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Of Sequins and Scalpels

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"Wild wild wild, wild wild wild…"

"Slinky hips, arms right, hands, slink slink, shimmy." Nikola shimmied behind her, then with his hand on her hip he pushed her into a spin. She twirled on the spot, feeling ever so slightly like a music box ballerina on speed. Another rotation and she stopped, falling backwards into an arch that stretched muscles she hadn't used in years, Nikola supporting her the entire time. Back up, and his hand was on her shoulder, "Side by side!" he called, as they slid into some simple back and forth step that Helen loved on screen but -- "Concentrate!" -- and now she'd lost the routine.

"Tesla! A word!" They both looked and gulped when they saw the big bosses by the door.

"Oh dear," Helen muttered, watching Nikola saunter to them. En masse they left the room, but it didn't help much. The words, "Family friendly," reverberated around the door, as well as, "Warning you!"

Stretching the way Angelina taught her, Helen kept herself busy as she waited.

And waited.

The yelling stopped a fair while earlier (thank heavens) but she was still alone. Mind made up, she changed her shoes.

--

"You're more likely to hurt yourself than anyone else with that form," she told him. They were in the room opposite their rehearsal hall, the punch bag now Nikola's confidante. When he didn't respond, she stood behind him and pulled his elbows in and down. "You want to protect your upper body, make yourself small."

He's dreamt of moments like this, her hands on him, commanding and contorting. He'd deny it, but a thrill raced down his spine each time he remembered a fantasy. Her hands were firm and knowing, her breath butterflying on his neck. "Better," she murmured, smoothing his shoulders. "Shall I spot you, or are you just hugging the bag?"

"Very funny," he replied, voice hollow.

"Want to talk?"

"Not really."

"Want to punch the bag?"

Glancing at it, he shook his head. Bruised knuckles were passé. "We have to either change the song or get penalised."

"How badly penalised?"

"... We could only get half marks."

"Oh."

Nodding, he went back to glaring at the punch bag, as if it would change anything. It wasn't a question of whether or not Helen could learn a new dance in a short amount of time - he knew she could - it was the principle. And he had quite enjoyed singing along to Rihanna. And dancing close.

"Wasn't that song based on sample?" He nodded. "Could you change the dance to fit it?"

"It's not as simple as that," he muttered.

"You could make it that simple," she murmured. Staring into her eyes, he almost missed her, "I have faith in you."

Almost.

With a lump in his throat, he wrapped his arms around her. "Ok--" he kissed the side of her head, "-- I'll make it that simple." She grinned, and all he wanted to do was beg for all her smiles. Turning them both, he said, "Come on. Give me that faith on the dance floor."