laughed.
“You’d dance with me alone in the dark without any music?”
“I’ve just realized how that sounds, and yes, I would. Absolutely.”
“Not on the first date,” Arthur said, pretending shock and affront.
“Mm, second date, then. When is our second date, Arthur?”
Arthur took a moment to think. “Tuesday night, eight o’clock.”
“Where will it be?” Eames smoothed his hand over the small of Arthur’s back.
“The Italian place on Green,” Arthur replied, pressing closer.
“Excellent choice.” They fell silent again in the dance, companionable, Eames finally realizing, reluctantly, how very tired he was.
Many guests had already left, seen off by a smiling Mal who was barely showing her exhaustion. Arthur had to leave before Eames, as he had things to do tomorrow, and after he congratulated Mal and Cobb and said goodbye to them, Eames walked him the short distance to his car, with a lingering yet chaste kiss before he got in. Eames had promised to stay after Mal and make sure everything was wrapped up correctly, and he missed Arthur the moment he drove off.
Mal kissed his cheek when he joined her in the reception hall, in the middle of her seeing off more guests, as the caterers busied themselves with cleaning up. “I think you ought to make me the guest of honor at your wedding,” she said, leaning on his shoulder.
“Am I getting married?”
“You will be,” she said with gentle certainty.
Eames didn’t argue.
[By the wonderful Aya!]